
##  The Paranormal 13

A multi-author boxed set of novels featuring witches, vampires, werewolves, mermaids, psychics, Loki, time travel and more!

Copyright and Legalities

These novels are works of fiction. Names, characters, and locations are either a product of the authors' imagination or used in a fictitious setting. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or people, living or dead, is strictly coincidental. No part from this book may be used or reproduced without written consent from the authors.

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## About the Books

To be taken straight to a particular novel after reading its blurb, simply click the title!

Darkangel (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 1) – Christine Pope

Finding the man of your dreams can be a real nightmare...

As the future head witch of her clan, Angela McAllister is expected to bond with her consort during her twenty-first year, thus ensuring she will come into her full powers. However, the clock is ticking down, and her consort has yet to make an appearance. She instead visited by haunting dreams of a man she's never seen.

With time running out, and dark forces attempting to seize her powers for their own, Angela is faced with a terrible choice: give up her dreams of the man she may never meet and take the safer path, or risk leaving her clan and everyone in it at the mercy of those who seek their ruin.

Twin Souls (Nevermore Book 1) – K.A Poe

Seventeen year old Alexis finds herself on the eve of her eighteenth birthday. What generally means a step into adulthood instead opens its way to a terrifying truth about not only her family, but herself. She comes from a long line of vampire hunters, and her real dad wants her to carry on the family quest. At the same time, she is falling for a new boy at school who has his own secret. He is a vampire. Alexis is forced to make a decision from which there is no turning back. – Will she deny this newly discovered heritage, or embrace it.

The Girl (Guardians Book 1) – Lola St Vil

Sitting there in the car, a part of me bitterly resented what she was doing to me. I knew it wasn't her fault. But does she have to be so... alluring? I need to focus on something else besides the spot between her earlobe and neck. It looked so soft. Her lips were slightly parted as she looked out the window. I wanted to part them further with mine. I put both my hands on the steering wheel. I could not allow myself to let go until she was out of the car. Suddenly she leaned in and kissed me. It was far better than I could even begin to explain to you. I've fought and died a slow and painful death on earth. And nothing, NOTHING can compare to how hard it was for me to pull away from her lips. I don't think any angel could to do it twice in a lifetime...

Rest for the Wicked (Claire Wiche Book 1) – Cate Dean

Claire Wiche is an ordinary woman, running her Wicca shop in an ordinary California beach town. But Claire wasn't always ordinary, and she isn't quite human. She hides a secret, and a past she thought she had put behind her.

A past that is about to explode into her present.

When it does, everyone she loves is in danger. Claire must face up to her past – and become what she left behind in order to save them.

Drowning Mermaids (Sacred Breath Book 1) – Nadia Scrieva

She is an elegant princess displaced from her home. He is a rough sea captain with a heart of gold...

To escape the war in her underwater kingdom, the noble daughter of a murdered king must flee to Alaska. Doing all she can to keep her younger sisters safe, Aazuria tries to assimilate and work among the Americans, with her feisty red-haired bodyguard at her side. This refuge holds pleasant surprises, for the princess meets a somber gentleman in a dark corner who promises to show her his world.

Trevain Murphy is a successful crab fisherman who has spent his life building an empire above the sea, but knows nothing of the greater empire beneath the surface. When a graceful dancer captures his attention, he becomes fascinated with her old-fashioned speech and unique mannerisms. Learning that her father has recently died, he cannot resist extending his kindness in offering to guide and protect her.

As it becomes clear that the dark-haired woman is much more than she seems, Trevain is unprepared to uncover the staggering secrets behind her innocent facade. Neither the captain nor the princess can imagine that their lives will become forcibly entwined as a common enemy threatens both of their worlds...

I Bring the Fire (A Loki Story) Part I Wolves – C. Gockel

Galaxies away, Loki is waking up in a prison cell, strangely without a hangover, and with no idea what he's done wrong – this time, anyway. But he does know Thor is hiding something, Odin is up to something wicked, and there seems to be something he's forgotten...

In this tale that is equal parts "Another Fine Myth," "American Gods," and "Once Upon a Time," a very nice midwestern girl and a jaded, still very mischievous Loki must join forces to outwit Norse gods, elves, magic sniffing cats, and nosy neighbors. If Loki can remember exactly what he's forgotten and Amy can convince him not to be too distracted by Earthly gadgets, her breasts, or three day benders, they just might pull it off.

The Witch Hunter (Witch Hunter Saga Book 1) – Nicole R Taylor

I was born into the world covered in blood, and that's exactly the way I left it.

Ever since, I have been damned to walk the boundary between life and death alone. Unwillingly turned and left to my nightmare. I have seen men commit countless horrors and committed many of my own.

My origins shall remain unknown, my true self hidden. I have been called by many names, but in this life I am known as the Witch Hunter. I have been asleep these past 150 years, until I was awoken by a haunting call.

Beyond the Fortuneteller's Tent – Kristy Tate

When Petra Baron goes into the fortuneteller's tent at a Renaissance fair, she expects to leave with a date to prom. Instead, she walks out into Elizabethan England, where she meets gypsies, a demon dog and a kindred spirit in Emory Ravenswood.

Emory must thwart the plans of religious zealots. His mission is dangerous, his enemies are fanatical, and Petra Baron is a complication that Heaven only knows he does not need. Or does he? Although Emory is on Heaven's errand, he learned long ago that Heaven does not always play fair.

As Petra slowly falls for Emory, she wonders if he really is who he seems, or if he is just as lost as she is. How can they have a future while trapped in the past? Or is anything possible Beyond the Fortuneteller's Tent?

Nolander (Emanations Book 1) – Becca Mills

Nice girls don't believe in monsters. They're wrong.

Amateur photographer Beth Ryder is in trouble. She's taking pictures of things she can't see, things that aren't human. Beth has her own dreams, but people like her don't get to go free. She's seized by a group dedicated to keeping Earth's shadow world – and its frightening inhabitants – a secret. Forced into otherworldly politics and uncertain whom to trust, Beth must come to terms with a radically altered future – one in which her own humanity seems to be slipping away.

The Medium (Emily Chambers Book 1) – C.J. Archer

Seventeen year-old spirit medium Emily Chambers has a problem. Actually, she has several. As if seeing dead people isn't a big enough social disadvantage, she also has to contend with an escaped demon and a handsome ghost with a secret past. And then there's the question of her parentage. Being born an entire year after her father's death, and without the pale skin of other respectable English ladies, Emily is as much a mystery as the dead boy assigned to her.

Jacob Beaufort's spirit has been unable to crossover since his death. It might have something to do with the fact he was murdered. Or it might not. All he knows is, he has been assigned by the Otherworld's administrators to a girl named Emily. A girl who can see and touch him. A girl who released a shape-shifting demon into the mortal realm. Together they must send the demon back before it wreaks havoc on London. It should be a simple assignment, but they soon learn there's nothing simple when a live girl and a dead boy fall in love.

Dream Student (Dream Series Book 1) – J.J DiBenedetto

College junior Sara Barnes thought her life was totally under control. All she had to worry about was her final exams, Christmas shopping, applying to medical school – and what to do about the cute freshman in the next dorm with a crush on her. Everything was going according to plan, until the night she started seeing other people's dreams.

It's bad enough that Sara is learning more than she ever needed to know about her friends and classmates, watching their most secret fantasies whether she wants to or not. Much worse are the other dreams, the ones she sees nearly every night, featuring a strange, terrifying man who commits unspeakable crimes. Now Sara wonders if she's the only witness to a serial killer – and the only one who knows when and where he's going to strike next.

Deception (Transformed Book 1) – Stacy Claflin

What if your whole life was a lie?

Alexis Ferguson thinks she has everything figured out, but has no idea how wrong she is. Set up on a blind date, she meets a gorgeous stranger and feels that she's known him her entire life, but she has never seen him before.

He awakens in her long-forgotten dark memories, and now she must face the one who ordered her death years ago. Will she learn to use her strange new powers in time to save herself? Will she let him help her? Should she trust him?

The Black Parade (Book 1) – Kyoko M

Jordan Amador. 21. New Yorker. Waitress. Mild alcoholic. Murderer.

Two years ago, Jordan accidentally shot and killed a Seer: a person who can see, hear, and talk to ghosts with unfinished business. Her crime came with a hefty price, too. She has two years to help a hundred souls cross over to the afterlife or her soul is bound for hell. Tough break.

As if that weren't bad enough, two days before her deadline a handsome pain-in-the-ass poltergeist named Michael strolls into her life. His soul is the key to her salvation, but the cost just might be more than she can handle. Solving his death puts her right in the crosshairs of Belial: a vain, bloodthirsty archdemon who won't rest until she's his slave. Can she rescue Michael and save her own soul, or will they both be dragged down into the clutches of the eternal black parade?

The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions Book 1) – Dima Zales

Everyone thinks I'm a genius.

Everyone is wrong.

Sure, I finished Harvard at eighteen and now make crazy money at a hedge fund. But that's not because I'm unusually smart or hard-working.

It's because I cheat.

You see, I have a unique ability. I can go outside time into my own personal version of reality—the place I call "the Quiet"—where I can explore my surroundings while the rest of the world stands still.

I thought I was the only one who could do this—until I met her.

My name is Darren, and this is how I learned that I'm a Reader.

##    
Dark Angel  
Witches of Cleopatra Hill  
Book One  
By Chrisinte Pope

##

##

Chapter One

My Aunt Rachel paused at the doorway to my room. "He's here," she announced — unnecessarily, since I'd heard the doorbell just a few minutes earlier.

"Okay," I replied, and didn't bother to keep the reluctance out of my voice. Neither did I bother to turn away from the table where I sat, which functioned as both a computer desk and dressing table. At the moment my laptop was closed. I should have been primping in front of the mirror, but really, what was the point?

Up until that moment my aunt had worn her usual cheery expression. But I saw her mouth compress slightly, even as she gave my jeans, black T-shirt, and black cowboy boots a sideways glance. "Angela, it might help if you at least looked as if you were making an effort."

I lifted my shoulders. "What difference does it make? If we're fated to be together, then he really shouldn't care what I look like, should he?"

"That's not the point — " She broke off, really looking at me this time, instead of my outfit. Voice gentler, she said, "He's nice-looking, this one."

Their looks generally weren't the problem. My aunt knew I hated this ritual, knew how much I hated not being free to make my own choice, and so I got the impression that she quietly filtered out the candidates who were awkward or plain or had acne or whatever. Even so, a depressing number of hopeful young men had passed through our door in the months since I'd turned twenty-one.

Forty-three, actually. The one waiting for me downstairs would make forty-four. That was a hell of a lot of blind dates.

"I'll be down in a minute," I told her.

Another one of those pauses, and then she nodded. But, since she was my Aunt Rachel, she couldn't seem to keep herself from adding, "Just a little lip gloss, dear," before she turned and went back down the stairs, silver bangles jingling, skirt swishing. Unlike me, my aunt dressed in a jumble of multicolored broomstick skirts and ethnic jewelry, alternating from tanks and tees in hot weather to long-sleeved T-shirts and sweaters in the winter. Her attire wasn't really that unusual for this part of the world, which had more than its fair share of New Age practitioners of various persuasions.

The difference between all those New Age types and my aunt — and everyone in my family, actually — was that we really were witches.

Scowling, I opened the little carved box from India that I used to store my meager supply of cosmetics. A tube of soft peach-colored lip gloss stared up at me, but I ignored it and instead took out a tube of Burt's Bees lip balm and applied some of that instead. After all, what was the point of putting on gloss when it was just going to get kissed off in a few minutes anyway?

Rubbing my lips together, I went down to meet the latest candidate.

His back was to me when I entered the living room. All I saw was someone tall, with dark hair, and for a second my heart leapt. Maybe it's finally him....

But then he turned toward me. Dark eyes met mine, and my heart fell, just as it had every other time the candidate was someone tall and dark-haired, but also definitely not the man who had been haunting my dreams for the past five years.

My aunt smiled at the stranger, then at me. Deep down, I had to admire her for being able to summon a real-looking smile after all these disappointments. "Angela, this is Alex Trujillo."

"Hi," I said, and managed a smile of my own. I had a feeling it wasn't quite as believable as my aunt's.

"Hi," he said.

I could tell he was looking at me but trying not to seem as if he was looking at me. By that point I was more or less used to it, even though I didn't like it very much. These encounters never lasted long enough for me to ask what the young men were looking for, precisely, although I had a feeling most of the time they'd been expecting more from the McAllister clan's prima-in-waiting. My friend Sydney had tried to tell me more than once that I could be beautiful if I just worked at it a little, which made no sense to me. Either you were beautiful, or you weren't.

Judging by the studiously neutral expression on this Alex Trujillo's face, I guessed he thought I fell in the second category.

"Well, I'll leave you two to get acquainted," my aunt said, and disappeared down the hall that led to the kitchen. Some truly amazing smells were drifting through the hallway and into the living room.

Poor Aunt Rachel. Every time we went through this whole song and dance, she had a big meal going, just in case this candidate would turn out to be the one and so would need to stay for dinner. Good thing her "friend" Tobias came by regularly to eat with us, or there would've been a heck of a lot of roasts and chili and tamales piling up in the freezer.

You'd think after doing this forty-three times, I'd be a little better at it. I cleared my throat and said, "So, um, Alex...where are you from?"

The first five or six times I'd tried poking around on Facebook and using Google to dig up as much background information about the candidate as possible, wanting to be forearmed. Then I realized if I already knew everything about the guy, we wouldn't have anything to talk about. So these days I just went in blind and hoped for the best.

Alex shifted his weight from one foot to the other. With the exception of my cowboy boots — he was wearing black Chucks — we were dressed a lot alike, both in jeans and black T-shirts. His skin was warm olive, and Aunt Rachel was right...he was good-looking. If it weren't all so awkward and strange, I wouldn't have minded kissing him, even if he wasn't the man of my dreams.

Literally.

"Tucson," he said at last.

Which meant, despite his last name, that he was part of the de la Paz clan. Maya de la Paz was the prima of that clan, which counted both Tucson and Phoenix as part of their territory. Compared to that, we McAllisters, with our little corner of northern Arizona, were pretty small potatoes. This was the first time a de la Paz had been offered as a candidate, and I wondered why they'd bothered at this point. Alex had to be a more fringe relation...or maybe not. The McAllister clan was not as powerful as the de la Pazes, but then again, I wasn't just any witch.

I was the next prima.

"So you're one of the de la Pazes?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. "And Maya de la Paz is your...?"

"Grandmother," he supplied at once.

A direct relation, then. Interesting. Probably I should have known that, but trying to keep track of all the twigs and branches in my own family tree was work enough without delving into those of the other clans. Aunt Rachel reveled in that sort of thing, and kept detailed lists and charts. Handy, I supposed, when so many in a clan were related to one another in some way.

Not that witches and warlocks couldn't marry outside their clans, of course. It was good to bring in fresh blood — or else I wouldn't have Alex Trujillo standing in front of me right now — but there were still a lot of third and fourth cousins married to one another even so. And now that I thought about it, I seemed to recall a McAllister marrying into the de la Paz clan a few generations back, so Alex and I still might be related, if only tangentially.

But I knew I was letting my thoughts wander so I wouldn't have to think about the task at hand. This would be a lot easier if we could both share a drink or two first and get a little tipsy, let our guards down a bit. Custom dictated, however, that we go into this clear-headed and wide-eyed. Otherwise, our reactions could be clouded by the alcohol, and that wouldn't do at all.

"So she's okay with this?" I asked. Probably not all that tactful, but I couldn't think of anything else to say.

A lift of the shoulders. Nice, broad shoulders. Although our conversation was limping along, I couldn't help wishing this encounter might have a different conclusion. He really was awfully good-looking....

"Of course," he said immediately. "It's a big deal, to be the consort of the prima. Even from a clan — " He broke off then, as if he'd just realized he was about to stick one of those size-twelve Converse high-tops right in his mouth.

"Even from a piddly little clan like the McAllisters that lives in the middle of nowhere, right?"

"I didn't mean that."

I was pretty sure he did. I let it go, though. Kissing a next-to-perfect stranger was hard enough without getting into an argument beforehand. "It's okay," I said. "I know we're not much compared to the de la Pazes. But we like it that way."

Alex nodded. "It is pretty cool up here. I've never been to Jerome before." His dark eyes fastened on mine, and he moved a few steps closer. A new warmth in his expression made an excited little shiver go down my spine, even though I knew this wasn't going to end the way he wanted it to. "I think I could get used to it up here."

Another step, and another, and then he was standing right in front of me. He smelled good, too, of some citrusy aftershave or cologne, something fresh and clean.

"You could?" I managed.

"Yes," he replied, then reached up and took my face in his hands, fingers warm and strong against my cheeks. He pressed his lips against mine, and...

...and nothing.

I'd known that was what would happen, but even so a sharp wave of disappointment washed over me. It didn't matter that he was gorgeous and smelled good and seemed more or less friendly. Whatever it was — whatever that spark was that should flare into a raging fire once a prima kissed her intended consort — well, it just wasn't there. He wasn't the one.

For a second or two he continued to kiss me, as if he thought I was on a delayed-reaction fuse or something. But he could kiss me for the next ten years, and it wouldn't make a speck of difference.

Gently as I could, I pulled away. I didn't say anything at first. Then, "I'm sorry, Alex."

His dark brows pulled down as he frowned, but then he gave a philosophical lift of the shoulders and stepped back a little. "My abuela warned me that this wasn't a sure thing."

I forced a chuckle. "Oh, she did?"

"Angela, you're sort of legendary. Forty-three candidates — forty-four now, I guess — and not one suited you?"

"It's not as if I have a choice — "

"Oh, I know." To my surprise, he bent down and kissed me again, only this time on the cheek. "It's sort of like buying a lottery ticket for us candidates, I guess. We all know the odds aren't very good, but we all hope that we might be the one." He grinned, a flash of white teeth, and said, "Hasta luego, Angela." Then he went out the door that led to the hall, and from there to the front door.

Well, technically, it was the back door, as our house was a two-story apartment above my aunt's store, and so the private entrance was off the alley and not the main street, but still. Either way, he was gone. Adios, number forty-four.

I had no idea who number forty-five was going to be, but I had a feeling he couldn't possibly be as cute as Alex Trujillo.

Aunt Rachel appeared a minute or so later, wooden spoon dangling from her hand. "No?" she asked, in weary but unsurprised tones.

"Nope," I replied. It bothered me that it still hurt so much. By this point, shouldn't I have gotten numb to the whole process?

But I hadn't. Each time the hope would surge, even though my mind always told me the new candidate couldn't be the one, because he wasn't him.

Since she was my Aunt Rachel, she didn't sigh. Maybe she allowed herself the smallest twitch of her mouth, or lowering of her eyebrows, but that was all. She gave tilted her head to one side, appearing to consider my expression. "There's still time, Angela. No need to worry."

"Who's worried?" Before she could reply, I added, "I'm going upstairs. Unless you need me to help with dinner?" That was the last thing I felt like doing at the moment. Even so, I didn't hesitate to ask, since that was what I was expected to do.

I'd gotten really good at doing that, what was expected of me.

My aunt shook her head. "No, sweetie, I'm fine. You take some time for yourself."

I murmured a thank-you and fled upstairs. Most days my room felt like a refuge, a place I could go to escape the weight of all those expectations. Today, though, it felt more like a cage, even with the breathtaking view that looked out over my hillside town, perched on Cleopatra Hill, and down into the Verde Valley, past the red rocks of Sedona, and all the way to....

It was a clear, cool day in mid-October, with visibility of fifty miles and more. Much more, actually, as I could see Humphreys Peak in Flagstaff, nearly a hundred miles away. On days like this, it seemed as if I could almost reach out and touch it...if I were crazy enough to do such a thing. Flagstaff was forbidden territory.

Flagstaff was where the Wilcox clan held sway.

I didn't have any time to think about the Wilcoxes, though, or their myriad sins, because right then my cell phone rang. For a second or two I considered ignoring it, even as I wished we were back in the summer's monsoon season, when my cell phone tended to crap out any time we had a decent thunderstorm. At least when that happened I didn't have to make a conscious decision to avoid looking at the caller ID so I could let it roll over into voicemail without feeling guilty.

But since I had a fairly good idea of who it was even without glancing at the display, and since I knew she'd only keep calling until I picked up, I decided to forestall the inevitable. After grabbing the phone, I went and settled on my bed. I knew this was probably going to take awhile.

"Hi, Sydney."

No preamble, just a drawn-out, "Sooooooo?"

"So nothing," I replied, and kicked off one, then the other of my cowboy boots. I might have been twenty-one, legally an adult and able to drink and vote, not to mention being the clan's next prima, but Aunt Rachel would still give me hell if I put my boots on the expensive embroidered duvet cover she'd gotten me for my birthday last year.

A groan. "Not again!"

"Yes, again." I wiggled my toes, and wished I'd grabbed a glass of water or iced tea from the kitchen before I came upstairs.

"Was he cute?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Was he?"

I knew she'd keep asking until I told her everything. "Yes, he was cute. But it doesn't matter, because he wasn't — "

"Yeah, I know. The mystery man. The man of your dreams. The one beside whom all others pale. The — "

"Okay, I get it." Sometimes I really wished I'd never told Sydney about him. But weren't you supposed to be able to tell your best friend everything?

She knew about me...knew about the McAllisters. Her family had lived in Cottonwood almost as long as the McAllisters had been in Jerome, and they were some of the few whom we trusted with our secrets. Long-timers around here, they knew about my clan, about its traditions...its powers. Well, its purported powers, anyway. There hadn't been a public display for more than eighty years, not since the time Henry McAllister caught a recently laid-off miner attempting to steal the contents of his cash register. The miscreant was held upside down, suspended in midair, until the sheriff came to claim him. Spectacular, sure, but the clan elders made it clear that such exhibitions of power would not be tolerated.

Fly low and avoid the radar — that's our motto. Attracting attention was not a good thing. And so, I more or less confided in Sydney, knowing that she came from people who knew how to keep their mouths shut. In her case, this was something of a miracle, since she seemed able to rattle on at length about pretty much any other topic.

"Who'd believe me anyway?" she'd asked once, and I'd had to shrug and smile. This part of the world had a high-per-capita instance of psychics, witches, energy healers, you name it. Calling us out as witches would have earned a yawn at best. Most people didn't realize that there were witches...and then there were witches.

"So what now?" she asked. "Does your aunt have the next one lined up yet?"

"I don't think so. I mean, how many guys can there be who are my age and from a suitable clan? She's already had to cast pretty far afield." As far as California, and Oregon, and Colorado. Not New Mexico, though. The clans there were connected with the Wilcoxes. I shivered, then added, "I'm sure she'll be on the phone tomorrow, though, scraping the bottom of the barrel."

A little pause. "Well, since you're not getting bonded to your soulmate after all, you want to go to Main Stage with me tomorrow night? I've heard the band is supposed to be pretty good."

"Who's playing?"

I could almost see her shrug. "I don't know their name. Does it matter, as long as it gets you out of the house?"

"True that." It would be good to get out. And Cottonwood was safe territory. I didn't have to worry about anything strange happening down in Cottonwood. "Dinner first?"

"Drinks and dinner. They have got the cutest new guy working at the Fire Mountain tasting rooms...."

Envy surged through me. How I wished I could go out and flirt and look at good-looking guys, maybe give my phone number to someone who seemed particularly interesting. That was never going to happen, though. I was the next prima of the McAllisters. I was supposed to meet my soulmate, get married, and use my powers for good, an agenda that didn't exactly lend itself to casual hook-ups. As usual, I'd have to settle for living vicariously through Sydney.

"Okay." I knew arguing was pointless. She might not be a witch, but Sydney did have an almost magical talent for getting her way.

"Real clothes," she said in warning tones. "Girl clothes."

"Yas'm," I replied. "I'll meet you in old town at...?"

"Seven. Don't be late." She hung up then, and I hit the "end" button on my phone and tossed it onto the coverlet.

I doubted that a girls' night out would magically heal all my woes, but I figured I had to start somewhere.

Dinner that night, though excellent, was more than a little subdued. I guess it helped that Tobias was there; he chatted with Aunt Rachel about preparations for the upcoming Halloween festivities — Halloween was a big deal in Jerome — had a second and even a third helping of ranchero beef and rice and cowboy beans, and generally acted as if nothing untoward had happened earlier that afternoon.

I did like Tobias; he was the latest in a long string of my aunt's "friends," although since the two of them had been seeing each other for almost four years now, I'd begun to wonder if they had plans to make things more formal. Probably not; Aunt Rachel had always said she'd never get married, that she was too set in her ways to disrupt her life by having a man underfoot. There'd never been the barest trace of accusation or even regret in her tone when she made those comments, but I still couldn't prevent the stir of guilt that went through me whenever I heard them. Would she have felt that way if she hadn't gotten stuck with me from almost the time I was born?

The subject of my mother didn't come up much...or rather, Aunt Rachel gently headed me off at the pass whenever I tried to go down that road. No one came out and said it directly, but it was pretty clear to me that my mother was supposed to be the next prima, and she just couldn't handle the pressure. Took off about a month after her twenty-first birthday, after going through a couple of candidates who obviously didn't appeal to her. No word, no nothing, until she showed up a year later with a two-month-old daughter in her arms.

If there had been recriminations, I wasn't told of them. No, my aunt had taken her wayward sister and her infant daughter back into the house as if nothing had happened. This I heard from my Great-Aunt Ruby, the current prima, who had apparently taken pity on me and given me a few bare facts. Not many, but she claimed she didn't have a lot she could tell me. My mother hadn't said anything about my father, except that he was a "civilian," as we liked to refer to those not in the witch clans. She said briefly that she'd gone to California, that she'd wanted to see the ocean, and that was the end of her revelations.

And then she'd left Aunt Rachel watching me one night, and had gone off to party and drink at the Spirit Room bar down the street, and ridden away on the back of some guy's Harley after they'd had a few too many beers and whiskey shots. The winding two-lane road up to Jerome could be icy and treacherous in February, and they had crashed. Neither of them had been wearing a helmet.

I didn't really mourn her. How could I? I'd never even known her. All I had was a few photographs in one of Aunt Rachel's albums. Maybe I looked a little like my mother — same oval face, same full mouth and arched eyebrows. My hair was darker, though, my skin paler. Did I resemble my father at all? Impossible to say.

"...going to the Halloween dance?" my aunt was saying.

I blinked. "What?"

She smiled, then repeated, "Are you and Sydney going to the Halloween dance?"

"I think so. That is, we've talked about it. She's excited, since this is the first year we'll be able to go."

Every year on the Saturday closest to Halloween, a benefit dance was held at Lawrence Hall here in Jerome. The gathering was strictly twenty-one and over, and so neither Sydney nor I had been able to go before this year. Even being prima-in-waiting wasn't enough to get the organizers to break that rule. In the past I'd helped with the decorating, partly because it gave me a chance to get a peek at what it might be like to actually attend, and partly because, as the next prima, I was sort of expected to pitch in and help out.

True, Sydney was more excited about the whole thing than I was, but I suppose part of that was simply realizing that I'd thought I would have met my soulmate by now, and would have someone to go with besides Sydney. It would still be fun. I'd heard great things about the dance at what we locals referred to as "Spook Hall."

More on the "spooks" later.

"It's a great party," Tobias said. "I keep trying to get your aunt to go, but she keeps trying to fob me off with nonsense about it being for the kids or something. Which is b.s., and you know it, Rachel. At least half that crowd is over forty."

She shot him a mock-irritated glare and shook her head. "We can discuss that later. I don't even know what I'd wear."

"Well, you've got two weeks to figure it out," I told her, and helped myself to some more sweet potatoes.

"I vote for a cheerleader costume," Tobias put in with a wink.

"Are you kidding? With these thighs?"

"I happen to like your thighs."

I cleared my throat. "Um, I'm trying to eat over here."

They both laughed, and Aunt Rachel tipped a bit more cabernet into my wine glass. Another part of being a grown-up, I supposed. Oh, she'd let me taste wine before, saying it couldn't hurt for me to familiarize myself with the selections from the local wineries, since they were such a big part of the local culture. However, it wasn't until I actually turned twenty-one that she got formal about it and let me have my own glass with dinner. A stickler for protocol, that was my aunt.

But the silly banter did what I was sure my aunt intended it to do — get my mind off Mr. Number Forty-Four, and thinking about something fun to look toward, rather than the way the calendar was inexorably moving toward December and my twenty-second birthday. Well, all right, the conversation got my mind off that for a few minutes.

Later, though, as I sat in front of my mirror and brushed out my hair, all the worries and doubts began to seep back in. No, the world wouldn't end if I weren't safely paired off with my soulmate before December twenty-first, but it wouldn't be good, either. It had happened a few times in the past, for various reasons, although never to the McAllisters. A prima who entered her twenty-second year without a consort found her powers greatly reduced.

Aunt Rachel had never been able to explain that very well to me, except to say that there was something about the bond a prima and her consort shared that strengthened the magic within her, enhanced it somehow.

"And what happens if the prima is gay?" I'd asked, thinking the whole setup seemed positively medieval. Maybe it was. We didn't know for certain how far back some of these traditions went, only that we'd been following them for generations, had brought them over to America when the first group of McAllister witches emigrated here from Scotland sometime in the late eighteenth century.

My aunt had shot me an irritated look. "I have no idea. It's never happened before. Not that I've heard of, anyway."

Something in her tone told me I should drop it, so I did. Not that I was gay...I was inexperienced, but I knew who I was attracted to, and it definitely wasn't other girls. But it had seemed a logical enough question to ask.

I'd also wondered why, since my mother had blown her chance at being prima, someone else in her age group hadn't become the heir apparent...even her own sister. That was a question I didn't dare ask Aunt Rachel, but I'd broached the subject to other relatives, such as my cousin Rosemary, and she'd only waved a vague hand in the air and said, "Oh, there is only ever one in a generation. That's why it's so important to keep you safe."

And when I pressed as to what would happen if there was no one to inherit, she flashed me a look of genuine horror and shook her head, saying, "It would be the end of the clan."

I must have let out a shocked sound, because she hurried to add, "But that will never happen to us, Angela. You are here, and you will find your consort and inherit Aunt Ruby's powers when the time comes. Everything will be fine."

At the moment, I wasn't sure if everything was really going to be fine. While we certainly didn't indulge in pyrotechnic magic battles — that whole "fly low and avoid the radar" thing — it still wasn't good for a clan to have a weak prima. That made the clan vulnerable to more subtle forms of attack. Such attacks had happened before, in other clans, and there was no reason to think the McAllisters would be immune if the worst happened and I turned twenty-two before making that oh-so-necessary bond with my consort.

I couldn't let that happen. What was wrong with me, that not one of the more-or-less eligible young men I'd met had lit that spark in me, had made me know then and there that I'd met the person I'd spend the rest of my life with?

Aunt Rachel kept insisting there was nothing wrong, that it would all work out in the end, but I wasn't so sure. Only two months to go, and I was still as single as I'd been on my twenty-first birthday.

And the clock kept ticking down. I might have magic running through my veins, but no witch in the world could stop the inexorable march of time.

Chapter Two

Of course I dreamed of him that night.

His face was never distinct enough that I would be able to pick him out of a lineup. Tall, yes, and with sooty dark hair, almost black, longish and pushed back from his brow. Eyes green, but not my brilliant emerald, a shade that invariably had at least one person a week asking me if I wore contacts. No one else in my family had eyes that shade. A gift from my unknown father? Maybe. But the stranger's eyes were darker and cloudier, like deep nephrite jade, or the layered and shifting hues of moss agate.

We never interacted in these dreams. I would see him standing at the end of the street, or across a crowded room. In my dream I would begin to run toward him, but it was as if my feet were mired in quicksand and I couldn't move. Or suddenly the street would impossibly lengthen so it seemed as if a mile separated us instead of only a few yards. Either way, I could never reach him, could never get close enough to see his face clearly.

This time I was running, pounding down Main Street, in a spot as familiar to me as my own face. He stood at the far end of the road, just before it curved past the fire station, his profile to me. And he didn't move, actually seemed to be getting closer...and then from the clear sky snow started to drift down, blanketing the pavement, covering everything in a blurry veil of white. I slipped and fell to my knees, wincing in pain, and began to slide down the street away from him, moving faster and faster, screaming, knowing the ice would kill me just as it had killed my mother.

I sat up in bed, cold sweat gluing my T-shirt to my body, hands trembling as I grasped the covers and pulled them closer to me, trying to erase some of the chill of that nightmare. That's what this one really had been, the first of the dreams I could call a nightmare. The others had been frustrating, had made me wake almost shaking with need, but not like this.

What had changed?

Shivering, I got out of bed and went to the little altar I had set up on top of my bookcase. Time to light the white candle, to summon the protection of the light. Since no one was watching me, I didn't bother with matches, but only touched the tip of my finger to the wick. "Spirits of air and light, I summon you," I murmured, and the candle instantly came to life, a warm glow filling the room and sending the shadows away, bringing with it the comforting scent of vanilla. Somehow that didn't seem to be enough, however, and I grasped the chunk of iron pyrite that sat on the altar, holding it, allowing its protective influence to surround me and fill me, and keep me from harm.

That was a little better. I still felt cold, though, so I shoved the pyrite in the pocket of my yoga pants, then went to my dresser and pulled out a beat-up old sweatshirt with the legend "Jerome, the Wickedest Town in the West" written on it. I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and made myself take a deep, calming breath. Nothing here could harm me, especially not the lingering dregs of nightmare. Our property, and indeed Jerome itself, was ringed with circles of quartz, charged with powers of protection during rituals shared by all the members of the clan. No one who intended me any harm could intrude here.

That was one of the reasons my world was so narrowly focused. Here in Jerome I was safe, and in Cottonwood down the hill as well, although that town was too large to have the protective circles built there. But it was still within our sphere of influence, and negative forces would have a difficult time gaining a foothold there. The farther afield I went, the more problematic the situation, although Prescott and Payson were still more or less safe as well. Even so, I never went to either of those towns unless accompanied by my aunt, and on longer journeys, such as our semi-annual trips to Phoenix to stock up on things we simply couldn't get locally, it wasn't just Aunt Rachel who came along, but Tobias and Margot Emory, the youngest of the clan elders and the one best-suited to handle a long drive.

They weren't being unnecessarily paranoid. Years and years ago, when Great-Aunt Ruby was the same age I was now, a prima-in-waiting on the cusp of coming into the fullness of her powers, the Wilcoxes had tried to kidnap her, to have her bond with their own primus. Such a pairing would have made the Wilcox clan immeasurably powerful...if it had worked. She'd sensed their ill intentions and sent out a warning. This had happened on Samhain Eve all those years ago, and we thought maybe the Wilcoxes had chosen that day because of the dark power that surged around Samhain. Thank the Goddess they hadn't been successful.

Things had been more or less quiet since then, but we'd never let down our guard. Not when the Wilcoxes were involved.

Another shiver passed over me, and I reached into my pocket and wrapped my fingers around the chunk of iron pyrite. A small tingle went up my arm, as if the stone was telling me that it was here for me, was lending its powers of defense to those of the quartz crystals embedded in the very foundation of the building, to the prayers of protection my aunt offered up every evening to the Goddess and the Triple God and all the smaller, yet still powerful, entities who inhabited the very trees and stones and streams of our mountain town.

I had to hope it would be enough.

Fridays were always fairly busy in Jerome. People came to spend a long weekend, or drove in from neighboring towns to shop and eat and sightsee. So I knew that sitting in my room and brooding over my failure with Mr. Number Forty-Four was not an option. Probably just as well. At least by working in the store I could keep myself occupied until it was time to go out with Sydney.

The shop had once been a general store, but over the last fifteen years my aunt had transformed it into an eclectic space filled with Jerome-related memorabilia, local pottery and baskets, some antiques, books, music, and jewelry. My jewelry, to be exact.

I was about twelve when I first started playing around with stones and settings. It was easy enough to pick up those sorts of things in Jerome, a place inhabited by artists and artisans. Luis Sandoval, a local designer, though not a member of the clan, began to show me how to work with metal — how to use a soldering torch, to set stones, to twist pieces of delicate wire to make intricate and unique settings. Once I'd mastered those skills, I began to experiment with creating pieces based on the resonances of the stones they contained, of making them harmonious as well as beautiful. After that I also began to make talismans, some of which were purchased by tourists who had no idea of their real power, only that they were somehow attracted to them.

Two or three days a week I would work in my studio — well, a converted spare bedroom — and create new pieces to sell in the shop. Friday through Sunday I helped out behind the counter. Working weekends all the time wasn't much fun, but I owed my aunt that much. Besides, the shop closed at six unless there was a special event going on that would keep people around later at night, so it wasn't as if being there Saturdays and Sundays seriously impinged on my social life.

Not that I really had much of a social life.

That Friday was especially busy. October in our part of the world was generally mild and lovely, a good time to sightsee and go antiquing and visit the wineries. I didn't have much of a chance to chat with my aunt that day, which maybe was just as well. Telling her about a new and somehow frightening twist in my dreams of the mystery man would only make her that much more worried. And what could she do about it? She was a powerful witch in her own right, and had kept me safe for more than twenty years, but even she didn't have the ability to prevent the dreams from forming.

So I smiled at the tourists, and pulled earrings and pendants and the odd talisman out of the showcases as requested, then escaped at noon to grab some lunch. At twelve-thirty my aunt went to get some lunch, then came back at one, just as we always did. Something in her features seemed troubled, as if she'd seen worry surface in my expression, despite my attempts to act as if everything was fine. Luckily, she didn't ask any questions. Maybe she would later; the store was way too public to be discussing anything remotely sensitive, and she knew it.

It seemed that she didn't want to do anything to upset my evening out with Sydney, though. We went home, made a few comments about it being a good day, and then she headed to her own room to primp a little before Tobias showed up to take her to dinner. That was their own ritual — she might cook for him the rest of the week, but on Friday nights he always took her out. Most of the time they stayed right here in Jerome, although occasionally they'd head down into Cottonwood or even Sedona if they wanted something different.

I changed out of my T-shirt and Levi's into a tighter pair of jeans and a slinky dark green top that Sydney had picked out for me as a birthday present last year. My footwear consisted of cowboy boots and work boots for the winter and flip-flops for the summer, so I had to make do with cowboy boots, but at least they were pointy and shiny black and looked good with the jeans tucked into them. Some turquoise jewelry, some lip gloss, and I had to admit I didn't look half bad. Not runway-model material, that was for sure, but going out on the town in Cottonwood wasn't quite the same thing as going out in New York or L.A.

Or so I supposed. It wasn't as if I'd actually been to either of those places, and I guessed I never would.

"I'm leaving," I called out as I descended the stairs. "Taking the Jeep!"

"Don't be too late," was her reply, but she didn't emerge from her room.

Considering the shows at Main Stage didn't even start until nine-thirty, that was a silly request, but I thought I knew what she was trying to say. Be careful, be vigilant, don't get a wild hair about driving off to Sedona or anywhere except Cottonwood or maybe Clarkdale.

Like I would. It might have been tempting, but I knew better than to go outside the immediate area without backup. That would change once I had found my consort, but until then my world would have to remain as closely guarded and circumscribed as that of the most sheltered nunnery-raised medieval princess.

I went out the back door to the carport where the Jeep waited. My aunt and I shared it, since it was silly to have two cars when we walked to work and only went down the hill for groceries about once a week. Even so, I always experienced a fleeting sense of freedom when I was able to get away alone, to drive down the winding highway into Cottonwood, even if it was only to get gas or pick up some extra toilet paper or whatever.

The sun had gone down behind Mingus Mountain by the time I pulled into an open space on Main Street in the old-town section of Cottonwood. There weren't too many of those parking spaces left; the tasting rooms stayed open later on Fridays and Saturdays than they did the rest of the week.

I found Sydney leaning up against the bar in the Fire Mountain Winery tasting room, a position guaranteed to give Anthony, the object of her interest, a really good look at her cleavage. It was working, too; I noticed how he kept having to jerk his eyes upward toward her face. Just past her were a couple in their thirties with a selection of the winery's offerings in front of them. The woman didn't look too thrilled with Sydney or Anthony at the moment, and I hoped Sydney's flirting wouldn't get him in trouble with his manager.

"Hey, chica," she said, and waved for me to come stand next to her at the bar. "Nice top."

"Yes, it is," I said coolly, and turned toward Anthony. "Hi, Anthony — a glass of the Fire, please."

"You got it," he replied, clearly glad to have something to distract him from Sydney's rack.

"You trying to get that boy fired?" I asked in an undertone, and she just grinned.

"Of course not. I'm just trying to get him to ask me out."

"You know, you could ask him."

"Hell, no. I'm too old-fashioned for that."

Since I couldn't really think of an adequate retort, I settled for sending her a disbelieving stare, at which she only smiled more broadly.

Anthony came back with my glass of wine, giving me the perfect opening. "Hey, Anthony," I began.

"Yes?"

"What time do you get off work? Because Sydney and I are going over to Main Stage after dinner tonight. Want to come hang out?"

Sydney raised her eyebrows and gave me her best "oh, no, you didn't" stare, even as Anthony replied, "We close at nine, so I should be able to make it by nine-thirty."

"Perfect," I said. "Meet us there?"

"Sure." He was trying hard to sound casual, but I could tell he was looking forward to it.

At that moment the man from the couple next to Sydney waved Anthony over, so he was spared having to make any other comment.

"What the hell?" Sydney whispered fiercely.

"Well, he's too shy to make the first move, and you're just being stupid with that whole 'old-fashioned' thing, so I took care of it for you."

"Oh, really? And what if he thinks he's going there to meet you and not me?"

"He isn't," I told her. "He didn't look at my chest once."

She shook her head. "You're impossible."

It was my turn to grin. "Well, I try to be."

We went out for pizza at Bocce after that, and had a few more glasses of wine. Well, Sydney did; I nursed one all through dinner, knowing we'd have more once we were at Main Stage.

"I figured out the perfect costume for you for the dance," she announced midway through demolishing a piece of pesto chicken pizza.

"What is it?" I asked in guarded tones. Visions of the cheerleader costume Tobias had suggested to Aunt Rachel danced in my head.

Either Sydney didn't pick up on the wariness in my voice or, more likely, she simply decided to ignore it. "You know how my friend Madison does all that crazy ballroom dance stuff? Well, she can only wear her costumes once or twice, and then she usually sells them on eBay to get rid of them. But she said I could have a couple if I wanted."

"Aren't those things really skimpy?"

Sydney let out a sigh. "Jesus, Angela, you're worse about that stuff than Melanie Baxter, and she's Mormon."

Maybe that was true, but I just didn't feel comfortable letting it all hang out, as it were. Talk about old-fashioned, but there it was. Still, I knew Sydney was trying to help me out, so I asked, "Okay, what are the costumes?"

"I'll take the skimpy one. I think she used it for a rhumba or something, but since it has sparkly fringe all over it, I think I can turn it into a flapper dress. But the other one she wore when she was dancing a pass double, or paso...paso...."

"Paso doble," I supplied. She shot me a look of surprise, and I added, "Strictly Ballroom is one of Aunt Rachel's favorite movies."

"Oh. Okay, so anyway, it looks like a Spanish flamenco dancer's dress or something. It's long. Yes, there's probably some boobage involved, but that's historically accurate, isn't it?"

Maybe. I didn't know for sure, since historical costume was sort of outside my field of expertise. I could ask Maisie about it, I supposed. Maisie was the "spook" of Spook Hall, one of Jerome's most famous ghosts. She didn't like to come out when the tourists were around, but Monday mornings were pretty quiet in Jerome, so I could talk to her then.

I just lifted my shoulders, so Sydney plowed ahead. "And we're all more or less around the same size, so it'll work out perfect. You'll need better shoes, though," she added, with a dark glance toward the cowboy boots hidden under our table.

"I'll figure out something," I said, making a mental note to dig through Aunt Rachel's collection to see if she had anything that would work. It wasn't that I couldn't afford to get myself some shoes for the occasion...more that I really didn't see the point for something I'd only wear once. Jerome's uneven streets and steep hillsides made most "girly" shoes even less practical than usual.

She nodded, and we went on to talk about her cosmetology course — she'd be finishing in the spring — and whether she should get her own place once she was working full-time, or whether she should hang on at her parents' house and save up for a while first. This whole conversation made me a little sad, partly because I was limping my way through an online bachelor's degree in communications at the University of Phoenix and not enjoying it very much, and partly because Sydney, for all her outward craziness, had a pretty clear plan for what she wanted to do with her life. Finish her certificate, get some experience at a local salon, and then open her own place, preferably in much ritzier Sedona, where she could earn a lot more.

Whereas I...well, I couldn't even do the one thing that was expected of me, and get a consort in place before my next birthday.

I must have let out a sigh, because she stopped abruptly and laid an encouraging hand on my arm. "It will be fine," she said. "I know you're bummed because it didn't work out with this last guy. But you know, I've been thinking about it, and maybe you guys have been going about this all wrong."

"How so?"

"Well, your aunt is doing all this work finding guys from other clans or whatever, but maybe that's not where you should be looking. Maybe the answer has been under your nose all this time."

"If you're suggesting Adam — " I began in warning tones, and she shook her head at once.

"I'm not stupid. Of course I know he isn't the one, or the guy, or whatever you call him."

"The consort," I said wearily. Stupid name, really. Made me sound like the Queen of England or something instead of some girl from Jerome, Arizona. Anyway, Adam McAllister was my third cousin once removed. Or maybe it was twice removed. I could never keep that stuff straight. He was two years older than I, and had been convinced from the time he was seventeen and I was fifteen that we should be together, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. That is, I wasn't attracted to him, and even if I were, it didn't matter, because he'd goaded me into a "test kiss" not long after my eighteenth birthday, and absolutely nothing happened. Definitely not consort material.

"Right, the consort." Sydney finished off the rest of the tempranillo in her glass and looked wistful for a second or two, then perked up, as if realizing more would be on the way once we got to Main Street. "Anyway, you've been hiding yourself away...barely even talked to a guy during high school...just because you thought this mythical person was going to show up and put the glass slipper on your foot or something. But maybe he's actually right here in Cottonwood!"

"I doubt it," I replied. "The prima almost always marries someone from her own clan, or at least a clan her own is connected to by marriage or treaty. They don't go around marrying...." I trailed off; I didn't want to insult her by calling anyone not in one of the witch clans a "civilian."

"Normal people?" she finished for me. "But you said 'almost always.' So there've been exceptions, right?"

"A few. But it doesn't happen very often."

"It doesn't have to happen often, just now. So maybe that's why you haven't met him, because you've been looking in all the wrong places."

It didn't sound right, but I didn't know for sure that she was wrong, either. And at this point I was willing to try just about anything. The regular process sure wasn't working for me.

"Okay," I said, and finished my wine as well. "I'll give it a try. Let's go to Main Stage and see if we can find my Prince Charming."

At first glance, Main Stage seemed about the last place where I would bump into the man of my dreams. Not that there was anything wrong with the club itself; it was actually pretty classy inside, with its dark walls and low couches and tall vases filled with tree branches accented with white fairy lights. It was definitely not a crummy cowboy honky-tonk or anything like that. But face it, with a population of barely 12,000 people, Cottonwood didn't exactly boast a large pool of possible candidates.

Even so, I couldn't help scanning the crowd there, trying to see if there was anyone who remotely fit the bill of prospective future consort. Not anything too promising at the moment; I saw a few hipster-looking guys nursing cheap beers, and the requisite number of barflies sitting at the counter. You'd think they were too old for a place like this, but I supposed Main Stage was just another stop on their tour of the local watering holes.

I let out a sigh, and Sydney poked me in the arm. "Oh, come on — the band doesn't start for another twenty minutes, and I bet that's when people will really start showing up. Let me buy you a drink."

"You don't have to do that — "

"I know I don't have to. I want to. You can buy the next round if you want."

"All right," I replied, and followed her over to the bar.

Of course the men sitting there gave her the hairy eyeball, despite most of them being old enough to be her father. She ignored them, and asked the bartender for a couple of glasses of wine. Usually when we went out, Sydney stuck to mixed drinks, but since we'd already had wine with dinner, she appeared to be playing it safe. I had a feeling she didn't want to repeat the experience of her own twenty-first birthday, when she'd mixed everything but the kitchen sink and then spent half the night throwing up all those mojitos and martinis and beers and tequila shots.

"Here," she said, and handed me a glass. "I see a free table over there — let's snag it before it gets too crowded in here."

I nodded and headed for the table in question. It had four chairs around it, which I guessed we didn't need. I draped my purse's strap over the empty seat next to the one I took, and Sydney sat down next to me.

"To fate," she said, and lifted her glass.

"To fate," I repeated, although I wasn't sure if fate had been particularly friendly to me lately. Still, I supposed it never hurt to offer a libation to the gods and hope they might be listening.

The wine wasn't as good as what we'd had with dinner, but it would do. At the rate Sydney was gulping hers, she'd be done before I got halfway through my own glass.

"Hey, there's Anthony!" She set down her wine and started waving. "Anthony! Over here!"

So much for her irritation at me inviting him along. I looked where she was waving and saw that Anthony wasn't alone, that he had someone else with him, a guy around my age, maybe a few years older.

Tall...dark-haired.... I couldn't see the color of his eyes because of the dim lighting in the building, but even so my heart began to beat a little faster. No way it could be this easy....

"Hi," Anthony said as he approached the table. "This is Perry. I figured you wouldn't mind if I brought a friend, so we wouldn't turn out lopsided."

"No, that's great," Sydney said at once, giving me a significant look. "I'm Sydney, and this is Angela. Hi."

"Hi," Perry said, his gaze shifting toward me.

I found my voice. "Hi," I replied. "Um, let me get that purse off that chair — "

"It's cool," he said. "Looks like you two have already got your drinks, so my man Anthony and I'll go get our own and be back in a few."

"Okay," Sydney and I said together, and the guys grinned and then headed off toward the bar.

Once they were gone, she turned to me. "Oh. My. God. It's like he was served up on a platter for you."

It sort of felt that way. "He seems nice," I said cautiously.

"'He seems nice.' For fuck's sake, Angela, he is totally hot!" She tossed a lock of perfectly streaked dark blonde hair back over her shoulder. "I'm kind of jealous."

"Anthony is very cute, too," I pointed out. Most of the people who worked at Fire Mountain Wines were Native American, and so was Anthony, although I didn't know which one of the local tribes he was from. Yavapai, maybe.

"Oh, I know." She drank some wine. "You know me...I'm always distracted by the new and shiny."

"Well, I'd say Anthony falls in that category, considering you haven't even gone out with him yet. Give him a little time before you dump him and break his heart."

"I would not — " she began fiercely, but had to stop as the two guys approached. They were both carrying bottles of beer, but a local brew from Oak Creek Brewery in Sedona, not the cheap stuff. I had to approve.

Perry and Anthony sat down, and although I was feeling sort of awkward and tongue-tied, not sure what I should say, they both started talking about the band, how they'd gone to high school with the drummer. As I'd guessed, they were local but a several years older than Sydney and I. Maybe I should've remembered them from school, but, as Sydney had pointed out, I'd kept my head down through high school and had barely talked to guys in my own class, let alone an exalted upperclassman. And although she'd been far more popular, even a popular freshman generally didn't hang out with the seniors.

Slowly, though, I got drawn into the conversation, drinking wine, sharing some laughs about Cottonwood High, until the band went on stage and it got a little too loud to talk. They were good, too, a crazy fusion of bluegrass and punk that somehow seemed to work. I finished my wine, and Perry offered to get me another one. Even though I knew I should be pacing myself, I told him sure, that sounded great. Anthony went along with him to get refills for himself and Sydney.

"Aren't you glad you didn't stay home and sulk?" she half-shouted at me.

I nodded, since I didn't feel like having to scream my reply. But that seemed to satisfy her, since she nodded in return, smiling, a smile that only widened as the guys returned with the next round of drinks.

And that was how the night went, alcohol flowing, music pounding. It felt good to get lost in it, to get carried away by the false euphoria all that alcohol brought. I suppose that was why I didn't question him when Perry suggested we step outside to get some fresh air, even as Sydney giggled at me from within the curve of Anthony's arm as he nuzzled her neck.

It had been a mild day, but nights got cold fast in the high country, and I shivered as we went outside.

"It'll be warmer in my truck," Perry said, and I nodded. Sure, why not?

He had a big Ford F-250. I climbed up into the cab and shut the door behind me. The temperature in there was marginally warmer than outside, but I didn't have much time to point out that fact. The second we were alone, Perry sort of launched himself at me, pulling me against him, pressing his mouth against mine. He tasted of beer, which I found I didn't mind as much as I thought I would. And although I didn't feel any of the roaring heat of a consort match in our touch of lip on lip, I still thought I liked him kissing me, his hands tangling in my hair.

I wondered if this was how my mother had managed it. Had she gotten herself numb with alcohol, gone out and met some halfway presentable guy and surrendered her V-card, as Sydney put it, so she wouldn't have to be burdened with the weight of being the McAllisters' prima? I had no way of knowing, of course, since she was gone before I could ask her a single question or even say my first word.

Maybe that was what I should do — let this Perry, whose last name I didn't even know, push me down on the bench seat, pull down my jeans and take my virginity away, take the responsibility of being prima from me as well.

His eyes glittered in the lights along the side of the building that illuminated the parking lot. I saw that they were blue, pale blue, not deep green, and something in my stomach twisted then, telling me this was wrong, all wrong, and I pushed against him, trying to wriggle away from the hands that were gripping my arms. He was strong, fingers browned and callused. Maybe he worked in construction, or maybe at one of the ranches on the edge of town.

"What's the matter?" he asked, voice coaxing. "You don't want to do it here? That's okay...my place isn't far."

"No — no, I can't. I shouldn't be here." I struggled against him, and those rough hands only tightened on my biceps.

The pale eyes narrowed. "What kind of bullshit is this? You let me buy you drinks all night, and then you won't even give me a little something in exchange?"

I wrenched an arm free. "You want me to pay you back? I've got money inside, in my purse."

"That's not what I want," he growled, and began to haul me toward him by the one arm he still held.

Not thinking of anything except the need to get away from him, I cried, "Blessed Brigit, give me the strength to be free!"

White-hot light shot from my arm, striking Perry in the chest. He slumped backward against the driver-side door, eyes wide open, mouth slack. Half sobbing, half gasping, I hurled myself out of the truck and ran back inside, ignoring the curious stares of the small clumps of people who were standing out in the parking lot and smoking. The music had started up again, and the beat pounded against my eardrums as I pushed through the crowd and came back to the table, where Sydney and Anthony were busily sucking face.

"I have to go," I gasped, and yanked my purse off the back of the chair where it had been hanging by its strap.

Sydney pushed herself away from Anthony and fixed a bleary gaze on me. "You what?" Her eyes tracked past me and seemed to notice I was alone. "Where's Perry?"

"He's, um, out in his truck." Well, that was true enough.

That seemed to satisfy her. "Oh, okay." Then she focused on me again. "You sure you're all right to drive?"

I was pretty sure I wasn't, but I also knew I couldn't stay here. What if Perry was dead? No, I couldn't believe that. I'd struck out in self-defense, but not with the sort of focused intent that actually killing someone would require. He was just unconscious. He'd wake up in a few hours and feel like crap. That's all.

Or so I tried to convince myself, in my less than lucid state.

"Oh, sure, I can drive," I told her. "Anyway, I know that road so well I could drive it asleep and blindfolded. I'm fine."

"Okay," she replied, sounding dubious, but since she was in even worse shape than I, obviously she wouldn't offer up any more protests.

"Call you tomorrow," I said. "'Bye, Anthony."

"Mmm...'bye," he replied absently, and returned to burying his face in Sydney's neck as she giggled and reached for her wine.

That was my cue to leave. I went back outside and hurried over to the Jeep. Part of me wanted to stop at Perry's truck and make sure he was okay, but I'd already attracted enough attention. I just wanted to go home and forget this evening ever happened.

Since he was parked in the space closest to the driveway, I did get close enough to see that the windows of his F-250 were starting to fog up. That had to be a good sign. At least it meant he was breathing.

Thus reassured, I turned left on Mingus Avenue and headed back up to the highway. The speed limits around here were low enough that I didn't feel too challenged, even though I had to keep blinking to keep the streetlights from blurring around me, obscuring the road ahead. That wasn't the alcohol, though.

Those were tears.

Biting my lip, I maneuvered the Jeep around the last traffic circle before 89A headed up into the hills. Off to my right I could see the glaring white lights of the Clarkdale cement plant, but then they were obscured by the black bulk of the mountain as the road began to twist its way up toward Jerome.

I slowed down; there wasn't anyone behind me to care that I was going at least five miles an hour below the speed limit. These roads didn't get patrolled that often, except during the holidays or when Jerome hosted a big event such as the Halloween dance. I figured I could make it home safely as long as I maintained my death grip on the steering wheel and kept every ounce of focus on the road.

The curve for the final approach up into town appeared a few yards ahead. Standing in the middle of the road was a dark figure — a man in an overcoat, as far as I could tell. Adrenaline surged through me, and I jammed on the brakes, screeching to a stop as the acrid scent of burning rubber hit my nostrils. I blinked, and he was gone.

Oh, Jesus. Had I hit him? Hands shaking, I put the Jeep in park and got out, tottering over the uneven asphalt to the spot where I had seen the man standing, sure I would find a crumpled body in the roadway, blood...something.

But there was no one. A cold wind blew from the northeast, pulling at my hair, biting through the utterly inadequate pashmina shawl that had been a Yule gift from my Great-Aunt Ruby. I stumbled over to the side of the road, wondering if maybe the man had jumped out of the way and was lying in the brush there, but again nothing. The road was utterly deserted, lifeless and without movement, except for the tire smoke swirling in front of the Jeep's headlights.

I knew I couldn't keep standing there. Even though by then it was almost two in the morning, someone might still come up the road to Jerome, whether that was their destination, or whether they'd be heading up and over Mingus Mountain on their way to Prescott.

So I got back in the truck and drove off, still shivering, wondering who I had actually seen...or what.

Chapter Three

"You were out very late last night," Aunt Rachel said the next morning over breakfast.

I pushed my eggs around on my plate. "The band didn't start until almost ten."

She lifted an eyebrow but said nothing, and instead sipped at her green tea.

Strange that I didn't feel more hung over, considering how many glasses of wine I'd consumed the night before, but maybe that jolt of adrenaline as I was driving home had shocked the alcohol right out of my system. Nothing strange had happened after that, though; I'd maneuvered the Jeep up the final curves of the road before coming into Jerome proper, then turning down the side street that allowed access to the carport behind our building. All had been quiet and dark as I crept inside, as I had expceted it to be. My aunt often stayed up until midnight, since the store didn't open until ten, but two o'clock was kind of extreme even for her.

My brain also kept picking at the little problem of Anthony's friend Perry, slumped over in his truck. I thought he was probably all right, but I didn't know for sure. And even though I kept checking my phone, I hadn't heard anything yet from Sydney. Normally that wouldn't have bothered me too much, since she tended to be a late sleeper even when she wasn't up until all hours the night before. Now, though, I kept wondering why she hadn't called...and being halfway glad. If something catastrophic had happened, surely she would have texted or called or emailed. Something.

"You're very quiet," my aunt said.

"Just tired, I guess. I'm not used to staying up that late."

Her hazel eyes regarded me carefully. I hated it when she looked at me like that, as if she were trying to unearth whatever secrets I might have buried in my soul. But she was a witch, not a clairvoyant, and so she couldn't really do that. I hoped.

She seemed as if she were about to reply, but just then we heard the buzzing of the door chime, the one at the back entrance, not the main shop. Her gaze flickered up to the clock above the doorway. Nine-thirty. A little early for visitors, but maybe Tobias was stopping by for something. No, that wasn't right. Aunt Rachel had given him a key more than a year ago. He always gave a quick knock to let us know he was there, and then opened the door with the key.

Not that we witches generally needed keys, but it felt more polite to do it that way than just come barging in.

"I'll get the door," she said. "You go ahead and finish your breakfast."

After setting her napkin down on the kitchen table, she got up from her chair and headed down the short flight of stairs that led to our apartment's private entrance. I heard her open the door and greet someone, followed by the rumble of an unknown man's voice. Then she said, "This way," and mounted the steps, someone larger and heavier obviously behind her.

She came into the kitchen, a man in the dark blue uniform of the Cottonwood police department a few steps behind her. I swallowed. This couldn't be good.

I'd never had a run-in with the Cottonwood police before, not even a parking ticket. I knew Deputies Sandoval and Murphy with the Yavapai County sheriff's office, since Jerome was in their patrol area, but the grim-faced man staring down at me was someone I'd never seen before.

Pushing away my plate, I got to my feet. "Officer?"

He took a small pad of paper out of his pocket, along with a ballpoint pen. "You are Angela Diane McAllister, currently residing at 129B Main Street, Jerome, Arizona?"

"Yes," I replied past the lump in my throat. Part of me wanted to point out that it was sort of obvious that was my residence, since we were all currently standing in it, but I resisted the impulse. There were still a lot of things I didn't know about how the world worked, but even I knew that smart-mouthing a police officer was generally not a good idea.

"And were you at Main Stage in Cottonwood last night between the hours of 10 p.m. and 1:30 a.m.?"

I nodded miserably.

My aunt spoke up then. "What is this about, Officer?"

His gaze barely flickered away from me as he replied, "Ma'am, we have a report that this young lady assaulted a young man in his vehicle. Bruised him up pretty bad, although the hospital says none of his ribs were cracked." The policeman's dark eyes narrowed. "You want to tell me about that?"

"Yes, Angela, tell us about that," Aunt Rachel said, her voice sharper than I had ever heard it.

I took in a breath, expelled it, then said, "Look, I know it was stupid to go with Perry to his truck, but he got totally out of control. I had to defend myself."

"And do you have any evidence that your assault on Perry Haynes was in fact self-defense?"

Actually, I did, although I'd tried to cover it up by wearing a long-sleeved shirt, an embroidered tunic from India that I'd picked up in Sedona a few years ago. I pushed up the bell-shaped sleeve hiding my left arm, revealing an angry ring of bruises, purple and dark red, on my bicep.

I heard my aunt gasp, even as the officer said calmly, "Both arms?"

In grim silence I let the one sleeve drop and pushed up the other so he could see that the marks were in fact on both arms, although the bruises on my right arm were placed a little lower.

Without saying anything, he put the pad of paper back in his pocket. After a slight pause, he asked, "Do you want to press charges?"

I blinked. "Do I — ?" Then I shook my head. "No. It was just a stupid misunderstanding. He got rough because he'd had one too many beers, and I guess I pushed back on him harder than I thought I did. No harm, no foul, right?"

For a few seconds he was silent. "You are within your rights to press charges, Miss McAllister."

"No, really, that's all right. I'd rather just forget it happened."

"That's your prerogative. In the future, you might want to consider how much you have to drink...and who you're drinking with." He inclined his head toward my aunt. "Ma'am. Sorry for disturbing you. I'll let myself out."

His heavy tread moved down the stairs. Less than a minute later, I heard the sound of the door closing, not slammed, but with a solid thunk.

Aunt Rachel stared at me, arms crossed over her chest. Normally I would have described her looks as softly rounded, still very pretty, with her lively hazel eyes and full mouth that always seemed on the verge of smiling. No hint of a smile there now; her lips were pressed together in a thin line.

I didn't want to meet her angry gaze, but I wasn't a child she could punish.

I was the next prima.

"It was just a misunderstanding," I said at last, my voice quiet. "Perry had too much to drink, and I guess he got the wrong impression from me. He — "

"And just how did he get that impression? Because you spent the night drinking with him, went with him to his truck? What did you think was going to happen?"

"I don't know," I replied, a sulky note slipping into my tone despite my best efforts to keep it away. "I guess I didn't think it would go that far. I thought — "

"I think it's pretty clear that you didn't think at all. Angela, you cannot put yourself in such situations. Think of what could have happened — "

"What, that I might've lost that precious virginity you all've been hiding and hoarding like it's gold bars at Fort Knox?"

She went still then, hand reaching down to grasp a fold of the lively broomstick skirt she wore, as if by doing so she could prevent herself from letting go an outburst she might regret later. After a visible pause, she said calmly, "We only want what's best for you. We want you to be safe."

"Maybe so, but you have to stop treating me like a child! I'm not a child — I can vote and drink and do everything an adult is supposed to do...except make my own decisions about my future." My voice was rising, and I knew I should try to control it, but I was tired and my head ached, and I just wanted to say what I felt for once. "I couldn't even go to the college I wanted to, because oh, no, that's in Wilcox territory. Everything I do is managed and bounded in this little box here in Jerome. I can't go shopping by myself...to the movies by myself. Goddess, I'm surprised you even let me go to the bathroom by myself!"

With that parting shot I turned and stomped up the stairs, then marched into my room and slammed the door. An empty act, really, since we had to open the shop in less than ten minutes, and as angry as I might have been, I wasn't going to make my aunt try to manage the store on her own. Not on a busy Saturday on the sort of mild October weekend that brought up all the day-trippers from Phoenix and beyond.

And isn't that you, I thought then with some spite. You can't even make a grand gesture without worrying about how it's going to affect someone else.

It was going to be a very long day.

We maintained a frosty silence for most of the morning. Then I saw a flash of bright blue as someone snagged the prime parking space in front of the store, and realized it was Sydney in the Ford Focus her parents had bought her as her high school graduation present.

Uh-oh, I thought, and risked a quick glance at Aunt Rachel just as Sydney came inside, string of temple bells jingling from the front door as it closed behind her.

Once again I saw that thinning of my aunt's mouth, but she said pleasantly enough, "Hi, Sydney. What brings you up here today?"

Sydney shot an anxious glance in my direction. "Um, I was wondering if I could borrow Angela for lunch? I know she usually only gets a half-hour, but — "

"It's fine," my aunt replied, although her voice sounded strained. "I'm sure you two have a good deal to talk about."

Sydney's expression clouded, but I didn't give the exchange a chance to go any further, instead slipping out from behind the jewelry counter and saying, "Sounds great. I'm starving — let's go up to Haunted Hamburger, okay?"

I took my friend by the arm and steered her back out of the store. Once we were a few paces away, she said, "Oh, my God, Angela, I am so sorry — "

"Not here," I broke in. Not that the patio of the Haunted Hamburger would be much better, but I had to hope that anyone overhearing us there would probably be tourists who had no idea of what was really going on.

At least she got the hint. "Okay."

We walked down the street for a block and then cut up to the next street by using the stairs located at the park. Jerome was like that, built in terraces on the side of Cleopatra Hill, and although you could go the long way around if you didn't want to take the stairs, why bother?

The place was crowded, but we were able to get a table out on the patio. Normally the view out over the Verde Valley was enough to distract me for at least a minute or two, but I had more important things on my mind right then.

"Oh, God, Angela, I had no idea that Perry guy was going to be such a douche! He came pounding on Anthony's door at, like, eight in the morning, saying he was going to have you arrested for assault or something, and — "

"You spent the night at Anthony's house?" I interrupted.

Red flared along her cheekbones, underneath the pink blush she was wearing. "Well, I really wasn't in any shape to drive, and he said I could crash, so I went home with him, and, well, you know how it is."

No, I don't, I thought wearily. All I said, though, was, "So Perry showed up this morning — "

"Yes, banging on the door, saying how he'd spent all night in his truck and almost froze to death or something, which is just stupid because it wasn't even close to freezing last night, and that you'd assaulted him, and please, the guy has to have sixty or seventy pounds on you, so how could you have done that?"

Since she'd paused to take a breath, I said, "Well, I sort of did, but only because he wouldn't take no for an answer."

Her blue eyes widened. I didn't talk much about spells and powers and all that around Sydney, mostly because those exact details were something we witches preferred to keep private, and partly because I didn't want to scare her off by revealing too much. She thought the whole "McAllister witch" thing was pretty cool, but probably because she didn't have the whole story. Maybe an eighth of the story, if that.

"So you, what" — her voice lowered — "put the whammy on him or something?"

That word made me laugh, despite the situation. "No, I just...called on someone to give me the strength to fight him off. And according to the police, he's bruised, but that's about it, so he doesn't have all that much to complain about, considering..."

I hesitated, then looked around at the crowded tables to either side. One family was arguing whether to continue up the mountain to the hiking trails and picnic area or to go over to the Tuzigoot Indian ruins, and at another table a mother kept telling her daughter that no, she wasn't getting soda, so it was milk or nothing. Obviously they weren't paying any attention to the two girls at the far table having a sotto voce conversation, probably about boys or something equally uninteresting. So I pushed up one sleeve and showed her the band of bruises around my arm, then just as quickly tugged my sleeve back down.

"Holy shit, Angela, he did that to you?"

"I told you he wouldn't take no for an answer."

The conversation was interrupted then by Eileen, the waitress on duty that day, coming out to take our orders. Since I'd been to the Haunted Hamburger hundreds of times, I already knew what I wanted and ordered a barbecue burger and fries, along with an iced tea. Sydney shot me an envious look but still only ordered a charbroiled chicken salad.

After Eileen had left, Sydney remarked, "It is so not fair. You must have the metabolism of a hummingbird or something."

"Or something," I replied with a shrug. My mother had always looked thin in the few pictures I had seen of her, so maybe that was where I got it from. At least I had something of a chest, despite being thin, although nothing as eye-catching as Sydney's curvaceous frame.

"Anyway," she plowed on, "you said 'according to the police.' Did you a file a report on him?"

"No, he tried to do that to me. But once I showed the officer the bruises Perry left behind, they dropped the whole thing."

"You should've had him arrested."

"What's the point? I think he learned his lesson, and we're all about not attracting attention, you know? Bad enough that it went there at all."

Her mouth drooped. "I am so, so sorry about that. Anthony seemed like a nice guy. Who knew he'd be friends with such a dickbag? I won't see him again, if that's what you want."

At once I shook my head. "Why would I want that? Do you like Anthony?"

"Yes. I mean, I think so. He was super nice to me last night, and he's, well — "

"I don't need to hear the gory details." I tried to keep my tone light, but I didn't know how successful I was. Despite my best efforts to suppress it, a flicker of jealousy licked through me. It was so easy for her. Meet a cute guy, go out, spend the night. No baggage, unless you wanted there to be. I knew there was more to it than that, but seriously, I was kind of tired of feeling like the last virgin in the Verde Valley.

"Okay," she said at once. "I just mean that we've been friends for a long time, and if it was going to be weird for you — "

"It's fine. You've been wanting to go out with Anthony for a while now. I hope it works out. Just don't ask me to go on a double date with you guys and Perry."

She actually laughed at that, and a short time later Eileen reappeared with our food and drinks — apologizing about the wait for the tea, but that things had gotten a little crazy in the kitchen. I assured her it was no problem, and she told us thanks before hurrying back inside to pick up another order.

For a few minutes both Sydney and I were silent as we plowed into our food. Yes, my aunt had fed me a decent breakfast that morning, but all the stress and nervous energy that followed the police officer's visit had pretty much burned up any calories it had provided. Even though I felt like inhaling my burger, I tried to keep my chewing to a more or less decorous pace.

After we both slowed down a bit, Sydney gave a furtive look around and asked, "Is she here?"

"'She' who?" I returned, although I knew exactly what she was talking about.

"You know. The ghost."

There was a reason why the Haunted Hamburger was called that. Many of the buildings in Jerome had their own resident spirits, and the restaurant was no exception. Four ghosts actually haunted the property, two of them tradesmen who'd been killed when the scaffolding they were working on collapsed, one a miner who'd had a heart attack and died there purely by accident. Then there was Edith, the "she" Sydney was asking about. Edith had lived in the flat on the second floor and killed herself when her fiancé confessed to her that he'd been visiting some of the prostitutes down on Hull Avenue. Needless to say, she was not a very happy ghost.

"Well, this is her home," I pointed out. "So she's always here."

Sydney shot a furtive glance over one shoulder. "Okay, but is she here here?"

"She's not out on the patio waiting to steal one of your croutons, if that's what you're asking." I paused and looked up toward the second story of the building. A pale face glimmered behind one of the windows and disappeared. "I think she's upstairs, so you don't have anything to worry about."

A lift of her shoulders in a shiver. "I still don't know how you can stand seeing them. I mean, doesn't it freak you out?"

Good question. I'd started seeing the ghosts soon after my tenth birthday. In fact, at first I hadn't even realized that the kindly Chinese gentleman I was talking to down in the alley actually was a ghost until my aunt had come outside to put out the trash and asked me who on earth I was speaking to.

The truth came out then, and that was when Aunt Ruby declared that I was in fact the next prima, and this great talent only proved it. All primas had some kind of talent that tended to manifest itself around that age, although I really didn't see what good there was in being able to talk to dead people.

I sort of got the impression that Sydney thought my life must be like that scene out of Ghost where Whoopi Goldberg's character was surrounded by specters wherever she went. It wasn't like that at all, though. They approached me if they had something to say — like my first encounter with Mr. Hong outside the English Kitchen. I'd been playing in the street, and he came out to scold me for not being careful, warning me that I could get run over by a car. Over the years I'd interacted with most of them, although some, like Edith here, were quite reclusive.

Every once in a while I could pry some information out of the spirits if necessary, but most of them, with the exception of Maisie, weren't all that chatty. Even she hadn't really approached me until I hit junior high. I think before then she'd thought I was too young to bother speaking with. True, talking to her could be entertaining, and since neither she nor any of the ghosts were gruesome in appearance — they just looked like regular people to me, albeit in wildly outdated clothes — I didn't see much in them to be afraid of.

Not everyone had the same opinion of them, of course.

I popped a french fry in my mouth and chewed it carefully before answering Sydney's question. "No, it really doesn't freak me out. They're just...a different kind of people who live in Jerome, I guess. They can't hurt anybody. Not really," I added, since some of them did like to play pranks on both tourists and residents. But slamming doors or stealing hammers didn't exactly qualify as Exorcist material. No matter how many times I pointed that out to Sydney, though, she never seemed to quite grasp it.

"If you say so." But she still looked up at the window, although it was empty now, reflecting nothing but blue sky with a few high, thin clouds.

"Anyway," I said, since I thought staring up at Edith's window was kind of rude, and would probably only result in the ghost moving elsewhere even less to Sydney's liking, "I think it's a good thing that the next big event is the dance here in Jerome, since I have a feeling my aunt isn't going to be too thrilled about me making any solo expeditions to Cottonwood any time soon. You might have to bring the dresses here for me to look at instead of me going to your house, but let's see how it goes."

"No problem. Maybe on Wednesday? I should be able to pick them up by then, and I don't work on Wednesday." She worked part-time at a beauty supply store in town.

"Sounds great," I replied, and we ate and talked about the dance some more. Sydney didn't give me any flak about taking orders from Aunt Rachel, even though I was an adult and not some high school kid who could still get grounded. Even though my best friend didn't completely understand what was at stake, she knew my aunt and liked her, and understood that Aunt Rachel wouldn't clamp down for no reason. It had been a close call last night.

Too close.

I came back from lunch a little before one and took over at the store so my aunt could go get her own lunch. She gave me a piercing look before she left, but I didn't get the impression that she was still angry with me...more like worried, or even afraid. Afraid of what, I wasn't sure. After my experience with Perry the night before, I certainly wasn't eager to go back out and test any boundaries.

She only stayed away for a half-hour, which was good, since the tourists were definitely out in force that day. Not that I minded; they kept me busy, and when I was busy I didn't have much time to think. The money was nice, too, of course, although none of us really needed it. Our homes had been paid for long ago, and the family sat on wealth that had been carefully accumulated during the boom years and then invested just as carefully in the leaner times that followed, when the mine was shut down and most of the non-witch population of Jerome moved on to greener pastures. The clan elders watched over the investments and made quiet payments to all the clan's members. Of course we were free to earn what we liked on top of that — and we did — but basic survival was never a worry.

As we were locking up, Aunt Rachel said, "I had planned to go over to Tobias's tonight, but — "

"You should go," I told her. "I'm not going anywhere, believe me. Well, maybe up to Grapes to get a pizza if we're not having dinner at home, but that's it. I'll watch some Netflix or something."

Her brow puckered a little at that. She was not a fan of television — we didn't even own one — but she couldn't really keep me from streaming videos on my computer. That is, she couldn't. The connection up here wasn't always the best. But the weather was clear, so it should be all right. And if not, I had plenty of books to read. Books had been my companions through most of my youth, until I was finally allowed to have a computer when I entered eighth grade.

"All right," she said at last. "But I'll just be down at Tobias's, so...." She trailed off and gave me an uncertain look, as if she wasn't quite sure what sort of catastrophe might befall me but wanted to make sure I knew she'd be around to help head it off if necessary.

"And I've got Floyd Barnett on one side and Cousin Rosemary on the other, so unless you know something and I don't, and Armageddon is set to happen tonight, I really think I'll be fine."

A smile then, albeit a weary one. "You're right, of course. And you know how to take care of yourself, but after last night — "

"I still took care of myself. I just did it in a way that the Cottonwood P.D. didn't appreciate very much." And did it while practically blind drunk, I thought, but I knew better than to say anything else.

"True." She reached under the counter and pulled out her purse. "You can finish locking up?"

"Sure thing." I'd done it many times, but tonight her allowing me to take on the important task of securing the store seemed to take on an extra significance, as if she was trying to show that she still did trust me, despite my foolishness at Main Stage the night before.

She nodded and headed toward the back of the shop and the rear exit. Tobias's combination house/studio was at the extreme southern edge of the town, right before the houses petered out and the highway took over, but I knew she'd walk it anyway. Everyone walked in Jerome. Why do anything else when the place was less than half a mile from end to end?

We'd locked the front door promptly at six, so all that remained was for me to empty the cash register and put the money and credit card receipts in the safe. Twice a week we'd go down the hill to deposit the cash at the Wells Fargo in Cottonwood, but we wouldn't be doing that again until Monday.

This wasn't the first time I'd been left alone in the store at the end of the day, but for some reason a flicker of unease passed over me, a chill, although I knew that, unlike many of Jerome's buildings, the one that housed both the store and the two-story apartment where Aunt Rachel and I lived was free of any ghosts or spirits. Although the frightening memory had danced in and out of my thoughts several times during the day, I'd never had a real opportunity to mention the dark figure I'd seen in the bend in the road the night before.

To be perfectly truthful, I'd begun to wonder if I'd imagined the whole thing. Sydney had once told me a story about her older brother, who was attending Arizona State University, driving home slightly wasted from a party one night and hallucinating a wall stretching across the freeway. The shock had kept him awake and alert the rest of the drive home. Maybe my brain had done the same thing to me, inventing someone standing in the road to keep me from falling asleep at the wheel.

Never mind that I hadn't felt sleepy at all, charged up as I was from the confrontation with Perry.

Well, talk it over with Aunt Rachel tomorrow, I told myself. You're certainly safe here, so don't worry about it. Just get that money put away so you can go get a pizza before they get too crowded.

That sounded sensible enough. I gathered up the money bag and stack of receipts, and headed back to the storeroom, which was also where we kept the safe. Even with my own no-nonsense words ringing in my head, I still made sure to flick on the lights in the back of the shop as I went. All right, so I turned them on with a quick impulse from my mind, rather than my finger. There wasn't anyone around to see what I was doing. Besides, my hands were full. And I did the same thing with the lock to the storeroom door, opening it without a key and letting it swing inward.

The storeroom wasn't all that large, maybe ten by fifteen feet, with boxes stacked neatly against the wall and a couple of forlorn mannequins set in one corner. In the winter we'd pull them out when it was time to display the handwoven shawls and cloaks that went over big as holiday presents, but in the meantime they'd been stuck back in here with the rest of the display items we weren't currently using. Their blank eyes seemed to watch me as I bent down and entered the combination to the safe, then set the money bag and stack of rubber-banded receipts inside.

So now I was letting a couple of pieces of fiberglass get to me? I shook my head at myself and closed the safe, then straightened up before heading toward the open door. For a second I thought I saw a shadow moving outside in the hallway, and again a shiver traced its way down my spine. Then I realized it had to be someone walking down the sidewalk outside the shop. The sun was just beginning to go down behind Mingus Mountain, and the light was chancy, uncertain.

You're being just a bit too jumpy for a girl who talks to ghosts, I chided myself before I exited the storeroom and closed the door behind me. It would lock automatically; we had keys, of course, but Aunt Rachel and I rarely used them — mainly if there were enough customers in the shop that they'd notice something strange if we went in the room without unlocking the door first.

I kept my purse on a shelf under the counter, so I retrieved that and double-checked to make sure the front door was locked as well. Of course it was, so I threw my purse over my shoulder and began to walk toward the short hallway that led to the rear entrance. Once again I thought I saw a shadow move against the wall, tinted golden with the last rays of the sun.

Without stopping to think, I turned around. A dark figure stood in front of the door to the shop. It was about the size and shape of a tall man, although I couldn't see any details. Not like any ghost I'd met so far in Jerome — they all tended to look to me the same way they must have in their previous lives. And then I felt it, a wave of cold, of malice, as it waited there, seeming to watch me, though it had no eyes.

Still, I'd been talking to ghosts since I was a child, and although this apparition looked like none I'd ever seen before, I thought I should at least attempt to make contact. "Who are you?" I asked, making sure my voice was calm, steady.

Nothing. It stood there, the air around it feeling twenty degrees colder than it should have. I was surprised that frost didn't start forming on the shop window behind it.

Fine. I'd try another tack. I stared at it, trying to look more or less where its eyes should be. "What do you want?"

For a few seconds it did not respond. Then one shadowy arm lifted, and it was as if a finger pointed directly at me. The reply came in a whisper, soft and chilling as the rustle of leaves in a graveyard.

You.

Chapter Four

I didn't stop to think. Instinct took over, and I was bolting toward the back of the shop, running down the corridor, until I reached the back door and flung it open, then slammed it behind me. Yes, I know — some way for the next prima of the McAllisters to act. But I'd never seen or heard of anything like that before, and had no idea of how to fight it or dispel it. The smartest thing seemed to be to put some distance between it and myself.

Once I was outside, I felt a little bit better, and retained enough presence of mind to lock the door before I hurried down the smaller, less-traveled street that backed up to our building, then cut back up to Main. Although most of the stores closed at six, there were still a good number of people out and around, either on their way back to their cars or heading for an early dinner. As soon as I had people around me, some of the cold and dread seemed to leave me, although my hands were still shaking.

No thought now of getting a pizza to go and taking it back to the apartment over the store. I knew I should probably high-tail it down to Tobias's place and get my aunt, tell her what had just happened, but I hated to bother her, especially after the run-in we'd had this morning. Besides, I was supposed to be the next prima — shouldn't I be trying to figure these things out on my own? Aunt Rachel would find out soon enough; she might be spending the evening with Tobias, but she wouldn't stay over for the night. She never left me alone, not for that long.

So I continued walking up toward Grapes. I still needed to eat, one way or another, and better to do it in a familiar place surrounded by other people.

As I'd feared, the restaurant was crowded, but a group was just being seated outside as another party was leaving their table, and so I was able to snag that one. Normally I would've just sat at the bar and not kept a whole table to myself, but I wanted to snug in against the wall and feel something solid at my back. And apparently Linda, who was tending the bar and also doing traffic control, saw something in my face, because she didn't even suggest that I not take that table.

"Rough day, huh?" asked Tina, the server who came up to check on me.

I knew her, of course, just like I knew everyone in Jerome, but she felt a little closer than some because she'd babysat me from time to time back when I was in elementary school. Neither she nor Linda were part of the clan, although as long-time residents, they knew about the McAllisters. Like Sydney, though, they could be trusted to keep our secrets. A quiet vetting process went on in our town every time a house or apartment became available. We made sure that no one moved in whom we couldn't trust. It was a quiet spell, but an effective one, the charm that brought sympathetic souls to us.

"Rough day," I echoed. "Yeah, you could say that. A glass of the Plungerhead, please?" I hadn't bothered to look at the menu; I could probably recite it by heart at this point.

"Got it. Know what you want to eat?"

I shook my head. "Not yet. Pizza, yes, but I haven't decided which one."

She shot me a reassuring smile, then said, "I'll get that wine for you right away."

Goddess knew what was on my face right then, but I didn't much care. It just felt good to be there, surrounded by familiar smells and friendly faces. About half the crowd was made up of tourists, but everyone seemed to be having a good time, so the energy was good...a far cry from what had been emanating from that entity back at the shop.

Another shiver, and I clenched my hands on the tabletop. No ghost like any I'd ever seen, but maybe the ghosts themselves would have some input. Normally I wouldn't bother Maisie on a Saturday night, since she didn't like crowds. In this case, though, I didn't think I had much of a choice. I would have to try coaxing her out, see if she'd heard anything.

Felt anything.

I crossed my arms and wished I'd brought a jacket. Not much chance of that happening when I was bolting from the store like a frightened hare. Anyway, the chill moving through me right now didn't have much to do with the air temperature, although I knew it would get cold outside damn quick once the sun was down. That walk over to rustle up Maisie would not be a comfortable one...and it would only be colder when I walked down to Tobias's house.

But I wasn't completely unprepared. Aunt Rachel had taught me a long time ago to always carry a scarf or wrap of some kind in my purse, so I reached in and pulled out the same pashmina I'd worn the night before. The bright emerald green wasn't the best match with the pale blue top I wore, but I wasn't trying to impress anybody.

I heard the door to the restaurant open, but I didn't bother to look up. No, I stared down at the chipped polish on my nails and vaguely wondered when I'd have the time to take it off, and then tried to figure out why I even cared. I had much bigger things to worry about at the moment.

Someone approached my booth and sat down without so much as a by-your-leave in the seat opposite me. I looked up, frowning, a frown that only deepened when I saw who it was. Adam McAllister, my third-or-fourth cousin, someone I really didn't feel like dealing with at the moment.

"Hey, Ange," he said. "Word on the street is that you've been looking for love in all the wrong places."

I blinked at him. "What?"

"I heard about your little 'incident' at Main Stage last night."

Damn. I'd almost forgotten about my scuffle with Perry in the parking lot the night before. "How the hell did you find out about that?"

"Alicia's working dispatch for the Cottonwood P.D., remember?"

Oh, right. Adam's big sister had gotten a job as a dispatcher for the police department about six months ago. It was a little out of character for a McAllister, since we tended to be artsy types who stuck around Jerome, but she wasn't a very strong witch. On the other hand, she was a hell of a gossip. Working as a dispatcher was probably her dream job, since she got to hear everybody's business firsthand.

And obviously she'd heard all about my business last night. Sigh.

"It was just a misunderstanding," I said, and hoped Tina would come by with my wine soon.

"Must've been some misunderstanding, with him ending up in the hospital."

At least one wish was granted, because Tina did appear with my zinfandel, which she set down in front of me before sending a quizzical glance in Adam's direction. Naturally I'd said nothing about someone joining me...because I had no idea somebody would.

"A Corona for me," Adam said, and I had to keep myself from rolling my eyes. Typically tone-deaf of him to order a beer in a restaurant called "Grapes."

Maybe it would've been polite to wait until he had his beer before I drank any of my wine, but the hell with that. It wasn't as if I'd invited him to sit down or anything. So I picked up the little carafe Tina had brought me and poured about a third of it into my wine glass, then took a good swallow. Much better.

"Is there a point to all this, Adam?"

"I just don't know why you'd bother to pick up some civilian down in Cottonwood when you've got me right here."

I really did not need this right now. "I wasn't 'picking up' anyone. He's a friend of the guy Sydney was with. That's all."

"'All' doesn't usually end up with someone in the hospital and the Cottonwood P.D. paying you a visit."

"He got a little handsy, okay? Nothing I couldn't handle."

"I guess so." He grinned, and I really wished it was permissible for the future prima to sock someone in the jaw.

That wouldn't be dignified, though — and would definitely bring down Aunt Rachel's wrath — so I settled for asking in acid tones, "Is that the only reason you've invaded my space, or did you have some other reason for dropping in without an invitation?"

He shrugged. "It's a public place."

"The restaurant, yeah. Not the booth I just happen to be sitting in."

"Okay, you got me." He opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something else, but Tina arrived with his Corona and set it down in front of him.

"Ready to order?" she asked.

"Prosciutto and mozzarella for me," I told her.

"Italian meat," Adam said with a grin.

She shook her head slightly and headed back to the kitchen. I would have been even more annoyed by him ordering something besides just the beer, but I'd known I was doomed from the minute he sat down in my booth.

"So you were saying," I prompted.

He was in the middle of taking a swig from his Corona, and so I had to wait until he swallowed the beer. "I went by the shop first, but you'd already closed up."

"You did?" Despite my better instincts, I couldn't help asking. "Did you...notice...anything?"

"What was I supposed to notice? You weren't there. I'd already thought about getting a pizza to go, so I came up here and saw you through the window. And here we are."

Yes...unfortunately. In a way it was funny, because a lot of girls back in high school had had their crushes on Adam, and yet all he cared about was pursuing me, even though it was hopeless. We had no connection. It didn't matter that he was good-looking, with his thick brown hair and gray-blue eyes and nice strong chin. He wasn't my match, my soulmate, my other half. And I really wished he would figure that out once and for all, and leave me the heck alone.

More importantly, though, he'd gone by the shop and hadn't sensed anything, seen anything out of the ordinary. He wasn't an overly strong warlock, but normally he was sensitive to places, air currents, weather. If a weather spell needed to be cast, he was often the one to do it. Wouldn't he have been able to feel something terribly not right about the store if there really was some malignant presence lurking around the place?

I couldn't think of the right way to ask him, though. If I told him what had really happened, then he'd probably try to get all manly and protective, and that would almost be worse than the ghostly figure I'd seen.

No, scratch that. A guy trying to protect you when you really didn't want to be protected wasn't exactly on a par with some vaporous apparition reaching toward you and saying that it wanted you.

Maybe I shivered. Adam set down his beer and stared at me, eyes narrowing. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen — " He broke off, but I knew what he'd meant to say.

You look like you've seen a ghost.

Well, hey, that was nothing new. That was just something Angela McAllister did. I wished that was all I had seen. A ghost was fine. But this?

Not fine at all.

I took a few more swallows of wine. "It's nothing."

Adam was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. His gaze sharpened. "You don't look like it's nothing. What's going on?"

It would probably get out sooner or later anyway. We McAllisters didn't keep a lot from one another. "I saw...something."

"Saw what?"

"I don't know what it was. I've never seen anything like it. And I've seen my share of strange things."

"True." He shifted in his seat, and for a second or two I was worried he would try to reach out and touch my hand where it rested on the tabletop. He appeared to resist that impulse, though, and said, "But it scared you."

I didn't like to admit it, least of all to Adam, but he'd already seen the truth in my face. "It did. I had to get out of there. So I came here."

"What did you see?"

For a few seconds I didn't say anything, only ran a finger along the wood grain of the table. Even thinking about that shadowy apparition made a wave of cold move over me, a chill that had nothing to do with the warm, friendly surroundings in which I sat. "A shadow. It was standing in front of the door to the shop. I could feel it watching me. I thought it had to be some sort of spirit, even though I'd never met one like that before. I asked it who it was, and it didn't say anything. Then I asked what it wanted, and..." I paused again, and swallowed. "...And it told me, 'you.'"

Even Adam seemed shocked by that revelation. "Damn, Angela, you need to tell someone. Someone besides me, I mean."

"I know. I will. It's just that my aunt is over at Tobias's place, and I didn't want to bother her...."

"I don't think she'll mind being bothered." He hesitated. "I'll walk you over there, if you want."

Never did I think I would be so relieved by Adam McAllister offering to accompany me somewhere. But there were lots of dark and shadowy places between here and Tobias's house, and I forced myself to admit that I'd feel a whole lot better about the whole thing if I didn't have to walk it alone. "Okay," I replied. "I'd like that."

He grinned, and for a second I wished I hadn't agreed to him coming along after all. But then Tina showed up with our pizzas, and for a minute or two everything seemed normal and prosaic, just Adam and me dishing ourselves a slice, doling out the parmesan and the red pepper flakes. I knew better, though. There wasn't anything normal about any of this.

Still, now that I knew what I was doing after this, I felt a little better. I had no idea what Aunt Rachel was going to say, and it seemed as if my plan for talking to Maisie would have to be shelved for a while. She wasn't going anywhere, though, and I could always try to scare her up — so to speak — the next day.

Whether she'd have anything useful to contribute, I couldn't begin to guess.

The sun had long disappeared by the time Adam and I emerged from the restaurant. I pulled my wrap around my shoulders in a futile attempt to stave off some of the brisk wind blowing outside. At least it was coming from the south. Although I knew the Wilcoxes had little to do with it, a north wind, the kind that blew down from Flagstaff, always put me on edge. An ill wind, as Great-Aunt Ruby liked to say.

Adam noticed the somewhat flimsy pashmina, and I worried that he might try to make the gallant gesture of offering me his jacket. Something in my expression must have warned him off, though, and so he kept silent, walking next to me as we headed down Main Street. It was too early for that night's band to have started up at the Spirit Room, but the street in front of the bar was already lined with Harleys, and people hung around outside, chatting and smoking. Their presence comforted me, although I knew the crowds would thin out as we wended our way down the hill.

As they did. By the time we passed the Ghost City Inn, Adam and I were the only people on the sidewalk. Down here I could feel the wind even more strongly. The stars glittered against the black sky, and a thin moon had just begun to rise above the mesas to the east. It would be full on Halloween, I realized.

All around me were buildings and trees and cars I'd seen hundreds of times, and yet somehow now seemed foreign, unfamiliar. Part of me wanted to draw closer to Adam. I told myself that was foolish, for several reasons. I certainly didn't want to give him the wrong idea, and of the two of us, I was the far stronger witch. Having him come along had been sort of silly, in that respect, although of course the two of us working together would be more effective than even me casting a spell of protection alone.

He was silent, as if realizing I really didn't want to talk, and I felt a rush of warmth toward him then, that despite his usually irritating ways he understood my need for silence, my need to have someone walk with me through the darkness. For a second or two I found myself wishing things could be different. I was so very tired of having to look for someone who seemed to not even exist.

Tobias shared studio and living space with three other artists in a renovated commercial building on the edge of town. Each flat had its own entrance and kitchen and studio, so although they shared common walls, they were still very private. His was the one on the south side of the building — "I like the light" — and faced out over the lights of Cottonwood. In the daytime you could see the line of the Verde River from here, but now of course all was dark.

From the other side of the building I heard music and the sound of people talking. Susan Callery lived over there, and I'd heard her mention a small opening she was having, if I wanted to stop by. Between the mess at Main Stage the night before and my latest spectral sighting, I'd forgotten all about it.

Adam and I made our way down the winding path that led to Tobias's front door. Wind chimes jingled in the darkness, and I saw the prayer flags hanging from the trees outside his windows fluttering in the night wind. Out here, though, it seemed less oppressive, instead wild and free, and I felt my spirits lift a little.

As we approached the door — a massive thing of local twisted juniper, lovingly polished — I could hear laughter from within, and a pang went through me. I wished I didn't have to disturb my aunt on her night out, but I certainly didn't want to go back to the apartment without reinforcements that were somewhat more substantial than what Adam could offer.

So I raised my hand and knocked, then waited for a minute until Tobias opened the door. He held a wine glass in one hand and blinked down at me, his gaze traveling over to Adam and then back as if he couldn't quite figure out what was more strange — that I should be there at all, or that I was standing there with Adam McAllister next to me.

"Angela?" Tobias said at last.

"Hi, Tobias," I replied, attempting to sound breezy and probably failing miserably. "I need to talk to Aunt Rachel. Is that okay?"

He blinked again, then seemed to recover himself. "Of course, of course. The two of you come on in."

We both went inside, and waited as Tobias shut the door. The place was laid out with a small entryway, and then opened into a large combined living room/dining room/kitchen. The remains of dinner seemed to still occupy the dining room table, and off to my right I saw Aunt Rachel sitting on Tobias's large leather couch. A fire flickered in the freestanding fireplace near the far wall.

As soon as she saw us, she set down her own wine glass on the coffee table and got to her feet, her expression understandably puzzled. "Angela?" Her gaze flickered to Adam, and she frowned. She knew I wouldn't have dragged him down here without a very good reason. "What's the matter?"

"I — " Now that the time had come to explain what had happened, words seemed to fail me.
"She saw something, Rachel," Adam supplied.

Her hazel eyes widened. "Saw what?"

Tobias moved past us to stand near Aunt Rachel. "It couldn't have been good, to have you come walking all the way down here."

I found my voice. "No, it wasn't. It — there was something in the store, something...evil. Dark."

The lighting wasn't all that good in there, since the only real lights on were the overhead fixture in the kitchen. Candles flickered on the dining room table and on the coffee table in the living room, and by their uncertain light I thought I saw her turn pale. But her tone was firm enough as she asked, "Do you know what it was?"

"No." I pulled the pashmina a little more closely around my shoulders, as if it could do anything to rid me of the pervasive sensation of cold that seemed to take over whenever I thought of the dark shape I'd seen in the store. "But...it wasn't the first time I'd seen it."

"What?" came in unison from both my aunt and Adam, and then they stared at one another in confusion.

Might as well come clean. The only way to attempt to figure out what was going on was to use all the available facts. "I saw it last night as I was driving home. It was standing in the last bend before the road curves up to town. Since it was so dark, I thought it was a person. I thought I'd hit somebody. But when I got out, no one was there. And then today...." I trailed off, and swallowed.

"Today?" my aunt prompted.

"It was after you'd left, right after I put the money and the receipts away. I think maybe it was waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"For me to be alone."

She watched me carefully, gaze fixed on me, as if we were the only two people in the room, as if Tobias and Adam didn't exist. "Go on."

"It was standing in front of the window. It was shaped like a man, but it had no detail...only shadow. And when I asked it what it wanted, it said it wanted...me."

Silence then, as she watched me, and Tobias watched her, and Adam stood beside me, not saying anything, either. I think he knew he'd done what I'd asked of him, and now it was time for the more important players to step in.

At last she said, "This is not good."

"I didn't think it was," I replied.

"Tobias, would you come up there with us?" she asked him, and he nodded grimly.

"I wouldn't let you go back without me."

After that he went and got his coat, and Rachel's as well, and we all went back outside. He didn't bother to lock his door. Jerome was sort of like that; the only reason we locked up the shop was all the merchandise inside, and the fact that it was right on the main drag.

Tobias and Aunt Rachel took the lead, with Adam and me bringing up the rear. Maybe I should have volunteered to go first, but I wasn't feeling very brave at the moment. They wouldn't have allowed it, anyway — their duty, as they saw it, was to protect the next prima.

We came up the back way, along Hull Avenue. As the three-story building loomed over us, black against black in the night, I swallowed. No, I didn't really feel anything back here, except the heebie-jeebies I was giving myself, but it was so very dark. We had a light we usually kept on at the back entrance, but of course I'd run away so quickly that turning it on had been about the last thing on my mind.

Aunt Rachel fished her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door. As she did so, I heard her murmuring under her breath, a spell of protection, of light. I guessed that was why she used her key — she wanted to save her energy for the protection spell. And the hallway lights did blaze forth as the door opened before us, showing the same short hallway I'd walked down thousands of times, with its scuffed tile and the warm sienna paint we'd applied two summers ago.

"Do you feel anything?" she asked Tobias.

He put his hand against the doorframe. Solid, natural materials were his strength — wood and stone, clay and tile. He shook his head. "No."

Apparently heartened by this reply, she stepped inside, with him following so closely they appeared joined at the hip. Adam and I followed. I put forth a mental plea for strength and vision, and sent my own questing tendril of thought down the corridor, out into the main shop space. I felt nothing, sensed nothing.

Then again, I hadn't sensed much until I'd seen that...thing...standing right in front of me.

The lights in the store turned themselves on at my aunt's silent request. Everything looked perfectly ordinary, perfectly normal, from the display of windchimes in one corner to the table loaded with books on local history in the other.

Aunt Rachel stopped in the middle of the space, eyes shut, and turned slowly with her arms outstretched. This was something I could sense — the ripples of power moving out from her, the glow of her spirit as it attempted to find something wrong with the very fabric of the world. Her talent had always been order, knowing when the peace and calm of the community was somehow being disrupted. It was a quiet strength, but an important one.

At last she opened her eyes, but I saw no relief in them. She was frowning, and I saw her teeth worry at her bottom lip. "I felt it...very faint, but something...wrong. Distorted, cold. Hungry."

That last word sent another shiver through me. Hunger. Yes, that was something I'd sensed from the apparition, although at the time I'd been too scared silly to stop and really identify it.

"What now?" Tobias asked briskly, as if he realized I didn't know what to do next. I might be the next prima, but I had no experience with this sort of thing.

"We'll check the apartment, just to make sure, but we need to have the coven here to cleanse the place, to lay down the spells of protection again. Something got through, although I'm not sure what and not sure how."

"All right," he said. "Let's send out the call, then."

This was something we could all do together. In unspoken accord, Tobias, Aunt Rachel, Adam, and I all stepped closer to one another and joined hands, Adam's strong and cool in my right, my aunt's fingers warm and reassuring in my left. The energy surged up and out, calling to the coven, broadcasting our need.

Brothers and sisters, come to us now. Come for the circle — your strength is needed!

There were just shy of 450 people living in Jerome, and a little more than half of them were part of the McAllister clan. Of those we only needed a fraction, of course. Many rituals were performed with as few as three or seven. For the greater workings, we would need to combine the powers of twenty-one. That, I knew, was how many would answer tonight's call, and I also knew it would be the strongest, the best suited for this sort of ritual.

Cousin Rosemary was there almost at once, since she lived in the apartment over the tea shop next door. Aunt Rachel had just pulled the white candles out from underneath one of the counters when there was a knock at the back door. Tobias went to get it, since I could tell my aunt didn't want me out of her sight, and Adam sort of shifted from one foot to the next as if not sure exactly what he should be doing. I wondered if he would end up participating at all, as protective magic was not his strongest suit.

"Goodness, what is it?" Rosemary asked, emerging into the main shop space and blinking at all of us. She always reminded me a bird, light and fluttery, with her pale hair and big green eyes. She was five or six years younger than Rachel, but somehow seemed older, as if she'd embraced a little too much the whole idea of being a solitary witch. It didn't take much mental effort to imagine her stirring a cauldron, although we McAllisters actually weren't that big on potions.

"An incursion," my aunt said briefly, setting a container of pink Himalayan salt next to the white candles. "We'll need to cleanse the whole building and set up new wards."

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed, and despite everything, I had to stifle a laugh as Adam sent me a sideways look. Cousin Rosemary did tend to act like she'd just escaped from a Harry Potter novel or something.

After that there wasn't much time for conversation, as more people converged on the shop — Allegra Moss, who had a sculptor's studio across the street from Tobias, and Efraim Willendale, who ran the tiny post office, and Wyatt McAllister, owner of a B&B a few doors down from the stately Victorian where Great-Aunt Ruby lived. So many of them, all surrounding us with their strength, until the magic number of twenty-one was reached. Well, twenty-two, counting Adam, but he wasn't going to be participating.

"What about Great-Aunt Ruby?" I asked. Usually she would take part in something this important.

My cousin Dora, who lived with Ruby, shook her head. "She's been feeling a little tired the past few days, so I thought it better if she sat this one out."

At that reply I couldn't help feeling a little guilty. When was the last time I'd gone up to visit my great-aunt? Had to be almost a week now. I'd spent way too much time wrapped up in my own problems.

Aunt Rachel also looked rather grim, but then she shook her head, as if reminding herself to focus on the task at hand. After pulling out a soapstone incense burner and some cedar incense, she said, "Angela, you'll need to lead the ritual, as you're the one who saw the entity we're protecting against. We're all here to support you."

I'd guessed she would ask that of me, but it didn't make this any easier. Even with all of them there, I couldn't help feeling alone. I would have to put myself out in front of everyone and hope that whatever it was had long gone.

There wasn't much I could do except nod, however. I picked up the candle and sparked the flame with my thought. It lit at once, its glow steady and calming.

"Goddess, we ask that you lend us your strength, and aid us in cleansing this house of whatever evil spirits might have visited here. Let this pure white fire dispel the shadows, and bring peace to this place."

An icy breath seemed to pass over me, and the candle flame flickered wildly. At once I heard the echoing murmur from the coven.

"Bring peace to this place."

Warmth began to return, and the candle stilled. I moved to the front door and repeated my plea to the Goddess. From there I moved clockwise around the room, although the coven members stayed more or less in the center of the space. Not that it would have been all that easy for a crowd that size to follow me everywhere, what with all the table displays and bookshelves that filled the store.

I moved down the hallway to the stairs opposite the storeroom door, and hesitated. Were they all going to follow me upstairs to the apartment?

Apparently they were, although they had to straggle their way upward in ones and twos, a line that stretched almost all the way back to the first floor by the time I reached the second story. I felt nothing up here, not even the hint of a chill I had sensed before the power of the light pushed it back, but of course I wasn't about to take any chances. Clockwise again, moving from the living room to the kitchen , and then to the funny little cubbyhole off the dining room that my aunt used as a workspace for drying flowers and herbs. From there we climbed yet again, to Aunt Rachel's room and my own bedroom, past the inadequate little bathroom we had to share. All the while I focused on the power of the white light, of how it sent the darkness away from every corner, every cubby.

Then it was all the way back to the ground floor again, and the ritual repeated with the burning incense and the purifying power of air, then finally with spring water poured from one of the bottles we always kept under the sales counter, mixed with the pink Himalayan salt, bringing the strength of earth and the balance and clarity of water to all the spaces in the building. As I worked, I could feel the energy of the coven humming along with me, lending me the power necessary to perform the ritual and make it a lasting one, something that would maintain its protection for months and even years.

At last we had made all the circuits. I took up the bowl with the spring water and salt mixture, then went to the front door and traced the form of a pentacle there with my index finger.

"Peace and purity dwell here now," I said. "Nothing of ill will may enter. So the Goddess wills it, and so it will be."

"And so it will be," the members of the coven repeated.

For the barest second I almost thought I heard the sound of faraway laughter, mocking and cold. But then it was gone, and I told myself it must have been the wind. After all, around me was only warmth and light and the reassuring presences of the people who stood a few feet away. My coven.

My family.

It seemed I was safe now. But even then I wondered whether it would be enough.

Chapter Five

They all dispersed after that, talking quietly. Adam was watching me with something like awe, which I didn't really understand. After all, he'd seen me work magic before. But then I realized this was the first time I'd actually led such a large group, been the one to direct all that energy. In the past, Great-Aunt Ruby would, as prima, have been the one to take on such a role. There was power in me, of course, although it was nothing compared to what it would be when she passed the strength of the prima to me and I had found my consort.

Cousin Dora had said Ruby was too tired to perform the task today. Was she really too tired, or was this her way of telling me it was time I stepped forward and showed everyone that I really was capable of taking on the mantle of prima?

I didn't know for sure; my great-aunt was eighty-eight years old, and if there's one thing you've earned at eighty-eight, it's the right to be tired. Even so, I couldn't help wondering.

Aunt Rachel began taking the items I'd used in the ritual and putting them back in their places under the counter. As she worked, however, she looked from Adam to me and back again, her gaze thoughtful.

"Thank you, Adam," she said after an awkward pause. "I think Angela's pretty tired after all that, so...."

He wrenched his eyes away from me. "What? Oh, yeah, I guess I should get going, too."

"Thanks, Adam," I added, realizing I was sort of falling down on the job here. However I might feel about his unwanted intentions, he'd certainly come to my aid tonight, and the very least I could do was express my gratitude...even if he might prefer that I express it a little bit differently than with a simple "thanks."

"No problem," he replied, too casually. Then he said, in a quick undertone clearly intended for my ears only, "You know I'd do anything for you."

He left after that, hurrying to the back door, since of course the front was still locked. For a minute or two after he left, neither Aunt Rachel nor I said anything.

Finally, after closing the little storage area under the counter and locking it, she asked, "Is that going to be a problem?"

"What?" I blinked, then realized what she probably thought the "problem" was. "You know there isn't anything between Adam and me."

"I thought I knew that...until I saw the two of you show up on Tobias's doorstep."

"He saw me at Grapes and basically invited himself to sit down with me. But he was the one who convinced me to go to you and tell you what happened, and yeah, I was glad to have him walk with me. After what I saw, I was kind of spooked, you know?"

Her expression gentled. "I do know. I only felt traces of...whatever it was...and that was enough for me." She came out from behind the counter and moved toward me, pulling me into a quick, fierce hug before she let me go. "I won't lie and say I'm not worried, but things do seem quiescent for now. Still, Angela, if anything like this happens again, come to me at once. I don't care if you have to pull me out of bed with Tobias. Understood?"

My cheeks flamed at the thought of having to interrupt my aunt having sex with her boyfriend. "That's a mental image I didn't need."

She shot me a warning look.

"Okay, okay. I know. I guess I wasn't thinking clearly. Too many things coming at once, I suppose."

Surprisingly, she didn't offer any more remonstrances, but only nodded. "Well, I think we'll both feel better after a good night's sleep. The house is cleansed, and safe. There isn't anything here that need worry you."

I still wasn't completely confident on that point. Voicing my misgivings probably wouldn't be all that productive, though, so I allowed myself to nod and then said, "You're right. I'm going to get ready for bed."

Never mind that it was barely nine-thirty on a Saturday night. Right then I only wanted to sleep. I didn't even want to dream of him. My thoughts were roiling enough as it was.

My Great-Aunt Ruby summoned me the next morning.

I say "summoned" because that's what it felt like — a summons to the royal presence. I was sure she'd heard about all the events of the day before...and maybe my run-in with Perry at Main Stage on Friday night, too. Part of a prima's responsibilities included keeping tabs on her clan members, especially the girl who happened to be the prima-in-waiting.

Since I'd gone to bed so early the night before, I was up before eight on Sunday, and had toast and instant oatmeal before Aunt Rachel had even come downstairs. She wasn't much of a morning person, and since the store didn't open until eleven on Sundays, she tended to sleep in then even more than usual.

Nothing so prosaic as a text or email or even a phone call to let me know Great-Aunt Ruby wanted to see me. No, I heard her voice in my head, saying, Angela, I want to see you. That was her particular power, to be able to reach out to any of us mentally whenever she needed. I thought it was probably a little more useful than being able to talk to ghosts.

At any rate, I didn't dare ignore that voice. And I also took a little more care than usual with my appearance that morning, ditching my jeans and cowboy boots for one of my few skirts, a long sequined piece from India, and a pair of ballet flats. Nobody in their right mind wore heels in Jerome, unless their plans only included walking a few steps from their car to a restaurant or something.

The air was cool that morning as I let myself out, the sky dappled with clouds. I didn't see a lot of people out on the streets yet; most shops in town didn't open until eleven or twelve on Sunday, and while there were a few places that offered breakfast, the tourists generally came up for lunch or dinner. I paused for a minute or two on Main Street, letting the wind ruffle my hair, breathing in deeply and feeling the air currents as they moved and shifted around me.

No sign of the shadowy presence that had manifested itself the night before. Not even an echo of that unearthly chill, or the laughter I thought I'd heard but must have imagined. It was just a clean, bright Sunday morning, the sun warm but letting me know the seasons were shifting, and winter wasn't far off.

I shook my head, then began the climb up to Great-Aunt Ruby's house.

The large Victorian house she occupied had once belonged to one of the mine's overseers. How exactly it came to be the residence of all the McAllister primas since then was somewhat murky. I don't want to say that long-ago overseer was exactly coerced into giving it up, but I had gotten the distinct impression that he'd sold it for a song without recalling exactly why he'd been willing to let go of his beloved home for so little.

When I was younger, my great-aunt frightened me a good deal, not simply because she was the prima and therefore in charge of the whole clan, but also because she had seemed so very old to me. My grandfather was the youngest of Randolph McAllister's four children, and Ruby the eldest, with almost fifteen years separating them, so she was much older than my grandparents would have been...if they were still alive.

Another tragedy there, since Grandpa Logan had tried to break up a bar fight years before I was even born, and gotten a knife between the ribs in thanks, and my grandmother had sort of withered away after that. She'd never been a very strong witch, according to Aunt Rachel, who seemed disproportionately disapproving, considering Grandma Irene was her own mother. But maybe Rachel was still hurt and angry, since my grandmother had passed away when her two daughters were only in their teens. No wonder my mother had grown up to be such a wild child.

At any rate, Great-Aunt Ruby had always seemed as if she came from a generation even further removed than that of my grandparents or other people their age. Her own two sons were still in Jerome, of course, Lionel a noted sculptor and Joseph the chief of the fire department, but even they didn't seem to be quite the same force of nature she was.

Eventually I made it to the front steps of her house. Up until even a year ago, my great-aunt had managed all the hills in Jerome without batting an eye, but time seemed to be finally catching up to her. I paused for a second or two to catch my breath, watching the clouds move against the blue sky. The red rocks of Sedona to the north and east seemed to almost glow as the fast-moving shadows passed over them.

I wouldn't let my gaze move any farther than that. After last night, the last thing I wanted was to be looking into the dark heart of Wilcox territory. That seemed to be inviting more trouble than I already had.

The rosebushes on either side of the walk up to the front door still had a few blooms, but the grass in the tiny pocket handkerchief lawn was already starting to appear yellow and tired. As always, though, the rest of the place looked immaculate, the paint in its shades of ivory and blush and terra-cotta gleaming. Not every house in Jerome was maintained quite so well, but the prima had to keep up appearances.

Just as I approached the front door and raised my hand to knock, it swung inward. I didn't see any sign of Cora, who lived here and acted as a sort of nurse/companion, but that didn't surprise me too much. Great-Aunt Ruby did like her little theatrics.

"In the sitting room," came her voice from within the house, so I stepped inside and shut the door behind me.

"Coming, Aunt Ruby," I replied, and made my way to the chamber that was her favorite, in the octagonal tower on the southwest corner of the house.

It didn't really surprise me that it was her favorite room, since it provided staggering views across the Verde Valley and into Sedona, and southward along the Black Mountains. From here I could see the line of cottonwoods following the path of the Verde River. Those trees were just beginning to burst into their autumnal finery of bright yellow; the lighter patches seemed to gleam like flame amongst the dark green of the leaves that hadn't yet turned.

My great-aunt sat in an imposing chair of about the same vintage as the house; I guessed she liked it because it looked like a throne. Her gaze seemed to be fixed on the landscape outside the windows, but she turned her head slightly as I entered the room, and pointed a wrinkled hand at a smaller chair just to her right.

"Sit down, Angela."

I did as she requested, of course, glad I'd decided to put on that skirt and those ladylike shoes. The world had changed a lot since Ruby was a girl, and she'd changed with it...just not to the point where she was happy seeing the next prima of the McAllisters wearing faded jeans and cowboy boots that needed resoling.

At first she didn't say anything, but only looked me up and down, as if recommitting my features to her memory. Then, "I heard you did well last night."

"You did?" I asked, surprised. I'd been worrying that she would take me to task for not going to Aunt Rachel about that apparition or entity or whatever it had been first thing, rather than attempting to fortify myself with some pizza and wine beforehand.

"Yes. It isn't an easy thing, to hold the energies of that many people in your hand, to use them to strengthen and guide you. That was the work of a true prima."

"But...I'm not the prima."

"Yet," she said crisply, and fastened me with a pair of blue eyes that were still very sharp, despite their faded color. I don't know what she saw, but she sighed then and glanced away, her gaze once more returning to the landscape of golden fields and purple-hued mountains miles beyond the windows. "Angela, my time is coming soon. I can feel it."

Cold began to work its way down my spine, even though the room was quite warm — warmer than I would have usually preferred, especially after my hike up here. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. There was supposed to be a long time after the prima-in-waiting found her consort before she had to take over as the clan's new leader. It was only because my mother had refused to do her duty that so many years separated my great-aunt and myself. "Don't say that, Aunt Ruby — "

"I will say it," she interrupted. "I am eighty-eight years old, child. Being a witch does not make one immortal."

I didn't reply to that, only clasped my hands between my knees, knowing I wasn't going to like what was about to come next, and also knowing that I had no choice but to listen to it.

She nodded, but I didn't know if it was in approval of my silence, or because she was mentally going through what she meant to say next. "It's been hard. I lost my Pat fifteen years ago, and oh, how I wanted to go with him. You'll understand, when you find your consort."

If I find him, I thought. I doubted she wanted to hear that...then again, maybe she knew I was thinking it. Contrary to popular belief, being a witch doesn't necessarily make you psychic, and anyway, that wasn't Great-Aunt Ruby's gift. However, she of course knew all about my failure to find my own match, and it didn't take a mind reader to figure out I was feeling a little disheartened by the whole process.

Bony fingers tightened on the carved arms of the chair. "But I held on, because I knew you weren't ready. How could you be, at that age? So I've been waiting this whole time, waiting to see if you would be able to manage when the time came...and I think you will be." She shook her head, correcting herself. "No, I know you will be."

"How can I, when I can't even find a consort?" I argued. Her talk of the "time coming" and all that was frightening me more than I wanted to admit, even to myself. She couldn't go before I found my match. I'd be vulnerable.

I'd be alone.

"You will. The more difficult the search, the stronger the bond, when it comes." Her expression grew dreamy, and beneath the lines and the fine, paper-thin skin I could see a ghost of the beautiful young woman she'd been so many years before. "How they came to court me, back in the day, and I wouldn't have any of them. Just like you, Angela. My mother despaired and my father blustered, but I hadn't a care in the world. I knew he'd be there when I needed him. And so he was — Patrick Lynch, come up from Payson on business, not thinking of anything except selling some cattle. Certainly not thinking he'd be the consort of the McAllisters' prima. But I was down in Cottonwood, shopping with my mother, and there he came walking along the street, and I knew. I knew the second I laid eyes on him. Just as you'll know, Angela."

I nodded, albeit sadly. I wanted to feel that conviction. I wanted to look up and suddenly meet those cool green eyes I'd seen so many times in my mind, and know the doubt and worry were over at last. How I wanted that more than anything in the world. Wanting something, though, wasn't quite the same as actually getting it.

"Why, you're seeing him already in your dreams. He wants to come to you, just as you want to come to him."

"Well, he's taking his sweet time," I remarked, my tone a little more acid than I'd intended. Her brows lifted, and I hastily added, "I know, I know. These things happen as they're meant to be. But I barely have two months left."

"A lot can happen in two months, even though it might feel like an eternity to you. The worst thing you can do is allow yourself to become discouraged. That only leads to a lowering of your spirits, and that makes you vulnerable." Her mouth tightened. "And that is the thing this clan needs the least."

Something in her tone told me she was making an oblique reference to the spirit or entity I had seen. "Did you — did you feel it?" I asked.

She didn't bother to inquire what I'd meant by "it." A nod, and she replied, "Faintly. I was sitting here, napping a little, I suppose." Another pursing of the thin wrinkled lips. She didn't like to admit to any weakness, even something as harmless as taking an afternoon nap. "It felt to me like a cold draft blowing through a crack in the wall. Then it was gone, and until Rachel sent out the call to the coven, I thought I must have imagined it."

"It is — it is gone, though, isn't it?" Even though I could sense no trace of that malevolent presence, it still nagged at me, as if it were hiding somewhere just out of range.

"As far as I can tell. It was a good cleansing. I sense no negativity here now...unless you want to count the drivers going over the mountain cursing as they have to slow down to ten miles an hour to get through town."

That remark made me smile. I guessed she'd made it on purpose in an attempt to banish my lingering worries. "So what should I do?"

"As you have done. Be vigilant, of course, but don't let yourself worry too much. Everyone is here for you, and will be, no matter what happens."

I regarded her steadily. "And you, Great-Aunt Ruby? Will you be here for me, too?"

She didn't blink. Those blue eyes were sharp as a hawk's. "You've got to take off the training wheels sometime, child." Then she made an impatient gesture with one hand. "That's enough for now. You go — your aunt will need you at the shop. It's almost eleven."

If it had been anyone else, I might have tried to argue, press her for more details...plead with her to hang on until I'd found my consort. Maybe she would, and maybe she wouldn't. But that time would be of her choosing, and none of mine.

I got to my feet. "I'll talk to you again soon," I said firmly.

"I'm sure you will," she replied, tone neutral.

After bending down and giving her a swift kiss on the cheek — the expected farewell — I went back to the front door and let myself out. A cloud moved over the sun in that moment, and I barely kept myself from flinching. Heck of a way for the McAllisters' next prima to act...jumping at shadows, always looking over her shoulder.

Shaking my head at myself, I went down the hill to my aunt's store.

I didn't look back.

As Sundays went, it was busy but not horribly so. Enough to keep me somewhat occupied, but not so much that I couldn't keep worrying at the nagging problem of the unwelcome spirit who'd shown up here the day before. Yes, everyone seemed to think it was gone, and I'd have to accept that for now, but the one topic people seemed to be avoiding was the question of what it actually had been. Maybe no one really had a clue, and so didn't want to profess their ignorance. It made some sense; in Jerome, I was the ghost girl. And if I didn't know what that thing was, how could I expect anyone else to figure it out?

I decided I'd better go directly to the source.

We closed the shop at five, and Aunt Rachel went upstairs to check the roast she'd left cooking in the crock pot all day. Tobias would be coming for dinner, as he did every Sunday, but we wouldn't be sitting down until six-thirty. I had some time.

Except for the few tourists staying at the local hotels and B&Bs, and a few stalwarts who remained behind to squeeze one last dinner out of their weekends, Jerome tended to clear out on Sunday evenings. I slipped down to Hull Avenue and around the corner of Spook Hall, a place where Maisie tended to hang out...if you could call what a disembodied spirit did "hanging out."

"Maisie," I whispered, as the sun began to drop behind Mingus Mountain and the shadows lengthened. "I need to talk to you."

Nothing at first, which didn't surprise me. It was quiet down here; the wine tasting room a few doors down had already closed, and the hall wasn't hosting any events that day, so there wasn't anyone else around. I leaned against the cold cement wall and waited. True, Maisie had much more time on her hands than I did, but acting impatient or agitated was the surest way to keep her from appearing at all.

At last I saw her shiver into existence a few feet away from me, her form slowly becoming more substantial as I watched. She wore a simple white high-collared blouse and dark skirt, and looked a lot more respectable than most people might think a mining town prostitute should. Then again, she may have decided she didn't want to spend eternity wandering around in a camisole and corset. Her curly blonde hair was pulled up into a loose knot on the top of her head, although a few tendrils waved around her face, and moved in a breeze that had little to do with the wind currents in Jerome at that time of day.

She showed no surprise at seeing me. "Angela."

"How are you today, Maisie?"

Her mouth quirked, and she raised an eyebrow. "'Bout the same as always, I reckon. What did you want?"

"Can we talk a bit?"

Her lopsided dimple deepened. "Sure. Not like I have anything else I need to do right now."

This sort of an exchange had turned into a ritual for us. It had always seemed sort of rude for me to jump right into asking her for what I needed, and so we always shared a little banter to get things started. "Let's go down to the stoop."

About halfway down the side of the building was a raised area outside one of the exits. I settled myself on the edge, but Maisie remained standing. I'd actually never seen her sit down, but I didn't know if that was personal preference or because she really couldn't sit.

I settled myself in place, and she watched me from a few feet away. It always startled me how much she looked like a regular girl, even in her 1890s getup. If someone had seen her, they'd probably think she was just a local historical reenactor of some sort. There really was no way to tell that she'd died only a few feet from this spot almost a hundred and twenty years ago.

As far as I could tell, though, I was the only one who could actually see her. Anyone passing by would see me standing there and talking to myself, but that sort of behavior was mostly ignored in Jerome.

"So, Maisie," I began, then hesitated. There really wasn't an easy way to ask the question. "Did you feel...or see...or hear...anything strange late yesterday afternoon?"

She'd been staring past me at the square, stolid bulk of Lawrence Hall, but her gaze sharpened at once. "Laws, yes. I was wondering if you were going to come poking around and asking about that."

I should have been relieved at a chance to clear up the mystery. Somehow, though, I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what she had to say. "So you know what it was?"

"Now, I didn't say that. I just said I felt something strange."

"What did you feel?"

"Cold. I shouldn't feel cold...I don't feel anything at all, most days, although every once in a while I fancy I can feel the wind on my face. My imagination, I s'pose, but there it is." A frown pulled at her fair eyebrows, at skin that would never see a line or wrinkle. I always had to remind myself that Maisie had been younger than I was now when she died.

"I felt it, too," I told her, and tried to repress a shiver, not all that successfully.

She shot me a curious glance. "And you don't know what it was, neither?"

"That's why I was asking you. I thought you might know something more because you're a, well — "

"'Cause I'm a ghost."

"Well, yes."

Her shoulders lifted. "Never felt nothing like it before, that's true. It wasn't one of us."

By "us" I knew she meant the thirty-odd spirits who'd made Jerome their permanent abode. I'd already guessed that much, since I knew all of them as well as I knew the members of my own family, or the residents of the town who weren't McAllisters but were trusted with our secret.

"But do you — do you think it was a spirit who used to be someone?"

"I am still someone."—Somewhat indignantly.

"I know. I'm sorry." I sighed, and ran a hand through my hair. Or rather, I attempted to and was stopped by a tangle. My hair tended to drive me nuts, since it was halfway between wavy and curly, and could never make up its mind what it wanted to be. "I just meant the spirit of someone who died."

"Not like any I've ever met, that's for certain." I'd never thought I'd see a ghost looking scared, but at the very least she looked troubled, if not downright frightened. "I didn't like it. See, we all know each other here, the good and the bad. We rub along. But this — " Another shake of her head. "I'm glad you made it go away."

"So it is gone."

"Far's I can tell. And I think I'd feel it if it was still here."

That was something. Not much, but better than nothing.

"Thanks, Maisie." I pulled my cell out of my jeans pocket. Six-ten. Aunt Rachel would want me back home to help put the finishing touches on dinner. "You'll tell me if you feel anything else strange, won't you?"

"If you come and ask," she said.

That was ghosts for you. Always wanting it done their way.

"Sure," I replied. "You take care of yourself."

"Bit late for that, I think," she said tartly, and disappeared.

Since there wasn't anything left for me to do, I began to walk up Hull Avenue toward the back entrance of my building. Even as I went, my mind worried at the problem. So it wasn't a ghost. Other types of spirits existed, dark entities whose purpose was anything but benign. They had their counterparts on the light side, but of course what I'd felt was definitely not good. And if one of those dark, inhuman presences had somehow decided to make me its prey, it might require more than a cleansing ritual and a charmed pentacle on the door.

Suddenly the shadows of the buildings around me felt too black, and I found myself hurrying home, hurrying toward the safety, however spurious, of my aunt's house.

Chapter Six

He came to me in my dreams that night. Another change, because this time he stood beside me, although for some reason I still couldn't look up into his face. But he held my hand in his, the two of us standing there in the soft twilight as snow began to fall all around us. I wasn't cold, even though I was wearing only a flannel shirt and jeans and boots, no jacket or gloves or hat. His fingers were warm in mine, strong and welcome, and I squeezed them slightly, as if even in my dream I had to reassure myself that he was real.

Something in the air seemed filled with anticipation, as if I knew at any moment he would pull me into him, would cup my face in his hands and bring my lips to his, so I'd know at last I'd found him, found the one I'd been waiting for all these years. He shifted, and in my dream I smiled, knowing what was going to come next.

Only as he moved, he became shadowed, as if his whole body had turned to black, had turned as featureless and frightening as the figure that had stared at me in the shop the day before, and the fingers holding mine were no longer warm, but deathly cold. In my dream I tried to wrench my hand away, but he was too strong, and not only held on to that hand but grasped the other, pulling me against him, the chill of his body leaching into mine. Then we were falling to the snow, a weight as cold and heavy and black as the depths of the ocean on top of me, holding me down, smothering my heat with his ice, and though I pushed and pushed, I couldn't get away, couldn't take a breath, couldn't force one scream....

"Angela! Angela!"

My aunt's voice, and her hands on my shoulders, shaking me awake. I blinked, and saw her worried face peering down into mine, outlined by a yellow rectangle of light — the open doorway to the hall, with the overhead fixture bringing welcome illumination to my dark room.

"What was it?" she asked, voice urgent. "A nightmare?"

I wanted to say it was only a nightmare, but I couldn't say for sure. Mine was not the gift of seeing visions, or the future, but all witches had flashes of precognition from time to time. I didn't want that to be the case here. I wanted it to be only a nightmare, only a horrible dream put together from my worries and fears and the frightening experiences of the past few days.

"I...don't know," I said at last.

"Tell me," she said, and I knew from her tone that she wouldn't let me get away with any evasion.

So I told her everything I remembered, no embellishment, no speculation, just the bare bones of the dream. That was enough; her face, pale already without its daytime makeup, went even whiter.

"It got through," she murmured. "Even through all the wards we set up...."

"It was only a dream," I said, but the protest sounded halfhearted even to me.

"We don't know that for sure." She reached out and touched my hand where it lay on top of the embroidered bedspread. "You're like ice."

That was true enough; shivers still wracked my body. "What should we do?"

"Bring in reinforcements," she said immediately. "You'll have to be watched around the clock."

As much as the dream had bothered me, that idea upset me even more. Wasn't my life circumscribed enough? Was I now going to have some kind of McAllister version of the Secret Service dogging my every step?

Yep, that was about the size of it.

Margot Emory, one of the clan elders, and Boyd Willis, a warlock noted for his strong spells of protection, and Henry Lynch, one of Great-Aunt Ruby's grandsons, all set up camp in the living room that night, watching over me, watching over the house, making sure that no trace of evil or ill will could enter. And the next morning another group of three took over, only to be replaced by yet another trio the following evening. They attempted to stay out of the way — well, as much as they could with my aunt worrying about what she should cook for them all — but it was trying, to say the least.

I retreated to my studio and tried to concentrate on twisting wire and setting stones and choosing gems for the next round of pendants and earrings and talismans after the ones I was working on were done, but I had a hard time focusing. More than once I clipped a wire in the wrong place, or placed a stone crooked so I had to pry it out and start all over again, but I supposed it was good I had something to occupy myself. And in an odd way the very presence of the stones reassured me, the quiet strength of garnet, the gentle warmth of rose quartz, the serene coolness of jade. I took solace in their touch, and thanked them for their beauty as I set them in shimmering silver and vibrant, glowing copper.

Late on Tuesday afternoon, Sydney texted me. R U coming 2 try on dresses tomorrow?

I really, really hated text-speak, even though I supposed it made sense in a twisted sort of way when you were trying to save time and effort. Even so, I always replied using proper sentences. I'm under house arrest. Can you come up here?

Her reply came back almost at once. No prob. See U @ 4. Dinner @ Grapes?

Okay, I texted back. I had to hope that the restaurant was close enough to home that I could go out to eat with a friend without having to drag my bodyguards along.

She showed up around four-thirty the next day, a garment bag slung over one shoulder. I'd given up on my jewelry for the day and was pretending to make myself useful by dusting some of the more obscure corners of the shop, but I had a feeling Aunt Rachel saw right through that tactic.

When Sydney came in, I gladly abandoned the feather duster. "We're going upstairs to try on our stuff for the Halloween dance," I told my aunt.

That day's "bodyguards" were sitting at a table off to one side, pretending to browse through books on local history. They'd all looked up as soon as Sydney came in, but since she was clearly not a threat, they turned back to their books, ignoring us. Well, ignoring her, anyway.

Aunt Rachel smiled at Sydney and said hello, but couldn't spare much more than that, as she was in the middle of showing a turquoise cuff to a husband and wife at the time. Taking advantage of her distraction, I all but dragged Sydney upstairs.

"Who were those dorks?" she asked, jerking her chin over her shoulder as we climbed the stairs. "And what's this about house arrest?"

I really didn't want to go into the whole thing. "Let's just say things get a little weirder the closer I get to my birthday without a consort."

"O-kay," she replied, drawing out the second syllable as a means of registering her disapproval. "You're not going to have to drag them along to the dance, are you?"

"I don't know," I said. "I hope not. But I have a feeling they'll be there, only not so obvious. Kind of like Secret Service guys in black tie at a White House function or something."

"Are they going to wear those little earpieces?" she asked with a giggle.

I didn't want to explain that witches really didn't need that sort of thing. "Probably not. Anyway," I added, hoping to distract her, "let's take a look at these dresses."

That did the trick. She went over to my bed and laid down the garment bag as I shut the door, glad that the watchdogs didn't insist on being as close to me as Secret Service agents were to the President. It was enough for them to be in the building, keeping the wards strong, continually checking for any whiff of something that didn't belong. So far they hadn't sensed anything at all. Whatever was trying to come after me seemed to have backed off for the time being. Or maybe it was just playing with us, waiting to see if we'd get lax after a while.

If that was its game, it obviously didn't know the McAllisters very well.

"Okay, so, here's the one I brought for you," Sydney said, pulling out a long red dress with intricate flounces along the bottom, all edged in black sequins, and with red and black beading on the bodice. It was low-cut, but I'd already resigned myself to that. "Please tell me you found some decent shoes."

In silence I went to my closet and produced a pretty pair of black leather Mary Jane – style pumps. They were my aunt's, but she and I wore the same size, and she was all too happy to let me borrow them. Actually, I think she was just as tired of the cowboy boots as Sydney was.

"Oh, those are pretty good," she said, eyeing them critically. "Go ahead and try it on, then."

I took the dress from her and used the standing mirror in the corner as a sort of screen as I pulled off my jeans and flannel shirt. One look at the bodice of the dress told me I couldn't wear a bra with it — there were cups sewn into the gown itself — and so I reluctantly unhooked my bra as well before climbing into the dress and sliding it over my hips and all the way up. The zipper would've been impossible to manage by myself...if I weren't a witch. It glided up smoothly, pulling the gown closely against me. It was snug but not too tight. Even so, I knew it showed off a whole hell of a lot more than I was used to.

After taking a breath to fortify myself — and realizing that those cups in the bodice were a lot more padded than I'd expected — I emerged from behind the mirror. "Is it okay?"

Sydney's eyes widened. "Okay? It's...way more than okay." She got up from the bed, where she'd been fussing with her own short, sparkly dress, and came to stand next to me. "That's spectacular." Then her eyes lit up, and she hurried back over to her purse, rummaged through it, and pulled out a tube of lipstick. "Put this on."

I took the lipstick from her and spread a thin coat over my lips. It was dark red, almost a perfect match to the dress. With it on, and with the bodice of the gown cut low over my breasts, I almost didn't recognize myself. My eyes glowed green in contrast to the red of the gown and the ruby of my lips.

"See?" she demanded in triumph. "I always knew you could be beautiful if you just put a little effort into it."

At any other time I would have protested, but now, with that familiar-yet-strange face looking back at me from the mirror, I thought Sydney might have a point. I put the cap on the lipstick and started to hand it back to her, but she shook her head.

"No, you keep it. I have a feeling you don't have anything that color, right?"

That was a joke. My entire lip collection consisted of my Burt's Bees balm and a single tube of peach lipgloss that got worn maybe twice a month, if that. "Thanks," I said.

She looked over my reflection, then gathered up my unruly hair and twisted it into a quick knot low on the nape of my neck. "We'll do your hair like this, and then a red flower...."

"Aunt Rachel has some dangly gold earrings I can borrow, too."

"Perfect! No one's going to recognize you."

"Well, especially with a mask on," I pointed out.

Her face fell. "Are we really going to wear masks? I hate those things. It always feels as if my lashes are jamming into the eye holes."

"It is a Halloween party, you know." Then again, I didn't know for sure if everyone wore masks to the dance or not. Maybe I'd bring one along and see what other people were doing. I mentioned this to Sydney, and she brightened a little.

"Okay, that I can work with." She turned away from me and held up the shimmering gold dress she planned to wear. "What do you think? Not as spectacular as yours, but...."

"It's gorgeous," I said truthfully. "And it'll look perfect with your hair."

She ran a hand over the beaded fringe and nodded. "I found this awesome pair of gold heels to go with it, too. I just have to hope that I won't break my neck walking down the street in them. I swear, I don't think there's one level sidewalk in this town of yours."

"Probably not." There didn't seem much point to staying in the red dress any longer, now that we'd determined it fit, and so I moved back behind the mirror to take it off. "I still can't believe Madison was okay with just giving these away."

"Well, I might have offered to give her free highlights for the next couple of months in exchange...."

I stuck my head out from behind the mirror. "That was generous. What can I do to chip in?"

"Nothing," she said blithely. "It's good practice for me. I don't mind."

Past experience had taught me that it was no use insisting, so I only said, "Okay, but let me get dinner at least," before going back to getting the dress off and putting it back on its hanger. As quickly as I could, I slipped my bra back on and pulled on my shirt and jeans.

"Deal." I heard the bed creak a little as she shifted on it. "Hey, Anthony has next Saturday off, and he and a couple of friends — not Perry — are taking their four-wheelers up to Crown King. Want to come?"

Crown King was a ghost town about seventy miles south of Jerome. Well, not completely a ghost town. A few people still lived there, and even more had summer homes on the mountaintop, but the place's biggest claim to fame was its saloon...and the bragging rights of driving over more than twenty-five miles of dirt road to get there. I knew a few people who'd made the trip, and it always sounded like a lot of fun, but it would've been a stretch at the best of times, and I knew it sure wasn't going to happen now, not with the whole McAllister clan watching my every move.

"I don't think so," I said slowly, and came out from behind the mirror, dangling my boots from one hand. "But you guys have fun."

For a minute Sydney didn't say anything, only watched me carefully, blue eyes scanning my face, looking for what, I didn't know. Then she said, "Are you going to tell me what's really going on?"

I gave her as guileless a look as possible. "Nothing is going on."

She crossed her arms. "How long have we been friends?"

"About seven years now, I think."

"And have I ever let slip any secrets about you? Told anyone the truth about your family?"

"Well, no," I replied, not sure where she was going with this.

"Then why won't you tell me what's wrong? I can tell something isn't right. You've got those people who look like refugees from Hogwarts camped out in your aunt's store, you seem all jumpy, you won't come up to Crown King even though technically it's still in your 'safe zone,' whatever that means. So why don't you trust me to tell me what's going on?"

Her tone was hurt, and I really couldn't blame her for that. She was right — she really had kept her mouth shut all these years, been a better friend than I probably deserved. A lot of people probably wondered why we were friends at all, since we were so different. Back in the day, I'd wondered the same thing, although at the time I'd thought she just wanted to take me on as a project. After all, the first thing she ever said to me, when she approached me on a cool October morning all those years ago, was, "Nineteen ninety-three called. It wants its shirt back."

Okay, I had been wearing a flannel shirt, along with my favorite faded Levi's and a pair of well-worn boots, whereas she'd had on a denim mini-skirt, tight top, and wedges. I must have looked like a total hick to her. Cottonwood High was a small pond, but even it had its hierarchy. Yet somehow Sydney had seen something in me that she found interesting. True, I knew she was safe to be friends with — the charm that made sure only congenial souls resided in Jerome also ensured that members of the clan only made friends with those we could trust. Still, she'd stuck by me through everything, and I knew she'd defended me to some of her other friends from the more popular crowd.

"I do trust you," I said finally. "I guess I just didn't want to drag you into this."

"Into what?"

"We don't know for sure. But it's not good." Quickly, I told her about the dark presence in my aunt's shop, the nightmare, the need for increased vigilance. "None of us really know what's going on," I finished. "But we have to be really careful, so that means I can't even go into Cottonwood without some kind of escort. I'd love to go with you guys to Crown King. But I just can't."

Through all this, Sydney's expression had grown steadily more troubled. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I had no idea. But can't you guys, I don't know, call in reinforcements or something?"

It would take way too much time to explain to her the alliances and hierarchies of the clans, how we were more or less friendly with the de la Pazes, or the Cortez family farther out to the west, true, but that didn't mean we wanted to reveal any weakness to them. Admitting we were up against something we couldn't handle was not something any of us wanted to do. Not yet, anyway. Not until all other resources had been exhausted.

I shook my head. "It's usually every clan for themselves. It's our problem, so we have to take care of it on our own. And it's gotten better — I mean, since we stepped up the protection here, I haven't had any more bad dreams or seen or felt any other dark presences. Maybe what we're doing is enough. Even so, we don't want to take any chances."

"I can see why," Sydney replied, and shivered. Then she added, in a too-hearty tone, "Well, it's a good thing that the dance is right here in Jerome. They can't keep you from going to that, can they?"

That worry had been hanging out in the back of my mind, but since no one had said anything to the contrary, I guessed that the dance was still considered safe enough. "No. I'm not saying we won't have the Hogwarts contingent hanging out and keeping an eye on things, but if I can't be safe at Spook Hall, a block away from where I live, then I can't really be safe anywhere, can I?"

"I guess not." She reached out and touched a strand of the beaded fringe of her Halloween dress, running it between her thumb and forefinger. "I don't know how you do it, though."

"Do what?"

"Keep on acting normal, as if you don't have this horrible thing hanging over your head. I'd never want to leave my room."

I shrugged. "Because I don't have any other choice."

Despite everything, the next two weeks practically flew by. There were no more incursions — no dark shapes skulking around town, no nightmares to wake me, gasping, from sleep. I also didn't dream of him at all, but I was willing to accept that loss for the time being. Maybe his absence from my dreams meant he was finally going to make a real-world appearance.

The days grew colder, the leaves on the trees changing in earnest now, bright yellow for the cottonwoods in the river bottoms, flame orange and red for the oak and sumac around town. I'd always loved the fall, loved to watch the blaze of color around me and in the valley below. Now, though, despite no further incidents, I found myself watching the shadows more closely, looking over my shoulder more often. My aunt probably would have applauded my caution, but I hated it. I didn't want to live that way.

And somehow — driven by desperation, probably — she managed to dig up two new candidates to make their attempts at the ritual kiss. No go for either one, of course. The second one came by two days before the Halloween dance, and I found myself even more irritated than usual by my failure.

"Can you wait until after the dance for the next one?" I'd demanded irritably, almost as soon as he left. I did allow myself a moment of guilt; the poor guy had driven here all the way from California. Not that I had much control over the situation, so my guilt was probably misplaced...and that made me crabbier than ever. "I've got enough on my mind as it is."

"We can't afford to wait, and you know it," Aunt Rachel had said in imperturbable tones, as she continued to fold T-shirts and tidy up the display a rowdy group of college kids had wrecked.

Maybe they'd just picked up on my vibe...the whole time that group of laughing guys and girls were in the store, I'd watched them in some envy, wishing I could be that angst-free and oblivious. Hell, I wished I could just go to college like a normal person. But one of them had been wearing a Northern Pines University sweatshirt, which meant they had to have come down from Flagstaff...and which meant they were students at the last college I could ever possibly attend.

"I know we can't afford to wait," I told my aunt. Then, wanting to change the subject, "So are you and Tobias coming to the dance after all?"

"I think so," she'd replied. "It's probably best if there are as many of us there as possible...in case."

In case dark vaporous figures started oozing out of the walls or something, I supposed. But, depressing as the situation was, better that than the alternative. All I could do was hope we wouldn't have such a huge McAllister contingent there that they'd max out the occupancy of the place, thus defeating any chance of dancing with someone I hadn't known since I was in diapers. Bad enough that Adam had already announced his intentions of accompanying Sydney and me to the dance. Anthony was working at the wine tasting room until eight that night and had promised to come up to Jerome as soon as he could, but he still wouldn't be able to get to the dance much before nine.

Sydney didn't have a problem with Adam because she'd always thought he was kind of cute, and I hadn't quashed him because he had helped me a lot the day I saw the apparition — and afterward, too, mostly by backing off on his declarations of undying love for me. At that point I had to take what I could get.

Great-Aunt Ruby had called me into her presence several times, wanting a progress report. Not that there was much to tell her, since nothing had really happened. But she wanted to know the details of the warding spells we kept refreshing at twelve-hour intervals, wanted me to tell her if I'd noticed anything unusual about any of the tourists who'd visited the shop. Of course I hadn't, because they were the usual mix of people from within the state coming up for weekend getaways and those who'd come from much farther away, visiting Jerome because it was almost as much a place to see in Arizona as Sedona or even the Grand Canyon.

Not that I would know what the Grand Canyon looked like in person. That was Wilcox territory.

And all the while my great-aunt was watching me, I was studying her in return, looking for any signs that might indicate she was feeling weaker, or failing somehow. I couldn't see any; she looked as bright-eyed and sharp-minded as she ever had, and I told myself that maybe she'd simply wanted me to start preparing for the day when she would be gone, even if that might be somewhere far off in the future.

Wishful thinking, probably. But right then, wishes were about all I had.

Chapter Seven

A rare rainstorm threatened the day of the dance, but the weather-workers of the coven — including Adam — quietly got together and nudged those moisture-laden clouds a little farther to the west, so they might hold off for another twelve hours. Messing with the weather wasn't something we did lightly, but sometimes a little meddling was in order. A critical observer might have noticed that it never rained or snowed during any of Jerome's most important events: the Halloween dance, the holiday lighting ceremony...the Mardi Gras dance in February.

Even so, it was a gray sort of day, not the kind to inspire much enthusiasm. It helped a little that Sydney came up early, saying she wanted to give me a manicure, because I needed red nail polish to match the lipstick, and between that and watching her spend a good hour curling her hair while my nails dried, we managed to use up a large chunk of the afternoon. And after that Aunt Rachel fed us smoked chicken enchiladas and her famous Spanish rice, saying she knew we'd be drinking and so had better lay down a good base first. I noticed Sydney didn't make much protest, despite the tight-fitting dress she'd be wearing later; no one in their right mind turned down my aunt's enchiladas.

Then it was time to change, and the two of us headed up to my room to put on our dresses and makeup. That is, Sydney insisted on doing my makeup, too, since she was the expert. I didn't bother to protest, since deep down I had to acknowledge that I wanted to know what I'd look like with real makeup on and not some hastily applied lip gloss.

"I'd love to smoke up your eyes," she said as she worked away on my face, dabbing foundation on with a sponge, "but you're doing a red lip, and that would be too much. We don't want you looking like a streetwalker."

"Well, it would fit the neighborhood," I joked. Hull Avenue, where Spook Hall was located, had been the center of the red light district back when Jerome was a bustling mining town.

"But it wouldn't fit you," she said severely, then set down the sponge and picked up a brush, lightly applying blush in upward motions along my cheekbones.

"Probably not."

For the next few minutes she worked in silence, expertly tracing liner along my upper lids, brushing on mascara, using a pencil to define my brows before at last applying the red lipstick. Finally she said, "Okay, I think I'm done. It's pretty amazing...but don't peek until you have the dress on."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

I just shook my head, feeling the unfamiliar weight of my hair gathered into a low chignon. But I did as she requested, keeping my eyes cast downward at the Persian rug on the floor as I went behind the mirror and took off my shirt and jeans, then pulled on the unfamiliar and not very comfortable hose I had to wear under the gown.

"Goddess, people actually wear these horrible things every day?" I muttered as I wriggled into the pantyhose.

"Oh, stop grousing. I can only imagine what you'd say if you had to wear something historical with a corset."

"I would've put my foot down about that," I retorted.

"Quit bitching and get that dress on already. It's almost eight."

I didn't bother to point out that she'd just spent almost a half hour doing my makeup. Instead, I stepped into my gown and drew it up, then gave the zipper a quick mental yank. Then I sort of pushed and pulled until everything more or less felt as if it were in the right place. I'd left my borrowed shoes back here so I could step into them easily once I was dressed, and I did that now, then came out from behind the mirror.

"About time," Sydney began, and then she stopped, staring at me. "Wow."

"Really?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. Look at yourself."

Almost fearfully, I turned and regarded myself in the mirror. Well, that is, I knew it was me, but it definitely didn't look like me. My usually unruly hair was sleek and shining, my mouth full under its coating of red lipstick. Long gold earrings danced against my neck, and the dress, with its built-in padding, was doing some spectacular things to my cleavage.

"It's...nice," I said finally.

"Nice? Give me a break. Adam's going to take one look at you in that and have a heart attack."

"Well, that's really not what I was going for." To put it mildly. Adam's infatuation was already enough of a problem...what was he going to do after he saw me looking like this?

Sydney grinned. "No worries. I'll run interference if I have to." She came over and stood about a foot behind me, regarding herself critically in the mirror. "No one's even going to notice me with you looking like that."

"I highly doubt that." Maybe at first glance my outfit was more eye-catching, but she looked like the perfect golden girl, with her hair curling over her shoulders and the gleaming fringe of her dress shimmering with every move she made. Also, that dress was short. Her legs looked about ten miles long in it. "Anyway," I added, "why do you want people noticing you? I thought you were with Anthony."

"I am. But that doesn't mean I don't still want guys looking at me."

"I really don't think that's going to be a problem."

She grinned, her blue eyes twinkling. "Yeah, probably not. But can we both agree that putting masks on top of all this is really a waste?"

My gaze flickered to the mirror. Sydney was a golden goddess, and I looked far more sultry and exotic than I'd ever thought I could. Wearing a mask did seem kind of silly. "You're right. No masks."

"Thank God." A quick once-over of her ensemble in the mirror, and she asked, "So are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be." I went over to the bed and picked up the black fringed shawl I was using as a wrap — another loan from my aunt.

We clattered down the stairs and heard voices coming from the living room, where apparently Adam had been waiting for us. He'd been chatting with my aunt, the cowboy hat he was wearing as part of his costume tipped back on his head, but when I entered, Sydney a few paces behind, he apparently lost all power of speech. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened. Great. Just what I'd been fervently hoping wouldn't happen.

My aunt, bless her, scoped out the situation immediately and rose from the couch, exclaiming, "You girls both look wonderful! Sydney, it was so good of your friend to loan out her dresses!"

"Oh, well, she wasn't going to wear them again, so she figured they might as well get some use," Sydney replied, her voice full of suppressed laughter. I could tell she was having a hard time not bursting into giggles at Adam's reaction to my appearance.

"You look great, too, Aunt Rachel," I said. And she did — she'd sort of piled together some of the choicest boho pieces from her wardrobe, making an awesome gypsy fortune-teller costume. Big gold hoops hung from her ears, and it looked as if she were possibly wearing every necklace she owned.

"Oh, well...." She waved a hand. "Tobias is running a little late, so you three should just go on ahead."

"What, no armed escort?"

That remark earned me a sour look. "There are several...guardians...at the hall already, and you'll have Adam with you."

"What am I, chopped liver?" asked Sydney.

"In this case, unfortunately, yes." My aunt softened her words with an accompanying smile. "But there is always strength in numbers, I suppose. Anyway, there are also a good many people on the street as well, so I think it should be safe enough."

"Then let's get going," I said. "I want to get a decent table to sit at."

That comment seemed to snap Adam out of his stupor. "Right. It's better to get there early, or you end up having to stand all night."

I had a feeling that really wouldn't be an issue, that because of the bodyguards and my status as prima-in-waiting I'd somehow magically I'd get a table no matter how crowded it might be already, but there really wasn't any reason to delay any longer. "Okay — we'll hold some seats for you and Tobias."

"No need for that. We'll manage. You go and have a good time."

That seemed to be our cue to leave, so the three of us left Aunt Rachel in the living room and trooped to the back door. The sun had been down for a few hours by then, and the night air that greeted us was already chilly. Sydney had decided against a shawl or coat and now looked as if she regretted it. Good thing we didn't have far to walk.

Because she was there, Adam kept silent, although I noticed how his gaze kept darting over at me. I pulled the shawl closer and pretended not to notice.

There was a line to get into the hall, but it looked as if we were early enough that we'd still be able to snag a table without having to resort to any magical intervention. We paid our ten dollars to get in — for a second I was worried that Adam would try to pay for my ticket, but one quelling look from me seemed to let him know I wasn't going along with that idea — and found a spot toward the back of the room but on the side closer to the bar.

"You two want some drinks?" Adam asked, hovering at the table without sitting down.

"Bacardi and Diet Coke," Sydney said promptly. One of her mottoes was definitely "never turn down a free drink."

Since arguing with him about buying me a drink seemed petty, I made myself smile and say, "Whatever red wine they have would be great."

"Got it." He smiled back at me, and I hoped he wasn't going to take my accepting his offer of a drink as a sign of encouragement. But then he headed off toward the bar, black frock coat flapping behind him. It was a nice-looking getup, I had to admit, although his boyish looks made it seem a little more Young Guns than Tombstone.

"Lose that shawl," Sydney commanded. "You're inside now, so stop covering up."

I'd forgotten I was still clutching the shawl around me. I did feel safer with it resting on my shoulders and hiding my chest, but I had a feeling Sydney would forcibly pull it off if I didn't ditch it. So I unwrapped it and draped it over the back of the chair, then made myself look around me instead of down at the alarming amount of cleavage I was currently displaying.

"Satisfied?" I asked.

"Much better." She shifted in her seat and tossed her hair back over her shoulders. I supposed if she were going for an authentic flapper look she would've pinned it up somehow to make it simulate a bob, but she was far more interested in looking sexy than being authentic.

She wasn't the only one, either. I saw women in saloon girl costumes and sexy vampire costumes and sexy nurse uniforms and just about every permutation of "sexy" that you could think of. There were scary ones, too, of course...zombies and ghouls and aliens, as well as people dressed as characters from all kinds of movies, including a group of four ghostbusters, not to mention Beetlejuice and Batman.

Behind the costumes and masks I recognized members of the coven, of course, but there were a lot of strangers, too, and I relaxed a little. My worries about the McAllisters taking over the whole dance appeared to be unfounded. It was an eclectic crowd, too, in terms of age — you had to be over twenty-one to get in, of course, but I saw everything from people my own age up to men and women who had to be in their sixties. Good for them, too. Who says you have to stop partying just because you're not in your twenties anymore?

Adam returned with the drinks. "Good thing I went early, too," he said, "because that line's just going to keep getting longer."

"Well, one of us will get the second round," Sydney said, taking her Bacardi and Diet Coke from him, then helping herself to a healthy swig.

He handed me mine before sitting down in the chair on my left. I would've preferred that he sit on the other side of Sydney, but I knew that wasn't going to happen, especially with Anthony supposedly showing up later that night.

What difference does it really make? I asked myself with a mental sigh. It's not as if your soulmate is going to come waltzing through those doors.

Which was depressing but probably true. I couldn't really accuse Adam of cock-blocking when there probably wouldn't be any cocks to block.

I drank some of my wine, and Adam took a swallow of his beer. Right then it was early enough that they were just playing canned music; the band wasn't supposed to start until eight-thirty. I could see some of their roadies finishing up with running wires and that sort of thing, so it probably wouldn't be too long before they got started.

Sydney's eyes roved over the crowd, obviously taking stock of the cute-guy quotient, and I wondered how serious she really was about being with Anthony. That was kind of her pattern, though — go after someone, get hot and heavy quickly, and then have the whole thing collapse a few weeks or a month later, depending on how fast their quirks got on her nerves. It wasn't as if she dated around, exactly...more like practiced serial monogamy on speed.

I'd been less than thrilled with my fate of having to wait for Mr. Perfect to show up on my doorstep, but I had to admit that it did have the benefit of keeping a lot of drama out of my life.

But not all, I thought then, trying to ignore Adam's attempt at not looking at my cleavage. It probably would've been easier if I could have just told him I didn't want him tagging along with us. I wasn't that cold-hearted, though. Maybe someone would show up tonight who would distract him from his obsession with me.

That didn't seem too likely, though; most of the girls our age in attendance seemed to be either with a date or hanging out in groups of four or five, which would make approaching them difficult for someone like Adam. He was easy enough with me, but we'd known each other all our lives. Going up to a strange girl and asking her to dance probably was not in his cards that night.

Although the band hadn't started yet, the music was still loud enough that it made talking difficult. I sipped my wine, noting how the table just behind ours was populated entirely with members of my "bodyguard" group: Wyatt McAllister, Margot Emory, Henry Lynch, my cousin Rosemary. There were two seats empty, and I wondered if they were saving those for Aunt Rachel and Tobias. I doubted that their position was accidental, either. Yes, I was supposedly in a safe place, but that didn't mean they weren't going to keep an eye on me.

"I hope Anthony will be able to get in," Sydney said loudly as she eyed the rapidly filling hall.

That could be a problem, because I'd heard they closed the doors after the building reached capacity. "Do you want me to go say something? That's my cousin Shelby at the door — I know she'll squeeze Anthony in if I ask."

"Would you? It would really suck if he drove up here and couldn't even get inside."

"No problem." I pushed out my chair and stood. At once Adam's eyes were on me, obviously curious, and I pointed at the front door. "Just want to tell Shelby something."

He nodded, seeming to relax a little. What did he think I was going to do, take off because I was already tired of him pretending to not stare at my chest?

On second thought....

I pushed back a smile and wove through the crowd to get to the door. Once there, I explained the situation to my cousin.

"Sure," she said, taking a twenty-dollar bill from a guy dressed as Gomez Addams. The Morticia with him was pretty amazing, and I wondered how much competition Gomez was going to have when it came to getting Morticia out on the dance floor. "People are always going in and out, so the building's never totally at capacity. I'll sneak him in. Where're you sitting?"

I pointed at the table where Adam and Sydney sat, my empty chair between them. "Send him over there."

"Will do."

"Thanks!"

After that I turned and walked a few steps, then had to pause as the group of ghostbusters cut in front of me, clearly heading for the bar. Once the way had cleared, I began to move forward again, only to freeze as I came face to face with a tall man all in black, his face partly shaded by the wide-brimmed black hat he wore. Even the mask covering the upper half of his face couldn't hide the lean, handsome features, the sensual mouth.

My brain sort of registered that he was dressed as Zorro, just as I also realized I was blocking his way.

"Sorry," I mumbled, moving to the side so he could continue on his path.

"I'm not," he said with a smile.

Right then I was glad Sydney had talked me into wearing that flashy dress, because from what I could see, the stranger's expression was more than a little admiring.

The moment passed, though, and he just sort of nodded and kept going, clearly headed toward a table that had several other guys and a few girls seated at it. They all looked to be around my age, maybe a few years older. I didn't recognize any of them, but that didn't surprise me much. The Jerome Halloween dance was advertised all over the state, and we had people driving in from Phoenix and even Tucson to attend. The town's B&Bs were generally booked on this weekend up to six months in advance.

Somehow I kept myself from staring at the stranger, though, and went on to sit back down at my own table. I plopped into my chair and reached for my glass of wine.

"Did you take care of it?" Sydney asked. It was a little quieter right then, as they'd turned off the canned music. I saw the band starting to walk onstage.

"Yes." Then I leaned in close to her and hoped Adam wasn't eavesdropping. "I just saw the hottest guy."

"You did? Where?"

I lowered my voice further. "A few tables over to the left...the Zorro."

At least she'd mastered the art of the casual over-the-shoulder glance. I doubted Adam could even tell what she was doing. She leaned in close to me immediately afterward and said, "Holy crap. You weren't kidding. Are you going to ask him to dance? You have to — your costumes are perfect together!"

"I-I don't know. Maybe." I didn't think I was brave enough for that. Yes, this wasn't the Victorian era, and there certainly was nothing wrong with going up to a guy and asking him to dance, but.... I risked a quick look of my own in the direction of the table where Zorro sat. It was hard to tell whether he was with any of the girls in particular or whether they were just a group of friends who'd come to the dance together.

"Something interesting over there?" Adam asked, craning his own neck.

"No — I was just looking to see whether Aunt Rachel had shown up yet."

Since that was a perfectly plausible explanation, he just said, "Oh," and returned to his beer. And whether my little lie had manifested her presence or she'd just shown up at that particular moment, I actually did see her walk in the door a few seconds later, followed by Tobias. At least, from his height I assumed it was Tobias. He was dressed in black hooded robes and carried a scythe. I hoped he didn't give her a heart attack when she opened the door and saw him in that getup.

She appeared to spy us and gave a little wave, and I grinned back. Behind her, the Grim Reaper lifted his scythe in greeting. Sydney saw where I was looking, noted Tobias's costume, and said, "Well, that's cheery."

"But comfortable."

"True. I doubt the Grim Reaper has his feet shoved into four-inch stilettos."

"You could've worn something lower."

"But these ones matched my dress."

I couldn't really argue with that. Besides, Lara, the lead singer for the band — not a McAllister, or a witch, but a longtime Jerome resident and someone who knew the score and wasn't fazed by it — had just stepped up to the mic.

"Hello, Jerome!" she called out, and the crowd started clapping and cheering. "Are you ready to get this party started?"

More cheers and whistles and clapping. I wondered if everyone stomped and pounded the floor hard enough whether it would start Spook Hall sliding down the hill the same way so many of the town's other buildings had done over the years.

"Then let's do it!" She turned toward the drummer, and he started in, the lead guitarist playing some twanging chords along with the beat.

I recognized it half a bar in and had to grin. "Bad Moon Rising," by Credence. Well, that was one way to kick things off.

Immediately couples started to crowd onto the dance floor. Adam turned to me. "You want to dance?"

Maybe I should have said no. But dancing was harmless enough, right? Especially a fast song like this one. No way was I going to slow dance with him. I wasn't that crazy.

"Sure," I said, as Sydney cocked an eyebrow at me. I stood up and followed Adam out to the dance floor, and squeezed past one of the ghostbusters, who had the sexy nurse as his partner.

Not that Sydney had much time to get judge-y, because one of the other ghostbusters came up to her and invited her out to the dance floor as well. He wasn't bad-looking, either...maybe a few years older than we were, with sandy hair and dark eyes. She sort of shrugged and then got to her feet, squeezing out there with the rest of us.

Adam turned out to be a decent enough dancer, and since it was a lively song I didn't have to worry about him reading much into it except that it was a dance, after all, and so it would have been kind of silly to go and then not, you know, dance. Even so, I couldn't help glancing past him and through the crowd of dancers to the table where I knew Zorro was sitting. He hadn't gotten up to dance, although several of the members of his group had. So maybe neither of the girls at his table were his girlfriend after all.

Like it really mattered one way or another. Yes, he was extremely good-looking, but so what? I doubted he could possibly be my soulmate. It was dark enough in the hall that I hadn't been able to tell what color his eyes were. Maybe if I got close enough....

I shook my head at myself and refocused on the dance, on the rhythm of the music and the guy in front of me. It wasn't really fair to Adam to be staring off at someone else while we were on the dance floor together.

The song ended, and we all headed back to the table. I was glad that my own borrowed shoes had sensible heels of around two inches, so my feet might actually last the night. Sydney already looked a little wobbly on her stilettos. I had a feeling by the end of the evening they were going to end up kicked under the table.

But that first song had gotten things going, and although I sat out the next one, I went ahead and danced to "Witchy Woman" with one of the ghostbusters — if he only knew how apropos that song was— and the one after that with Tobias, while Adam gallantly partnered with my aunt. In between dances I kept stealing surreptitious glances at Zorro, but he never seemed to look in my direction. Actually, he didn't seem to be dancing at all, but just watching his friends as they came and went. Like me, he was drinking red wine, but he seemed to be careful about it, and only took a sip every now and then. Well, if he had to drive back down the hill after this, I could see why he might be watching it.

A little after nine, Anthony appeared, flying solo this time. I guess he'd learned his lesson about bringing his friends along. Or maybe Sydney had told him we'd have Adam with us, so things would come out even on the whole guys/girls front. We'd saved a seat for Anthony but let a saloon girl and her gunslinger boyfriend take the remaining two chairs at the table. They weren't locals — it turned out they'd driven in from Winslow and were historical reenactors, which explained their costumes — but it seemed that sharing tables was the thing to do if your own party wasn't big enough to take up all the seats.

While the band was taking a break, Anthony and Sydney went to get a fresh round of drinks. I'd offered to get them, but Anthony wasn't hearing of it. He did seem like a nice guy, even if his friend Perry was an asshat, and I hoped Sydney might be able to make this one last longer than a month...or at least not completely break his heart once she got tired of him. Once again I stole a glance at Zorro's table, but he wasn't there. My heart sank a little. Maybe he'd gotten bored and left already. He didn't seem that into the party.

But then I saw him come in from outside as he slid a cell phone into his pants pocket. I didn't exactly allow myself a sigh of relief, although I felt the tension in the back of my neck ease up a little. So he'd just been making a phone call. It made sense, since even though the band was taking a break, the recorded music they were playing was loud enough that you'd have to scream into your phone to be heard.

I sipped my wine and attempted to return my attention to the people sitting around me, but it wasn't easy.

"...Fun?" Adam was saying.

"What?"

He raised his voice slightly. "Having fun?"

I was, more or less, even if I couldn't help being distracted by that gorgeous Zorro. "Oh, yeah," I replied, and lifted my wine glass in sort of a "cheers!" motion.

Adam lifted his beer bottle in return. That was his third, if I'd been counting correctly. Oh, well, he didn't have to drive home at least. His parents had a big Victorian on the same street as Aunt Ruby's house, but he'd moved out this past summer, getting himself an apartment over the ice cream store on Main. Like the rest of the McAllisters, he had his own stipend to live on, but he was also pretty handy and helped out with the various renovations and repairs that seemed to be going on around town at all times. He'd mentioned getting his contractor's license, but I didn't know if he was actively working toward it or not.

On my other side, Anthony and Sydney were sort of hanging all over each other... not kissing, but they might as well be. I didn't really appreciate the PDA, since I didn't want them giving Adam any ideas. However, I figured a "get a room" remark wouldn't go over very well, either, so I sighed and took another sip of wine, and hoped the band would start up again soon.

I didn't know if my wishing had anything to do with it, but Lara and her bandmates returned to the stage a few minutes later. "We thought we'd ease into this set," she said, her voice a teasing growl. When she sang, she sounded like she'd spent the last ten years smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey in every back-road saloon within a hundred-mile radius...which was actually a good thing.

The bassist started, a slow succession of notes, and Lara snarled into the mic, "I put a spell on you...."

A voice said from somewhere over my right shoulder, "Do you want to dance?"

I looked up. Zorro stood there, smiling down at me. Dumbfounded, I could only gape up at him, until Sydney kicked me — sans stilettos, luckily — and I said, "Um...sure."

He held out a black-gloved hand and I took it, rising to my feet as Adam glowered from the seat next to me. I supposed I couldn't blame him too much, since I'd steadfastly refused to slow dance with him, yet here I was taking off with the first stranger who'd asked.

But he wasn't just any stranger....

His hand still holding mine, he led me out onto the dance floor and to a spot somewhere close to the middle. Feeling more than a little awkward, I put one hand on his shoulder and my right hand on his left. He pulled me close, but not too close. At least in that position I was able to look up into his face, to get a better glimpse of the eyes half-obscured by the mask.

Brown. Dark brown.

Disappointment stabbed through me, even as I told myself not to be an idiot and to just enjoy the fact that he'd asked me to dance out of all the girls here...especially since he hadn't danced with anyone else all night.

"So are you a local?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah. Born and bred. Well," I added, "not born, I guess. I was born in California."

He smiled. "That's cool."

"Not really. My mother brought me here when I was less than a month old."

A nod. "Have you ever gone back?"

There was a loaded question. At least, it was loaded to me; he probably thought it was innocent enough. Just making conversation. "No. I don't get out much. What about you?"

"Well, if you're a local, then you know I'm not."

"True. I'd definitely remember you." Oh, that was brilliant. If both my hands hadn't been occupied at the moment, I probably would have smacked myself on the forehead for making such a stupid comment. Hot blood rushed to my cheeks, and I hurried to ask, "So where are you from?"

Another grin, his teeth flashing in the dimly light room. "Scottsdale. Well, my family is. I'm going to ASU right now, so I live in Tempe."

It all sounded so refreshingly normal. "What's your major?"

"I'm working on my master's in studio art."

Hunky and artistic? I might as well have custom-ordered him. He was so close to me, too, his body only a few inches from mine. The only other times I'd ever been this close to a guy my age was when a candidate swooped in for his kiss. Then that made me think of what it might be like to kiss this stranger in the Zorro costume...and I knew my thoughts were veering in a very dangerous direction. Voice a little breathless, I said, "That's really cool. We have lots of artists here in Jerome."

"So I've heard. This is the first time I've made it up here, though." He sort of jerked his chin in the direction of the table where his friends were sitting. "My friend Dylan saw an ad for this party in a campus paper or something, and so a group of us decided to come up and check it out."

"Are you staying here?" I knew it was silly to ask, that he was a civilian and not the guy I'd spent the last five years dreaming about, but some part of me wanted to ignore all that, to pretend we could dance tonight and talk and maybe steal a kiss or two, and then meet for coffee in the morning like a couple of normal people.

He shook his head. "No. That is, not in Jerome. We got a room down in Cottonwood because everything here was already booked."

"Good. I mean, that's safer than driving a hundred miles back to Phoenix."

"That was the idea."

After that we both fell silent, but I didn't mind that, either. It felt good to be out on the dance floor, his arms around me. It felt right, which was stupid, I supposed. Probably it was just that he was tall and dark-haired and good-looking, and so close enough to the ideal I'd held in my head for so many years that I wanted this dance to be more than it really was. And I would've known if he were like me — a member of one of the witch clans, that is. We didn't exactly give each other the secret handshake or anything, but each of us has a little core of power within us that sort of gives off a glow others of our kind can detect. I didn't feel anything like that with the man holding me right now. Well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel something, but it wasn't that.

The song ended, but he didn't seem all that eager to leave the dance floor...at least, not until the band started in on "Werewolves of London." Then he drew me to the side and bent close.

My heart started to pound. Was he going to try to kiss me? And if he did, would I even try to stop him?

But then he said, "Can I get your number? I think I might like to come back to Jerome in the near future."

If Aunt Rachel had heard that, she probably would have shaken her head. No point in giving him any false hope. She wasn't anywhere near us, however, and he was already pulling his phone out of his pocket so he could enter my information.

Taking a breath, I said quickly, "Angela McAllister. It's 928 — "

My name, echoed, interrupted me. I felt someone's hand on my arm, and I turned around to see about the last person I expected: my cousin Dora, her face pale and her eyes brimming with tears.

"It's — it's Ruby," she gasped. "She's going, and she needs to see you. You have to hurry!"

The warm afterglow of the dance abruptly disappeared. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, please, you have to come now!"

Helplessly, I looked up at Zorro. "I have to go. I'm sorry."

He looked more than a little confused, but he just nodded. "Sure. It sounds like an emergency." And, more softly, even as I was turning from him and beginning to follow Dora through the crowd, "I know where to find you."

Chapter Eight

I didn't have time to think about much else. Not the man I'd just left behind me, or my friends sitting at the table and probably wondering what the hell was going on. I couldn't think about anything as I emerged into the biting night air, except, She can't be dying. She can't.

Out the front door of Spook Hall, then across the street and hurrying up the stairs through the park, the quickest route, even though my heels weren't doing me any favors on those steep steps. The cold hit my exposed neck and chest and shoulders almost immediately. Or maybe that was simply the chill of realizing what my great-aunt's passing would mean to me. To all of us McAllisters.

Dora a few paces ahead, the two of us hurried up to Paradise Lane, where Great-Aunt Ruby's house stood. The light on the front porch shone forth serenely, as if nothing was wrong, but I knew better.

As soon as we entered the house, Dora paused in the entryway. "She's up in her room. She — she wanted to see you alone."

Mute with worry, I could only nod. Then I grasped the shining oak banister and more or less pulled myself up the stairs. Although I'd never been there before, I knew her room was on the left of the landing, in the location that would give her a panoramic view of the town and valley beyond. Not that there was much to see tonight. It was a dark night, heavy with clouds, the moon not yet risen.

Somehow I made myself cross the landing, knock on the door. "Aunt Ruby? It's Angela."

"Come in, child." The voice I knew so well, usually so imperious, now sounded fragile, brittle as the bones in the body it emanated from.

Swallowing, I opened the door and let myself in. The room was warm with candlelight, tapers flickering from the dresser and the delicate writing table under the window and the carved walnut mantel of the little marble-faced fireplace I'd always loved. Great-Aunt Ruby lay propped up against the pillows, pale hair let down from the hard little bun she usually wore it in. Something in her face seemed to have slackened, lost its usual wiry strength, but the blue eyes were clear enough as they met mine.

To my surprise, she smiled. "Well, just look at you. Like something out of a movie. Always thought you'd clean up good."

My face grew hot, and I made an off-hand gesture. "Oh, it's just for the Halloween dance. I — "

She shook her head. "Goodness, child, don't apologize for looking beautiful. Come here."

I couldn't disobey. Slowly I walked to her bedside, and she reached out and took my cold fingers in her bony ones. I had thought she'd be cold as well, but she felt strangely warm, as if some fire were burning within her, consuming the last of her long life.

"I haven't got long," she began, "so I need you to listen, and listen well."

"Oh, Aunt Ruby — "

"No time for that. I told you I made my peace with it, and the truth is I've held on far longer than I wanted to. But I needed you to be ready, and you are."

I wanted to protest that I wasn't, not at all. Arguing with someone on their deathbed didn't seem like a particularly wise thing to do, though, so I just nodded and waited for her to speak again.

"I'm not going to say you know everything, because you don't, and there are some things you can't plan for, however much you know. But you've got the strength in you, Angela, and the power to do the right thing. You'll protect this clan, and do a good job of it."

My fingers tightened around hers. "Can't you — can't you just stay a little longer. Just until — " I broke off, my throat tightening with tears I didn't want to shed in front of her. I didn't want her to see how weak I really was.

"It's hard, I know. You shouldn't have to face this alone. But I told you he's out there, and he'll come to you when the time is right. You won't be the first witch who's had to lead her clan without a consort. We all know everything happens because it's meant to, even if we can't see the reason right away." She shut her eyes for a moment, and I held my breath, wondering if this was it, the moment I'd been dreading for too long. But then the crepe-y eyelids fluttered, and she looked up at me once more. "Don't give up hope, child. It's the one thing that will always be there to guide you."

"I won't give up hope, Aunt Ruby. I promise." I wasn't sure if I really believed that; I just wanted to say something I thought she wanted to hear.

She smiled, gently, and her eyes went wide. Her focus was not on me, though, but on some point past me. An expression of incredible joy passed over her features, and for the briefest second I saw not the withered shell she'd become, but a vibrant, beautiful young woman. "I'm here, Pat!" she cried out, her voice strong and full. "I'm here!"

Then her head fell back against the pillows, and the fingers dropped away from mine. A warm rush, as if I could feel her life energy moving over me and through me, like the gentle winds of a summer long gone.

And deep inside me I felt a new stirring, a glow of power, of strength. As she'd gone, she'd passed her powers on to me. The powers of the prima.

Slowly I lifted her lifeless hand and pressed my lips against it. Thank you, Ruby. I will be strong...for you.

They were waiting when I descended the stairs — Dora, and Aunt Rachel, and Tobias, and Adam and so many others, including the clan elders, Margot Emory, and Allegra Moss, and Bryce McAllister. Not all, of course. To have every single member of the clan just up and leave the dance would attract far too much notice. But enough.

"She's gone," I said clearly, pausing on the bottom step. My eyes burned with unshed tears, but I didn't want to weep in front of them. I had to be strong. I was the prima. "It was a good passing. She called out to him, at the end. I think he was waiting for her."

Her two sons, Lionel and Joseph, stepped forward. "Can we go to her?" asked Lionel.

"Of course." I moved aside so they could go upstairs and make their own farewells. It was probably hard for them, to think that she'd asked for me at the end, and not her own sons, but allowances had to be made for the passage of power from prima to prima.

I hoped it would be enough that they could spend this small bit of time with her before we had to let the outside world in, call the funeral home in Cottonwood, make arrangements for her burial in the McAllister plot in the town cemetery. There'd once been a "Boot Hill" up in Jerome, but the hill was far too unstable; no one had been buried there for generations.

Aunt Rachel stepped forward, Tobias just a pace behind her. "How are you, sweetie?"

The endearment almost made my tears burst forth. Somehow I held them in check and managed a weak smile. "I'm okay. Tired. I just want to go home."

At the word "home," the clan elders exchanged a significant glance. Tradition held that this should be my home now. But I had no consort. True, as Aunt Ruby had said, there had been primas without consorts before me. None from the McAllister clan, however, and probably not many in as vulnerable a position as I currently was. And frankly, the thought of having to live in this big old house, with its antiques and portraits of former McAllisters, was not very enticing.

Rachel must have caught the unspoken dialogue amongst the elders, because she frowned slightly and said, "Nothing needs to be decided tonight. We all need our time to grieve. Let me take Angela home."

Margot Emory nodded. She was a striking woman with gray-streaked dark hair and clear gray eyes under strongly arched brows. Ruby had been her aunt as well, but her expression was serene and calm, with no evidence of the sorrow she must be feeling. "Yes, she needs her rest. There is much that will have to be done."

Those words were more than a little ominous, but my aunt just reached out and took me by the hand, led me through the watching crowd. As I passed him, I felt Adam's worried gaze on me, and wished I could stop to ask him what had happened with Sydney and Anthony, whether they knew why I'd had to leave so precipitously. But I couldn't think of a way to do so without making it seem as if my friends' concerns were more important than those of the clan, so I only shot him an uncertain smile as I passed by and then went on out the front door.

A cold wind washed over me, but of course Aunt Rachel had thought of everything. She pulled an embroidered wool shawl from where she'd had it draped over one arm and handed it to me so I could cover up my exposed chest and shoulders. I murmured a thank-you, and we went down the front steps and to the quiet street, then down the steeply sloping hill back to the store. Tobias followed us the whole way, not speaking, but keeping watch over the two of us. At least he'd left the scythe behind, and had dropped the hood of his black robes. Now he looked more like a burly bear of a friar, although he had a full head of hair and not one of those silly-looking tonsures.

Maybe it was silly of me to even be thinking of such things, but it kept me from thinking about what had just happened. Great-Aunt Ruby was dead. I was the new prima.

I didn't want to believe it. There had always been this small part of me that had thought they must all be wrong, that there had been some sort of mistake. Yes, I could talk to ghosts, but I didn't possess any great power. Or so I had thought.

Now, though, with the gift that Ruby had passed on to me coiled like a glowing snake somewhere in my belly, I thought I began to understand. It wasn't simply the gifts one was born with, but whether a given person had the predisposition within them to accept the prima energy and make it their own. What precisely I was supposed to do with it, I didn't quite know, but I guessed the clan elders would have some insight on that.

The main thing, though, was that I be kept safe until my consort came to me. Until we were joined, I would not be able to fully use these powers. They were powers meant for a grown woman, not the girl I still was. The girl I would remain until I met the one who would take that girlhood from me.

We went inside, Rachel closing but not locking the door behind us. As we'd approached the building, I'd seen out of the corner of my eye the approaching forms of three of the "bodyguards," and I knew they would come in and secure the place once I was upstairs.

Never before had the stairs up to my room felt as steep, but eventually I got there, my aunt and Tobias pausing out in the hallway.

"If there's anything you need — " she began, and I shook my head.

"I just want to sleep," I told her. "There'll be — well, I know there'll be a lot that has to be done over the next few days, so I might as well get my rest now."

Her eyes glittered with tears. "That's right, sweetheart. You sleep, and we'll work everything out tomorrow."

I doubted everything would be worked out. However, I knew she was just trying to reassure me, to let me know this wasn't all as horrible and awful as I thought it was. So I nodded, murmured "goodnight," and closed the door.

My room looked just as it always did, the embroidered bedspread cheerful with its primary colors and background of soft ecru, the walls painted a bold turquoise and covered with folk art and candle sconces and an assortment of symbols: crosses, a carved "om" symbol, the leafy face of the Green Man. That familiarity should have comforted me, but instead it sent a painful pang through my chest. Would this still be my room, my home? Or would I be forced to take my place as prima in the cluttered Victorian mansion on the hill?

I didn't want to think about that now. I didn't want to think about anything. I walked over to the bed, kicked off my borrowed shoes, and then collapsed, sobs finally wracking my body.

Even then I wasn't sure whether I wept for my great-aunt, or the life I knew was about to change forever.

"Of course you must go up to the house," Bryce McAllister said calmly. "It's yours now. You've seen the will."

My head ached. I'd cried most of the night, slept fitfully for a few hours just before dawn, then went downstairs and brewed myself a strong pot of tea. It hadn't helped my head much, but at least now I didn't feel as if I were going to fall asleep standing up.

The other two elders, Margot Emory and Allegra Moss, nodded. We all sat at the long dining room table in the apartment, with Aunt Rachel on my right and the three of them facing us. Tobias had spent the night, I thought, but he was gone now. This was business between the prima and the elders, and he was not needed...or that seemed to be their view on things, anyway. Rachel they'd grudgingly allowed to stay, since I still lived under her roof.

And yes, I had seen the will; they'd brought it with them so I would know my rights and responsibilities going forward. The big house was mine, as well as a far larger share of the money that came to everyone in the clan every month. Ruby's individual wealth, as well as a number of personal items, were to be divided between her two sons, with them deciding which pieces should go on to their own children, who numbered five altogether.

Even so, I realized tiredly that my great-aunt's bequest had made me a very wealthy young woman. Too bad I really didn't care about that.

"I don't think it's safe," I argued. "Down here I'm surrounded by people. Aunt Ruby's house only has neighbors on one side." I didn't bother to mention that those neighbors were Adam's parents, which would only make things that much more awkward. True, he'd moved out, but I got the feeling he'd find excuses to go visit if I were right there, too. "That is, I think we can all agree that I'm in sort of a precarious position right now."

An expression of dismay crossed Allegra's normally placid features. "Of course we would maintain the guard on you. That is not going to change."

Of course not. So I'd be stuck in that house with a bunch of bodyguards, and not even my aunt's leavening influence to make things a little more tolerable. I turned to her. "I don't really have to move out, do I?"

Her fingers knotted together on the brightly printed tablecloth from India. "I know it's hard, Angela, but that is the prima's residence. You knew you wouldn't be staying here forever."
Yes, but I'd thought that when I left this comfortable apartment, I'd be moving to my new home with my consort at my side. I hadn't thought I'd be camped out there with a bunch of babysitters making sure that dark specters or roving Wilcoxes or whatever peril might be lurking nearby didn't have a chance of getting close to me.

It hurt to think that Aunt Rachel was siding with the elders against me. "So you — you want me to leave?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her face crumpled, and I could tell she was close to tears. "No, of course not. But what I want isn't a factor in all this. There are...traditions. I can't let my own feelings get in the way."

I wanted to say, Fuck traditions! That wouldn't be productive, though, and I knew I had to grow up and face reality...even though I really, really didn't want to. "All right," I said wearily. "But it doesn't have to happen right this minute, does it?"

"No, that was never our intention," Bryce said. "There's the funeral the day after tomorrow, and then Lionel and Joseph will have to take out the things Ruby left them. Next week, I think."

His reply calmed me a little. All right, so I was apparently stuck with that Victorian white elephant, but I would have a week to come to terms with everything, to say goodbye to my lively room and the view that had greeted me every morning since I was too young to remember. Would I be able to change anything in the house I'd inherited, or would I be expected to keep it in its current museum-like state, with all the furniture that dated back to the same time the house was built?

That was a question I knew I'd better leave for another day. In the meantime, there was still a great deal to do.

It was only when we were gathered together like this that I realized how many of us McAllisters there really were, even if we didn't all share the same last name. We clustered in a corner of the cemetery, more than two hundred of us. A casual passerby might have thought us a strange-looking crew to be attending a grave-side service, for very few of us wore black. It wasn't our custom to mourn in such a way. Of course we would all miss Ruby, miss her strength and her wisdom and her fierce loyalty to the clan, but we knew she had merely crossed over, not ceased to be. She was still living, only elsewhere. And I had seen for myself the expression of joy cross her face when it was time to walk over that threshold to the next world. I had no doubt that her husband Pat was there to welcome her. How could I be sad, when she had clearly been so happy to go?

As I stood by the grave, and watched the burnished mahogany casket with its beautiful crown of yellow roses — Ruby's favorite — and spider mums be lowered slowly into the ground, I wondered if I would ever love someone like that.

There were too many of us to fit into anyone's house, so we'd rented out Spook Hall for the reception afterward. More yellow roses greeted us there, and I thought of how I'd been here only a few days earlier, and danced with Zorro and worried — hoped? — that he might try to kiss me. That opportunity was long gone, and so was he, I supposed, back to Tempe and his master's program and the real world.

Sydney had called me, eschewing texts in her worry, and I'd explained what happened. Too many things going on for me to be able to talk with her for very long, but she did tell me that Adam had said it was a family emergency, and so she and Anthony had slipped away not too long after that.

"I could tell it was something important," she'd said, "since so many people began to leave, even though they hadn't gotten to the costume contest yet. And your Zorro came up and asked about you."

"He did?" I asked, cheered a little despite everything.

"He sounded worried, and I said it was a family thing, and then he told me you were just about to give him your number but had to leave, so...."

"So?"

"So I gave it to him. I figured it would be okay, since you were about to do it anyway." She hesitated. "Was it not okay?"

"No," I said wearily. "It's fine. I doubt he'll call. He lives in Tempe, and besides...."

"He's a civilian?"

"Yes."

A long pause. Then she said, sounding a little too cheerful, "Well, hey, you never know. I am sorry about your great-aunt."

I'd thanked her for that and hung up. I could tell that she wanted to talk more, to ask about me being prima now and all that, but I just didn't have the time...or the heart. Maybe after things had settled down somewhat I could have her come up and visit, but it would have to wait for a few days.

Now I stood off to the side and watched the clan members moving through the hall, or standing and talking in small groups. Toward the front was a table decked with flowers, and a large reproduction of a photo of Ruby when she was close to my age, her mouth painted with red lipstick, hair in perfect Rita Hayworth waves to her shoulders. She was smiling, but not directly at the camera. Maybe Pat had been standing behind the photographer, and she'd been smiling for him.

She really had been strikingly beautiful. I could see why there would've been plenty of young men vying for her attentions, and not just because she was the next McAllister prima. I wondered if her looks had factored into the Wilcoxes' desperate attempt to steal her for themselves, or whether her beauty was just a nice bonus.

A shiver went over me then. I didn't want to think about the Wilcoxes, or what they might be plotting...if anything. Ever since that long-ago kidnap attempt, they'd stayed on their turf, just as we'd stayed on ours, and they'd been quiescent enough for the most part. Even so, they weren't to be trusted.

"Are you okay?" came Adam's voice from over my shoulder.

I turned toward him. "Sure. Why?"

"You were frowning."

"Oh, just thinking."

"About nothing pleasant, I guess."

"The Wilcoxes."

"Definitely not pleasant, then."

Despite everything, I grinned. "Not really, no. I'm just borrowing trouble, I think. By the way, I never got a chance to thank you for letting Sydney know what was going on so she wouldn't think I'd totally bailed on her."

"No problem." He shifted from one foot to the other, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

Maybe it was the button-up shirt and loafers he was wearing, instead of his usual T-shirts and Converse high-tops. No, we weren't required to wear black dresses and black suits and all that, but it was a sign of respect to dress nicely at the funeral of a clan member. I had on a vaguely retro full-skirted dress I'd bought at one of the shops here in town, and had borrowed Aunt Rachel's pumps again. We all looked pretty respectable — probably more respectable than an outsider would've expected a gathering of witches to be. Just more of that whole staying inconspicuous thing. You tend to attract more attention when everyone in your group looks like a refugee from a Stevie Nicks concert.

"So," he went on, drawing out the syllable as if pondering what exactly to say next. "I guess you really are moving into Aunt Ruby's house."

"Yes," I said shortly. "Next Monday, I guess." A day I was really not looking forward to.

"Oh." Then he brightened a little. "You know, Saturday is that Day of the Dead thing over in Sedona. I was thinking it might be, I don't know, good to go to that. Say another goodbye to Great-Aunt Ruby.

I'd completely forgotten about the festival. Halloween was two days before that, although I knew this year there wouldn't be too much revelry amongst the McAllister clan. Of course there would be our usual Samhain observances on Halloween itself, another way of connecting with the dead, when the veil between the worlds was at its thinnest.

Now that I thought about it, though, going to the Day of the Dead celebration seemed like a good way to make my final farewells and honor my aunt before my life went through its own change. "We'll have to take the bodyguards," I warned Adam. "No way are they going to let me go to Sedona with just you."

"Oh, I figured that. Maybe your aunt and Tobias, too, if they're interested."

The offer touched me. Clearly he was doing this because he thought it would help me, and not to seize some opportunity, however artificial, to get me alone. I didn't know if Aunt Rachel would really be up to it, as the double shock of losing Ruby and me at roughly the same time had shaken her a good deal. There was still a sign on the front door of the shop that said "closed due to a death in the family." I hadn't yet gathered the courage to ask her if she intended to open up on Halloween, which tended to be a busy day even when it fell in the middle of the week.

"I'll ask," I said. "But Rachel's taking the whole thing pretty hard. I'll let you know."

"Okay." He reached out then and gave my hand a quick squeeze before heading off toward the refreshment table.

I wouldn't let myself sigh. I had to look as if I were in control, no matter what. But it was hard not to wish, just a little, that things had been different, that Adam was my one. No, he didn't set my heart on fire or anything, but he'd been supportive and friendly the past few days, and I knew I could trust him. It would have been a lot easier if he'd turned out to be the consort.

But of course nothing can ever be that easy.

Chapter Nine

A full moon drifted overhead, surrounded by clouds that reflected its light, only more diffuse, cloudy and yellow. The wind was from the northeast, cold and biting. I tried not to think about where it was coming from, blowing down the passes from Flagstaff.

An ill wind....

I shook my head and made myself concentrate on the group around me. We always held our Samhain observance late, almost at midnight, long after all the shops and and restaurants had closed. Yes, there were still some late-night partiers at the Spirit Room, but they would be otherwise occupied, and hopefully not noticing what we all were up to.

Well, not all. The McAllister contingent in Jerome numbered a little more than two hundred these days, and two hundred people gathering anywhere in a town that small was bound to get noticed. So a little more than half of us met in small groups in people's homes, sharing their own versions of the rituals, celebrating the Goddess as Crone and the Horned Hunter.

But because November was the dead time, a month and more of darkness before Yule arrived and the world began to tilt once again toward the light, we always had the strongest witches and warlocks come together in one place to invoke the spirits of our ancestors, to ask for their guidance and their strength in helping to protect us against the forces of the dark. We met on the grounds of the building that had been the miner's dormitory, once upon a time, mainly because it was enough out of the way that any tourists lingering at the Spirit Room wouldn't be able to stumble upon us. They might see the lights of our candles and torches as they made their way back to their cars, but they wouldn't be able to get to us. No visible barrier blocked the road that led to the dormitory, but anyone going that way would find their car's engine suddenly sputtering and dying, or would suddenly be overwhelmed by the feeling that they needed to get out of there right now.

That north wind cut bitterly through the thin cotton of my robes, even though I wore a long-sleeved T-shirt and long skirt underneath. In the spring and summer, some of the more abandoned among us went naked under their robes, but I'd never done that even in warm weather and certainly wasn't going to start now. Difficult enough to know that I was the one who would have to lead the coven in the ritual. The prima always presided at the great celebrations.

My throat was dry. I coughed, a dry little scratch that didn't do much to help relieve the tickle I felt, and stepped forward. "Let it be known that the Circle is about to be cast. All who enter the Circle may do so in perfect love and perfect trust."

The watching crowd nodded, and waited as I made my way around the huge circle, invoking the deities of the four quarters and lighting the ritual candles in their prescribed shades of green and yellow and red and blue. I had been to enough of these ceremonies over the years that the words came as naturally to me as if I'd written them myself. Each coven had its own liturgy, if you wanted to call it that, something codified through many, many years of use, and ours was no different.

There were far too many of us to have every individual come to me and affirm his or her ritual entry to the circle, and so I asked the question of all of them as a group: "How do you enter the circle?"

"In perfect love and perfect trust," they all responded, a low murmur, powerful as the mountain upon which we stood.

They all took up the circle, and the ceremony of Samhain began. Great-Aunt Ruby had varied it from year to year, sometimes focusing on the harvest, sometimes concentrating on invoking the spirits of our ancestors. Because we had so recently lost her, I'd thought that was what I had better do here tonight as well.

Rosemary is for remembrance,

and tonight we remember those who have

lived and died before us...

It was a longish ritual, or at least it had always seemed that way to me as a semi-bored teenager repeating the words, shivering and wishing I could be off at the Halloween dance at the high school (even though in general I wasn't much for socializing), or over at Sydney's house, eating popcorn and watching scary movies. Anything that a normal teenager was supposed to do on Halloween. But I guess I'd never really been normal, even when I pretended to be.

Now, though, the words seemed to spin out of me with strength and sureness, as if it really were Great-Aunt Ruby reaching from beyond the veil to lend me some of her wisdom. I didn't falter, and the flames of the candles burned bright and true, even with the wind blowing all around us.

After facing the four quarters and once again invoking the deities of each direction, I went to the altar Tobias and a few others had erected in the center of the circle. I picked up the black candle and called forth the flame with my mind, saying, "The Wheel of the Year turns once more, and we cycle into darkness."

As I did so, I halfway expected that black specter to appear once more, hand outstretched, cold whisper echoing in my mind. But nothing happened, and I hitched in a little breath and went on to light the white candle, signifying the light that would return after the solstice. From there I invoked the spirits of our ancestors, all the McAllisters who had gone before us, asking them to bless us with their strength and their love.

Although the night was cold, somehow it seemed to turn warm then, as if we were all surrounded by the good wishes of the loved ones we had lost. I almost thought I felt Great-Aunt Ruby's quick caress of my cheek, and a quick, "Well done, child."

Most people would say it was their imagination...but I knew better.

After that I closed the circle by dismissing the deities who had watched over us, and thanking them for their service. Once that was done, everyone broke off in little groups, heading back to their cars or, for the hardier ones, to the paths that would lead them up to their homes.

There hadn't been any question of my walking; I'd ridden down in Tobias's truck with him and Rachel. In the moonlight, I thought I saw the glitter of tears on my aunt's cheeks, but she smiled and hugged me when I approached her.

"That was beautiful, Angela," she told me. "Ruby would be so proud of you."

"Thank you," I said awkwardly. I knew Ruby was proud, or at least I had a good notion that she was. I didn't mention what I had heard, though, as everyone had a different experience in the circle, and I didn't want to say anything that might change hers.

We were silent then as Tobias went and got the altar, and he and Lionel brought it over and wrapped it in the blankets that had been waiting in the bed of Tobias's pickup. After that we drove back up to the shop, where he led us inside, told Aunt Rachel and me goodnight, and kissed her quickly on the cheek. Just in time, too, as that night's "bodyguards" showed up then, and we all trooped upstairs to the apartment.

They wouldn't sleep, of course, but instead settled themselves down on the sofa and easy chair in the living room. One would think that the ritual I'd just performed would be enough to ensure some protection for this night at least. Obviously not, though; they weren't about to take any chances. So I bade them good night, and went to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth while I was still dressed. Even after a few weeks of this, I hadn't gotten to the point where I was willing to let them see me wandering around in my bathrobe.

After all that, though, I slipped back into my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I'd left a white candle burning on my own little altar there, one of those saints' candles you can buy at the supermarket, although this one had a guardian angel on it, not a saint. That kind of candle was safe to leave unattended, and I wanted that white light to fill my room so no evil could enter there.

And all the gods and goddesses knew that I could use a guardian angel about now.

I pulled off my robe and hung it from the hook on the back of my door, then kicked off my shoes and took off my long skirt and T-shirt as well. After shaking my hair loose from the rubber band I'd used to hold it out of the way while I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I went to the window and pushed the curtain aside slightly so I could look out on the sleeping town.

There was no sign that a large group had gathered earlier out on the promontory where the old dormitory was located. Neither could you tell just by looking that we'd invoked the spirits of the dead and cast yet another spell of protection around Cleopatra Hill and the town built on it. But I knew. I could still feel the power thrumming through my bones. No one who wished us any ill could come near here. I felt it.

The moon shone down on me, naked of clouds now. I gazed up at it, drinking in the white light. I had survived my first ritual, and hadn't botched anything or opened up the clan to dark influences.

Maybe this prima thing wouldn't be so difficult after all.

To my surprise, Aunt Rachel did open the store the next day. "Can't stay closed forever...and it's the weekend," she told me.

Or maybe she was just trying to take her mind off the reality of my moving out in a few days. When I'd gotten up that morning, I started packing some of my less essential items — summer clothes and flip-flops, books I knew I wouldn't be reading any time soon — but I hated doing even that much. It felt so...final.

She'd declined going to the Day of the Dead festivities but didn't forbid my going. That is, she really didn't have the option of telling me what to do anymore, and instead said, "Well, you'll need to discuss that with the elders."

None of them had been exactly thrilled at the prospect. Margot Emory had frowned and shared what sounded like a heated convo with the other two elders, and then Allegra Moss shrugged and said, "If you take five of our strongest with you, then I think it should be all right." Since she had some of the strongest precognition in the clan, generally when she said something like that, you were good to go.

Apparently Bryce had thought the same thing, because he didn't offer any other argument. "I'll choose them," he remarked, but that was about it.

Not that I really wanted five witches and warlocks trailing me the whole time. Still, it was better than being under house arrest, and it had been months since I'd gone into Sedona. It was neutral territory, an agreement having been made more than a hundred years earlier that the resort town had too much power on its own, what with the energy vortexes that surged up through the rocks there. Any clan living within its boundaries would have an unfair advantage. I was sort of surprised that the agreement was still honored to this day, considering you couldn't trust a Wilcox any farther than you could throw him (or her...although they skewed heavily toward warlocks and not witches). I'd asked Rachel about it once, and although her expression turned dark, the way it always did when the subject of the Wilcoxes came up, she said that the other clans, especially the de la Pazes, would have come up here and assisted us if the Wilcox clan had ever attempted such a thing. They were powerful, but even they weren't strong enough to face down all the other Arizona clans at the same time.

Anyway, we were all allowed to go into Sedona to eat and shop and go to the movies, as long as we didn't stay overnight and didn't attempt to cast any spells or perform any rituals there. The McAllisters probably went far more often than the Wilcoxes, simply because we were closer, only about fifteen miles away, and up in Flagstaff there was at least a movie theater and a mall, whereas we had to drive all the way to Prescott for those amenities.

I helped out in the shop part of the day that Saturday, but I couldn't stay until closing, since we'd be leaving a little after three. One of the warlocks in the bodyguard contingent was Lester Phillips, partly because he excelled at defensive spells, and partly because he had a big van that all of us could pile into. Adam met me at the shop, the van pulled up about five minutes later, and then we were off.

It was a clear, bright day, with just a few thin clouds overhead. The air was cold, though; the north wind had decided to hang around for a few days. I wore one of Rachel's wool shawls over my black sweater and spangly skirt, since somehow it hadn't felt respectful to go to a Day of the Dead festival in jeans and cowboy boots. Adam had traded his T-shirt for a hoodie, but otherwise his attire didn't look much different from what I saw him wear every other day of the year.

His eyes had lit up when he saw me, and I hoped I hadn't done the wrong thing by agreeing to come. No, he knew how things stood between us. I told myself he was probably just glad that I hadn't called everything off at the last minute.

He didn't seem that inclined to talk during the drive. I was glad of that, since it meant I could stare silently out the window and watch the golden fields pass by outside. We'd greened up with the monsoon rains during the summer, but things had dried out again and would stay that way through the winter.

The trip took a little more than a half hour. Sedona was crowded, as it generally was on the weekends. Cars had backed up onto the highway while trying to get into the parking lot at Tlaquepaque Village, where the Day of the Dead festivities were being held, but Lester had a handicapped placard because of his bad back, so once we actually got in, we were still able to find a place to park without too much trouble. Yes, I know a warlock with a bad back sounds incongruous, but we hadn't had a good healer among us since Dottie McAllister, my second cousin once removed (or something like that), passed away a few years ago. And, as Lester liked to point out, having that handicapped placard came in, well, handy.

As soon as I got out of the van I could hear the rippling sounds of flamenco music coming from one of the courtyards. The place was mobbed with people, and I experienced a small thrill of apprehension. I wasn't used to being out among that many people, especially strangers, on territory that wasn't mine.

Everyone else got out of the van, and Adam and I stood there, unsure as to which way we should go. The five bodyguards waited patiently; clearly they were just here to keep watch, and it was up to me to decide where we would go and what we would see.

I figured we might as well head toward the music. "Let's see what's going on over there," I said, and pointed more or less in the direction of the guitar player.

Adam nodded, and we set out, winding through the crowd, trying not to stare at all the sights around us. Tourists in fanny packs and sweatshirts, naturally, and boho Sedona types in long skirts and Navajo jewelry, and couples with babies in strollers and people walking their dogs. But I also saw people wearing Mexican costume, with their faces painted like calaveras, or skulls, and women in long skirts and shawls wrapped around their hips, clearly dressed for flamenco dancing. It was all fascinating, and I tried not to stare too hard at the sights around me.

We came out into a courtyard with a fountain in the center, and everywhere I looked I saw little glass containers with candles inside them, and labels stuck on the outside with short messages or the names of relatives who had passed away. Against one wall was a huge altar with more offerings and bouquets of flowers and fruit.

"Look," said Adam, who was taller than I and therefore could see better. "It looks like there's a place over there where you can buy the candles. Let's get one for Great-Aunt Ruby."

I agreed that sounded like a great idea, and we picked our way through the crowd, trailed by the bodyguards, until we got to a little pavilion on the far side of the courtyard where you could make a donation and get a candle. Since the donations went to benefit the local animal shelter, I pulled out a twenty and dropped it in the donation jar, then waited for the man handling the candles to fetch one for me, along with a sticker and a Sharpie so I could write down my message.

"What are you going to say?" Adam asked, once we'd shuffled over to one side to make room for the next people wanting to get their own candles.

Good question. I'd come here with the idea that we would be paying tribute to Ruby, but the carnival atmosphere had my brain a little muddled. Not that I didn't like it, but it wasn't what I'd been expecting. I'd thought it would be a little quieter, somehow, a little more introspective. But that was probably my own fault for not reading up on it before I came.

I was here now, though, so I tried to focus. I knew my great-aunt wouldn't want us to mourn. No, I wanted to write something that paid tribute to her without being all weepy about it. Finally, I bent over the table and wrote on my sticker, Ruby, your strength inspires all of us, and you will live in our hearts forever. There wasn't really room for anything more than that, so I showed it to Adam, who nodded his approval.

"I think she'd like that. Now, where do you want to put it?"

Hmm. Already candles covered almost every available level surface — crowding the altar I'd spied earlier, ringing the fountain in the center of the courtyard, even running along the edges of the stucco and concrete planters. But then I noticed off to the side a smaller altar with a few open spots in front of it.

"How about over there?"

He peered through the crowd. "That looks good. Better hurry before someone else fills it up."

No kidding. Everywhere I looked I saw people hunting for the perfect spot for their own candles. I put the sticker on the glass container — the man who'd given us the candle had prelit it for us — and then pushed through the crowd to set it down in one of the few remaining spaces. The flame flickered a little, but then stood up straight and tall, strong the way my great-aunt had been almost until the day she died.

"Okay, now what?" Adam asked, once I straightened and stood next to him.

Why he was asking me, when it had been his idea to come here, I didn't know. Maybe he just thought as prima I should be the one calling the shots. I decided it wasn't worth arguing about and pointed to the next courtyard over, which was where the flamenco music seemed to be coming from.

It wasn't quite as crowded in that spot, although there were still plenty of people milling around. Here I spotted some tables with chairs around them, and a second or two later I saw the reason why: the restaurant at the far end of the courtyard had an outside stand where they were selling margaritas and sangria.

Now that we'd paid our respects to Great-Aunt Ruby, I didn't see why we couldn't have a little fun. She certainly hadn't been above having a drink or two, although her poison of choice was gin martinis.

"Buy you a drink?" I asked, and Adam grinned.

"Sure."

We went over to the stand and waited for the couple ahead of us to finish their transaction. I stepped up to the pretty Hispanic woman who was taking the orders and said, "A sangria and..." I trailed off, since I hadn't asked Adam what he wanted.

"Regular margarita — on the rocks, not blended, please."

She smiled and said, "Just a minute," then poured our drinks. "That'll be fifteen dollars."

I handed over a twenty and told her to keep the change. Her eyes widened a little, but she just thanked me before going on to assist the next set of customers who were waiting for drinks.

Truth be told, it was probably a little chilly to be drinking either sangria or a margarita, but I found I didn't mind too much. The sangria was good, too. I knew there was probably a lot more to go see. For some reason I wanted to linger here for a while and listen to the guitarist in the center of the courtyard playing intricate Spanish tunes that matched the architecture around me, the white stucco walls and the red tile roofs and the balconies and overhangs of dark wood. The bodyguards had paused a few yards off, pretending to be looking at a display of fine art photographs in a gallery window.

A half-familiar voice said from over my left shoulder, "Angela? Angela McAllister?"

I turned and saw him. All right, not him him, not the man of my dreams, but a close second — the Zorro from the Halloween dance a week ago. I blinked, certain I must be hallucinating. Or maybe that sangria was a lot stronger than I'd thought it was.

"Hi, um...." I managed, realizing that I'd given him my name, but I still didn't know his.

He grinned, even as I felt Adam shift irritably next to me. "Sorry about that. We didn't get to the formal introductions. I'm Chris Williams."

"Hi, Chris." Then, realizing that I really shouldn't neglect Adam, I added, "And this is my cousin Adam."

"Hi," Chris said, extending a gloved hand. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought he looked almost relieved at the word "cousin," as though he'd been worried that Adam was my boyfriend or something. Or maybe I was just flattering myself.

Adam looked like he really didn't want to shake Chris's hand. After I slanted him a sideways glance through my eyelashes, though, he reached out and took his hand, saying, "Nice to meet you."

"So what brings you up here?" I asked Chris, figuring I'd better step in and keep the conversation going in more or less innocuous directions. From across the way I could see the guardians pause and give him their own inspection, relaxing visibly when they sensed that he was just a civilian, no one to worry about.

"I'm not stalking you, I swear," he replied with a small laugh. Seeing him like this, in the last of the afternoon light, I thought he was even better-looking than I remembered. I could see that his dark eyes were surrounded with a heavy fringe of lashes, now that they weren't hidden behind the Zorro mask, and he had nice strong brows that balanced the slightly long nose and high cheekbones. "A friend of mine is getting his master's in anthro, and he wanted to come up here and check out the festivities. I'd heard about it but hadn't been before."

"So where's your friend?" Adam asked, tone not quite brusque enough to be called rude...but close.

"Over in the next courtyard, taking pictures of one of the altars there."

I noticed that besides the gloves, Chris was wearing a heavy leather jacket over a sweater, and he had a wool scarf around his neck. "Planning to go up to Flagstaff or something?" I inquired, with a lift of my eyebrows toward the cold-weather gear.

He startled slightly, then grinned and shook his head. "I'm from Phoenix, remember? If it gets below sixty-five degrees, we break out the snowshoes."

Despite myself, I chuckled. I also found myself wishing I didn't have Adam there, glaring at me like a chaperone in one of those Victorian novels where the heroine can't even step out on the veranda without having her actions questioned.

"Have you been to this before?" Chris asked, and I shook my head.

"No, I — that is, we lost our great-aunt last weekend. That's actually why I had to run out of the dance like that. Family emergency."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said at once, the little smile he'd been wearing abruptly disappearing.

"It's okay," I told him. "That is, she lived a great life. It was sad to lose her, but not entirely unexpected. She was eighty-eight."

"A good round number."

"Exactly." I smiled up at him, wishing more than ever that we could be alone together. Then again, what good would that do me, except to frustrate me further?

If only he weren't so damn good-looking....

He seemed to notice my edginess and glanced over at Adam. "Mind if I borrow your cousin for a minute?"

Adam looked as if he wanted to say he minded very much, but he seemed to collect himself and shrugged. "Sure," he replied, and took a sip of his margarita before glancing over at the flamenco guitarist, as if scrutinizing his intricate fingerwork was the only thing on his mind right then.

Maybe I should've been relieved, but I couldn't help wondering what exactly Chris wanted. He moved off down the walkway that led from the courtyard out to an open area behind the buildings, then paused once we were more or less out of earshot, if not eyeshot.

"I am sorry to hear about your great-aunt," he said quietly, "but in a way I'm kind of glad."

"You are?" I couldn't quite figure out what he meant by that.

"Not that your family lost her. I mean, I'm glad you didn't disappear like that last Saturday because of something I did."

"Oh, no. Not at all."

He hesitated, looking down into my face. I was very glad that I'd taken a little more care with my hair than usual and had put on some lip gloss. Not that my current fresh-faced look wasn't a far cry from the diva I'd appeared to be at the Halloween dance. Even so, he didn't seem too fazed by the alteration in my appearance.

"Do you get down to Phoenix often?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I think I might have mentioned I don't get out much." An expression of disappointment passed over his features, and I quickly continued, "But we do go down in early December every year for holiday shopping and to stock up on some things that we have a hard time getting up here." Of course I had no idea whether we were going to uphold that tradition this year, what with everything that was going on, but if it was in my power to make it happen, then it would.

"Okay, that sounds a little more promising. I need to get back to my friend, though. And school's going to be kind of crazy between now and the end of the semester, so I don't think I'll be able to get back up here. But I'd really like it if you'd call me when you're in town."

"I don't have your number," I told him.

"Well, that's easy to fix. Can I borrow your phone?"

I dug it out of my purse and handed it to him. He went to the contacts screen and entered his information. I took another sip of my sangria while I waited, then took my phone back once he was done, slipping it into a pocket in my purse.

"I'm not sure when we'll be down," I said. "We usually go mid-week, though, to avoid the crowds."

"You don't work?"

"Of course we do. I mean, my aunt has a store up in Jerome and I help out there, and I also make jewelry."

"You do?" he inquired. The note of interest in his voice sounded genuine. "So you're kind of an artist, too, then."

"I guess so." For some reason my cheeks heated as he gazed down at me in admiration. "But anyway, it's not that big a deal for us to close down in the middle of the week if we need to." I didn't bother to add that a lot of the shops in Jerome had rather lackadaisical schedules. If you wanted to close up for the afternoon to go shopping or get your toes done, why not? No big deal when your storefront was more of a hobby rather than your bread and butter.

"Well, good." He sent me another one of those knee-melting smiles, then said, "I really have to get going before Tyler thinks I was kidnapped by aliens or something. But don't forget to call if you do make it down to Phoenix." With that he lifted a hand in a small wave, then turned and headed toward the next courtyard. Because it was so crowded, he disappeared from view pretty quickly. Even so, I stood there watching in the direction he'd gone for at least another minute, hoping to catch a glimpse of his dark head above the others in the crowd. But he was well and truly gone, and I sighed, knowing I needed to get back to Adam.

Don't forget to call. Like that was even a possibility.

Smiling suddenly, I drained the last of my sangria and tossed the empty cup in a nearby trash can.

Things were starting to look up.

Chapter Ten

"Holy crap," Sydney said as she stood in the foyer of my new home and looked up at the brass and crystal hanging from the ceiling, two stories up. "What are you going to do with this place?"

"I have no idea," I said wearily. The day before, Tobias had come over with his truck and moved my meager belongings into Great-Aunt Ruby's house. Okay, my house. I was staying in one of the spare bedrooms at the moment, because no way was I sleeping in the bed she'd died in. Her spirit certainly wasn't hanging around the place, I could tell that already, but even so I had my limits.

"How big is it?" She'd moved from the foyer into the dining room and was gawking at the long table with its accompanying twelve chairs and matching sideboard.

"A little over three thousand square feet."

"That's kind of a lot of house for one person, don't you think?"

I couldn't agree more. Then again, I did have the "bodyguards" lurking around, so technically I supposed there would be at least four people there at all times. I didn't feel like explaining that to Sydney, especially since they'd made themselves scarce and were upstairs in the library-slash-study, ostensibly cataloguing the books there but really just trying to stay out from underfoot.

"Yes, but it's tradition for the prima to live here, so...." I shrugged. "And normally I would've been moving in with my consort, but since he has yet to materialize, it's just me."

"Maybe you should get a dog."

There was an idea. I was horribly allergic to cats — not a good allergy for a witch to have, I know — and Aunt Rachel hadn't wanted the responsibility of a dog in a house with no yard, so I'd been pet-less my entire life. But this house had a small yard off the side, where there was an even tinier plot of grass and a few flowerbeds. It wasn't big enough to keep a German shepherd happy, but maybe a smaller dog, one I could adopt from the Humane Society or something.

"Maybe," I said. "Although I've probably got enough on my plate right now without adding a dog to the mix."

"I suppose." She'd moved back into the foyer and crossed over into what Great-Aunt Ruby had always called the parlor, although really it was just the living room. It had a massive fireplace with a mahogany mantel and furniture that looked as if it should be in a museum. The floral wallpaper was positively eye-crossing. "So can you...I don't know...change it at all?"

"Um, I'm not sure." Actually, I hadn't even stopped to consider that. I'd gotten the impression that when Ruby inherited the house, she and Patrick basically moved in and didn't alter much of anything, except to update the kitchen appliances. Of course, now those "updates" looked like museum pieces themselves. "I guess so...I mean, it's mine now, right?"

"You should." Planting her hands on her hips, she looked up at the ten-foot ceilings with their crown moldings. "I bet you could do a lot with it. That is...." She trailed off, looking hesitant...for her. "It would probably be kind of expensive."

"That really isn't an issue." I'd already had a fairly substantial chunk in the bank, just because living at Aunt Rachel's hadn't cost me anything (well, besides chipping in for groceries, which I'd insisted on after I turned eighteen). So my monthly McAllister dividend and the money I earned from my jewelry mostly went into my savings account, since I wasn't spending it on clothes or cars or going out to clubs, or any of the other things a girl my age might conceivably spend her money on.

"So you inherited more than just the house?" Her tone sounded envious. If only she knew that being prima wasn't just living in a big house and having apparently unlimited funds.

"Some," I said cautiously. "Enough that I could do a few things to this place if I wanted to."

"Good. Because that wallpaper has got to go."

I laughed at that, and we went on from room to room as I gave her the grand tour of the place. By then Lionel and Joseph had already removed all of Great-Aunt Ruby's personal effects, so her clothes and jewelry and family photos and all that were gone. It didn't feel quite so intrusive to walk through the house with those personal touches taken away, but even so I couldn't help feeling like a trespasser. I hoped that sooner or later I'd be able to wrap my head around the fact that this was now my home.

Even so, I had a feeling Sydney was right. I really should be doing something to make it feel like mine, and not just a place where I was camping out.

"Change it?" Aunt Rachel said blankly at dinner that night. She'd insisted that I come back to the apartment to eat, and I wasn't about to argue. The transition didn't feel so abrupt when I could still indulge in the familiar ritual of sitting down to eat at her dining room table. "I guess I never thought about it."

"Place could do with an update," Tobias said around a bite of cornbread. My aunt had made chili verde that night.

"That's what I was thinking," I said, shooting him a grateful smile. "I mean, I'm not going to make it totally modern or anything, but all that floral wallpaper and all those fussy antiques are just not my style."

She was silent for a moment, pushing the chili around in her bowl. "Well, I suppose you could. You probably should speak to the elders first, just to make certain."

"I will," I said, although I wasn't looking forward to that discussion. What was I supposed to do if they said no? All those florals and chintz would probably make my head explode.

To my surprise, though, they seemed mostly uninterested in the subject. "It's your house now — all we ask is that you not alter the exterior," Margot Emory informed me, and that seemed to be the end of the matter.

Well, almost. I was walking back up to the house when Jocelyn Riggs, the clan's strongest medium, came hurrying after me. I turned to her, surprised, wondering if she was going to tell me that the elders had changed their minds and that I was going to drown in chintz to the end of my days.

But she only fixed me with a steady gaze and said, "I have a message for you from Great-Aunt Ruby."

"You do?" I wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not.

Normally Jocelyn was a rather pinch-faced woman. She was a few years older than my Aunt Rachel, but she looked more like a decade separated them. Now, though, she shot me an incongruous smile and said, "Yes. She wants me to let you know that you can do whatever you want with that house. Her exact words were, 'Tell Angela that I've no more use for that house now than I do those old bones they buried in the Cottonwood cemetery. So tell her to stop fretting and get on with it.'" Jocelyn's pale gray eyes glinted. "I get the impression that she's rather curious to see what you do with the place. Good afternoon."

And she turned and went back down the hill, heading for the far more modest cottage she called home. I stared after her for a minute, then grinned and shook my head.

I of all people was not someone to disregard messages from beyond the grave.

The distraction of redoing the house was a welcome one. Still no sign of that mysterious dark being, no more assaults in my dreams...no nothing. I hadn't even dreamed of him lately, which I wasn't sure was entirely a good thing. Better that, though, than another visitation from the unwelcome shade that had visited my aunt's store.

I hired a decorator from Sedona and told her that I wanted to keep something of an antique feel but with less fussy furniture...and no wallpaper. She swept through the house with swatches and paint chips, made suggestions, and generally took over. I was okay with that, though. She was a professional, and I was just a girl who up until that point had never had to decorate anything bigger than a ten by twelve room. She used her own crew, for which I was grateful. Having Adam there every day to help with steaming off wallpaper or sanding the floors could have been awkward.

Through all this, I was adamant that the other family members have first pick of the furniture I didn't want to keep. Even so, there were a few pieces that hadn't found a home, but Leila, the decorator, assured me she would be able to sell them with no problem, including the huge Eastlake-style bed from Great-Aunt Ruby's room.

"I know a couple in Prescott who're doing over a Victorian who'll take that, no problem," she told me, and the next day some movers came to haul it away.

The bed went for so much that I was able to buy a whole new set of bedroom furniture to replace it. That was good, because I did want that room to be mine — it had the same view as my old bedroom at Aunt Rachel's place, albeit a few hundred feet higher up the hill. I was once again able to look out over the Verde Valley, and see the red rocks of Sedona. By then, only a week before Thanksgiving, all the fall color was in full swing, and the blaze of the trees was somehow a comfort to me, telling me that even though everything else in my life had changed, the world would still follow its familiar old cycles.

The room still smelled of fresh paint. I'd chosen a warm terra-cotta color for the walls, and the ceiling was a soft parchment hue. My new furniture was dark-stained oak, more Spanish hacienda than Victorian mansion, but it worked with the new color scheme. I settled down on the bed after pushing back the heavy turquoise and warm red patterned duvet cover, and took in a deep breath.

Really, if I hadn't known I was sitting in Great-Aunt Ruby's old room, I would never have guessed I was in the same place. The colors were warm and rich, the furniture simple and sturdy. Leila had put up a lot of the old wall decorations from my former bedroom, and added more in the same style, along with Mexican mirrors and heavy wrought-iron sconces on the walls. The place was intimate, welcoming. The only thing missing was someone to share that big bed with me.

I didn't quite let myself sigh, although I wanted to. Somewhere in the daydreams I'd had about the man who'd be my consort, I'd thought about making a home together and doing all the things I'd had to do on my own: buying furniture, deciding on paint colors, figuring out what went where. Not that I'd imagined it happening in this house, necessarily. Moving here had always felt like something that would happen far in the future. But there were always places coming available when needed — a bungalow farther down the hill, a loft apartment over a store. Those were the places I'd imagined making a home with my consort, not this huge echoing relic.

Even so, it felt good to have a lot of the house done already — I'd put off the kitchen and bathrooms until next year, since those were massive projects and I didn't feel like having the place that torn up over the holidays. Despite all that, there was something missing...the man who should be lying here next to me. That king-size bed felt awfully empty, especially since I'd spent my whole life sleeping on a twin bed.

Through the whole process, I'd also had a hard time keeping myself from thinking about Chris. I knew I shouldn't, that it was a lost cause, but attraction was a harder thing to control than I'd thought it would be, mainly because I'd never really experienced it like this before. Of course there were guys in high school I had thought were cute, although even then I'd known all I could do was look, but that was not the same as this almost aching need I felt for him. We'd exchanged maybe a hundred words, so I knew I was being silly. How could I miss someone I'd barely spent ten minutes with?

I didn't know, and there wasn't really anyone I could talk to about it, either. Aunt Rachel would give me hell for even thinking about a civilian like that, and Sydney would only encourage me and tell me to call. Yes, he'd asked me to call him, but only if I was down in Phoenix. That seemed a little strange to me, since I didn't see the harm in talking beforehand. Then again, he'd said he would be really busy for the next month. Maybe he didn't want the frustration of talking if he wasn't sure he would even see me again.

Frowning, I gave the lamp on the nightstand one of those quick mental flicks, and the room went dark at once. And it was really dark, too. It was a new moon tonight, and clouds hung over the town, making it seem as if I were adrift in a well of blackness. Normally that sort of thing wouldn't bother me, but in that moment I felt more alone than I ever had, even though that night's bodyguards were sitting down in the living room, watching movies on the shiny new flat-screen in the sitting room. Well, it used to be the sitting room. Now it was the family room, I supposed, although whether this house would ever be filled with a family, I wasn't sure.

Probably I should stop torturing myself. True, it was less than a month until my twenty-second birthday, and the window of opportunity was rapidly closing, but stressing about it wasn't going to do me — or anyone else — any good. And there was a new candidate coming in the next day, so that was something. Not that I was expecting much. Somehow the thought of kissing a stranger was even less appealing than usual.

Because it won't be Chris Wilson, my mind whispered at me.

I shut that thought down right away. Truthfully, I didn't really know what would happen when/if I went down to Phoenix, or, even if we did go, whether I'd have the courage to call him. He'd seemed interested in me, so I didn't think I'd be impinging. Goddess knows I was interested in him, but that didn't matter in the long haul. He was off-limits.

That time I did let out a sigh. Telling my brain to shut up and leave me alone, I turned over on my side, closed my eyes, and tried to convince myself that the bed didn't feel quite as cold and empty as I thought it did.

None of my failed attempts at finding a consort had been exactly pleasant, but this one was definitely the worst. For one thing, I didn't have the buffer of Aunt Rachel there to take the edge off, only the dubious comfort of that day's bodyguards, who pretended to be immersed in a discussion of the upcoming "lighting up the mountain" festivities next weekend, but who I could tell were trying to eavesdrop on everything the new candidate and I were saying to one another.

He'd come loping up the front steps, looking at the house with what I thought was an avaricious gleam in his eye. I knew this because I was peeking through a clear spot in one of the stained-glass panels that flanked the door. All right, maybe I was already predisposed to expect the worst, but his expression was decidedly different from that of the candidates I'd met at Aunt Rachel's far more modest apartment.

The doorbell rang. I weighed the possibility of pretending I wasn't home, then decided against it, since I knew one of the bodyguards would just come answer the doorbell if I didn't. So I grasped the handle and turned it, then opened the door.

Like most of the candidates, he wasn't bad-looking. A little above average height, short brown hair, brown eyes. I gave a mental shrug. Really, it would be so much easier if I could just look at their eye color, say "nope," and move on to the next one. But although everyone more or less thought there must be something important about my dreams, they weren't willing to give them enough weight that they could rule out every candidate who didn't have green eyes.

Although I'd been dressing a little more nicely these days, mostly because it didn't seem right for the prima of the McAllisters to be slouching around in jeans with holes in them and pilly sweaters, I hadn't gone to a lot of effort today. My hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and I wore one of my Jerome sweatshirts over a pair of faded jeans. No, they didn't have holes in them, but they were starting to get a little threadbare.

I could tell by his disappointed expression that this new candidate wasn't overly impressed with the McAllisters' prima.

Good.

"Hi," I said, and stuck out my hand. "I'm Angela."

"I know," he replied. Then he shrugged and extended his own hand. "Griffin Dutton."

I knew that as well. I also knew that he came from Wickenburg, worked at one of the guest ranches there, and was my fifth or sixth cousin lord knows how many times removed. Back in the twenties one of the McAllister girls had married a rancher in those parts, and Griffin was her great-great-grandson. Or so Aunt Rachel had explained.

After a lackluster hand shake, I said, "The parlor is over here. Do you want me to get you anything first? Water? A Coke?" I didn't drink soda, but a couple of the bodyguards were caffeine fiends, so I kept it around for them.

"A Coke would be good."

Fetching it would give me a small reprieve. I pointed to the parlor, which opened on the foyer. "Why don't you go on in and sit down? I'll be back in a minute."

He nodded and headed into the parlor, and I went the other direction to fetch his Coke from the kitchen. I found my cousin Kirby with his head in the fridge, eyeing a pizza box from Grapes.

"Don't you dare," I told him. "That's my dinner tonight."

Looking over his shoulder, he shot me a grin. He was a few years older than I and had a loft apartment down on Main Street that he shared with his boyfriend. Even ten years ago there probably would've been a hell of a ruckus over that, but these days no one even batted an eye. I wished my love life were that uncomplicated.

"What, you don't think you're going to have a celebratory dinner with Rachel after this candidate proves he's the One?"

I shot Kirby a very sour look. "I'd say the odds of that are roughly the same as me getting elected President."

"Hey, you never know." With a visible show of reluctance, he put the pizza box back in the ancient Frigidaire. "Did you need something?"

"He wants a Coke."

Another grin. "Well, at least he didn't ask for a beer."

"I didn't offer." I took the cold can of Coke from Kirby. "And hands off that pizza. I'm serious."

"But I'm hungry."

"Then have some cheese and crackers or something. There's some white cheddar in there, and I have crackers in the pantry."

"If I must." He heaved an exaggerated sigh, then extracted the package of cheese and shut the refrigerator door.

Any longer, and Griffin Dutton would know I was stalling for time. So I left the kitchen and headed back to the parlor, where I found him looking around at all the new furniture and the art on the walls, most of which was from local artists and was all original. I could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes as he mentally added up what it all must have cost.

"Your Coke," I said, and extended the hand holding it.

"Thanks." He took it and popped the tab, then took a few large swallows. "That's better. It was kind of a long drive."

I only nodded. Yes, it was, but I'd had candidates come a lot farther than that, so I feared my expression wasn't entirely sympathetic.

If he noticed, he didn't give any indication. Instead he gazed up at the ceiling, which had been painted a soft cream color, and then around at the deeper toast hue on the walls. "Been doing some work on the house?"

"Some," I admitted. "It was very retro, and not in a good way. I'm not big on florals."

"Hmm." He drank some more Coke, then set the can down on the coffee table.

I immediately swooped in and relocated it to a coaster.

"Oh, sorry," he said, although he didn't sound all that sorry...more amused by my anal-retentive protecting of the table.

Once again I thought this would be a whole hell of a lot easier if I could have a few drinks before forcing myself to go through with this ridiculous ritual. On the other hand, I didn't think there were thick enough beer goggles in the world that would make me believe kissing Griffin would be a good idea.

"So..." I said. I really didn't want to kiss him, but I did want to get this over with.

"So..." He moved closer to me.

I sighed. "Just go ahead and do it."

A lot of guys probably would have been put off by my tone. I'd already taken the measure of this one, though, and he wasn't seeing me. He was just seeing the prima of the McAllisters and her big house and the position he'd have as her consort. Boy, was he in for a disappointment.

He leaned in and pressed his mouth against mine. That was it — no reaching up to caress my cheek, no finesse at all. Just lips against lips. I suppose he thought he didn't need to do anything else, because if he turned out to be the one, the spark would start on its own.

Of course it didn't. Thank the Goddess, I thought. Bad enough that I should have to kiss him at all, when I'd been spending my days mooning over Chris Wilson. But it hadn't worked, so I started to pull away immediately.

"Sorry — "

I didn't get out anything else other than that, because he'd grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me back toward him, forcing my mouth open with his tongue. He tasted of Coke, and I gagged. This time I didn't even have to invoke the Goddess. Even as my mind cried out a "no!", an invisible force grabbed hold of him and pushed him away from me with enough force that he tripped over a footstool and went tumbling to the floor. In the process he knocked over the fireplace tools, which hit the slate hearth surround with a clatter.

Almost at once, Kirby and the other two bodyguards, Tom and Alison, came running. They took in the scene before them and then hurried over to me.

"What happened?" Kirby asked, as Griffin shook his head, as if to clear it, then began to push himself up to his feet.

"That crazy bitch attacked me, that's what happened."

At their prima being called the big "B," all three of them frowned. Tom, a heavy-set man in his middle forties, said, "You might want to reconsider what you just called Ms. McAllister."

Griffin matched their scowls with one of his. "Well, it's the truth."

"I was defending myself. We did the kiss, it didn't work, and I guess he didn't like it, because he decided to stick his tongue down my throat. So I...did something about it."

"I think you'd better leave," Alison said grimly.

Griffin glanced from her to Tom to Kirby, who was looking angrier than I thought I'd ever seen him. Actually, before that moment I wasn't even sure Kirby could get angry.

"Fine," Griffin said. "Like I want to be part of this freak show anyway. She's not even good-looking."

After delivering that parting shot, he stalked out of the room and into the foyer. The front door banged a few seconds later.

The three bodyguards just stared at me. I hesitated, then went over to the footstool and righted it, putting it back in its proper position. "I'm going upstairs," I told them, and walked with as much dignity as I could muster to the staircase in the foyer. I went upstairs, closed my bedroom door behind me, and threw myself down on my bed, where I wept stormily and wished this would all be over.

Chapter Eleven

On Thanksgiving most of us converged on Spook Hall for a huge, rowdy McAllister feast. They'd been doing this ever since I could remember; Aunt Rachel had once told me it was Great-Aunt Ruby's idea, that after spending Thanksgiving going from house to house so she could try to see everyone, she put her foot down and said we should all gather in one place and save her some work. So we shopped like we were buying food for a soup kitchen or something, making the run to Prescott so we could go to Costco and the Trader Joe's there, and then set up the long tables in the hall with warm russet tablecloths and centerpieces of autumn flowers.

The kitchen was large, but even so we did a good deal of tripping over one another. My aunt supervised, more or less, since she was an amazing cook. Some turkeys went in the oven, and others were smoked in the smokers across the street at the English Kitchen restaurant. My specialty was homemade spiced cranberry sauce, so I handled that and tried to stay out of the way as best I could.

We really hadn't discussed my disastrous encounter with Griffin Dutton, but I noticed that she hadn't sent any more candidates my way after that. Thanksgiving was late this year, so there were only three weeks until my birthday at that point. Both she and I — and the entire clan — were aware of the rapidly approaching deadline. We couldn't not be. But either she'd decided to let the universe handle it from here on out, or she thought she might as well leave it alone until after Thanksgiving. I wasn't going to question her actions, mostly because I was just relieved to not have another candidate shoved down my throat. Literally.

It was mainly women in the kitchen, but that didn't mean the men got off scot-free. From the hall came scraping sounds as they brought out the long racks of chairs and started setting them up. There was another group congregating across the street, ostensibly in order to keep watch on the turkeys in the smoker, but I had a feeling there was more beer drinking than turkey-watching going on there.

All around me was the chatter of cheerful voices and the warm, rich smells of turkey roasting and pies baking. Everyone looked happy, glad to be surrounded by family, glad of the opportunity to share in the world's bounty. I knew I should be feeling the same way, but I didn't.

Suddenly the kitchen felt stifling. My cranberry sauce had more or less gelled by then, so I turned off the gas and moved the pot to the back burner. "I need to get some air," I told Aunt Rachel, and then hurried out of the kitchen and threaded my way through the tables to the front door.

It was one of those beautiful late autumn days, the air cold but the sun warm, the sky deep sapphire punctuated by downy white clouds. I took in a deep breath, raising my face to the sun and the wind, and headed down the side street in an attempt to get away from the hustle and bustle.

"That's quite the shindig you're putting together in there," came Maisie's voice from a few feet away.

She hadn't been there a second earlier, but that was sort of how she did things. Just appeared out of nowhere. Once I'd tried to ask her where she was when she wasn't here. She'd shaken her head and said vaguely, "Around." Which of course wasn't illuminating in the slightest.

Right now she sounded more wistful than anything else. "Didn't you have big Thanksgiving dinners?" I asked.

"Maybe when I was really little, before Papa died." Her expression hardened. "But that no-good dog my mother married afterward didn't hold with Thanksgiving. Said turkey was too expensive and it was silly to go to all that fuss."

I didn't press the matter further. From our previous conversations, I'd gotten the impression that her stepfather had gotten a little too friendly as she got older, and she ran away. How precisely she'd ended up in Jerome, I wasn't sure. I could tell she didn't want to talk about it.

So I only replied, "Yes, I think it's even bigger this year. Of course, part of it is that everyone wants to be here for Thanksgiving with the new prima." I shrugged.

Her expression turned sly. "Yes, I seen that you did all that work on your great-auntie's house. Can't say for sure that I think it's an improvement, but then, I'm not much of one for all these new-fangled styles."

I wondered what my interior decorator would think if I told her that a ghost had criticized her work. Leila was pretty no-nonsense for someone who lived in Sedona, woo-woo capital of the world, so I had a feeling she wouldn't take it all that well.

All I said was, "I like it, though. It feels more like me now."

Maisie appeared to consider that, then nodded. "Well, I s'pose that's the important thing, as you're the one living in it."

I nodded, and looked past her out across the valley, past Sedona...all the way to Flagstaff, where Humphries Peak brooded amongst a crown of dark clouds. It didn't look like the version from the movies, but it still reminded me of Mordor, especially on days like this, where it was sunny here but broody and dark all those miles away. Kind of silly, I supposed, because although the Wilcoxes were not exactly what you would call nice people, they were far outnumbered by all the ordinary folks who lived in Flagstaff and worked and shopped and went to school without having any idea that a coven of evil witches and warlocks lived amongst them.

"What do you know about the Wilcoxes?" I asked abruptly, after turning back to Maisie.

She looked surprised by the question. "No more than you, I guess. They aren't very nice, are they? And of course all that hullaballoo when they tried to grab Ruby when she was your age. But that was a long time ago."

"Not very nice" was a hell of an understatement. But Maisie was a ghost. There wasn't much they could do to her at this point.

I didn't even know why I was thinking about the Wilcoxes, except for seeing the mountain, standing dark and tall a hundred miles away. Did they have their own Thanksgiving observance, or did they consider that sort of thing hopelessly plebeian?

It was kind of silly to wonder about such a thing, I supposed. I wasn't likely to find out any time soon.

Rachel's head popped out of the side door of the building, startling me and causing Maisie to dissolve immediately. "Oh, there you are. We're about to start pulling the turkeys out of the ovens, and I need you on gravy duty."

I reflected that sometimes being a witch wasn't exactly what it was cracked up to be. Yes, we all had our individual powers and abilities, but that didn't mean we could wiggle our noses like Belinda from Bewitched and have a feast magically appear. There was still a lot of grunt work involved.

"Coming," I told my aunt, and started to walk up to meet her. Yes, I was the new prima, but that didn't absolve me of kitchen duty. Just as well, probably. At least that way I'd be busy inside, instead of standing out in the middle of the street and brooding about the Wilcoxes.

After that it was sort of a frenzied bustle of getting all the last-minute things — the gravy and the rolls and the mashed potatoes — ready at the same time. Aunt Rachel supervised with the practiced skill of a field marshal, so everything made its entrance into the hall and onto the long tables set up buffet-style on the far wall at the anointed hour. Then it was time to eat.

I sat at the head of one table, which I hadn't expected but probably should have, if I'd stopped to think about it. Rachel was on one side of me, once she finally sat down, and Tobias was on the other, so I didn't have to worry about Adam trying to keep me company all during dinner. He was at the same table, but farther down, sitting with his parents and his younger sister, who was a senior at Cottonwood High. I didn't see Jenny, his older sister. Maybe she had to work — the lowest person on the totem pole usually got the crap shifts on holidays and weekends. Once or twice during the meal he tried to catch my eye, and while I smiled at him, I didn't have time for much else.

At last, though, after everyone had had seconds or even thirds, it was time for pie. I'd been sort of selective in my eating, skipping the stuffing altogether, since I didn't like it that much to begin with. It would be a crime to be so full that I didn't have room for any of Aunt Rachel's pumpkin pie, which was divine.

I was just putting a piece on my plate and giving it a healthy dollop of freshly whipped cream — none of that canned stuff around here — when Adam came up to me. Well, it looked more like he was just there for pie, too, but I had the feeling he'd timed his approach so he'd be there when I was.

"Everything okay?" he said in an undertone.

"Of course it is," I replied, even though I didn't know if it actually was. "Why do you ask?"

"You just looked sort of...cranky...during dinner."

"Well, I'm not," I snapped. Then, as a hurt expression crossed his face, I added, "That is, I'm fine. It was just busy getting everything ready, and I've been kind of stressed out with my birthday coming up, and...." I decided to stop myself there. He knew what the problem was...mostly. No way would I admit to him that I'd spent more time than was probably healthy brooding over Chris Wilson. That match was even less viable than one with Adam. At least Adam was a McAllister, and a warlock.

"I've been thinking about that."

Why does that not surprise me? But we were blocking the pies, so I sidled a few feet away. "Everybody's probably been thinking about it. But I don't think there's much we can do except hope that the consort shows up damn soon."

"There might be another solution."

Since he was the one volunteering it, I had a pretty good idea what that might be, or at least what he thought it might be. Affecting unconcern, I took a bite of pie, then asked, "There is?"

A light flush appeared along his cheekbones. "Well, I've been doing some reading, trying to see what the precedents were. I mean, we all know that it's not a good thing for a prima to be without a consort when her twenty-second birthday rolls around. But I found an instance where that happened, and a warlock from her clan married her even though he wasn't the consort, and it actually worked out just fine. So maybe that's what we should do here."

It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. Lowering my voice, I said, "Are you asking me to marry you?"

The previous flush was swallowed up in a wave of bright red that went over his face from forehead to chin. "Well, yeah. Wouldn't it be better than what happened to Great-Aunt Ruby?"

"Nothing happened to her. I mean, the Wilcoxes tried, but they weren't successful. And it turns out she was right all along for waiting, because then she met Great-Uncle Pat a few weeks later. All's well and all that."

"Yeah, but — "

I realized then how hard this must have been for him. He had to know I wouldn't agree, but because he was worried and because he cared, he'd gone out on a limb anyway. "It'll be all right. You'll see."

He hesitated. "Maybe. But can you promise me something?"

"What?" I asked, my tone guarded. I knew better than to make a promise without knowing what it was about.

"If we get to your birthday, and there's still no one else, can you please think about it? I want you to be safe."

I looked up into his pleading blue-gray eyes. If the man of my dreams never materialized, did it really matter? I didn't want to be alone for the rest of my life, and no matter how much I might yearn for him, I knew Chris Wilson was not an option. Witches and warlocks married civilians from time to time — heck, Adam's own mother was one — but a prima didn't have that option.

"Okay," I said slowly. "If we get to that point, then...okay."

His face lit up then, and for a second I was worried he was going to pull me into a hug and smash my plate of pie right against me. Somehow he managed to keep a grip on himself, though. "Great. I mean, I doubt it'll happen, but if it does..."

"...you know where to find me," I said wearily. I gestured with my free hand back toward the table where I'd been sitting. "And now I'm going to sit down and eat the rest of this pie."

"Sure." He grinned at me. Since I didn't want to show him how unexcited I was by the prospect of having to marry him because there was no one else, I summoned a smile in return before heading back to my empty chair.

In that moment, I wondered how much I really had to be thankful for after all.

Clean-up seemed to take forever, but finally around nine o'clock I headed home with that night's bodyguards in tow. No one spoke, probably because we were all feeling sleepy and stuffed after the enormous meal we'd eaten earlier. By that point pretty much everyone had done a rotation watching over me, so I didn't see the need to show anyone where the snacks and sodas were. Or the coffeemaker; more than once I'd awoken in the middle of the night and smelled the rich scent of coffee drifting up the stairs, beating out the lingering paint fumes.

I just said goodnight to them and went upstairs, thinking I'd read in bed for a while or watch a show on my laptop. Something normal, prosaic. It felt way too early to go to bed, even though I was wiped out from the long day and all the heavy food I'd eaten.

But after I'd washed my face and brushed my teeth and climbed into the flannel pajama bottoms and long-sleeved thermal shirt I wore to bed — it was a magnificent house, but drafty — I found that the book I was partway through really didn't interest me, and neither did any of the shows I had queued up on Netflix. So I shut my laptop and wandered down the hall to the library to see if I could find anything more enticing there.

I say "library" because that was what everyone called it, but it was really more of a combination study and library. A big rolltop desk stood against one wall, and two of the other walls were covered in bookshelves. This was a room I hadn't touched yet, mainly because I hadn't decided what I wanted to do with it. Sydney thought I should turn it into a media room, sort of a home theater, but I thought it felt sacriligious to tear out those lovely dark oak bookshelves.

Not that what they contained looked all that intriguing. An old out-of-date set of World Book encyclopedias, probably from when Great-Aunt Ruby's sons were young. Books of fairytales. Some tattered paperbacks looking out of place amongst the more dignified hard-bound books, mysteries and some science fiction and a few more sensational titles like Peyton Place and Valley of the Dolls.

Wow, Ruby...who knew?

Fighting back a smile, I pulled out what looked like a first edition Wizard of Oz and shook my head. How much must that be worth? It still wasn't really what I was looking for, though, so I put it back. As I did so, my gaze fell on a slim book bound in dark red leather. It had no lettering on the spine, but I didn't know whether that was because it never did or because it had worn off over the years.

Intrigued, I opened it up and saw that, instead of being filled with type, it was hand-written. I flipped over to the flyleaf and saw inscribed on the yellowed paper there, Ruby Lee McAllister, 1947. I did some quick mental math. This was her diary, and from her twenty-first year.

My heart started to beat a little faster. Now, maybe I shouldn't read her diary at all, since it was private. Then again, how private could it be if she'd just left it out on the shelf in plain view of everyone? And there could be things she'd written down that would help me now. A lot had happened to her that year. If there was anything in that diary that could be of use, it would be silly of me to ignore it. For all I knew, she'd put it there precisely so I would find it once the house came to me.

With that rationalization to buoy me, I tucked the book under my arm, and slipped out of the library and down the hall to my room. After closing the door behind me, I climbed back into bed, plumped up my pillows so they'd give me good support while reading, then opened the book to its first page.

Mama took me into Cottonwood today to go shopping as part of my birthday treat. Yesterday was my real birthday, and everyone came over for cake and ice cream. How nice to have a birthday in August when ice cream is appropriate. While we were in Cottonwood, she bought me this book. She said twenty-one is special for any girl, but especially for the next clan prima. It's in this year that I'll meet my consort, and everything will change.

I stopped for a moment, thinking of pretty young Ruby with the Rita Hayworth waves and the red lipstick. She hadn't been afraid of her future — she'd had no reason to be. She had her parents and the members of her clan, and seemed to look forward to being prima. Of course, back then she couldn't have had any idea how long she would have to hold that post. The prima of her youth, Abigail McAllister, had died early. Rheumatic fever, I thought, but I couldn't remember for sure. What I did recall was that Ruby had barely a year after meeting her consort before she had to take over as prima. There was no comfortable overlap period for her, either.

Frowning, I looked back down at the book and began to read again. A lot of what I saw really was just commonplaces — descriptions of some new dresses she'd bought, comments about the weather, write-ups of various clan parties and gatherings. Here and there she'd mention working magic, but it wasn't something she particularly dwelled on, as if it was taken far more for granted than a pretty new pair of shoes.

Then, The first candidate came today. I didn't like his looks much, but I knew I had to kiss him, just in case he turned out to be the consort. To my relief, he wasn't. It's funny to think that if any other girl were discovered to have kissed so many boys, people would think she was fast, but in my case it's expected.

That entry was dated July 12, 1947. I flipped through a few more entries, until I came to a page dated a few weeks later where she wrote of meeting another candidate. This one didn't work out, either, and I was disappointed, because he was handsome enough to be a movie star. My mother warned me that sometimes it can take a while to find the right one. I hope not, because right now I can't decide which is worse, having to kiss someone you don't like, or kissing someone you think you might like, only to find out he's not the one, either.

I could definitely relate to that. But at least she didn't have one of her cousins bugging her to marry him if the whole consort thing didn't work out.

There was a gap of a week or so after that. She didn't make any mention of why she'd skipped so much time, but I supposed she had decided to write an entry only when something really notable occurred. I could relate — I'd started a diary when I was around eleven, thinking I should get down all the fabulous details about my life. Only most of the details weren't that fabulous, except for the whole talking to ghosts thing, and after a few weeks I'd given up and shoved the diary into a drawer, never to be looked at again.

Then, in late August, There were three candidates this week. None of them suited me, not one bit. I complained to Mother that this was turning out to be no fun at all. She only smiled at me and said the fun would begin once I found my consort. Maybe so, but whoever he is, I wish he would show up soon.

On the twenty-first of September, there was an entry about the town's celebration of the autumn equinox, the second harvest. We still had these observances as well, and it didn't sound as if they'd changed much in the last sixty-odd years — everyone gathered for large feasts, although back then it seemed those were spread out among individual households. These days we use Spook Hall for that, and of course back then wine-growing hadn't yet taken hold in the area. She described drinking beer as if it were a delicious, semi-forbidden thing, with no mention of wine at all.

All this was an interesting slice of local history, I supposed, but I'd been hoping to find something more. All during October there were entries about more candidates, more kisses that went nowhere. I could commiserate with her predicament, but at least I knew her story had a happy ending — fifty years of marriage, two children, five grandchildren.

There was an entry on October thirtieth about her looking forward to the Samhain celebration, but she didn't write anything again until November fifth. And on that one, her handwriting looked shaky and almost messy, whereas before it had been clean and neat. That was back when they cared about penmanship, I supposed, feeling slightly ashamed. My own handwriting was so bad that I block-printed anything that someone else would have to read.

I am safe.

I am safe.

I am safe.

There's an old saying Mother told me once: "What I tell you three times is true." So I imagine I wrote that down three times so I could give the notion a power of its own. Everyone is watching over me, and I know such a thing couldn't possibly happen again. But I imagine I am getting ahead of myself.

I was so happy on Samhain eve. I put on a pretty dress, even though I knew my robes would cover it up. It was a warm day, almost too warm for late October, but I was determined to enjoy it, since I knew it would get cold soon enough.

I decided to walk down to Hull Avenue and look at the view from the little park there, since I was done with my chores for the day and didn't have much else to occupy me. And it seemed fitting to go enjoy the sunshine on this last day before we went into the dark time between Samhain and Yule.

No one took much note of my going. I walked along in the sunshine and enjoyed the feel of the wind in my hair, even though I knew I'd have to give it a good brushing again once I got home. When I got to the park, it was deserted. Well, almost, anyway. A man I'd never seen before stood over by one of the stacked stone walls, smoking a cigarette and looking out at the view. A shiny black Cadillac was parked a few yards away from him.

I tried not to stare, but it was hard. We didn't get a lot of strangers here in Jerome. Well, we got people driving through, as it was only one of two routes you could use to get from Prescott to Flagstaff, but they didn't stop here much, except to get gas. And of those who did stop here, I'd never seen one who looked like this man. His hair was jet black and gleamed in the sunlight, and he had a profile that wouldn't have looked out of place on a movie screen.

I looked away quickly, but he must have noticed me. He smiled, and dropped his cigarette and ground it out on the dirt with the heel of his shiny black shoe, then said to me, "That's a heck of a view, miss."

"Yes," I said cautiously, although talking about the view seemed safe enough.

He took a few steps toward me. "Are you from around here, miss?"

I nodded, not quite trusting myself to reply. Something about his dark eyes was mesmerizing. I tried to tell myself that I'd seen handsome men before, so it was silly for me to stand here and look at him like a mouse staring at a snake.

His smile widened. "You have a name, miss?"

Something was telling me not to answer, but the word popped out as if I couldn't bear to keep it in any longer. "Ruby."

"That's a pretty name for a pretty girl."

"Thank you, sir." I decided to tack on the "sir" because he was some years older than I, maybe as old as thirty.

He moved a little closer, although he was still a few feet away. "You like looking at the view, Ruby?"

"Ye-es," I said.

A nod, but it wasn't directed at me. Suddenly two more men, also tall and black-haired, and wearing dark suits, got out of the car. My heart began to pound, and I realized something was very wrong here.

"I-I have to go," I told him, my voice sounding weak and stammering, not like the voice of the McAllisters' future prima.

"Yes, you do," he agreed. "Although probably not where you were thinking." Those coal-black eyes fastened on me, and it was as if the world began to spin around me, sky and trees and buildings all swirling like a kaleidoscope. My knees began to give way, and then he was reaching for me, grabbing me. His touch was cold, so cold, and I realized then who he must be.

Jasper Wilcox, primus of the Wilcox clan.

I didn't know which spell he had cast, or what he had done to me, but I retained enough presence of mind to call out from within, my cry echoing to all the McAllisters. The enemy is here!

Right away people started to converge on the park. Mr. Song came out of the English Kitchen, cleaver in hand, and next to him were my cousins Leonard and Stephen.

I could feel Jasper Wilcox's hand tighten on my arm. "What did you do?" he demanded.

"I called to them," I said. "Bet you didn't know I could do that, did you?"

He scowled at me, and began dragging me to the car.

"There are only two ways out of here," I told him. "If you let me go and leave now, you might get away. Maybe."

He cursed, horrible, foul language no one had ever spoken in my hearing before, but I could see that he realized his dilemma. He let go of me, said, "This isn't the end of it," and hurried back to his car, his two clan members jumping in, one of them getting the engine started. They sped off with a squeal of their tires, going the wrong way on the one-way street.

No one was coming the other way, and so they made their escape just as I heard the sirens from the town's one and only police car blaring away up on Main Street. It wasn't my gift to see the future, but somehow I knew Jasper Wilcox would get away.

Everyone began to crowd around me, asking what had happened. I told them I was fine, which I supposed I was. Nothing had happened, not really. Then my parents came, my mother weeping in fright, and I went with them back home, where they set up a guard to make sure no one else could get to me. Although Jasper Wilcox had said this wasn't the end, he didn't reappear the next day, or the day after. No one let down their guard, but people did seem to relax, just a little.

What I couldn't tell any of them was that I still felt his hands on my arms, still saw his face when I laid myself down in bed at night. So handsome...so evil.

I want my consort to appear. I want that kiss, the one that will bind me to him.

I hope that then I can forget what it was like to look into Jasper Wilcox's black eyes.

I shut the diary, my hands shaking. No one had ever told me what exactly had transpired when the Wilcoxes tried to kidnap Great-Aunt Ruby, only that the attempt had been made, and had failed. I'd never really understood why they'd bothered, since I'd always been told that a prima's true power only manifested when she was matched with her consort. For some reason, though, this Jasper Wilcox had believed differently.

I needed to find out why.

Chapter Twelve

Margot Emory didn't look exactly happy to have been summoned to see me, but she knew it wasn't good to refuse a request from the clan's prima, even a young and inexperienced one such as myself. She sat in one of the new arm chairs in the living room, looking around at the alterations I'd made. Maybe her sour expression came from disapproval at my remodeling efforts. Since I hadn't asked her here for input on my design choices, I really didn't care one way or another.

A fire crackled in the hearth; it was a cold day, with a promise of snow overnight. We were both drinking coffee from my new Keurig coffeemaker. Aunt Rachel had turned up her nose at pre-fab coffee, but I found myself having a great time drinking a different flavor every day.

I set down my mug of hazelnut roast. "I wanted to ask you about the Wilcoxes' kidnap attempt of Aunt Ruby."

That did seem to surprise Margot; she lowered her own cup of French roast and shot me a quizzical look. "Why?"

"I found her diary," I said frankly. I'd decided I might as well be up front about reading it. "She described the whole thing in some detail."

"Interesting." She tilted her head to one side, as if considering. "She never mentioned that she kept a diary."

"I don't know if she did, except for this one that she started around her twenty-first birthday. After the kidnap attempt, she didn't write it in very much, except for writing about the day she met Great-Uncle Pat, and then a few entries about ordering her wedding gown, that kind of thing." I wrapped my hands around the mug I held. It still felt cold in here, even with the fire blazing away. "I tried to ask Aunt Rachel about it once, and she just sort of blew me off. But I'm getting the feeling I haven't been told the whole story."

For a few seconds Margot didn't say anything, only watched me carefully. She was a coldly beautiful woman who always reminded me of a retired ballerina, with her graceful neck and fine, sharp features. "I suppose Rachel thought she was trying to protect you. But you are prima now, and because you are in such a...vulnerable...position at the moment, it's only right that you should know." A pause, and she set her coffee mug down on a coaster on the side table next to her chair. "How much do you actually know of the Wilcoxes?"

"The usual," I replied. "They came out here after losing some sort of clan war back in the 1800s — "

"The 1870s, to be precise. Yes, they'd been caught doing some of the blackest kind of magic, and the other clans in New York united to drive them out. It wasn't just the magic itself they feared, but that it would be discovered by the non-magical population. So Jeremiah Wilcox and about fifty of his followers headed west, and ended up in Flagstaff, which was very much a wild frontier town back then. My guess is that they thought their goings-on wouldn't draw as much attention there. But Jeremiah's wife died on the journey out here — "

"And he took a wife from among the Navajo," I finished for her.

She gave me a very thin smile. "'Took' being the operative word. He stole her from her tribe because she was supposed to be a very powerful witch, and he wanted to join her magic to his. This didn't go over very well with her own people, as you can imagine, but they feared his magic, his ruthlessness, so there was no retaliation. She gave birth to a son, then took her own life — but before she did that, she laid down a curse on the Wilcox men so that no girl child should be born to them, and that the wives of Jeremiah's line should never live to see their children grow up."

This was all news to me. I sat up, eyes widening. "And no one thought to mention this to me?"

"It's not common knowledge. The clan elders know the particulars, and the prima, but otherwise we see no need for it to be spread around. It's enough for most people to know that Flagstaff is Wilcox territory, and Jerome is ours, and we must all stay away from one another."

"And when precisely were you going to get around to telling me?"

A thin smile. "I'm telling you now."

"So that's why the Wilcoxes always have a primus, never a prima." As far as I knew, the McAllister clan had always had a prima as its head.

"Exactly. They also tend to marry outside their clan more than we do, since their genetic pool was smaller to begin with. That hasn't diluted their power, though, and their primuses — the men of Jeremiah's line, and his stolen Navajo wife — are very strong."

That I could believe. Of course I'd only known Great-Aunt Ruby as an old woman, used to a lifetime of ruling the McAllister clan, and not the young, unworldly girl she must have been, but from her diary entry it was clear that she'd almost been overpowered by Jasper Wilcox. It took a lot of strength to best even a prima-in-waiting.

"And so they tried to kidnap Ruby so they could bind her power to theirs, the way they'd done with the Navajo witch?"

"Yes."

Here was where I came to the crux of the conundrum. "I don't understand that, though. I mean, I've always been told that a prima's powers will only fully develop if she's with her consort. Obviously, Jasper Wilcox wasn't Ruby's consort. So why did he think he could force her?"

For the first time during our conversation, Margot looked uncomfortable. She picked up her coffee and drank, but didn't set the mug back down, instead cradling it in her hands the same way I was doing with my own mug. Maybe her hands were cold, too. "The energy of a prima is a receptive energy, what some refer to as a female energy. A prima cannot force her energy on another. But the energy of a primus is something different — it can be aggressive, outward-seeking. Dangerous, which is also why all the clans have a prima rather than a primus...well, except the Wilcoxes. We learned over the years what was the safer, wiser way and selected for it."

Like breeding dogs, I thought with some irony, although I knew better than to say something like that to Margot Emory. "So this Jasper Wilcox thought he could just snatch up Great-Aunt Ruby and produce a line of super-warlocks or something?"

Her mouth tightened. I got the impression that she would have liked to call out my remark for being irreverent but wasn't quite willing to confront her prima in such a way. "Or something. But it's why we've watched over you so carefully, even before this latest incident."

I assumed she was referring to the dark wraith-like figure I'd seen in the store. No one yet had quite been able to figure out that one, although it did seem as if the smartest thing to do was what the clan elders had been doing — never let me out of their sight. "And what if my consort never shows?"

"It's best not to borrow trouble, Angela — you'll find you may end up paying heavy interest on it."

As may be. Abruptly, I said, "Adam wants me to marry him if my birthday rolls around and I'm still unattached."

"That would solve a few things." Surprisingly, she seemed unfazed by the prospect.

I couldn't say the same for myself. "It would? But I was always told that it was bad for a prima to be with someone who wasn't her consort, almost as bad as making it to twenty-two without a partner."

"It's not optimal, of course, but given the alternative...." She let the words trail off, and flicked a significant gaze northward. "If you're not a virgin, you can't be bound to a primus. Just reaching your twenty-second birthday would not be enough. Of course you carry your greatest potential for power now, but don't think that you will be safe as long as you are on your own."

This just kept getting better and better. "So why shouldn't I just go with someone I choose, if my consort bails on me? Why not a civilian?" Obviously, this was not an idle question. Laying aside the problem of not even being able to contemplate going to bed with Adam, no matter what I might have promised him, I didn't see why I couldn't make a serious try for Chris Wilson if things went sideways. There was someone I wouldn't mind losing my virginity to.

Now Margot did look annoyed. The sweeping dark brows drew together, and she gave an impatient wave of one hand. "Because even a warlock who is not your consort can bring some power to the relationship. A civilian? Never. Not with a prima. At least Adam is a McAllister, and a warlock with some talents, even if of course they're not equal to your own."

It seemed she had me boxed in fairly neatly there. My mother had escaped the trap, but then again, she'd never bonded with a consort, had bolted before that could happen. I'd never been given that opportunity, and I wondered how she'd managed it. Just gotten in her car and told everyone she was going out for groceries, then took off with only the clothes on her back and the money in her purse? I'd never been brave enough to ask Aunt Rachel, as I could tell the subject was too painful, even now, and somehow I guessed Margot Emory wouldn't exactly be forthcoming if I tried to probe too deeply.

So I sipped at my rapidly cooling coffee, then said, "Thanks, Margot. That does answer some of my questions." I didn't add, That will be all, but she seemed to take the cue, setting down her mug a final time before getting to her feet.

"I'm glad I could help out. And if you have any other questions, I'll do my best to answer them." She smiled at me, although the expression seemed stiff, as if she were forcing it.

Since it was the sort of thing I really couldn't call her on, I smiled at her in return and then saw her to the door. A blast of cold air came in as I opened it, but she didn't seem to notice, only sailed serenely down the steps and over in the direction of the restored Victorian where she lived on the next street over.

I closed the door, and shivered. Maybe it was the cold.

Maybe not.

Despite everything, the decision was made to go ahead with the shopping trip to Phoenix the week after that. That decision was made without my input; I had a feeling Aunt Rachel had to go plead her case to the elders to get them to agree, but finally they did acquisce. We wouldn't be driving ourselves, but would be going in Lester Phillips' van, along with five bodyguards. Adam wasn't coming along — not because he didn't want to, but because the elders decreed he wasn't a strong enough warlock to make much of a difference, should push come to shove.

As with any expedition into a neighboring clan's territory, certain overtures had to be made. Since I was now prima, I was the one who had to call Maya de la Paz — apparently she didn't do email — and explain that some of us would like to come to town to do our holiday shopping, and would that be all right?

I'd halfway been expecting her to give me some kind of grief for not latching on to her grandson as my consort, but she only gave a chuckle and said, "Of course you are welcome here. Where will you be going?"

That hadn't been set in stone yet, but I told her we'd be focusing mainly in the Biltmore District, the mall itself and some of the satellite shopping areas, like the ones with Nordstrom Rack and Best Buy, and possibly going over to Scottsdale if there were time.

She said, "That is good. Thank you for asking, but the McAllisters are always welcome in Phoenix."

Right then I wondered why I'd been worried about making the call. She seemed very gracious. "You're very welcome, Mrs. de la Paz."

A laugh, and then she said, "No need for that. You are prima, as am I. Have a good night, Angela."

I hung up then and gave my Aunt Rachel, who'd been watching, a thumbs-up. She shot me a relieved smile, and then we both headed down to her place, since she'd heard about me eating leftover pizza for dinner and wanted to make sure I got at least one decent meal in me that week.

Even as we went, I knew I had one more call to make that night.

I sat on my bed and stared at the number in my contacts list. It should have been easy — just dial those ten digits, and....

But it wasn't. I'd never cold-called a guy like this before. Yes, Chris had given me his number and told me to let him know when I was coming down to Phoenix. Even so, I found I was having a heck of a time working up the nerve to do it.

For Goddess' sake, I told myself. You're the prima of the McAllisters, and you don't even have enough of a spine to call a guy?

Not just any guy. Chris Wilson, who was the best-looking guy I'd ever seen. And friendly. And nice.

And a civilian, so all this angst really isn't getting you anywhere.

I scowled down at my phone. It was probably stupid to call, since I knew anything with him would of necessity be a dead end. But maybe it would be fun just to see him again, meet somewhere for a drink (although how that would go off, with five bodyguards and my Aunt Rachel following my every movement, I wasn't sure).

You said you'd call him if you were coming to town. So call him. Stop making this into a federal case.

Fine. I hit "call" before I could back out. His phone rang once, twice, three times. Then it went into voicemail. Great. Then again, maybe it was easier that way.

I spoke quickly, as if that would somehow make this easier. "Hi, Chris, it's Angela McAllister. I know it's kind of late notice, but it turns out we will be in Phoenix tomorrow to do some shopping. We'll be over in the Biltmore District mostly — I know that's kind of far from Tempe, but maybe we can figure something out. Anyway, I just wanted to call and let you know. We should be down there sometime in the late morning." Providing any more details would just make me sound desperate...if I didn't already...so I thought I'd better leave it at that. "Talk to you soon. 'Bye."

I hung up then, hoping I'd done the right thing. But I did want to see him, even if it was for the last time. After all, my birthday was only two weeks away.

By the time we hit the road the next morning, I still hadn't heard anything from Chris. Well, he had said he was going to be really busy. I didn't know exactly what that entailed for someone getting a master's degree. Did he have finals? If I'd been thinking straight, maybe I would have remembered to look up the academic schedule at ASU online and see when finals even were, but it didn't really matter now, one way or another. He should at least have time to check his voicemail, and if our schedules didn't mesh, well, I wouldn't be happy about it, but I'd understand. Or so I told myself.

Aunt Rachel kept up a fairly steady stream of chatter on the drive south, asking me if I'd decided how I wanted to redo the kitchen, or whether I was going to tackle the bathrooms first. All of that felt distant and vaguely unreal, as I'd decided to wait until after the holidays to do any of it. By then my life should be very different. Either my long-lost consort would have shown up, or I'd be living in domestic bliss with Adam. Now, with the possibility of seeing Chris Wilson again dancing in my mind, I was beginning to wonder why on earth I'd made him that promise. Temporary insanity was my best guess.

If Rachel noticed that I wasn't all that engaged in the conversation, she didn't show it. I did keep wondering why Chris didn't call, then tried to console myself with the realization that cell service was pretty spotty for long stretches on I-17, and even if he were calling, it would just go to voicemail since it wouldn't be able to punch through.

That helped a little, although once we came down into the outskirts of Phoenix and the bars on my phone abruptly shot up, I felt deflated all over again when I looked at the display on my cell and realized I didn't have any missed calls.

"...first?" Aunt Rachel was asking, and I blinked.

"What?"

She gave me a patient smile. "I was asking where you wanted to go first. I thought maybe we should stop at Nordstrom Rack first, since it's on the way, and then we can have lunch somewhere at the Biltmore shopping center."

"That sounds fine," I said. It didn't matter much to me which order we shopped in, although it did make more sense to make the Rack our first stop, since there were more places to eat at the shopping center.

We cut east on the 101 Loop and then onto a smaller highway that brought close to Camelback Road, which was crowded with shopping centers and strip malls. This wasn't my first trip to Phoenix, of course, but since it was at least six months and sometimes a year between visits, I always forgot about the vast urban sprawl, the amazing variety of shops...the aggressive drivers. I was glad it was Phil behind the wheel and not me.

But since we were smart and had come down on a weekday, trying to navigate the roads and get a parking spot at the shopping center wasn't as difficult as it would have been on a weekend. Also, Phil's handicapped placard got us a choice spot up toward the front.

I took one last look at my phone, tried not to sigh, and climbed out of the van, glad of the chance to stretch my legs a little bit. The drive took about two and a half hours, and it was now a few minutes after eleven. Down here it was much warmer than in Jerome, and I pushed up the sleeves of my shirt. I'd thought I was dressing for Phoenix by not wearing a sweater the way I had for the last few weeks back home, but it had to be in the upper 70s here.

Previously we'd agreed that it would be all right to split up once we were inside the store, as it was not so big that the bodyguards couldn't be back at my side within a minute if something strange happened. I'd argued that I didn't want onlookers watching me buy underwear, and neither did I want to be selecting holiday gifts while everyone could see exactly what I was doing. Sort of took the fun out of the whole thing.

So we all did go our separate ways once we were in the store, with Phil, Boyd Willis, and Henry Lynch heading toward the men's section, while Aunt Rachel and Allegra Moss and I went straight to the shoes. I wanted a new pair of winter boots, which I found almost right away, nice leather riding-style boots with rubber soles. I loved my cowboy boots, but they were hell on ice.

I slipped the boots into the heavy net shopping bag I had with me, then said, "I'm heading over to lingerie."

They nodded, apparently entranced by the amazing selection around them. Good thing I wasn't much of a "shoe" girl, or maybe I would've felt the same way. As it was, I knew I needed some new underwear, so I figured I'd get that out of the way before heading over to accessories, where I hoped I could find some fun pieces for Sydney and maybe Rachel. Yes, I could've made them something, and had in the past, but my jewelry-making had been sort of disrupted the past few weeks, and now I wasn't sure if I would even have time to get anything put together. Besides, it never hurt to have something different every once in a while.

After picking up some new pairs of underwear and a bra, I got sidetracked on the way to the accessories section and ended up adding a pair of jeans and a couple of sweaters to the growing pile in my shopping bag. Eventually, though, I wandered over there and started sifting through the earrings and necklaces, wondering if maybe Aunt Rachel would rather have a new watch, or maybe a purse.

I had just turned away from the jewelry rack after finding a pair of long, sparkly earrings I knew Sydney would love when I noticed the man standing a yard or so away, over by a table full of sunglasses. His gaze was intent on me, and I looked away immediately. True, I'd tried to dress up a little bit, just in case I did get to see Chris, and was wearing the dark green top Sydney had bought me and my favorite pieces of turquoise jewelry, but I didn't think I warranted that kind of inspection. There were plenty of other girls in the store better-dressed...and prettier...than I was.

The stranger said, "Hello, Angela."

Immediately my hackles went up. "Do I know you?"

He smiled. Even though he looked as if he were a good deal older than I — maybe as old as thirty-five — he was very handsome. His gaze intent on me, he replied, "My name is Damon Wilcox."

Ice flooded my veins, and I immediately took a step back. "How did you know I would be here?"

"Does it matter?" The smile widened, and I couldn't mistake the predatory gleam in his dark eyes. "I thought we should talk."

"We have nothing to talk about. Except," I added, "that I'm here with five members of my clan, so — "

"Five? I suppose I should be honored that you think I merit that kind of a response."

I opened my mouth to reply, but almost out of nowhere my Aunt Rachel appeared, flanked by those five bodyguards we'd just been discussing.

"You should not be here, Mr. Wilcox," my aunt said coldly.

"I needed to do some shopping," he returned, smile never fading.

"You can do that in Flagstaff. You have your own mall there, don't you?"

"But not this store. They have such a good shoe selection, and I happen to have very large feet." This last was said with a wink sent in my direction, and I felt heat flood my cheeks. Even I knew what that "large feet" comment was supposed to imply.

"That doesn't matter," Phil put in, voice harsh and quite unlike his usual jovial self. "We had permission to be here. You don't."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Because Maya de la Paz would have told us, that's why," Rachel said. Her normally pretty, rounded features were set in a mask of loathing.

"Interesting." He slanted another one of those sly glances in my direction. "It seems we have a stalemate, then."

"I don't see how," Allegra Moss said in acid tones, "considering there are seven of us and only one of you."

"About that...." he drawled, and from the clothing racks in the center of the store came five men and two women, all of them black-haired like their primus.

Shit. My mind raced, wondering how on earth we were going to get out of this without having a magical showdown right in the middle of Nordstrom Rack. Everyone in my group edged closer to me, clearly ready to do whatever it took to protect me from the clutches of the Wilcoxes.

"Ah, but you forget that you are all in my territory," a new voice chimed in, and I looked past Damon Wilcox and his clanmembers to see a small woman with gray-streaked black hair and olive skin stop in the aisle just past us, her arms crossed over her chest. Behind her was a group of seven men, one of whom I realized I recognized. Alex Trujillo, Maya de la Paz's grandson.

I'd never met her, but I knew at once she was the woman who now stared up at Damon Wilcox with the expression of someone who'd found a particularly disgusting species of cockroach infesting her pantry.

"You do not have my permission to be here," she said clearly. "The McAllisters, they know how to follow the rules of propriety. I have allowed you and members of your clan here before, out of courtesy, but I see you do not give me that same courtesy. Leave, and do not expect to come back any time soon."

His gaze shifted from her to the watching de la Paz men, then over to us McAllisters before coming to rest on me for a brief second. Another smile, and he said, "If I have offended, I do apologize." He made the briefest of gestures toward his own clanspeople, then turned and moved past us, heading toward the front door. The other Wilcoxes fell in behind him. A minute later, they were gone.

I let out the breath I'd been holding. Maya de la Paz approached me and said, "Prima, I apologize for this intrusion. We were keeping watch, just in case, and it seems our caution was merited."

"No need to apologize," I said quickly. "Really, thank you for coming to help. That could've gotten...nasty."

Her mouth twitched. "That one has been nasty for many years, I am afraid. I hope this will not deter you from your shopping. I will have the people from my clan stay with you and watch over you. I do not think the Wilcoxes will try anything again."

More thanks bubbled to my lips, but she waved them off.

"It is the least I can do, when your visit has been trespassed upon. Please, finish your shopping."

I turned back to Rachel and the others. "I was almost done, but — "

"I think we're all finished here," she told me. "But we do appreciate the assistance during the rest of our trip."

The sparkly earrings I'd chosen for Sydney had been dangling, unnoticed, from my hand this whole time, but when I turned around to retrieve the shopping bag full of the other items I'd selected, it was missing. I knew I'd set it down on the floor while I was going through the rack of earrings. But where had it gone?

I telegraphed my dismay to Aunt Rachel, but although she hunted around on the floor behind the other jewelry racks, she couldn't find anything, either.

"Do you think the Wilcoxes took it?" I asked.

"I don't see why they'd have a use for it — and I didn't see any of them carrying any bags." Her brow puckered in worry. "What are they up to?"

Goddess only knew, but I decided it wasn't worth worrying about. Maybe it wasn't the Wilcoxes at all. It was entirely possible that one of the store's employees had seen the bag sitting there and thought it had been abandoned, and so picked it up in order to put away the items inside. No, I hadn't seen anyone actually do that, but then again I'd been a little busy with Damon Wilcox and his goon squad.

Alex Trujillo fell into step beside me after I'd paid for Sydney's earrings and headed toward the front door. "I see you're still without a consort."

"Obviously," I snapped, "or none of this would have been necessary."

His eyebrow lifted, and I hurried to apologize.

"Sorry...it's been kind of tense lately, and that didn't help." I jerked the thumb of my free hand back toward the store.

"I understand." The sun glinted off his dark hair as he shot a sympathetic look at me. "So where to next?"

"The Biltmore shopping center." I paused and waited for Aunt Rachel to catch up to us. "Were we going to eat or shop first?"

Her expression was still grim. "I don't feel much like either after that, but...a little shopping first, I suppose."

"We can do the Apple store first and then decide if we're ready to eat," I said, and looked from her to Alex. "Sound like a plan?"

He nodded. "We'll follow you." A lift of his chin toward a large black Suburban parked a few spaces away. "That's ours. Make sure you stick with us, and when you get to the parking garage, wait until we can get two spots next to each other, even if you have to go up a couple of levels."

"Okay," I replied, and despite everything, I had to smother a grin. Those tall, capable-looking warlocks in their black Suburban. They reminded me of the de la Paz version of the Secret Service or something. All they needed was some business suits and those little earpieces with the wires running into their collars.
The rest of our group was waiting at the van, just a few feet away. I relayed Alex's instructions to Phil, and he said "okay" as we all piled in. Then we backed out of our parking space, waited a few seconds for the Suburban to do the same, and headed east toward our destination.

I had to hope the Wilcoxes wouldn't have that staked out, too.

Chapter Thirteen

As we drove, though, instead of being worried or frightened, I found myself getting angry. Aunt Rachel had recognized Damon Wilcox at once, which meant she knew what he looked like. How that was possible, I didn't know for sure. I'd heard his name, of course, but when I'd tried to do a little surreptitious Googling of him, I couldn't find anything about him. Which didn't make much sense, because one time when I was eavesdropping on a conversation between Tobias and my aunt, I overheard that he was a professor of some sort at Northern Pines University. Of what, I hadn't been able to catch, but still, a professor generally has some sort of public profile. Maybe he'd done a magical scrub of Google to keep his information off it. If that were the case, he'd accomplished a lot more than any computer hacker I'd ever heard of.

While I ruminated on that and watched the sprawling shopping centers with their chain stores and restaurants pass by, I only felt my irritation increase. It wasn't just that Aunt Rachel had never bothered to describe Damon Wilcox to me so that I could give him a wide berth if I ever met him. No, it was the way she hadn't told me that marrying a warlock who wasn't my consort would still be enough to protect me, even if such a union would forever bar me from developing my full powers. Or how she hadn't bothered to mention the curse of the Wilcox clan and the true reason why I'd had my entire existence bounded by the relative safety of Jerome.

Margot Emory had said Rachel was trying to protect me, but I couldn't see how not knowing the whole truth was of any benefit. All right, some of it might have been too frightening to tell a young girl, and waiting possibly served some purpose. But I was almost twenty-two now, and although I was sheltered in a lot of ways, I wasn't completely innocent. Plenty of information to be had on the Internet if you needed to have your curiosity satisfied.

The bright sun and the palm trees blowing in the warm wind and the gleaming high-rises around us seemed incongruous when balanced against my brooding thoughts. It wasn't the sort of place you expected to see a group of dark warlocks descend, that was for sure. Had they left, or were they still watching us, waiting to see if the de la Paz crew might leave us undefended at some point?

A chill went over me as I recalled Damon Wilcoxes hungry dark eyes, the way he had smiled so knowingly at me. Even the Verde Valley's oldest virgin could figure out exactly what he wanted.

I didn't know if I made a sound, or a sudden movement, but Aunt Rachel asked in worried tones, "Angela, are you all right?"

Of course I wasn't. Not really. But I was angry at her, for all the things she'd hidden and hadn't said. Angry as I was, though, this was not the place for me to blow up. True, everyone in the van was family, more or less. Even so, there was family, and then there was family. The things I wanted to say to her would have to wait until the two of us were alone together.

So I only shook my head and told her, "I'm fine. That was just...not something I was expecting. But I'm okay."

Her expression was still dubious, but she appeared unwilling to press the issue. Instead, she gave a little nod and then turned to look back out the window. We were turning now down the side street that led to the parking garage. I glanced behind us. The black Suburban was still there.

Since it was now past noon and people from the surrounding high-rise office buildings had apparently converged on the place for lunch, we did have to drive to the upper level of the parking structure to get two spots next to one another. Phil waited for the de la Paz men to get out of their SUV, and then he unlocked the doors of the van so we could all climb out as well.

"You know where the Apple store is?" Alex asked me.

"I think so."

He smiled even as he shook his head. "I'll guide you in. Come on."

Once we got to the ground level, we entered the shopping center proper. Most of the people around us were well-dressed and glossy, and I wondered what they thought of our contingent. Bad enough that we were now such a large group that we'd attract attention merely from our sheer numbers. Add to that Rachel's swirling India-print skirt and Phil's ponytail and dark brown tunic, which looked like he'd stolen it off someone in an ashram somewhere, and we didn't exactly fit in.

I generally didn't buy a huge number of holiday presents, mainly because once I went outside my own little circle, I felt as if I should be getting something for each and every McAllister in Jerome, and that would break the bank pretty fast. Sydney was already taken care of, and after I saw Aunt Rachel pick up an iPad mini, look it over, then set it back down with a regretful look on her face, I decided to get one for her. Yes, I was angry with her, but she'd done so much for me. I had more money now than I'd ever had before to spend on gifts, and I might as well get her something she wanted.

So I went over to one of the blue-shirted store employees and made my request in an undertone as Aunt Rachel turned away to inspect a display of laptop bags, then added a fun weather station you operated with your iPhone to my order. Adam would love that...and since it seemed we were probably going to be shacked up together in the near future, I figured I should buy him something good for Yule. And he did love his iPhone.

Most of the rest of my group was what you'd call technologically impaired, so they didn't get much. The whole time I was aware of the watching eyes of the de la Pazes on me, especially Alex. He was still as attractive as ever, but I didn't think he was quite as good-looking as Chris Wilson.

Who had never returned my call. After I finished paying for my items, I fished out my phone...trying not to feel self-conscious about using an Android device in an Apple store...and checked it for any missed calls. Nada.

By then it was almost one. "Everyone hungry?" I asked, after we'd regrouped in the courtyard outside.

Head nods and various yeses.

"Zinburger is good," Alex offered. "I'll show you."

We all trooped after him, following along like ducklings following the momma duck. I wondered if any of the people watching us go by thought we were on some kind of tour. There were far too many of us to be seated at one table, so we had to settle for adjacent spots toward the back of the restaurant. And although Alex looked as though he would rather have sat by me, we all ended up more or less segregated by clan, with my aunt on one side of me and Henry Lynch on the other.

I would rather have sat by Alex, too, especially now that Chris seemed to have blown me off, but it wasn't worth making a fuss over. So I perused the menu, eyed the wine listings wistfully, and decided against anything stronger than a milkshake. That and a burger should hold me through whatever other shopping we decided to do. I still needed to get something for Tobias, and probably small things for the clan elders, as that was sort of expected. For them, though, I could gift some of my talismans, which would certainly be more appreciated than anything store-bought.

"...should head home before dark," Henry was saying to Phil.

Setting down the menu, I sent Henry a quizzical look. He lifted his shoulders and said, "I know we'd discussed going more places, maybe staying down here for dinner, too, if it shook out that way. But after what happened back there" — a significant jerk of his chin in the direction of Nordstrom Rack — "I think it's safest to do what we can here and then get on the road. Too many isolated spots on the highway once you get out of Phoenix."

That was true enough. Yes, you could always count on there being traffic, but even so, there were long, dark stretches with no off-ramps, no towns...no nothing. It was easy enough to imagine the Wilcoxes lying in wait there, maybe with a spell ready that would blow out one of the van's tires, or kill the engine, or....

Quickly banishing that thought from my mind, I nodded. "You're probably right." Once we got off the highway at 260 and were heading to Cottonwood and then Jerome, we'd be safe enough. But there was a lot of open road before that, and night came early at this time of year.

The waitress showed up to take our orders then, so we cut the discussion off until she left. Henry repeated his suggestion, and although both Aunt Rachel and Allegra Moss looked a little disappointed, once he added, "And Angela agrees with me," there was no further discussion.

So apparently my word as prima had some weight, even with my aunt.

After lunch we told the de la Paz crew of our plans. Alex protested, saying that they'd follow us all the way home if necessary, but I said, "No, we couldn't ask you to do that. You've done enough already. There's plenty to keep us occupied here for the next hour or so, and then we'll get on the road. Besides, leaving so we can get home before dark will also get us out of Phoenix before the worst of the rush hour, right?"

He gave a reluctant nod. "All right. But I had to offer, or my abuela would have my hide."

I grinned at that. "I'll make sure she knows."

It was silly for all fourteen of us to be marching around the place in lock-step. There was no sign of the Wilcoxes, and we each had our own shops that we wanted to visit. Groups of three seemed safe enough, especially since one of the de la Paz crew's particular gift was being able to sniff out dark warlocks, which was why their prima had included him as part of the group. He informed us that he couldn't sense the Wilcoxes anywhere near. So I had him and Alex accompany me while the rest of the Jerome contingent went their separate ways, with a de la Paz in tow, of course.

At Pottery Barn I found a fun leaf-shaped candle bowl for Tobias, who always had some kind of interesting lighting going on. As the sales clerk was wrapping it up for me, Alex said, "You seem pretty calm about the whole thing."

"Well, I am now," I replied. "That was a pretty good show of the cavalry coming in to save the day back there."

I'd kept my tone light on purpose, but his expression was serious. The dark eyes scanned my face. "You took a risk coming down here, you know."

"We thought we'd taken the necessary precautions." Was Alex Trujillo trying to tell me we'd been foolish for coming to Phoenix? "What, are we supposed to just cower in Jerome indefinitely?"

"Not indefinitely, but...you know...." He let the words trail off, then appeared to be holding his tongue as the clerk came back with my package.

"Are you saying I shouldn't be out and about in my delicate condition?"

He didn't rise to the bait. "It was risky. My abuela, she thought the same thing, which is why she sent us to watch over you. I wonder if you know exactly what the Wilcoxes are capable of."

"Probably more than you, since it was my great-aunt they tried to kidnap back in the day," I retorted. Then I let out a sigh. "Wow, I really am cranky today."

This time he smiled. "I think you've had reason." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the time. "Almost three. I'd better get you back. Everyone should be meeting up in the courtyard now."

Sure enough, the rest of the Jerome party was already there, all of them clutching a variety of shopping bags. So at least they'd managed to salvage something from the trip. We headed back to the parking structure, the de la Pazes waiting while we got in the van. As I fastened my seatbelt, Alex said, "We won't follow you all the way, if that's your wish, but we'll at least see you back to the highway."

"Thank you," I said, and meant it.

He nodded, then slid the heavy van door shut. I settled back in my seat, watching his tall form as he walked around the Suburban and got in the front passenger seat. As I did so, I wondered if maybe part of Aunt Rachel's reasoning for keeping certain truths from me was to prevent me from settling for a handsome candidate like Alex instead of holding out for my actual consort. If I were going to be perfectly honest with myself, then I should admit that maybe I would have been less inclined to wait, knowing that having any warlock as my partner would still protect me from the Wilcoxes, even if entering such a relationship would prevent me from gaining all my powers.

Who knew? Coulda, woulda, shoulda, I thought, repeating one of Sydney's favorite fall-back phrases. At this point it really didn't matter one way or another. Either my consort would show up in the next few weeks, or I'd be marrying Adam just to keep myself...and the clan...safe. More or less.

At least now I had a face to put to my enemy. Maybe it had been risky to come here. But Damon Wilcox had taken a risk, too. Before he was a stranger. Now he'd revealed himself. What was it Great-Aunt Ruby had written?

So handsome...so evil.

Obviously those traits had been carried down to the current generation. I shivered, and told myself it was just that Phil had the A/C turned up too high. Phoenix felt shockingly warm after the chilly early December winds up in our part of the world. Above Jerome, Mingus Mountain still had a faint dusting of snow from the last storm that had passed through.

As we turned onto Camelback Road and headed toward the freeway, my phone rang. Puzzled, I dug it out of my purse. Maybe Sydney was calling in a last-minute shopping request. Too bad, since we were already on the road.

But the number on the screen was from the 602 area code, not 928. I frowned at it for a second, then guessed who it must be. "Hello?" I said.

"Angela." Chris's voice. "I am so sorry — I let my phone run down last night while I was in the studio working on my latest painting, and I was up so late that I just crashed without even checking it. So are you in Phoenix?"

He hadn't blown me off, or forgotten about me. The warmth that flooded me was short-lived, though. "We're here, but we're already on the way home."

"You are?" he asked, sounding confused. "I thought you said you'd be spending most of the day here. It's only a little after three."

"I know." I really hated that my aunt was sitting next to me in the back seat. Not exactly the best conditions for a private coversation. "Something came up."

His tone sharpened a little. "Everything okay?"

Not really, I thought. "It's sort of a family thing." I didn't trust myself to say anything more than that.

A pause, maybe while he tried to decide what would be appropriate to ask and what wouldn't. "I'm sorry to hear that. Things are busy right now, since all my projects are due at the end of this week."

"No finals?" I asked.

"Not in the studio art program. Just projects. Lots and lots of projects."

There was such a rueful note in his voice that I had to chuckle a little, even though I was not all that happy about missing this one chance to see him. I had a feeling there wouldn't be any more.

"Well, maybe we can try again once you're out for the semester."

The slightest of hesitations, one I probably wouldn't have even noticed in person but which seemed more obvious over the phone. "Sounds like a plan. I'll give you a call when I unearth myself from these piles of paint and canvas."

"Sounds great," I said. "I'll talk to you later."

"'Bye."

The call ended, and I frowned as I shoved my phone back in my purse. I might not have been the most experienced girl around, but even I knew what "I'll give you a call" meant, i.e, "it might have been fun, but you're not really worth the effort."

I stared out the window at the endless succession of cookie-cutter housing tracts and shopping malls and industrial parks that flashed by as we cruised down the freeway. Maybe once I would have been fascinated, or wondered what it was like to live in such a vast sprawl, to have everything you needed right at your fingertips instead of having to drive miles to get it or order it by mail.

Right then, though, I just wanted to get home. Back to Jerome, where it was more or less safe.

Back home, where my Aunt Rachel and I had some unfinished business.

She seemed to sense that I wanted to talk to her...and was trying to do whatever she could to put off the confrontation for as long as possible.

"Tobias and I had discussed going to the Vaquero Grill for dinner, since I don't really have time to put anything together," she said as she got out of the van. "Do you want to come?"

Obviously I was not going to start a blowout in a restaurant, especially in front of Tobias. I shook my head. "I'm kind of tired. I think I'll stop in at Grapes and get a pizza, then go on home." I said this last bit with my voice slightly raised, so the bodyguards could know what I was planning.

They all looked worn-out and like they wanted nothing more to go home and crash. Amazing how tiring driving could be when all you did was sit for hours. "I'll send word to tonight's watchers and let them know," Allegra said.

Well, at least the day crew was getting a break. "Thanks," I told her, then waved to everyone and headed across the street to Grapes, which was busy but not heinously so. I waited at the bar until my pizza was ready, then went on up the hill to the house, juggling the pizza box in one hand and my shopping bags in the other. My house, I reminded myself, although it still didn't feel exactly like mine.

I shoved the bags under one arm and put my hand on the knob, sending out the little feelers with my mind to have the tumblers fall where they needed to. The lock clicked, and I began to open the door.

"Hey, Angela."

Adam's voice. I half turned to see him standing on the garden path, in front of the bottom step. Pushing back my irritation — I really just wanted to sit down and eat my pizza in peace — I said, "Hi, Adam."

"I heard about what happened today."

Great. So this wasn't merely a social call. Still balancing the pizza box in one hand, I told him, "You'd better come on inside. Have you eaten yet?"

He shook his head. There went my plan for leftovers tomorrow night. But since it would be rude to do anything else, I added, "Then you can help me with this pizza."

Face brightening, he hurried up the steps and then finished opening the door for me. I was happy to be inside; a cold wind was blowing, and I still had on only a light top and no jacket.

I went into the dining room and set the pizza down on the table, then dropped my shopping bags on one of the chairs. The house was mostly dark, with only a light on in the hall, so I hoped Adam couldn't really see where the bags were from. I wanted his present to be a surprise.

It seemed a little silly to be eating pizza in that grand space, with seating for ten and the heavy wrought-iron chandelier I'd picked out hanging overhead, so I turned to him and asked, "Do you mind if we go into the family room instead? It's a little cozier."

"Sure," he said, and came over and picked up the pizza before I could retrieve it. He didn't appear to notice the shopping bags at all, and I let out a little mental sigh of relief.

We needed napkins and plates, so I went in the kitchen and fetched some. Then my gaze fell on the wine rack sitting on the chipped tile counter. It had been a hell of a day. Maybe sitting down and drinking with Adam wasn't the greatest idea, but he was seeming more and more...inevitable. It might be time to stop fighting the whole idea.

"Wine?" I asked, and moved toward the wine rack. "I think I've got some chianti in here."

"Sure," he said, trying to act nonchalant, but I could see how he perked up at the suggestion.

Nothing for it, then. I extracted the bottle of chianti and fetched some glasses from the cabinet, then got out the corkscrew.

"Can you manage this?" I asked. "I never was very good at it."

"Some witch you are," he returned with a grin, then came over to pick up the bottle and the corkscrew.

"I did unlock the door without a key, you know."

"I guess that's handy, too."

He struggled a little with the wine as well, but I didn't offer to help. I had a feeling he spent more time opening beer bottles than wine bottles. At least he got the cork out, though, and I took the plates and napkins and pizza box while he brought the wine and our glasses to the family room.

It had been the sitting room when this was Ruby's house, but a family room seemed a lot more practical. There was another fireplace here, on the wall opposite the flat-screen TV. Logs had already been piled there, awaiting a cold evening.

Well, it was cold now. Adam must have noticed my glance toward the hearth as I set the pizza and plates down on the heavy coffee table, which was one large piece of polished juniper with glass on top. "Want a fire?" he asked.

"That would be great."

He grinned. "Watch this — I've been practicing." And he turned and focused his attention on the pile of logs, muttering something I couldn't quite catch under his breath.

Almost at once, I saw a lick of flame start at the end of one log, and then quickly spread along its length. Soon the whole pile was crackling away happily, warming the room.

"Hey, Angela!" I heard Kirby's voice echo down the hall. "The night crew is here."

"We're in the sitting room," I called back.

A minute later, Kirby's tousled brown head was peering around the doorframe. His eyebrows lifted a little when he saw me sitting there with Adam. "Oh, hey, didn't know you had company."

"Just grabbing some dinner," I told him, although between the bottle of wine and the fire and the low light from the sconces on the walls, it probably looked like more than simply dinner.

"Got it," he replied. "Well, we'll be over in the living room if you need anything."

"Okay," I said, not sure whether I should be relieved or annoyed by my built-in chaperones.

During that exchange with Kirby, Adam had been busying himself with setting out the plates and napkins, and pouring a healthy measure of chianti into each glass. He'd kept the pizza box closed, though, probably to make sure it didn't get cold before we even had a chance to eat it.

He handed a full wine glass to me. "Here's to surviving an encounter with Damon Wilcox."

I wouldn't let myself shudder. No point in asking how he knew; news like that traveled fast in the McAllister clan. I just took the glass from him and said, "Cheers."

We clanked glasses, and both drank. It hadn't been that long since lunch, but even so I could feel the warmth of the wine as it traced its way down my throat, relieving some of the tension in my neck and back. In silence we helped ourselves to some pizza. Adam had eaten most of his piece before he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"Because...." I let the word trail off, then shook my head. "Nothing really happened. The de la Pazes made sure of that. And I just...." Another swallow of wine heartened me somewhat. "Because I'm home now. I'm safe here. And I don't want to bring something that dark under this roof, I guess."

Expression sober, Adam nodded. Energy was something we all understood, since magic was energy. Invoking the name of something was giving it a chance to worm its way into your life. I wanted the energy in this house to be pure and strong.

"Okay," he said. He lifted his glass again. "Here's to the de la Paz clan, then."

I definitely could drink to that, and swallowed some more chianti. With each drink of wine and bite of pizza I was beginning to feel more relaxed. I was home, and the bodyguards were out in the living room, and the space where I sat now was warm and cozy, with the fire crackling away in its simple hearth of travertine and dark-stained oak, and the walls in a deep parchment shade reflecting the glow from the wrought iron and alabaster sconces.

In this light Adam's mid-brown hair looked darker, and I couldn't see his eye color at all. No, he wasn't exactly a Chris Wilson, or even an Adam Trujillo, but he was nice-looking. I'd spent a lot of time trying to ignore that fact since he wasn't my consort and therefore not someone I should be thinking of like that.

You'd better start thinking that way now, I thought with some resignation. Sure, maybe there's the slightest chance of a Hail Mary pass this late in the game, but I wouldn't put any money on it.

"You're looking very serious," Adam said, setting down his wine glass. After being raised by Aunt Rachel, I had the instinctive impulse to reach for a coaster, but then I realized that was silly. I'd put a glass-topped table in here precisely so I wouldn't have to worry about that sort of thing while I was trying to relax.

"Am I? Long day." That wasn't even a lie. I just didn't know if I was ready to admit to him what I'd really been thinking about.

Silently he reached in the pizza box and set another slice on my plate, then poured me some more wine. I wondered if he were trying to get me tipsy. Actually, that didn't sound like a bad idea. I was safe here, after all, and I thought after the confrontation with Damon Wilcox and the disappointment at not getting to see Chris Wilson, a slight wine buzz might be just what I needed.

So I ate some more pizza and drank some more wine, and watched the flames dancing in the hearth. Adam seemed to understand that I didn't feel like talking, and ate and drank along with me.

This wasn't so bad. Maybe it didn't have to all be blazing sunsets and grand passions and shooting stars. I'd dreamed of someone, but he'd never materialized, and I could tell the whole Chris Wilson thing was a total dead end. It was probably foolish to have thought otherwise.

And after what Margot Emory had told me about any warlock being enough to ensure my safety, even if it meant sacrificing the true strength of my powers....

I figured I could live with that.

A large drink of chianti, to give me courage. Then I set down my glass and looked across the table at Adam. I was sitting on the couch, and he on one of the two armchairs that faced it. "I want you to kiss me."

He'd been in the middle of lifting his own glass to his mouth. "What?"

"You heard me."

Instead of setting down the glass, he drained it — which sounds worse than it was, since he only had a few swallows left in it anyway. Once it was empty, he did place it carefully on the tabletop. "What's this about, Ange?"

"What do you think it's about? You're the one who said we should be together if my consort continues to be a no-show." I crossed my arms and met his gaze straight on...or as straight on as I could manage after two large glasses of wine. A heavyweight with alcohol I was not.

"Right, I did, but...."

"But nothing. All these years you've been on my case about this, and now when I'm actually inviting you to kiss me, you're going to act all weird about it?"

Something crossed his face then. Annoyance? Worry? In the dim light it was hard for me to tell. I could see him clench his fist on his knee, as if fighting some inner conflict. Then he got up from his chair and came over to me. Standing above me like that, he seemed very tall.

"Stand up," he said.

"Why?"

"Because if this is the decision you're making, if by asking me to kiss you, you're saying we're going to be together, then I want you to stand up and kiss me like the prima of the McAllisters. I don't want to be a couple of kids making out on a couch."

He meant it, I could tell. There was a note of authority in his voice that I'd never heard before, as if somehow this kiss would push us past a threshold, carry us from the last edges of childhood into our adult lives. Did I want to take that step? I'd asked him to kiss me, but....

It would have happened anyway, if your consort had come to you. But he hasn't, and you need to kiss Adam, to get used to the idea. It's not as if you haven't kissed a bunch of random guys over the past year anyway.

That seemed to clinch it. I looked up at him steadily, at the firm chin and friendly mouth, at the brown hair that had just enough of a wave that he couldn't get it to do much of anything.

I reached out and took his hands in mine. To my surprise, they were cold, despite the warmth of the room. So he was more nervous than he wanted to let on.

"Yes, Adam," I said. "I want you to kiss me."

The briefest moment of hesitation, and then he bent down and placed his mouth on mine. I hadn't been expecting a shower of sparks, and I didn't get one, but once I got past that I realized that his lips were warm and strong, and he tasted of wine as I opened my mouth a little and let him taste me as well. This wasn't so bad. I could get used to it, even if it wasn't thunder and lightning and choirs of angels singing.

After a minute, he pulled away and gazed down at me. His eyes were shining, so although I wasn't experiencing anything earth-shattering, I could tell he felt differently. "Okay?" he asked, his voice husky, rougher than usual.

"More than okay," I replied. "It was good. I liked it."

He smiled, his fingers tightening around mine. "Good. I mean, I thought it was good, too."

"Just good?" I teased.

"Okay, more than good. Great. It was — "

"Hey, Angela, the Coke's gone. Can I have — " Kirby again, this time stopping abruptly as he seemed to notice how close Adam and I were standing to one another, how we were still holding each other's hands. "Er...sorry."

"It's okay," I said quickly, releasing Adam's fingers as I turned toward the doorway to the kitchen. "What did you need?"

"Well, you're out of Coke, so I was going to ask if it was okay if I fired up the Keurig for the watchdogs. Things start to drag around 3 a.m. if there's no caffeine to be had." He was studiously not staring at Adam, although I could see his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Sure. Let me show you where I keep all the packets." I sent Adam an apologetic glance. "Sorry — this'll just take a minute —"

"It's okay," he broke in. "Like you said, you've had a long day. I should just let you relax for a while. We can talk tomorrow." He bent down and kissed me quickly on the cheek. Then, without looking over at Kirby, he headed out to the hallway. A few seconds later, I heard the front door open and shut.

Kirby quirked a questioning brow at me.

"Every girl needs a back-up plan," I protested.

At once he raised both his hands. "Hey, man, I don't judge."

I couldn't help grinning. "Let me show you where everything is."

The next few minutes were spent giving Kirby a rundown on how the coffeemaker worked, and where I kept all the supplies in the pantry. As I handed him some mugs, I had to stifle a yawn.

"You look like you're the one who needs some coffee."

I realized then how tired I really was. The wine, although great at the time, might not have been such a good idea after all. "I think I'm going to head upstairs and read in bed for a while. I'm too tired to even deal with watching TV. So you guys can have the family room. I'll just clear up the plates and glasses and stuff."

"No need. I'll do it," Kirby offered.

"You guys are here as my bodyguards, not my maid service."

"It's cool. I can tell you're wiped out. Just go to bed."

I shot him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Kirby."

And so I dragged myself up the stairs, wondering if I'd even be able to keep my eyes open long enough to read a chapter. It wasn't all that late, but it felt as if a century had passed since we set out in the van that morning. Well, a lot had changed in those intervening hours. But I stopped there. I didn't want to dwell on what had passed between Adam and me. Maybe I'd have the energy to sort that out in the morning.

For now, I only wanted to put this day behind me.

Chapter Fourteen

After a gap of weeks, he entered my dreams again that night. It was different this time, though; I lay in my own bed, but he was there next to me, his arms warm around me, my back against his chest. I leaned into him and breathed in the warm scent of his skin and felt his heavy hair brush against my cheek as he held me, even as I ached for him to turn around so he could kiss me.

Or should I kiss him? But I'd just kissed Adam earlier, told him we would be together. Now that I'd made that commitment, my dream man had suddenly decided to return? Was my unconscious trying to tell me that I'd made a huge mistake?

My dream mind was just as muddled as my waking one, apparently. In the darkness the stranger reached up and pushed my hair away from my face.

His voice was a whisper against my skin. "You need to wait for me."

"I have been," I told him, trying not to sound accusatory. How much longer could he possibly expect me to wait? Time was running out.

"Soon," he said, still in that whisper which revealed nothing of what his true speaking voice must sound like. Then he took me by the shoulders and gently turned me to face him. It was still too dark to see anything, but I knew he was there, knew he was scant inches away.

Would a dream-kiss mean the same thing as a real one?

I held my breath, waiting for the touch of mouth to mouth that I'd anticipated for so long. Finally his lips brushed against mine.They weren't warm, though, but cold, and the eyes staring at me were not deep green, but black, black as jet, glittering and cruel. He forced my mouth open with his tongue, made me taste him, and though I struggled, I couldn't seem to summon one spell to defend myself, do one thing to keep him from taking me as he'd planned to all along. Then he was pushing me down against the pillows, icy fingers digging into my flesh as I writhed beneath him, desperately trying to free myself.

The room blared with light. "Angela!"

Kirby's voice. I blinked and saw him standing in the door to my room, with Efraim Willendale and my cousin Rosemary crowding behind him.

"You were screaming," Kirby said. His tone was matter-of-fact enough, but he was frowning. "Are you all right?"

"Just a nightmare," I told him. Of course that's all it was. Not surprising, I supposed, after my run-in with Damon Wilcox earlier that day. Even so, I couldn't help reaching out and running a hand over the bedclothes next to me. They were relatively flat and unrumpled, my paperback still lying where I'd dropped it when I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. No one had been there.

"You're sure?" Efraim asked in his deep voice.

I nodded. I didn't want to have to tell them what I'd dreamed. I didn't even want to think about it. "Too much pizza too close to bedtime. That's all."

The three of them shot worried glances at one another, my cousin Rosemary's mouth pursing in...what? Worry? Disapproval?

A quick look at the clock on my nightstand told me it was only eleven-thirty. Still a lot of night left for those kinds of dreams to invade my slumber once again. But I knew I had to try to sleep.

"It's fine," I said. "I'm fine."

They hesitated, but then Kirby said, "All right. But remember that we're just downstairs if you need us."

How could I forget? I thought, but I only replied, "Thanks. That makes it better."

Apparently they were willing to go with that. Kirby closed my door partway, leaving it open about six inches, and I heard the stairs creak as they headed back down to the family room.

The light coming in from the upstairs hallway helped a little. I lay in bed and looked at the long rectangle of pale yellow created by the sconces in the hall, and heard the faraway sounds of the TV cranking up again. Not too loud, of course, but just enough that I could catch snippets of laughter. Maybe they were watching Letterman or something.

Despite everything, my mouth curved in a smile at the thought of two warlocks and a witch sitting around and watching Letterman, but really, most of our lives were pretty prosaic. It wasn't all casting spells and flying around on broomsticks. Not that any of us could actually fly. Our talents tended to be a little more down to earth than that, if you'll pardon the pun.

I could feel myself begin to relax again. Kirby and Efraim and Rosemary were downstairs, and Damon Wilcox was a hundred miles away in Flagstaff. The town was protected; I was protected. My own thoughts were the enemy here, churning away, roiling up dark fears that should have stayed buried. Nothing was going to happen. The next two weeks would pass, and my consort would either show up or he wouldn't. And if he didn't, I had Adam to make sure I was of no use to the Wilcoxes.

That seemed to do the trick. I shut my eyes, and this time I slipped into a calm, dark sleep, with no nightmares to trouble my mind.

A new crew had shown up while I was still sleeping. They generally switched out around eight in the morning, and I was startled to see that I'd slept until almost nine. That day in Phoenix really had done a number on me.

This time it was Tobias and Henry and Allegra. I shot Tobias a surprised look as I shuffled down to get coffee. The three of them were in the family room, with the TV tuned to some morning news out of Phoenix. The newscasters were currently discussing the weather, which meant nothing to us up here in Jerome. Phoenix might as well have been in another state, its weather was so different from ours.

"I thought you and Aunt Rachel had a hot date last night," I told Tobias as I slipped a hazelnut cream pack into the coffeemaker. "How'd you end up on duty this morning?"

He shrugged, and set aside the copy of the Verde Valley News he'd been holding. "My turn in the rotation. She was a little tired last night."

Well, I could relate to that. And if he were here, then I'd have an opening to talk to my aunt. True, the shop would be open, and there wasn't much I could do about that. But it was a Thursday and shouldn't be too busy. Technically I should be working at the store, but my status had been a little hazy since my elevation to prima, especially after I'd moved into the house. Rachel had said it wasn't that busy right now and that I should take my time getting adjusted.

Just the day before yesterday she'd told me she was thinking about having my cousin Riley come in and help out so I wouldn't have to do it anymore, would be free to work on my jewelry and finish up my degree, if that was what I wanted. It seemed a strange attitude for her to take, since she was the one who'd been gung-ho about me taking the online coursework in the first place. I hadn't really seen the point — it wasn't as if I'd ever have to go out and find a "real" job — but she said education was important, so I'd sort of dragged myself through the coursework, taking my time.

Although working at the store had certainly never been my raison d'être, the defection still bothered me. It was as if now that I was prima, my aunt was trying to distance herself from me.

All the more reason for us to have a talk.

Since I wasn't that hungry, I made myself some toast and finished my coffee, then headed upstairs to get myself together. It was a bright, clear day, but cold, with a brisk wind coming from the east. After I showered I put on a thick mohair pullover I'd found in a thrift shop down in Cottonwood — "it's so retro!" Sydney had exclaimed — along with my favorite jeans and boots. As a concession to Aunt Rachel's sensibilities, I finished off the outfit with some lip gloss and my favorite silver hoop earrings, then headed down to the store.

Of course I told Tobias and the other bodyguards where I was going, and they dutifully trailed after me, then parked themselves in the donut shop across the street. I really didn't see what possible trouble I could get into in the distance between the house and Aunt Rachel's shop, but I did have to admire their efficiency.

She gave me a surprised look when I entered the shop. "Hi, hon, but I told you that you didn't have to come in today."

"I know." The place was empty except for the two of us; midweek like this, most tourists wouldn't come by to shop until after lunch. "I wanted to talk."

"Talk?" Suddenly her hands were busy, rearranging a display of small tumbled semiprecious stones. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Yesterday...and a few things Margot Emory told me."

"You talked to Margot?"

So apparently I was able to keep a few things secret in this town. Then again, Margot had never been the type to share confidences...unless they were being dragged out of her. "Yes. She told me stuff I'd never heard about the Wilcoxes. Also a few things about this whole consort business. Things it might have been nice to know."

My aunt's expression grew guarded. "Such as?"

"The reason why the Wilcoxes wanted to grab Aunt Ruby in the first place...wanted to grab me. And how I don't have to be holding out for a consort. Yes, it's preferable, but it's not exactly a do-or-die situation like the way you'd always explained it to me."

She wouldn't meet my eyes, instead got out from behind the counter and began, quite unnecessarily, to make sure all the books in the rack on the far wall were lined up properly. "You know it's important for a prima to have her consort. Not just for her, but for all of us."

"Important, yes, but it's not the only way." On the walk down here I'd told myself I needed to stay calm, to not fling accusations at her, but now I could feel yesterday's anger bubbling up again. "Here you were standing on the sidelines, being all rah-rah every time a candidate came up to see me, but never once in the past year did you tell me that we would manage without a consort, that just settling for one of those candidates would be enough to protect me from the Wilcoxes."

At that she did finally turn to face me. Her hazel eyes glittered — not with tears, but her own particular brand of anger. Hands on her hips, she retorted, "Settle? Settle? The prima of the McAllisters should not have to settle! All right, it might have protected you from the Wilcoxes, but what about the rest of us? A prima without a consort isn't strong enough to protect her whole clan, or didn't Margot tell you that?"

"She said it wasn't optimal, but she also didn't make it sound as if the world was going to cave in, either." Since that particular remark didn't get a response, only a continuing irritated glare, I added, "And since she's a clan elder, I figure she must know what she's talking about."

"And I don't, I suppose."

"I didn't say that."

"So what are you saying, Angela?" She moved away from the bookcase and went back to her fussy tidying-up, as if those few minutes of angry eye contact were about all she could handle.

"I'm saying that you were so busy protecting me that you didn't give me a chance to make any decisions for myself! Maybe it would've helped me to know that Damon Wilcox wanted me because he knew as primus he could force me to be his whether or not he was my consort." The horrifying dream-memory of his mouth on mine, his hands grasping my arms, swam up behind my eyes, and I blinked it away. I couldn't let myself think about that right now. "Shit, you knew what he looked like — you recognized him back in Phoenix. And yet I had no clue. He could've walked up to me in Wal-Mart down in Cottonwood, and I would've thought he was just some random guy trying to hit on me in the freezer section."

Her mouth tightened. "That would never have happened. Even he wouldn't be so bold as to come into our territory like that."

"He didn't seem to have any problem in Phoenix."

"Because it's not our territory — it's the de la Pazes'."

"Oh, whatever!" I crossed my arms. "You know what I mean. It was that whole protecting me thing again. For some reason you didn't want to give me even that little piece of information. How can I make the right choices and do the right thing if I'm working in the dark? I'm the prima of this clan now, not some girl you can keep bundled up in bubble wrap for the rest of my life."

The bells on the front door jingled, and Tobias entered, holding two go-cups of coffee. Only a very stupid person could have overlooked the tension in the air, and Tobias was definitely not stupid. He glanced from Rachel to me and back again. "Everything okay in here, ladies?"

"Fine," my aunt and I both snapped simultaneously.

He looked supremely unconvinced, but only went over the counter and set the two cups of coffee down on it. "I'll just leave these here for you, then."

"Thanks," the two of us said, and he sent Aunt Rachel a searching glance before giving the smallest lift of his shoulders and heading back outside.

We both ignored the coffee, although it smelled good, its heavy, rich scent mingling with the spicy smell of the potpourri sitting in a basket on a high shelf.

"Anyway," I added, since it seemed clear she was keeping herself from saying anything else...saying something she'd regret, possibly, "Adam and I have talked it over, and if a consort doesn't materialize before a week from tomorrow, then we're going to...well, you know. Be together."

That did shock her. She set down the rag she'd been using to wipe off a display of wood carvings. "You what?"

"You heard me."

"So you're just going to throw everything away to be with someone I distinctly remember you saying you had absolutely no interest in?"

"What exactly would I be throwing away?" I could not understand her reasoning. "At that point the only thing I'll be throwing away is a virginity that's not such a great asset, considering it's the one thing Damon Wilcox seems to want. Get rid of that, get rid of him. It seems pretty simple to me."

She went very still, staring at me as if she'd never seen me before. "Do you love Adam?"

"Of course I don't," I said in some impatience. "But I like him, and he's a McAllister, and being with him certainly seems a better alternative than spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder."

"You might think that now," she replied. Now her tone was sad, the anger somehow ebbing away. For the first time ever I thought she looked old, the lines around her eyes etched a little deeper than they'd been only moments earlier. "But you don't know what you'd be giving up."

"And what would I be giving up?"

"The life you should have had."

Watching her, I thought then that she was talking of something far beyond me. I didn't know if I should prod her any further. This confrontation had already hurt enough...probably because we so seldom quarreled. But the scab had already been peeled off the wound; walking away now would only let it heal halfway, if that.

"Are you telling me that because you really believe it...or because you think that's what happened to you?"

A stony silence. She went back to wiping off the wooden figurines, head down. Her eyes would not meet mine. Our roles might have been reversed — she the silent child, I the scolding adult. That wasn't how I'd intended things to progress, but I didn't see a way to back down now.

"Look, I get it. You would never talk about what was going on in your personal life when my mother showed up with me, and I suppose that's your business. But it was a huge disruption. You think I don't know that?" My throat was tightening now, but I gave a little cough and forced my way onward. "I'm pretty sure that getting a baby dumped on you wasn't something you planned, and I know you've said over and over that having a family of your own was never in the cards, but I'm not sure I believe that anymore. You don't want me to make a foolish decision now because you feel as if you've thrown away your own life, and that would just negate the sacrifices you've already made."

"I do not — " she began, but I cut her off.

"Yes, what you've done to raise me was incredible, and you've done an amazing job, but it was always focused on me. Maybe there were others who would've taken me in, but you wouldn't allow that, since you were my aunt, my closest relation."

She said nothing.

"I'm not marrying Adam because I want to throw my life away. I'm choosing to be with him because fate apparently doesn't want me to have my consort, and I am concerned about the safety of this clan. At least he cares about me...and I'll learn to care for him as a husband. He's already a friend, so I think we're halfway there." I paused, thinking she might finally want to say something, but she only stood there in front of the shelf with the carved deer and horses and javelinas on it, shoulders slumped. "And you can ignore this, but you know what I think? I think you and Tobias should get married. I'm out of the house. I'm prima. You don't need to watch over me anymore. Take care of yourself, and let yourself be happy. That's all. Because that's what I'm going to try to do. Be happy, even if things haven't turned out the way I expected."

Since there didn't seem to be anything else to say, and she clearly did not intend to respond, I went and got one of the coffees Tobias had brought in, then went outside. Luckily, the stretch of sidewalk in front of the shop was deserted. I really didn't feel like seeing or talking to anyone right then; I just wanted a chance to clear my head. That whole time my combination backpack/purse had been slung over one shoulder, and with my free hand I reached in and pulled out my sunglasses. I didn't want the world to see the tears that filled my eyes but refused to fall.

For some reason my feet wanted to carry me down Main Street, toward the overlook that afforded an amazing view of the valley beyond. Here there were a few tourists clustered around, taking pictures and chattering with one another, but they ignored me. I was glad of the barrier my sunglasses provided, though, glad they couldn't see the torment in my face.

I stood at the overlook for a long time, gazing out at the straw-colored, rolling hills of Clarkdale and Cottonwood. Maybe I should have stopped there, but it seemed impossible to keep myself from gazing beyond, to the looming conical shape of Mount Doom — that is, Humphreys Peak. I wondered if Damon Wilcox was looking this way, watching to see what I was doing. Which was silly, because I'd heard you couldn't just reverse the view...something to do with the differences in elevation and topography. We could see the mountains in Flagstaff, but people there couldn't really see Jerome very well, not with the unaided eye, that is. Even so, I knew he was there. Waiting. He'd made his play, but was it his final one?

Minutes passed. I don't know how long I stood there, but eventually I felt someone come up behind me. I turned and saw Tobias standing a few feet way, his normally jovial expression serious.

"Are you going to give me crap for talking to my aunt like that?"

He shook his head and came a little closer. The wind ruffled his overlong hair; in the bright sun I could see how much silver threaded its way through the brown. "That's not my place. She didn't want to hear what you said to her...but after she had some time to think about it, she admitted you might have been right. Well, partially right," he added.

I couldn't help smiling at that, although the smile faded abruptly. "And do you think I'm being stupid?"

"No." The reply was immediate, and firm. "I think you're doing what you think is best. None of us thought things would get to this point, but...."

"And you knew, too, I suppose," I said wearily. I was so tired of the secrets.

"Some of it, not all. But it wasn't my place to have that talk with you." He crossed his arms and gazed past me to the blue-purple bulk of Humphreys Peak, so many miles away. But even if it had been twice as far, I still wouldn't have felt safe. "Don't be too mad at Rachel. I get the impression she thought Ruby would have told you some of these things, not that you'd have to pry them out of Margot Emory, of all people."

I wondered about that, too. Maybe Great-Aunt Ruby had clung to the belief that my knight in shining armor would show up eventually. After all, hers had. There had never been a McAllister prima without a consort. That was something that happened to other clans, not us.

"Yeah, that was a little awkward," I admitted. "But at least she didn't clam up on me."

"And Adam? He's okay with this?"

"Why wouldn't he be? He claims to have been in love with me since he was seventeen."

Tobias made a wry grimace. "Even so, no one wants to think of themselves as second best."

"He's not. He's...." I trailed off, then shrugged. What was he? Third best, after Chris Wilson and Alex Trujillo, in terms of the good-looking guys in my life? That wasn't fair. I shouldn't be comparing them. I'd never had a shadow of a chance with Chris, not really, and Alex hadn't exactly shown any signs of pining for me. "He's just Adam. We know each other. We get along. It'll be fine."

"Now you sound like you're trying to convince yourself."

Irritation flared. "Look, Tobias, I appreciate the input, but shouldn't you be worrying about your own love life?"

An improbable grin lifted his mouth. "Well, it turns out I might not have that much to worry about after all. Rachel told me what you said...and so I asked her again. This time she said she'd think about it."

Whereas every other time before that I was pretty sure he'd been shot down summarily. "That's great news. Next time you might actually get a 'maybe.'"

"A man can hope." His gaze shifted to the coffee I still held. "Did you end up actually drinking any of that?"

I started, then gave a guilty shrug. "Sorry, guess I was too busy brooding. It did make a good hand warmer, though."

"Then it wasn't wasted." He looked around, at the people walking to and fro, at the cars searching for parking spaces. It was closer to noon now, and the crowds would start to get thicker, even though the real influx of tourists wouldn't start until tomorrow. "Why don't you go on home? I think you and Rachel need your space right now, and if it gets busy she can call Riley to come in and help." A quick glance over his shoulder to the sidewalk across the street, where I realized the other two bodyguards were loitering, pretending to look in a shop window. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Henry and Allegra are getting tired of looking at the same display over and over again."

A pang of guilt went through me. "You're right, of course. I should have thought about that. Let's go back up to the house, and I'll order some sandwiches from the deli for lunch for everyone."

"I think they'd like that." He sort of waved at them, and then jerked his thumb upward, appearing to indicate that we were heading up the hill and back to the house. They nodded and began walking when we did, although they stayed on their side of the street. Didn't want to be too conspicuous, I supposed.

And actually, hibernating inside for a while seemed like a good idea. Maybe then I'd have a chance to figure out if I really was doing the smart thing...or making the biggest mistake of my life.

Chapter Fifteen

"You're what?" Sydney exclaimed, looking as if she were about to keel over. "You're going to marry Adam? The guy you've been avoiding for the past five years?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it avoiding," I protested. "I'm starting to run out of options. And he's worlds better than the last candidate I had to deal with."

"That doesn't sound like much of a recommendation." She flipped her hair over her shoulder and frowned. "Okay, I'll admit that I've always thought he was kind of cute, so I could never really figure out what exactly you had against him, except that you told me he wasn't your consort and he couldn't get it through his head that he wasn't...." A look of puzzlement slipped over her features. "But he isn't, right? So how does that work? I thought you said — "

"I did say." Just when I thought I'd gotten things more or less figured out, Sydney's questions were only serving to make me confused all over again. "That is, it doesn't happen very often, but a prima can marry someone who isn't her consort. It's better this way." No way was I going into the whole Wilcox thing with her. Obviously she'd figured out that there was something about Flagstaff the McAllisters avoided, since I'd always turned down her offers to drive up there in the summer to avoid the heat. But I'd never elaborated, and Sydney was generally pretty good about not prying.

She wrinkled her nose and lifted her glass of chardonnay, but didn't take a drink. The day after my blowout with Rachel, Sydney had called, saying plaintively that we hadn't talked at all, and she wasn't working today but Anthony was, and could she come up?

I didn't have the heart to turn her down. Besides, after all the tumult of the past few days, there'd been something very appealing about the thought of sitting down with a friend and just talking things over. Anyway, she would've killed me if she'd discovered my plans before I had a chance to tell her myself.

"So...you're going to wait until the last minute, and if no Prince Charming shows up, then you'll just marry Adam? With no planning? No flowers, cake?" An expression of comic alarm twisted her features. "No dress?"

Oh, boy. "Well, that will come later. I mean, we don't have to get married right away. We just have to, you know...." I couldn't quite complete the sentence.

"...have sex," she finished for me.

I winced.

"Jesus, Angela, don't be such a prude." At last she took a swallow of her chardonnay. "It's just sex."

Easy for you to say, I thought. She'd lost her virginity at sixteen. Sleeping with guys was old hat for her. For me it was frightening, unexplored territory. Especially since I'd been told that being with your consort was supposed to be this amazing, life-changing, ecstatic experience. Going to bed with Adam? Probably not.

I took a deep breath. "We haven't really talked about it, but sure, I know we'll have some kind of ceremony. We'll figure it out. Don't worry — there'll be a dress. And you can help me shop for it."

"Awesome." Relieved that she wouldn't be completely deprived of the fun of dress shopping, she went full force into a discussion of the various bridal shops in Prescott, and whether they'd be worthy of the occasion, or whether we should go to Scottsdale and find something really special, and how she hoped I wasn't just going to do something in Spook Hall, and maybe we could have a reception at the Asylum restaurant up at the Grand Hotel at the top of Cleopatra Hill, and....

Listening to all that was enough to tire me out all over again, but I let her rattle on. A wedding didn't appear to be in her future anytime soon, although she and Anthony seemed to be holding on for the moment. Maybe she'd finally make it past the two-month barrier. And although I hadn't even stopped to think about dresses or flowers or any of that, Sydney discussing it made the situation seem somehow normal. All I'd been thinking about was how atypical my position was, and so different from what I had imagined my life would be. To someone on the outside looking in, it must not look that strange. Just two young people who'd known each other all their lives suddenly realizing they were supposed to be together.

Only I knew that we weren't meant to be together. This was a solution to a problem, nothing more. Of course I wasn't indifferent to Adam — I cared about him, just not in that way.

Maybe someday I'd figure out how to change that.

Sydney and I hung out for a while, but she didn't stay for dinner — she was meeting Anthony down in Cottonwood after he got off work. "You and Adam could come down," she suggested, as we stopped in the foyer. From the family room came the faint sound of the TV as the afternoon's bodyguards watched a football game, but I'd gotten so used to the background noise that I hardly paid it any attention anyore. "The four of us could go out to eat together."

I shook my head. "Maybe some other time. I'm not really feeling the whole 'going out on the town' thing."

She made an exasperated noise. "Having dinner at Nic's isn't exactly going out on the town. Besides, maybe you'd feel more...normal...about things if you two did some regular stuff together."

She did have a point there, but I still wasn't that interested. For one thing, I was in a sloppy sweater and ratty jeans, and I'd have to change and put on some makeup. It seemed like too much of an effort. Anyway, there would be plenty of time later for all of us to do the whole double-date thing.

I told her as much, and she shrugged. "Have it your way. Just don't go into hibernation, okay? I know you have your reasons for doing what you're doing, but don't hide out just because you're going to be with Adam."

"I won't."

"I mean it."

"I swear," I said.

For a second or two she didn't say anything. Then, out of nowhere, she reached over and gave me a quick hug. We were never that demonstrative with one another, so I blinked in surprise, wondering what had brought that on.

"It's going to be okay," she told me, then squeezed my hand a final time before letting herself out the front door.

I hoped she was right. But I didn't have time to think about it for much more, since when I turned around I saw Maisie standing in front of me. I gave a little gasp. This was the first time I'd seen her anyplace except wandering around Hull Avenue. I could never be sure whether this was because she couldn't leave her usual haunts, so to speak, or whether she simply preferred to stay someplace she was familiar with.

"Hi, Maisie," I said cautiously, keeping my voice down...not that the bodyguards probably could have heard anything over the sound of the football game they were watching.

She didn't reply at once, but moved in her soundless way into the living room. Once there, she looked around, as if absorbing the decor. I had no idea whether she'd ever visited the place while Great-Aunt Ruby was alive...or the prima before her, for that matter.

I followed Maisie and stopped in front of the fireplace, which was dark at the moment; Sydney had said she didn't want a fire while we hung out, so I'd left it alone. "Um...did you want something?" I asked.

Maisie halted her inspection of the room. "It looks better than I thought it would."

"Gee, thanks."

Either she didn't hear the sarcasm in my voice, or she chose to ignore it. "I've heard you're getting hitched to someone who isn't your consort."

"And you're here to tell me not to?"

"'Course not." She shook her head, and the curls gathered up at the back of her head danced with the movement. "He seems like a nice young gentleman. Sorta reminds me of my Seth."

"Seth?" I asked. This was the first time she'd ever mentioned anyone in particular. Considering her previous occupation, I'd sort of assumed she didn't have anyone.

Her expression grew wistful. "Seth Carlson. He was a miner — came here from somewhere east, Minnesota or Michigan or one of those places. He was saving up his money, wanted to buy a ranch over Prescott way. Wanted to marry me. But then this happened." She gestured toward herself, and for a few seconds I thought I saw livid black bruises appear on her neck before they disappeared again. "Anyway, your Adam calls Seth to mind, for some reason."

"So that's the general consensus of...everyone?" I asked. By "everyone" I meant the dearly departed population of Jerome. To be honest, up until this moment I hadn't really stopped to think what their input might be. They coexisted with us witches, but aside from me, there wasn't a lot of interaction. The ghosts were not clan members. McAllisters generally seemed happy enough to move on to the next plane with a minimum of fuss, from what I could tell.

"More or less." A shadow seemed to pass over her face, and she seemed to go slightly transparent before she gathered herself again. "There's something...something we can't see, can't feel. It's not one of us. It's always at the edge of our vision. But something about it doesn't seem right."

"Like..." I swallowed. "Like when that apparition showed up in my aunt's store?"

A small lift of her shoulders under the white pintucked blouse, so prim and proper, so opposite what she'd been when she lived here in Jerome. "Sort of. Not exactly the same...but still cold. It feels like it's watching." She shivered, as if recalling a chill she shouldn't be able to feel at all.

I was cold as well. Time for that fire. I made a small flick of my fingers, and the logs crackled to life, bringing some much-needed warmth to the room. Somehow that wasn't enough to dispel the ice that seemed to be running through my veins.

"What should I do?" I asked. The words came out in barely a whisper.

She took a step toward me and raised her hand, as if she wanted to pat my shoulder in comfort and then realized that would do no good at all, that her fingers would only move through my body as if it weren't there. Yes, she looked solid, but she was no more corporeal than a drift of river mist.

"What you are doing," she replied, sounding a little too cheery. I didn't know who she was trying to convince...me, or herself. "You have your own watchers, and that's good. And you have Adam. That's good, too. He'll help to keep you safe."

She seemed certain of that. I could only hope she was right.

Three days later, and only four days to go until my birthday. I could feel time running down, just as the year ebbed to the darkest night, the solstice. In the past I'd always sort of enjoyed having my birthday on that day, of feeling the power of the day I'd come into this world combining with that pivot point when the world shifted back toward the light. Now, though, I could only think that it was an unfortunate combination. It was on the solstice when some of the darkest magic was cast. If I were still vulnerable on that night....

You won't be, I told myself. Because Adam and you will be...together...the night before. Well, unless this one works out.

Talk about your Hail Mary passes. Things were still delicate and uncertain between Aunt Rachel and me, but she'd called late on Saturday afternoon to say she had another candidate for me and that he was coming over on Sunday. It hadn't been phrased as a question, and I hadn't bothered to argue. None of the other candidates had worked out, and I had no reason to think this one would be any different. But I figured I might as well humor her.

Adam, of course, hadn't taken it very well. "Like it's going to make a difference at this point!" he fumed.

I didn't bother to point out that he had a vested interest in my not seeing any candidates during this final week before my birthday. "She thinks it might," I said gently. "I don't think it will, either, but since she and I are still walking on eggshells around each other, I figure it might make things a little better." Adam and I were sitting in the nook off the kitchen and drinking coffee; it was a cold, blustery morning, and although the skies threatened, no rain had fallen yet.

"I don't like it."

"Neither do I, but it's just one more thing to get through. Okay?" I'd reached out and laid my hand on his where it rested on the tabletop, and after a second or two he'd knotted his fingers around mine and given them a squeeze. So, not perfect, but at least he wasn't angry at me. I thought it best not to dwell on his attitude toward Rachel at the moment.

He'd gone back to his apartment, since I thought having him around would only make matters worse. There wasn't much I could do about the bodyguards, but they'd wisely remained in the sitting room, TV tuned to yet another interminable football game. Allegra was one of the bodyguards today, and she'd seemed less than thrilled about that choice of viewing material, but Boyd and Henry had outvoted her.

The doorbell rang. I drew in a deep breath and went to open the door.

Alex Trujillo stared down at me. I blinked.

No, wait, it wasn't Alex, but someone who looked so much like him that they had to be closely related. After a quick second glance, I realized this man was older, maybe even as old as thirty. "Another Trujillo?"

"You got me." He extended a hand, and I took it, hoping I didn't look as surprised as I felt. Very rarely did two candidates come from the same immediate family. "Diego Trujillo."

"I'm Angela McAllister."

"Yeah, I kind of got that," he said with a grin.

"Come in," I said quickly, to cover my confusion and embarrassment. "This way." I shut the door behind him and then led him to the living room. This time I already had a fire going in the hearth, since it was hovering in the mid-40s outside. "Coffee?"

He shook his head. "Just some water would be fine."

I nodded and hurried off to the kitchen, where I poured a couple of glasses of water and added a slice of lemon to each. The lemon slices had been left behind in the refrigerator by Kirby at some point; he liked to add them to his Coke, apparently. As I put together the drinks, I tried to figure out what Diego Trujillo's presence meant. He was older than any of the other candidates; everyone else had been under twenty-five. But Aunt Rachel knew I'd found Alex attractive, so maybe she thought she'd try again from the same gene pool. I doubted it would make any difference, although I had to applaud her ingenuity in coming up with this possibility.

Diego was still standing up when I came back to the living room, although he'd moved to one wall where a painting of billowing monsoon clouds over a desert mountain hung. I'd admired the artist's work when I saw some of his smaller pieces hanging in one of the local wine tasting rooms, and it had been kind of amazing to be able to purchase the sort of large painting I'd never thought I could afford.

"This is amazing," Diego said as I handed him a glass of water.

"I really love it, too." Then I realized maybe saying "love" hadn't been the wisest thing in this particular situation, so I drank some of my own water to cover up my awkwardness.

If he noticed, Diego didn't give any indication. He drank as well, seeming to study me. Although I didn't have any hope of this encounter turning out any differently from the others, I'd made a little more of an effort today, wearing some new jeans and a dark green cardigan with a lace-trimmed camisole under it, along with my ballet flats instead of boots.

Since he didn't seem inclined to say anything, I asked, "So how did my aunt manage to rope you into this?"

Another of those eye-catching grins. Like his brother, he had a very good smile. "Oh, she didn't. I volunteered, and my abuela called your aunt."

"You...volunteered?"

"You sound surprised."

"Well...I guess I am. I mean, after Alex didn't work out...."

"We're not the same person. Just because he wasn't your consort doesn't mean I can't be. And he had very good things to say about you, so I thought I should give it a try."

Well, how was I supposed to reply to that? I gave an embarrassed little nod, not meeting his eyes, and he went to the coffee table and set down his glass...properly using a coaster, I noted.

"Does it bother you that I'm a little older?"

"No," I said, finding my voice. "Not really." You're still younger than Damon Wilcox, I thought then, although I knew better than to say such a thing out loud.

"Good." He came over to me and laced his fingers through mine. His hands were strong, as his brother's had been. "Let's try this, then, okay?"

I couldn't do anything except nod.

His mouth came closer to me, then touched, and....

I didn't know what I wanted to happen. Part of me felt as if I were betraying Adam, and the other part argued that I needed to be doing this, that I needed to try. Too much pushing and pulling inside my mind.

It turned out that none of it mattered, because again I felt nothing. Oh, his technique was very good — I could tell he'd had a lot of practice — but there were no more sparks or fireworks than when I kissed Adam.

Diego pulled away. His expression seemed neutral enough, although by the way his jaw tensed slightly I could tell he wasn't thrilled by my lack of reaction. Probably he wasn't used to having girls just stand there like department store mannequins when he kissed them.

"Oh, well, it was worth a try," he said.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I knew the chances weren't good."

I nodded, feeling an odd sense of relief. At least now I knew what would happen. There wouldn't be any more attempts. Maybe I wasn't meant to have a consort in the true sense of the word.

He went and retrieved his glass of water, then drank about half of what remained. "I'll be on my way."

No protests came from my lips. What would be the point? He wasn't the one, either.

I saw him to the door, then went up to my room and retrieved my phone from where it sat charging on the nightstand. After I went to the Contacts screen, I sat there for a long moment, staring down at Adam's number. Although I knew my Aunt Rachel had said there would be no more candidates after Diego, some part of my mind didn't quite believe it. There were still three days left. But no, she'd said there was no one else. No one unattached and in the right age group, of the right family. I'd run through them all.

After taking a deep breath, I pushed the phone icon next to Adam's entry. It rang twice, and he picked up. Without waiting for him to speak, I said, "We're on for Friday." Then I hung up before he could reply. I didn't want to talk about it anymore. I just wanted to get the whole thing over with.

We'd tried to act normal, but of course there wasn't anything normal about the situation. Everyone in the clan knew what was going on, too, which didn't make things any easier. After some ruminating on the upcoming evening, I'd decided we should go out — dinner at Grapes, and wine, then off to the Spirit Room to hear that night's band play, and more wine. I figured if I were seriously tipsy, if not outright drunk, then the whole thing might be easier to handle.

Adam hadn't bothered to argue with me about all that. I guessed he was probably just relieved that no more obstacles had presented themselves. If I wanted to delay things as long as possible on the night itself, he could handle that. Technically, I wouldn't be twenty-two until almost midnight the following day — my time of birth was eleven-thirty. So partying late tonight wouldn't create any problems.

Once again Sydney had suggested that she and Anthony should come to meet us and hang out for the evening, but I thought that would just be too weird. "I appreciate it, but...no," I told her.

"Suit yourself," she replied. "And I won't even ask for the gory details tomorrow." She'd let out a mock-sigh and added, "My little girl is finally going to be a woman!"

"You are so weird," I replied, even though I couldn't help smiling a little. Then I'd hung up.

Dinner was all right. We talked about commonplace things, about how he was helping with the conversion of a triplex into a single-family home, and how I couldn't decide whether to go with black appliances or stainless steel ones for the upcoming kitchen remodel. Just your ordinary date-night conversation, I supposed.

Lara's band was playing at the Spirit Room, which meant the place was packed. We ended up having to hover at one end of the bar, but I didn't mind too much. The raucous atmosphere helped to deflect my thoughts from what was coming at the end of the night.

Jesus, you're acting as if you're going to your execution, I thought. It's just Adam. He knows what he's doing.

At least, I assumed he did. I'd never heard of him seeing anyone in Jerome, but he went into Cottonwood a good deal, just like the rest of us did, and I know a few of those girls back in high school who'd thought he was cute would've been more than happy to have him pop their cherries, so to speak. He'd wanted to be with me, but I kind of doubted that meant he'd been depriving himself all these years just in case I changed my mind.

He bought me a glass of wine, and then another. By that point the room was more than a little swimmy, faces and sound and the dim lights over the bar seeming to swirl around and around one another. Most of the people I didn't recognize; a lot of bikers came to the Spirit Room, although it was always a more or less friendly crowd, locals and tourists and people from several motorcycle clubs mingling without much of a problem.

Adam and I danced. I wanted the contact with him. I wanted the music to draw us closer, to have our bodies moving together so that when the moment came, I'd already feel in sync with him, would think it a natural progression. That was what I hoped in my semi-drunken state, anyway.

Even there we weren't without our escort, although they'd taken up a table in a corner, staying out of our way. I had to thank the Goddess that Tobias wasn't among them. It would've been too awkward to have him watch me act like a tipsy fool as I psyched myself up into sleeping with Adam so I wouldn't have to worry about Damon Wilcox ever getting his hands on me.

Eventually midnight came and went, and Adam squeezed my hand, bending his head close to my ear. "I think it's time to go home now."

I wanted to protest, but I knew that was silly. It was already late; waiting another hour wasn't going to make any difference. So I nodded and let him lead me out of the bar, and up the street to the house. The trio followed a few paces behind, trying to be discreet but failing miserably. There just weren't enough people out at that hour for them not to stick out like a sore thumb.

When we got to the house, Adam stopped on the doorstep and looked down at Henry and Boyd and Allegra where they waited awkwardly on the walkway. "Do you think we could have a little privacy, just this night?"

They exchanged glances.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Adam demanded. "Pretty soon she's going to be safe forever. Just let us have this time together, okay?"

Another long pause. "All right," Boyd said at length. "We'll go to my place, since it's only two doors down. We can be here fast enough."

"Good," Adam said shortly. "We'll see you in the morning."

He pulled out the key I had given him earlier — he didn't have my same talent with locks — and opened the door. The house felt oppressively quiet as we entered. Although I'd hated having the bodyguards underfoot all the time, it still felt strange for no one to be there except Adam and me. I realized that I'd never been this alone in the house.

But there were his fingers around mine, warm, reassuring. "Let's go upstairs."

I let him lead me up to the bedroom. Everything was dark here as well, but he waved his hand at the fireplace, and immediately the logs stacked within began to blaze, warming the space, sending dancing light against the clay-hued walls.

My head still spun, and my mouth was suddenly dry. No more delays. He was here and I was here, and we both knew what was going to happen next.

Which one of us moved first, I couldn't tell. I only knew we were suddenly standing very close, and his mouth came down to mine, and I opened my lips, tasting the wine on his tongue as well, feeling the warmth of his body against mine.

Only then it wasn't warm, but cold, as an icy blast seemed to move through the room, and the fire in the hearth snuffed itself. Shadows formed all around us, shadows that resolved them into the shapes of people in hooded cloaks. I pulled away from Adam, opened my mouth — not to kiss, but to call out a spell of protection, to reach with my mind to the three who were supposed to be watching over us.

But my breath seemed to choke in my throat, even as my body froze, and the words wouldn't come. A blast of light, gray-tinged, and Adam flew backward, fell lifeless to the floor. Because I was choking, I couldn't scream, couldn't do anything but stand there, impotent, as I saw Damon Wilcox's glinting black eyes come closer and closer.

"I told you I wanted you," he said.

Darkness swirled around him, seemed to become one with him, and I fell into it, was sucked down into a lightless tunnel with no end.

All went black.

Chapter Sixteen

Light returned. Well, not light exactly, but a darkness that wasn't absolutely black. My eyelids fluttered open, and I thought I saw the movement of dim shapes around me. Black candles burned behind them, but I could make out no details beyond that.

I tried to sit up, and realized I could not. The surface beneath me was hard, and felt like some kind of a long table, draped in heavy black cloth. When I turned my head to one side, I couldn't see any ropes or any other bonds holding my wrists and ankles in place, but I might as well have been bound for all the good my struggling did.

"Hello, Angela," came Damon Wilcox's voice from off to my left. I turned my head and saw him standing in front of a group of his clan members. They all wore dark robes, some with the hood pulled up, concealing their faces. There seemed to be at least twenty of them in the room, but it was so dark I couldn't tell for sure.

And then I recalled Adam's limp body falling to the rug in my room, remembered how only a few seconds earlier he had been kissing me, and now he was dead. Well, it felt like seconds earlier. I had no idea how much time had passed, how long I had floated in the dark until I awoke in this room.

Tears came to my eyes, but I blinked them away. I would not cry in front of Damon Wilcox. I would not.

"Fuck you," I said succinctly.

He just laughed and shook his head. "Soon, I promise."

His words sent another wave of ice through me. Of course I knew exactly why he'd stolen me away from my home, but that didn't make his words any easier to hear. "You're crazy," I told him. "You think my clan isn't going to come after me?"

"They can try, I suppose, but what good will it do? By then the deed will be done." He looked past me to one of his clan members, a woman who had pale streaks of gray in her long black hair. I couldn't tell for sure in the semi-darkness of the room, but something about her features looked vaguely Native American. "Is it time?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. Her voice was soft and low. "The solstice is upon us. Now is the time for the binding."

He turned back to me and then approached until he stood next to the table where I lay. Although I knew it would do no good, I gritted my teeth and strained against the invisible force that held me in place. I'd never heard of a spell like this, especially one that could subdue the magic of a prima, but then, I'd never studied dark magic. It wasn't the McAllister way.

In the gloom I could see his grin flash as he stared down at me. "I've been waiting for this a long time."

Then he bent down to me, and I braced myself. Of course I knew how a kiss between a prima and a consort was supposed to feel, but I had no idea what this would feel like, this forced contact between the dark power of a primus and his victim.

His lips touched mine. I had thought they would be cold, since he seemed to bring the cold with him wherever he went. Maybe he drew his power from it, from the ice and the snow and the long dark winter nights. But he was warm enough, surprisingly.

I'd been expecting a shock, a chill...something. Not this, only the press of mouth against mouth and nothing else, just the way I'd felt it so many times before with all of my failed candidates.

The black eyes flashed, and then narrowed. He lifted his mouth from mine and stared at me for a long moment, then bent again and pressed his lips to me again, this time forcing my mouth open with his tongue. I shuddered, although he tasted faintly of mint and nothing else. It was just the violation, the feel of this man I had come to despise forcing himself on me in such an intimate way. Nothing compared to what he had planned, I knew, but still....

He pressed his hands against the edge of the table and thrust himself upward, then whirled on the woman who had spoken a few moments earlier. "It's not working!" he snarled. "You said on the night of the solstice she would be mine!"

Face calm, she stared up at him, meeting his angry gaze as if it were nothing. With a shrug she replied, "I said the signs told me that she would be the consort of a Wilcox. They did not tell me which Wilcox. You just assumed it would be you."

"Fuck!" Damon Wilcox ran an angry hand through his hair, and glared into the watching crowd. "Connor, come here."

The watching clan members shifted, and a tall man moved forward, but slowly, as if he was reluctant to do as Damon had asked. Unlike the others, he wasn't wearing the dark robes, but what looked like jeans and a sweater.

Even in the dim lighting it seemed as if there was something familiar about him, although I couldn't quite figure it out. Probably my eyes playing tricks on me. After all, how could there be anything familiar about any of the Wilcoxes? I'd never seen any of them before, except that one time in Phoenix when Damon tried to grab me at the Nordstrom Rack.

But then he bent over me, and I stared up into his eyes.

Green eyes. Cloudy jade, just as I'd dreamed a hundred times.

I sucked in a breath, and then looked beyond those eyes to the face of the man who gazed down at me, and that was familiar as well.

"Chris?" I asked, my voice cracking on that one syllable. It couldn't be. Maybe I'd gotten knocked in the head during the kidnapping, and I was hallucinating things that weren't there. No way could Chris Wilson be here, of all places.

Those green eyes didn't seem to want to meet mine. Finally he said, "It's Connor, actually. Connor Wilcox."

No. The room seemed to tilt around me, and I wished I could sit up, wished I could push myself off this table and run, run far away. I shut my eyes, but when I opened them again, he was still standing there.

We might have been the only two people in the room. "You lied to me," I whispered finally.

He pressed his lips together, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't quite manage it. Not with his brother and so many of his clan members looking on.

"Do it," Damon said, his voice harsh with anger and frustration. "You have to bind her to us. Now."

Again Connor hesitated. His hands were shoved in his jeans pockets, and I could practically feel the tension radiating from him as he stood there. At last he took his hands from his pockets, leaned over me, and murmured, "I'm sorry."

His face was very close to mine. I'd dreamed of him kissing me, had wondered what it would be like, but never had I ever thought that we would come to it like this.

Then his mouth pressed against mine.

Heat flooded through me, seeming to set off every nerve ending in my body, as if all my veins no longer ran with blood but molten lava, bright and terrible and alive. That same warmth traveled to my core, making me ache with need. In that moment I wanted him so badly that I think I would have let him take me right there on that table, in front of everyone. Even in front of Damon Wilcox.

He felt it, too, I could tell. His eyes widened, and those same hands that had been clutching the table reached up as if of their own volition to cup my face, to hold me tenderly while he kissed me again and again, lips matching perfectly, tongues reaching out to touch one another, the feel and the taste of him better than anything I'd ever experienced. I fought against those invisible bonds, and then it seemed as they melted away, because I was able to reach up and wrap my arms around him.

My consort. The one I'd been waiting for all these years.

A Wilcox.

I gasped then, pushing him away, trying to recover something of my sanity, something of my will, even as my body cried out for him. He seemed to understand, and stepped back, although I could hear his rough breathing and knew he wanted me just as badly.

"It's done," the woman said. "She has bonded to him."

Damon Wilcox made a gesture with one hand, and someone turned on the overhead lights. I could see now that it looked as if we were in someone's basement rec room. There was a wet bar in one corner, and a large flat-screen television on the far wall, fronted by a leather couch and a recliner. As I put my hand out and felt the lip of the surface on which I lay, I realized their makeshift "altar" had to be a pool table.

Incongruously, I wanted to laugh. But even beneath my amusement I could still feel those ripples of arousal. Connor Wilcox was so very close. It would be so easy to reach out and pull him against me, taste his mouth again, let his hands explore my body, push me back down against the table....

No. It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done, but somehow I managed to shove those thoughts away, force myself to think of what the Wilcoxes had done — stolen me from my home, from my clan. And again I saw Adam's lifeless body lying on the Navajo rug beside the bed, and that was enough to flood my veins with ice to replace the heat of a moment ago.

Without thinking, I launched myself off the pool table and at Damon Wilcox, hand raised to deliver the sort of blow I'd dealt Perry with in the parking lot of Main Stage, only this time so much more powerful, as I had the strength of a prima and the hate and sorrow of a thousand avenging angels to bolster it.

But then he raised his own hand, and it was as if I'd crashed into a stone wall. The breath was knocked out of me, and I staggered. At once Connor was beside me, reaching out to take my arm. I wrenched it away.

"Don't touch me!"

He stopped immediately, fist clenching at his side.

Damon watched me, an odd mixture of anger, frustration, and amusement twisting his features. Now that I saw them together, I thought I could glimpse a slight resemblance to Connor, but Damon's face was harsher, more hawk-like. He smiled, a mere curling of his lip. "Well, she can't stay here now. I'm afraid she's your problem, brother." Then he added over his shoulder, to two of the burlier-looking members of his clan, "Help Connor get his new package home, would you?"

They converged on me. I lifted a hand again, thinking that even if I couldn't attack Damon I could surely take out a few of his supporters. But whatever magic he'd used to subdue me before seemed to be active again, because I found I couldn't move, couldn't do anything except stand there as one bound my hands in front of me, even as the second man fastened a dark cloth over my eyes. I tried to cry out, but my mouth was blocked as well, and I choked on the words I had been about to say.

Rough hands lifted me up and slung me over a shoulder. I could feel the man going up a flight of stairs, and crossing what sounded like a wood floor. The sound of a door opening, and then a blast of freezing wind against me, colder than anything I'd ever felt before. It made sense, I supposed, if we were now in Flagstaff, several thousand feet higher than my home in Jerome and at least twenty degrees colder.

He carried me what seemed to be several yards, and then I was tossed on the back seat of a car or some other vehicle. The man settled himself beside me, even as I heard an engine rumble to life. It sounded powerful. Maybe not a car, then, but an SUV or a truck with an extended cab. We began to move.

It was hard to tell how long that trip lasted. I thought I heard the sound of another vehicle following us, but it was hard for me to know for certain. The tires were noisy, the road beneath them sounding slushy, rough. Neither the man in the seat beside me nor the person driving the SUV/truck spoke, making it that much more difficult to gauge the passing of time. It didn't feel that long, though, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. Not much more. At least, I didn't think so.

Eventually the vehicle came to a stop. The driver got out, as did the man next to me. He grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder again, but I felt him slip a little, as if the surface he stood on was slick. Again that freezing air hit me, and I wondered if the street or sidewalk was icy. The sound of another door slamming, and we walked a little way before we entered a building and went up a flight of stairs. A pause, and then I was deposited on the floor, still not able to move except for a slight shivering caused by the chill wind outside.

It was warmer here, at least, although I couldn't begin to guess where I'd been brought. The man who'd been carrying me said, "He'll contact you tomorrow."

"All right." Connor's voice, sounding resigned.

The door opened and shut again. A second or two later, I felt hands untying the knot in the cloth at the back of my head. The dark fabric was lifted away, and I blinked.

I stood in the entry area of what appeared to be a house or apartment. The space was open, with heavy dark wood framing the doorways and windows. One wall seemed to be all brick. The furniture was simple and strong, leather couch and chair, dark wood cocktail table. Most of the walls were covered in unframed canvases, desert landscapes and mountain scenes. The place felt old, maybe of similar vintage to the apartment where I'd grown up. I'd never been to Flagstaff, but I thought I recalled that the only section with buildings this old was the Old Town district.

"Where are we?"

"My apartment," Connor replied, moving out from behind me. I'd noticed as he undid the blindfold he'd been careful not to come in contact with my hair, as if he were afraid even that small touch would be enough to set us off again. Maybe it would have. My aunt had told me what the bond between a prima and her consort was supposed to feel like, but I'd never imagined it would be so shockingly strong, so overpowering in its urgency.

"Your apartment," I repeated blankly.

"Well, Damon had thought you'd be staying with him, but that didn't exactly work out." He lifted his shoulders, as if recognizing the impossibility of the situation. "So here you are."

Alone with him, and away from the rest of his clan. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to me.

Opportunity for escape, that is.

Without thinking I bolted for the door. I grasped the knob, but it wouldn't turn. Of course. Deadbolt. I reached up to turn it, but it wouldn't budge, either.

A strong sun-browned hand descended on mine. At once my blood began to race, heat washing over me. I snatched my fingers away as if they'd touched a flame. Then again, maybe they had.

"You won't be able to open it," Connor said. "Nor the latches on the windows, so don't bother with them, either. You're only getting out if I lift the spell, and that's not happening. Now, do you want something to drink? Some water, maybe?"

Just to be difficult, I put my hand on the doorknob again. This time it felt almost as if an electric spark leapt from the metal to my fingertips, and I jerked my hand back.

"Just as I told you." His voice didn't sound particularly happy. Resigned, maybe, as if he couldn't have expected anything other than me trying to get away from him. "It's a little late for coffee, and I don't think wine is a very good idea, either. Pellegrino? Juice?"

"I don't want anything from you."

His expression hardened. "Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

"Difficult?" I demanded. "Difficult? When you broke into my house, killed Adam — "

"We didn't kill anybody," Connor cut in. He went into the kitchen and got two glasses out of a cupboard, then poured some sparkling water into each one.

"What?" I'd been through too many shocks that night. My brain felt as if it had given up trying to process them.

Without answering me immediately, he took one of the glasses and held it out in my direction. Just as wordlessly, I took it from him. My throat was dry, so I went ahead and drank. Maybe he was trying to drug me or something, but I sort of doubted it. I'd just watched him break the seal on the bottle of San Pellegrino.

"I doubt it was out of the goodness of his heart, but Damon only knocked your cousin out. Murder is hard to cover up, even for a warlock. There would be too many questions. Possible repercussions. He just wanted to get in, get you, and get Adam out of the way. Simple enough."

I didn't think it was all that simple, even though I let out a mental breath, and the tiniest bit of the tension in my throat seemed to ease. Adam was still alive. He wasn't dead because of me. Hardening my voice, I said, "There are still going to be repercussions. If you think my clan is just going to sit idly by — "

"And how much can they do, deprived of their prima? Not to be rude, Angela, but even with you there they weren't exactly a match for us Wilcoxes. And with you gone...."

He let the words trail off. There wasn't much need for him to say anything else. I loved my clan, loved each and every one of them for their quirks and their odd little habits, but I knew they weren't strong enough to take on the Wilcox clan. Not by a long shot.

If I dwelled on that, I knew I might break down. It was so late, and I was so, so tired. I set down my glass on the counter and decided to move to another subject. "So it was all a lie — grad school, and Tempe, and final projects. Everything." I looked up at him, at those painfully familiar green eyes. "Even your eye color."

"It's a simple trick, but it worked, didn't it?" He shook his head. "And all of that wasn't exactly a lie. I did go to school in Tempe, but that was a few years ago."

"But you did want to know about our trip to Phoenix so you could report back to your brother."

His shoulders lifted. He didn't bother to deny it.

"And you were stalking me, showing up at the Day of the Dead festival like that." Angry tears pricked the back of my eyes as I recalled how nice he had seemed, while the whole time he was just collecting data for his brother. Stupid for me to be upset about that part, but I couldn't help it. I'd had an image of this Chris Wilson person in my mind and my heart, and it hadn't been real at all, only a mask he'd put on to conceal himself from me.

He ran a hand through his hair. It needed cutting, and fell back over his forehead. "Look, Angela, it's three in the morning. Do you think we can hash this over later? Like, in the morning after we've gotten some sleep?"

Panic washed over me at the thought of sleeping here in his apartment with him. Even now, angry and frightened and weary as I was, I could still feel the electricity sparking between us. But I couldn't get out. The place was as locked down for me as a vault at Fort Knox.

What he saw in my face, I couldn't say for sure, but his expression softened. "I have a guest room. You'll be fine."

"I highly doubt that," I retorted.

"Okay, then you'll survive." Bending down, he retrieved a dark duffle bag from where it had been sitting on the floor, halfway hidden by the kitchen cabinets. "I have some stuff here for you." He extended his arm, clearly intending for me to take the bag.

"What is it?"

"Some clothes. Boots. Underwear." His eyes glinted, and for just a second he looked a little too much like his brother for my comfort. "It's the stuff you picked out in Phoenix, and some extra. Damon took it with him that day. He needed to know your sizes so he could have some of the women in the clan get some things together for you."

So that was why Damon Wilcox had stolen my bag from Nordstrom Rack. I didn't really want to dwell on him going through it and figuring out my panty and bra size. On the other hand, it meant I at least had a change of underwear. "Thanks," I said grudgingly.

"Let me show you where the spare room is," he replied, seeming glad that I hadn't pushed back on that one.

Just inside the entryway and past the bathroom there was a flight of wooden stairs that doubled back on itself. We emerged in a short upstairs hall. At the end of the hallway was another window, but I couldn't see anything except black night beyond it. On one wall was a single door, while on the other there were two. He opened the second door and flipped the light switch.

"Here you go."

It wasn't very large, maybe ten feet by ten feet. A twin bed covered in a plain brown spread was pushed up against one wall, and there was a table and chair tucked against the opposite wall. More paintings hung in here. A Navajo rug covered the floor.

"The bathroom is next door," he went on, as casual as if I were just a friend stopping by to hang out for the weekend, rather than the girl his family had kidnapped...as if I weren't the one somehow fated to be with him, if our physical reaction to one another were any indication. "And I'm just across the hall, so if you need anything, knock." A slow grin, and he added, "I'll make sure to put on something besides just underwear."

The thought of him wandering around up here in just a pair of boxer-briefs was enough to relight that flame in my core. I sucked in a breath, reminding myself of Adam, knocked aside like a rag doll, of my family realizing sometime in that bleak December morning that I'd been snatched from under their very noses. For some reason I thought of all their presents, wrapped and waiting for them under the tree Adam and I had set up in the living room, and the realization that I wouldn't be there to spend Yule with them made the tears start to my eyes again.

No, I couldn't cry, and I wouldn't let myself think that way. There was still time. They would come for me. They had to.

Coldly I said, "Thanks," to Connor, then turned away from him and set the duffle bag on the floor.

He seemed to hesitate before saying, "Goodnight, then," and going out to the hallway and shutting the door behind him.

For a minute I didn't do anything, only stared at the plain little room, at the oddly masterful paintings of canyons and mountains and high desert hills on the walls. Then I went over to the bed and fell rather than sat down on it, my head spinning.

Connor Wilcox was the man I'd been dreaming of since I was sixteen years old. He'd awakened the prima's fire within me, but it wasn't completely alive. Not yet. We would have to be together fully as man and woman for that to take place. I couldn't let it happen, though. That would mean my powers would belong to the Wilcoxes, and not the McAllisters.

I would have to find some way to resist him.

I just didn't know how.

The End

Continue the series with Darknight now, click here to visit christinepope.com.

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##    
Twin Souls  
Nevermore  
Book One  
By K.A. Poe

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##

Chapter One

The rough pitter-patter of rain against the tin roof caused me to stir in my sleep, but I struggled to fight it. I yearned to remain under the warmth of my thick quilt, wandering aimlessly through the dream world. But, alas, I knew reality would ease its way in and pull me out. As hard as I tried to ignore it, my eyes flew open and all memory of dreams faded away. I sighed heavily and pressed my pillow hard against my eyes, blocking out the dim sunlight that snuck in through the creases in the blinds. Slowly, I pushed away my brief shelter from the light and let my eyes adjust. I stumbled to the bathroom, rinsed my face and brushed my teeth before swiftly walking downstairs to the kitchen.

I was surprised to find it empty, void of any evidence that my mother had even been there fifteen minutes prior. Most mornings I would find her sitting at the quaint glass table, pressed up against the far wall, sipping a quick cup of coffee before she rushed off to work. My mother didn't hold the greatest job title in the world, but the money was sufficient enough to pay the bills and to feed us. She worked as a zookeeper at the local zoo and had been in that same position for as far back as I could remember. My father isn't even worth mentioning. After I turned six, he became absent in my life, beyond the occasional postcard from wherever he happened to be at the time. During a mid-life crisis, he decided that "living his life to the fullest" was more important than his ten-year marriage, not to mention his six-year-old daughter. Now he spent his time traveling the world with his much younger and wealthy girlfriend, Melissa. I hated to even think of her, though I had never even met her.

As I thought over my mother's unexpected absence, I plucked a porcelain blue bowl from the cupboard and poured a generous amount of cereal and milk into it before sitting at the vacant table. My eyes were instantly drawn to the white, perfectly folded note that lay against the transparent surface. Sprawled across the paper in my mom's unmistakable handwriting was my name: Alexis.

I wasn't sure why, but something, deep down, told me that this couldn't be good. Something was wrong, and this letter was the only way I would find out just what it was. I swallowed hard as I lifted the crisp paper and unfolded it. Panic welled up inside as I read the first sentence.

'Dear Alexis, September 8

This isn't easy for me to say, and it won't be easy for you to hear either.'

Part of me didn't want to continue reading, but my eyes betrayed me as they went along down the paper.

'The house has been put in your name, and I have left an envelope on the counter beside the coffee pot where you will find enough money to support yourself for at least the next three months. I will send you more as needed. Do you remember Mark? The man who offered me the job in Denver? I know how hard it was on you when you heard that we might have to move, and I decided that this might be easier. I will be making twice as much there as I was here, and won't have any trouble paying for you to stay home. Mark and I are moving in together.'

My forehead creased as the last words sunk in. Mom had a boyfriend, and I didn't even know about it...

'You are not alone, Alexis. You have your friends, and your uncle Paul is still in town if you need someone. I didn't want you to sacrifice your school life and your friends just so that I could live a better life, with a better job, and a better man than your father ever was. I won't be that far away if you ever need me.

Forgive me.

Love,

Mom'

My head was spinning as I set the letter down. I accidentally knocked over my cereal bowl as I scrambled to run back upstairs. It didn't matter anymore – my appetite had vanished. I pushed open my mother's bedroom door, and my jaw dropped in shock. While her bed remained intact, covered with frilly pillows and bright-colored blankets, her dresser was empty of most of her belongings. The oak jewelry box that held all the beautiful necklaces and charms I had been so envious of was no longer there. I went through her drawers. Each one was empty. How had she left so quietly, without me knowing?

I sat on the edge of her plush mattress, my head in my hands as I tried to understand what was happening. Mom and I were never incredibly close as she spent so much time at work – and I guess hanging out with Mark–but I would have thought she would have had the decency to sit down with me and discuss the situation before abandoning me. Abandoning me...just like dad.

Through the creases of my fingers, I could see the red digits on one of the few remaining items in her room. On top of the dresser sat her alarm clock, and I could distinctly see the shapes of each number: 9:45. I immediately jumped up from the bed and ran to my room. I was late for school! I grabbed my book bag, pulled on my shoes, snatched my car keys from the kitchen counter and rushed through the front door.

I grimaced when I noticed the windows on my silver Alero were rolled down, and the rain had undoubtedly found its way into the car. Remorsefully, I eyed the empty spot where my mother's van would have been parked, then opened the driver-side door to my car. I was hopeful that school would be a big enough distraction to keep my mind off of the haunting thought of being abandoned by my mother. The overwhelming urge to stay home, retreat back to my bed, and spend the day crying the hours away was almost too tempting. School wasn't a great importance to me, but I hoped that seeing my friends might help me pull through.

Shaking away the unwelcome thoughts, I discovered that my suspicions were unfortunately right—the seats were drenched. After pulling off my gray fleece hoodie, I dabbed the moisture off of the steering wheel, then draped the clothing across the seat. Once situated, I closed the door and quickly rolled up the windows and started the ignition. Some classical music piece came streaming through the speakers, and I smiled. I found it relaxing, but I wouldn't admit that to any of my friends at school.

Chapter Two

Driving to school didn't take long – it never did – where I lived was, for the most part, a tiny speck of a town. My family had resided in Willowshire, Colorado for many generations. According to my mother, this had been where my great-great-great grandparents grew up. It had once been nothing but forest, mountain and rivers until a small group of people began using the area for cattle farms. From there, the little valley nestled between Silverton and Telluride slowly developed into what it is today. Although small in comparison to most towns, we have our own small shopping center with an old movie theatre, a grocery store, and of course—schools. In the last couple of years the town has started to develop more and more, and yet somehow it manages to hold onto a lot of what makes the town beautiful. The snow-capped mountains in the distance tower over the town, and much of the forestry continues to exist throughout. Willowshire holds a small population of maybe 3,000 people, and it is uncommon to meet someone you don't recognize.

As I turned into the school parking lot, I switched the music station to something more recent. Whatever the song was; I didn't like it. Being late, the high school parking lot was full, and I had to park away from the building. In my rush, I had forgotten to bring an umbrella, so I carried my book bag over my head as I sloshed through the puddles on my way to the school doors. Fortunately, the water wasn't deep enough to soak through my shoes. I rushed through the front doors; my sneakers skidding slightly on the linoleum floors. The front hall was empty, aside from the janitor – Mr. Leary – who was mopping up puddles and muddied spots. I apologized earnestly for making more of a mess as I ran to my English class.

The teacher scolded me for being late, shaking her head as her gaze followed me to my seat. Her name was Mrs. Donovan, and she was by far my least favorite teacher, which was unfortunate because it was my favorite subject. She was a middle-aged woman with spectacles that reminded me of those you would see on a little old lady.

It took me a few minutes to realize what the assignment was, but once Mrs. Donovan said the name 'Poe', I was instantly on board. It was the first-time Edgar Allan Poe's works were brought up in this class, and I was a big fan so this caught my attention. We were supposed to be reading The Raven, and I realized I didn't have a book with me.

I raised my hand sheepishly.

"Yes, Miss Hobbs?" the teacher said coldly.

"I don't have a book," I replied, and noticed everyone had turned to stare at me. My cheeks instantly grew red.

"You can read from my copy." She waltzed over to my desk and flopped the worn book onto the wooden surface.

"Thanks," I said meekly and began flipping through the volume until I found the right page. I had become engulfed in the story, unaware of how quickly time was passing. I jumped when the bell rang and reluctantly put the book down.

"We will continue reading next week, Miss Hobbs," Mrs. Donovan said as she pried the book from my hand.

"Right," I mumbled and noticed that the classroom was deserted aside from us. I rushed out of the room and headed toward biology. I barely paid any attention to what was happening as the teacher droned on about heart vessels and other things I didn't care about. Next was lunch, and I was beyond excited to get out of the classroom.

The cafeteria was packed full of students. After gathering my tray of food, I walked slowly toward my usual table. Sitting there were my two closest friends, Jason and Karen.

Karen was your typical teenage girl – she loved to shop, to flirt, and to gossip. Somehow, however, we got along. We had known each other since we were toddlers, and lived as neighbors for nearly ten years before my mom decided to relocate to my current house. She was tall, stick-thin, with green eyes and perfectly straight, long blonde hair that she always wore in braids or a ponytail.

Jason, on the other hand, was somewhat different from the typical high school boy. He was smart, but I wouldn't classify him as a geek. He enjoyed sports, but I wouldn't consider him a jock, either. He had a love for literature, art, and most of all – partying. Jason was almost a jumble of every high school stereotype put into one body. We had been friends for nearly as long as Karen and I had. We met in kindergarten, and the three of us became inseparable. While some girls considered him highly attractive, he was just another guy to me, possibly because of our close friendship. He was slightly shorter than Karen (which I often teased him for), with a slight muscular build. Every member of his family had the same dark brunette hair with the faintest hint of a golden highlight; his hair was chin-length and wavy towards the ends. His eyes were a shade of brown that reminded me of milk chocolate.

"Hey, Alex," Jason said with a grin, until he noticed my disappointed expression. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," I said quietly, but knew he would pry it out of me one way or another.

"I'm not letting you off that easy," he objected.

"Fine," I eyed the food on my tray before pushing it away, "mom left." I tried to stop myself from falling apart as I spoke the words out loud for the first time.

"What?" Karen piped in, having previously been distracted by one of the boys across the room, which was typical for her.

"She took the job in Denver that I was telling you about last week," I studied their faces, "don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."

"Where are you going to live?" Karen frowned, wrapping her arms around me in a sympathetic hug. "You can come stay with me if you need to. My parents have always said that you could stay whenever you wanted."

"No, it's okay," I said, my disappointed look evolving into a half-hearted smile. "She gave me the house..."

"You have your own house?" Jason gaped.

"I guess so." I grinned. "She's paying for it, too."

"Wow..." Karen whispered.

"So, when is the first party?" Jason smirked.

"I don't think I'll be throwing any parties anytime soon, Jason."

"C'mon...I'll do all the work!" he pleaded. "I'll make the invitations, get the food...you just have to provide the place!"

I laughed. "I'll think about it."

My appetite finally came back, and I was able to down a pudding cup before the bell rang again.

"I'll see you two in the gym." I waved as I walked off to music class.

My friends knew I was in music class, but as far as they were aware I hated it. Music was my passion, but I had my doubts that anything would ever come from it in terms of a career. Simply listening to a piece of classical music, or inventing my own, was enough to make me happy. Unfortunately, my mother could never afford to buy me a piano of my own, so most of my practice was done at school. There was also a period of my life where I took piano lessons, but after my father left I lost interest in it as well as many other hobbies. After a few years, I came to realize that Desmond wasn't returning, and I had to carry on with my life and rediscovered my joy of playing. I don't know why I felt so compelled to keep my love of classical music a secret. Maybe I was worried my friends would tease me for it, as they had done with other kids. I walked briskly into the class, excited to practice on the piano again. I had been improving greatly, and I was looking forward to getting my fingers on the keys.

To my despair, we had a substitute teacher who didn't appear to have a clue what he was doing.

"Mr. Collins won't be in today," the teacher announced when the class was seated. He had a bulging round belly, and pants held up by suspenders. His head was round, with a very evident receding hairline. "My name is Mr. Knotts, and I will be filling in as best as I can, but I must apologize ahead of time – I am usually the astronomy teacher and have never touched an instrument in my life. It was short notice, however, and being close friends with Mr. Collins, I offered to take his role."

"Then what do you expect us to do today?" The words came out of my mouth before I had the chance to stop myself. This wasn't uncommon for me, and I had been scolded on the habit far too many times – enough that I should have learned by now to keep my mouth shut.

"I-well..." the sub stuttered, ignoring my rudeness, and his puffy cheeks reddened. "I suppose you can just play whatever music you want until the bell rings," he replied with a shrug of his thick shoulders.

The class laughed; myself included. I shrugged and walked over to one of the pianos – there were two of them in the classroom, as well as a keyboard. The one I selected had obvious wear to it, no doubt donated to the school by an employee or some sort of foundation. This was usually the one I chose to play on; something about it lured me to it the very day I began this class. I placed my hands on the keys, feeling comfortable and at ease as I gently ran my fingers along them. I played an unfamiliar tune, something that simply came to me as my fingers did their magic. I noticed that everyone had their eyes in my direction, and I stopped abruptly.

"That is magnificent," someone said beside me. I could distinctly hear what I thought must have been a British accent mingled in their voice, "If not a tad melancholic," they added.

"Um, thank you." I blushed.

"Whose was it?"

"Mine," I said quietly, almost wishing I had stuck with something well known to avoid the attention. Then I looked up, astonished by what I saw. Sitting next to me on the bench was a student I had never seen before in this class...or in the entire school, for that matter. He had a pleasant smile that ceased to fade as he stared at me through light blue eyes. He came into full focus – short, shaggy black hair that fell across his pale face, a long-sleeved burgundy V-neck shirt that hung loosely against his thin body, black slacks and a brilliant smile. His appearance was very unfitting for this school...maybe he was dressed for a meeting at the drama club after school or something.

"Where did you learn to play so well?" he asked, and I noticed how silky his voice was.

"My mom put me through lessons when I was a kid. The rest I learned here," I answered confidently.

"I am impressed."

"I've never seen you here before," I spat out, without meaning to. I looked away suddenly.

"That is because I have never been here until today," he replied and unexpectedly put his hand to my chin and turned my face back toward him. "I find you very intriguing."

I blinked. "What?"

"I will see you later."

"No, wait!" However, it was too late; he was already exiting the room as the words escaped my mouth.

As I pondered this unfamiliar new student, I continued playing on the piano – this time choosing something less conspicuous, and before I knew it, the bell was ringing. Stopping playing, I couldn't help but notice some students were staring in my direction still and talking in hushed voices. Clearly, it hadn't solely been my music that had caught their attention, but the out-of-place new kid as well. I sat there a few moments longer, still somewhat in shock from the encounter with this new boy, as I watched the rest of the students flood through the classroom door. After I gathered my thoughts, I exited the room and raced toward the gym.

Chapter Three

I met Jason and Karen on the bleachers, where I tied my shoelaces that had somewhere along the way come undone. Karen stared at me inquisitively.

"What's up, Alex?" she asked as I hopped off of the bleachers.

"Not much," I answered. "Just wondering who this new kid is that I met in music class."

"Some music nerd, huh?" Jason snickered.

My eyes lowered to the ground when he said that, but I tried to ignore the comment. "No. He was...different," I said difficultly, trying not to show my true emotions toward what he had said.

"Different how?" Karen asked as she passed me a volleyball.

I sighed, hating sports with a passion.

I hit the ball over the net absent-mindedly as I talked to my friends. "There was just something strange about him...I don't know."

"I haven't noticed any new kids in any of my classes," Jason said as he deflected the incoming ball, sending it back over the net with ease.

"Me either," Karen agreed.

"Maybe he isn't in any of your classes," I said, but I knew that was near impossible. The school wasn't that big. Willowshire High School held a student body count of maybe a hundred kids.

As the volleyball game was coming to an end, Jason and Karen pulled me along to the bleachers again. We each sat there, catching our breath when the inevitable happened – Jason brought up the subject I knew was coming.

"So, when's the party?" he grinned.

"There isn't going to be a party, Jace."

"It won't be a problem at all; I swear!" he practically begged.

"Fine. Sunday night," I gave in with a worried frown. "That gives you two days to plan, so you better hurry. And no alcohol!"

"Yes, ma'am!" he said triumphantly. "I'll catch up with you two later. I have to head home, lots of planning to do!"

"See you later," Karen and I said in unison.

"Do you want me to ride home with you?" she asked as we watched Jason exit the gymnasium.

"Why would I want that?"

"I just thought," she paused momentarily, and then continued, "That since your mom is gone...you might get lonely," she said sorrowfully.

I smiled up at her, but shook my head. "It's all right. A night alone might do me some good. Maybe I'll call her and straighten things out..."

"All right. I'll see you next week, then." She gave me a quick worried glance, a quick hug, and then turned and left.

And there I was, alone on the bleachers. I reluctantly got up and walked off to my locker to collect my book bag. As I slowly walked through the gym, I considered the possibility of calling my mom when I returned home. What would I even say to her, though? I was certain I wouldn't be able to control my fury and hurt, that it would begin with an outburst of accusations on how she decided her plans were more important, how Mark was more significant than me...and then it dawned on me how similar this felt to when dad abandoned us eleven years ago. Had she realized this? I could feel the warmth of tears welling up behind my eyes, and it was hard to hold it back as the pain and knowing seeped in. Was I doing something wrong to cause my parents to leave me? My pace quickened as I felt the tears trickling down my cheeks. I had to get out of here, before someone noticed...

The sun had decided to peek out through the clouds a little again, as it had this morning to my dismay, and I was pleased to see the puddles were starting to dry up. The water on the asphalt was deeper than this morning; however, and I could feel the moisture seeping into my shoes. I was about four feet from my car before my feet were completely soaked. The tears were drying against my skin, and I hoped no one would notice as I passed through the parking lot. I stopped abruptly when I saw the boy from music class leaning up against the Alero. I gulped and cautiously walked up to him.

"What are you doing?" I asked suspiciously.

"I was waiting for you," he said simply. As I looked him over, I noticed his pants weren't drenched from sloshing through the puddles and his feet were not soaked, unlike mine. How had he managed to get through the parking lot unscathed?

My brows furrowed. "And how'd you know this was my car?"

"One of your friends told me."

"Oh, really?" I asked, "Which one?"

He paused to think, as if he couldn't quite place the name. "A tall, blonde-haired girl."

"Karen..." I whispered.

"Ah, yes. That was it." He beamed. "She also mentioned that tomorrow is a special day for you."

"I told her not to tell anyone..."

"Why would you do that?" He seemed genuinely confused.

"I've just never really liked birthdays is all," I muttered, eying him curiously. "And why in the world would she tell you of all people that anyway?"

"But you are blessed with another year of life." He smiled brilliantly at me and ignored my question, although there was faint sadness lingering in his eyes, then unexpectedly said, "I want to take you somewhere, if you are willing. On the other hand, perhaps I should say I would like for you to take me somewhere, I suppose."

"I don't even know you, and you want me to take you somewhere?" I was bewildered and yet enthralled that this boy was even talking to me.

"We can introduce each other on the way," he offered.

I shook my head, uncertain. "Maybe some other time."

"It has to be now," he insisted.

"Give me one good reason why it has to be now."

"There's no time like the present?" he suggested with a grin. "Tomorrow you could be gone, or I could be gone, and then we would never have this opportunity again."

"Sure," I said as I took in his words. A sudden feeling of needing to do as he asked washed over me. "But I'm driving," I added.

The boy eyed the car and nodded. "It is probably best that way, and as I corrected myself – I want you to take me somewhere."

"You don't know how to drive?" I inquired as I unlocked the passenger-side door for him.

"That's one way to put it." He smiled lightly as he sat down.

I walked over to the driver side and climbed in, started the ignition and glanced over at him. There was something comforting about his presence, but I couldn't quite place what it was. He directed me toward wherever our destination was, which eventually led us down a winding road that made me very nervous to drive on. We passed a field of feasting cows near a small, broken-down house, and then everything grew into dense forest and rock.

"Where are we going?"

"You will see. It is just a little further," he said, gazing out the window at the scenery, although he must have seen it lots of times before, or so I assumed.

I thought for a moment about just turning around. Had I been tricked by some serial killer or rapist in my moment of vulnerability from this morning's events? I glanced over at the stranger in my car for a brief moment; he seemed harmless enough, sitting there with his ever-present smile. The thoughts of uncertainty fell loose from my mind and I focused back on the road and listened to the directions I was being given.

I became increasingly anxious as we rode down the twisting, thin road. The asphalt suddenly evolved into a dirt path that felt like it went on for miles and miles ahead of us. I hadn't noticed the turn to our left until he pointed it out. I slowly jerked the car down the new path, and we were soon approaching a tall, beautiful Victorian house planted in the middle of the blossoming foliage.

"Where are we?" I asked in an awed voice.

"My home," he said pleasantly. "But before we enter, I made you a promise. My name is Salem Young," he explained bitterly, which by the look on his face, I assumed he hoped I hadn't noticed.

"You don't like your name?" I asked.

"I suppose that is what you would say," he answered. "It is somewhat contradictory."

"Contradictory to what?" I asked, confused.

"You will find out soon enough," he said. "Your name is Alexis Hobbs."

"I take it Karen told you that, too, did she?" I asked with a grimace.

He ignored my question, climbed out of the car and quickly walked to my side, opened the door and offered me his hand.

I thought for a moment before I reluctantly took his hand, barely noticing the difference in his skin's temperature. He smiled as he gracefully led me to the alabaster stairs. We climbed up the stairway, and I stared, mystified, at the tall white doors. The windows were stained glass images of what I recognized to be Celtic knots in beautiful shades of blues and greens. Salem grasped the brass door handle and swiftly opened the large doors, revealing an immaculate living area. The walls were painted a dull gray that perfectly contrasted the white sectional sofa pushed up against the furthest wall. Behind the couch was a wide window overlooking a lake. In front of the couch lay a large black rug that covered the otherwise white tiled floor, and atop the rug was a rectangular glass coffee table. I was somewhat surprised not to see a TV anywhere.

On the other side of the room was a vast bookshelf, every inch of which was crammed with books of all sizes. An armchair identical in color to the sectional sofa sat nestled in a small nook beside the bookcase. Beside the chair was a tall, silver floor lamp. As I was admiring the room, Salem came up behind me and grasped my shoulders. I jumped, startled by his touch, but relaxed as he spun me around toward a spiral staircase that led upstairs. It wasn't the staircase that caught my attention, but the large, white grand piano that sat to the right of it.

"It's beautiful..." I said in a mere whisper. "Is your family rich or something?

"What?" He looked shocked at my assumption, but his expression turned soft, and he smiled as he seemed to do more often than not. "I don't live with my family."

"Then you are rich?" I questioned, staring at him in awe.

"Not at all."

"Then how do you afford to live here?"

"You'll find out soon enough," he repeated and turned toward the kitchen, waving me to follow.

Mahogany cabinets lined the back walls, and a black refrigerator and stove stood out amongst them. A small dining table was set against a broad window. The curtains were drawn, but the room was still bright despite there being no lights on.

After I allowed myself to admire the house, I realized how soaked my feet still were. "Do you care if I take these off?" I asked shyly.

"Of course not."

I walked to the front door, cringing with each step as the water sloshed around in my shoes. I opened the doors, knelt down and untied the moist laces. I looked up and contemplated just running to my car and leaving this place behind for good as the sense of comfort and need to be here seemed to wash away. If this boy, no doubt the same age as myself, was staying in a place like this with no family and no money of his own, then maybe my once seemingly crazy suspicions were right. For all I knew he had found this place and killed the previous inhabitants, and I had just been unlucky enough to be the next random victim he had chosen.

Before I had time to think about fleeing anymore, the door behind me cracked open slightly and his smooth voice came gliding out. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I...these shoes are just kind of stuck," I lied as I tugged them off, pretending it was harder than it really was. It was too late to run to the car now, and the calming sensation flushed trough me again—I felt again as if I truly wanted to be here.

After removing my wet socks and hanging them over the banister, I followed Salem back inside and into the immense kitchen where he abruptly spun around to face me. "Tomorrow, everything will change," he said suddenly. I gulped, not liking the serious tone in his voice. I should have run when I had the chance.

"I'll just be turning eighteen," I said as I stepped back slightly.

"You will be a whole different person." His eyes were withdrawn now, and the once permanent smile had faded. "And I will be partially at fault."

"What are you talking about Salem?" I could hear the panic in my voice as I tried to step back once again but was unable to move.

"Don't worry, Alexis." He smiled somberly. "Once the clock strikes midnight, I can tell you everything."

"Midnight?!" I almost laughed, despite my nerves. "You expect me to stay here until midnight?!"

"Only if you will."

"Why midnight?"

"Don't make me say it again." He smirked. I could distinctly hear his voice in my head repeating 'You'll find out soon enough'.

I looked at the simple black-banded watch on my right wrist. It was now only seven o'clock. It wasn't so much that I needed to get back home, but how could I possibly stay here with this stranger for the next five hours? I glanced up into his eyes, and I saw something alluring and comforting...the need to stay was becoming overwhelmingly strong. Even so, when I let myself think it through, I knew this had to be a mistake, and I couldn't help continuously coming back to the possibility that this boy was far more lethal than he looked. Something blocked those thoughts.

"Do you have someplace to be?" he asked, before I had the chance to speak.

"No..." It came out in no more than a whisper as it had finally sunk in that I had no one to go to anymore. Mom was gone; home would be vacant and lonely. I should have agreed to have Karen ride home with me after all. I fought back the moisture in my eyes, biting down on my lip and trying to force myself to suppress my feelings again.

"At least stay long enough to play that tune for me again," he said, almost pleadingly.

Chapter Four

Hesitantly, I agreed to stay and play my song for Salem. He sat beside me on the wooden bench as I placed my hands on the keys. I shut my eyes as I played flawlessly–even to my own amazement, considering I had only come up with it this afternoon in school. I stopped abruptly when I felt his hands reaching across and touching mine. With a sudden gasp, my eyes flew open—his fingers were freezing! He smiled warmly at me, and I forgot all about the cold to his touch and returned to playing, his hands following the movement of my own. I relaxed a little as I continued to play, until at last the song was through; he didn't remove his hands.

"I still cannot get over how beautiful it is," he said quietly as he peered into my eyes.

"Um...th-thank you," I whispered, my cheeks growing warm. I glanced at my watch: 7:15. I sighed.

"What's wrong?" Salem asked, and then noticed where my eyes were looking. "Oh. Anxious for it to be midnight?"

"I guess so, yeah," I said with uncertainty.

He nodded and slid off of the bench. "Are you hungry?"

"A little," I replied honestly, before I had the chance to think better of it. There was a nagging in the back of my mind, a faint worry that he might have intentions of poisoning me.

"If you could have anything right now, what would it be?"

I laughed as I thought about it. "Umm...chocolate cheesecake drizzled with caramel."

Salem shrugged. "I will see what I have." Before he turned toward the kitchen, I could have sworn I saw a glint of violet in his eyes, but I ignored it—it was probably my imagination playing tricks on me. He walked into the kitchen, tugging me gently behind him. As he opened the black door of the fridge, my hand dropped from his grasp, and I stood frozen in shock. Sitting on a glass plate on the top shelf of the fridge was a slice of delectable cheesecake, just as I had described it. I shook my head in disbelief. I barely noticed that the rest of the fridge was empty.

"How?" My voice barely came out.

"Coincident?" he smiled. "Go ahead, eat it."

"How do I know you didn't poison it?" I gasped, letting my prior thoughts free.

The look of hurt in his eyes made me regret it instantly. "You think I would poison you?" He frowned. "Would you like me to eat some of it to prove it is harmless?"

I nodded my head slowly, still unable to completely convince myself this strange boy had my best interest in mind, regardless of how kindly he had treated me so far—it could have all been a trap.

Salem shook his head in disappointment, but I watched him pull open a drawer. Wielding a silver fork, he gathered some of the cake and put it to his lips. I watched, my heart pounding, as he chewed the luscious chocolate, and he smiled up at me. "See? It is perfectly safe."

"Okay." I gave in and took a bite. It was even better than I had imagined. I tried to fight the urge to eat the entire slice, but it was impossible. It was quite possibly the greatest food I had ever tasted. "Are you a chef?"

He laughed; the sound was musical, beautiful...I wanted to hear it again. "No, but I will have to let the baker at Budwell's Bakery know you appreciate his work."

"I still don't understand how you had a piece of cake just like the one I wanted just lying around in the fridge," I said, wiping my mouth of chocolaty residue.

He shrugged. "I told you...purely coincidental."

"Right..." I said as we walked into the wide, open living room. He laid out on the end of the sectional, and I sat on the opposite side. Part of me wouldn't have minded being closer to him, but I felt that distance was safest at this point. I contemplated what could possibly happen at midnight, how it would change anything, and how this boy could be involved in any way.

"How long have you lived here, Salem?" I asked out of the blue.

"A few years," he replied, putting his hands behind his head. He looked comfortable, serene. Strands of black hair fell across his eyes, shrouding them from my view.

"Did you just start going to our school today or something?"

He didn't respond right away. "No," he answered simply.

"Were you going to a different one before?"

"Yes." Just as simply.

I glanced at my watch again: 8:13.

"Sooo...tell me about yourself," I said as I watched the second hand on my watch tick slowly by.

"I don't have much to tell you right now," he said in a strange voice, "that will have to wait until the right time."

"Midnight, right?" I laughed, but I wasn't really amused.

"Perhaps." He lifted his head to look at me. "I'm not sure what I can tell you, to be honest. It isn't entirely for me to decide."

"What are you even talking about?"

"It will be easier to explain come midnight," he assured me, but I was doubtful.

"Do you not own a TV?" I asked, growing bored.

"No. I have no use for one."

"What?" I laughed. "Everyone watches TV, or at least movies!"

"Do they?" he asked thoughtfully as he rested his head once more.

I sat and watched him lying there perfectly still, as time crept by at a slow pace. I was tired–no, exhausted–and longed to return to that familiar place I reluctantly left this morning. This day had twisted in such a way that I never could have imagined. Mom was gone; I still couldn't grasp that fact. I had a house in my name. Jason wanted to throw a party, and I made the wretched mistake of agreeing! Then, I met this bizarre, yet fascinating boy...and ended up here. How did things turn out this way? I should have woken up in the morning, found mom at her usual spot at the table, left for school, had an ordinary day, gone home, watched TV and gone to bed.

"So," I said, interrupting the silence again, "seeing as you don't spend your free time watching TV like a normal person, what do you do?"

"I do plenty of things. A lot of my time is spent reading, hiking, listening to music, pondering our existence..."

"You do have a pretty big collection of books, I see," I commented, eying the shelves of books. "What are your favorites?"

I could see a faint smile spread across his lips as he contemplated my question. "Hmm...I suppose that might include some of Charles Dickens' literature, as well as Poe's masterpieces. The Picture of Dorian Gray and I must admit I have a soft spot for Romeo and Juliet."

With scarce realization, I felt myself smile. He shared an interest in some of my favorite reads, but that shouldn't surprise me – considering he appeared to have tastes beyond his years, shown not only in his book collection but his choice of clothing and his love of the piano. "Those are some of my favorites, too," I replied. "Are you in the drama club at school or something?"

He glanced toward me and arched a brow. "While I enjoy the occasional play, I cannot picture myself upon a stage. Why do you ask?"

"You dress a lot differently than most kids our age."

"Our age," he mused, laughing to himself at some unspoken joke. "I suppose I just have a finer taste in clothing than the typical teenager."

"What about music? Do you play the piano?" I felt somewhat stupid asking, considering he did possess the very instrument.

"Occasionally, although I dare to say I am not nearly as exquisite a pianist as you are."

My cheeks reddened. "I'm not that good, really."

"I disagree. You have exceptional talent, Alexis." He smiled again. "You should put that to use, perhaps make a future out of it."

"Me? On stage?" I laughed at the thought. "There is no way I could get on stage in front of a crowd and play. I barely have the nerve to play at school in front of the music teacher. I just can't see myself doing that." I frowned.

"You never know, someday that might change."

"I wish I could look at it like that as easily as you can." I sighed. "Do you mind if I check out your bookshelf?"

"Be my guest."

I watched him closely as I rose from my seat. I walked across the plush rug and over to the bookshelf. To my relief, I found The Raven among the wide variety, but that didn't surprise me at all. I plopped myself down in the armchair, switched on the light and began to read from where I had left off at school. Before I knew it, I unintentionally dozed off.

Chapter Five

""Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door." [- Edgar Allan Poe]

"Nevermore," I heard a silky voice whisper into my ear. A wisp of cool breath tickled against my neck, and I jumped. My eyes burned from exhaustion, and my heart was thumping hard in my chest.

"It wasn't all a dream, then," I said, somewhat disappointed, but at the same time a little relieved.

Salem simply smiled at me. "It is midnight."

"It is?" I looked at my watch to be sure. "It is! I must have dozed off while reading. So...what happens now?" My voice shook as I spoke.

"Your mother didn't just leave on a whim," he said grimly, and quite suddenly.

I stared at him groggily. "What? You know my mom?"

"I met her once before," he said. "You might say I am familiar with her boyfriend more so than her. She left this letter with me, to give to you on your birthday."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"She told me where you would be. Just read the letter."

I tore the letter open, my heart racing once more. How much agony was I going to have to endure before this was all over? I read down the letter, slowly taking in each word—

'Alexis, September 9th,

Happy birthday, sweetie. I know the circumstances are a little different than you might have anticipated, but trust me – things are only going to get better. Paul was the one that insisted I leave – maybe not quite like this, but nevertheless, you shouldn't put the blame entirely on me. You can beat him up for that when you see him again.

I left a present for you with Salem, whom I hope has been kind enough to explain the situation with you more than this letter can. While having a house of your own with no expenses might seem like the perfect eighteenth birthday present, that was more of a gift to me than it was to you. I hope you like it and can find some use for it.

Visit Paul as soon as you can. You will understand even more clearly when you do.

Love always,

Mom'

Before I could ask, Salem passed me a gift box. This led me to believe he had read the letter, but I ignored that thought. I ripped the bright pink wrapping paper away, revealing a simple cardboard box. It wasn't taped, but the flaps had been folded so it wouldn't open. I popped up the flaps to reveal a black, leather-bound book. When I opened it, the pages were blank. I looked at Salem, as if he might have an answer for me.

"What is it?" He leaned over to have a peek.

"Is this some sort of diary?" I laughed. Mom should have known by now that I had no interest in a diary. I had never written in one before, why would I start now?

"I suppose it must be." He looked a little shocked, as if he was expecting something entirely different. "Whatever it is, your mom wanted you to have it and that's all that is important." He smiled.

"Please tell me this isn't what I waited all night for."

"It isn't." He glanced away from me; his eyes turned toward the vast window behind the sectional. "Now that you are eighteen, your mother thinks you can handle the truth." He sighed heavily. "I don't know why I was the one left with this task. Perhaps because Mark decided to whisk your mother away at the last moment, giving her no chance to explain, and—"

"The truth about what?" I demanded, breaking him off mid-sentence.

"Your heritage, your real family." He glanced up at me. "I know this is all very sudden, and it is going to be confusing and hurtful, but I need you to listen. Janet isn't your real mother, Alexis. Nor is Desmond your father."

I nearly laughed, but stopped myself when I noticed how serious Salem looked. "Of course they are my parents! I have been with them all my life!"

He smiled warmly and took my hand, leading me to the sofa. I sat down hesitantly beside him. "Paul is your real father."

"As in my uncle Paul?" I shook my head and laughed. "That's impossible. Is this some sort of prank or something?"

"Think about it, Alexis."

And I did. I thought hard, picturing Desmond and Janet in my mind. I looked nothing at all like them. My father was dark-skinned, lanky and there was no resemblance between him and me. My mother and I may have shared the same dark brunette hair and light complexion, but everything else about us was different. My head was spinning; this was too much.

"Relax," Salem whispered, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "It is going to take some adjusting to, but in time, it will all make sense. I promise."

"If you're telling the truth, then why didn't Paul say something before?" I didn't want to believe him, but the further I thought about it the more sense it made. I wanted to cry, to scream, to escape. This was all too much in one day.

"He had to wait. It wasn't safe, until now." Salem's blue eyes were serious again and there was no sign of the warm smile he often wore. "Have you ever read about the Salem Witch Trials?"

Why was he suddenly changing the subject? What did this have to do with anything? I nodded slowly, recalling reading about it in middle school. I supposed he was trying to distract me.

"Remember how I told you my name was a bit contradictory?"

"Yeah, sure." I remembered it more than I wanted to admit.

"My mother was an ancestor to Alice Gray," he spoke quietly, "she was the first witch to be executed during the Trials. Do you understand how this is contradictory?"

"Yes..." I muttered. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"The world isn't as simple as it might seem, Alexis." He stared out the window behind us. The water rippled elegantly; the bright moonlight reflected upon the lake's surface. "Coincidences simply aren't coincidental."

The cake. The cake wasn't coincidental? On came the spinning again. "What are you trying to tell me, Salem?" I gasped, trying to breathe.

"Calm down," he whispered. "The witches in Massachusetts were real witches."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Are you trying to tell me that you're a witch?"

"Warlock would be the correct term, I suppose," he replied with mild humor, "but no. I'm not a warlock—at least, not exactly."

"Not exactly?" I eyed him suspiciously.

"I have some...special abilities. Nevertheless, I am definitely not a warlock."

"I think you have a bad case of sleep deprivation or something, Salem. Or you're...I don't know...this is insane."

He smirked. "I don't sleep. It isn't necessary for me."

"What?" I laughed, knowing I must still be asleep and suffering from bizarre dreams brought on from the stress of yesterday's events.

"I'll explain that another time."

"I should go home..." I blurted out suddenly. "This is all wrong. This is all crazy...you're crazy!"

The last words clearly stung. "I am not crazy. Neither are you. And you are in no condition to be driving right now. You can stay here."

"Here?!" I shouted, bewildered. "Would you stay in some stranger's house after they told you your parents weren't who you thought they were for the past eighteen years, and then told you he had special 'abilities?!"

Salem frowned, and his eyes reflected the sadness. "Honestly, I probably wouldn't – if I didn't know all of this was true."

My mind was racing with questions and worries, but soon they all seemed to fade. A sense of calm filled me and I felt completely at ease in Salem's presence. "What are these special 'abilities' you claim to have anyway? And how do you do them?"

"That cake." He smiled sheepishly. "I can make things materialize like that."

"What? How?"

"It's a long story, Alexis." He leaned back on the couch. "You probably couldn't handle it all right now. I'll tell you more tomorrow."

"I can handle it," I insisted, although I knew that was a lie. In fact, I was almost certain I was somewhere on the side of the highway, unconscious in my flipped over vehicle and my mind was wandering into madness as I slowly slipped away, because this was impossible. This was not real.

Wake up, Alexis, wake up! I thought to myself as my mind raced almost as fast as my heart.

"I won't tell you any more until you have rested", he said firmly. "Would you be more comfortable sleeping on the sofa or in the guest room?"

I wanted to decline both options and yell that I'd prefer to sleep outside in my car, but instead I found myself agreeing to sleep on the couch.

"Good choice. There are much more dangerous things out there to you than me."

It was true that he hadn't hurt me yet, and he had had ample opportunity while I napped earlier.

I didn't object to him helping me stretch out across the sofa, nor did I notice him leave the room to fetch a blanket and pillow. I had to admit that this was comfortable, warm and much better than struggling to sleep in the Alero.

"Goodnight, Alexis, sleep well," Salem whispered as my eyes fell shut uncontrollably. Sleep overcame me quickly as I silently hoped I would wake up in my familiar bed to find this had all truly been a dream.

Chapter Six

There was that familiar tugging again. My dreams were full of wonder, a strange boy named Salem, Mom abandoning me...this time I was more eager to wake up. I was startled when I found myself on a white sofa identical to the one in my dream – or what I had hoped was a dream. I screamed, pulled myself away from the comfortable sectional couch and ran toward the tall milky doors.

As the doors slammed shut behind me, I fell to my knees on the alabaster stairs. My Alero was gone. I fought the urge to scream again, and felt a sudden whip of cold air from behind me.

"Good morning." The silky, sweet voice of the boy from my dream filled my ears.

I rose from the ground and thrust myself at him, my palm prepared to smack him across the cheek, but he was too quick. He gripped my wrist tightly and pulled my arm downward. "There's no need for that." His voice was tense. "Your car isn't gone. It is in the garage."

My eyes fell upon the garage to the left of the house, and I sighed with relief. He released my hand. "I'll admit, it wasn't easy getting it there, as I have limited experience with operating vehicles...however, I managed, and assure you that your car wasn't damaged in the process," he said and looked amused at my expression of alarm. "While we're out here, though, why don't we drive over to Paul's business? There are many things he needs to explain to you, and the sooner you know, the sooner you will understand everything," he suggested, his voice calm and gentle now.

"I don't want to go there," I replied stubbornly. If all of this was true, I didn't think I was ready to face reality. Paul couldn't be my father.

"You will have to eventually, you know," Salem said calmly. "And somewhere, deep down, you want to."

"What does it matter anyway? It's not like it will change anything."

"It will change a lot of things, actually," he stated. "You'll feel better if you go."

"I highly doubt it."

The garage door opened, revealing my silver car. Salem gripped my hand gently and led me over to the vehicle. Despite all that had happened, it felt strangely good having his hand in mine.

I snapped out of the brief thought of Salem's touch as he pulled my keys from his pocket, holding them in the air between us–the now familiar and alluring smile slightly blocked by the dangling metal. I sighed, taking the keys and climbing into the car. It appeared I had little choice; he was very persistent. I sat behind the steering wheel, pondering whether I could pull out of the garage and go home before he made it into the passenger seat. I put the key in the ignition and started the car, about to put it in reverse when I heard the passenger-side door open and shut.

"You're too slow." He smirked.

"Maybe you're too fast," I said glumly.

After enduring the long winding trip away from Salem's house we finally made it back to town and soon pulled up to Paul's auto shop. I glanced over at Salem, who had an apprehensive look on his face.

"What's the matter with you?" I asked.

His expression changed immediately, although I could tell he was faking the smile this time. "Nothing. Go on ahead, I will wait out here."

"It's fine; I don't care if you come, I mean...you already know it all anyway, right?" Part of me sincerely wished he would join me; I didn't want to face Paul alone, regardless if I barely knew this boy.

"No." He gave me a stern look. "It would be best if I was not present."

"I really don't think Paul will care if you come with me, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm staying out here, and that's final," he replied, the fake smile vanishing right as he turned away from me.

"Fine!" I said bitterly, slamming the door behind me as I left the boy in the car. His eyes were watchful as I approached the shop. As soon as I opened the glass doors I scrunched my nose. The smell of oil was so overwhelming I had to cup my hand over my nose to keep from gagging.

Paul was nowhere to be seen at first, but I could hear his distinct voice paired with someone else's. He must have been with a customer. I noticed a small surveillance camera perched high up on the ceiling, and I felt like it was following my every step. It had been years since I came here, but everything looked the same as it always had.

The building wasn't too huge, but large enough to fit a back room full of various-sized car, bicycle and motorcycle tires. There were at least seven aisles of vehicle-related objects that I simply had no idea what were. For me, this was probably the most boring store in existence. Despite that fact, there was nothing else to do other than browse while I waited for my uncle—or father, if the story was true. As I quietly walked down the first aisle, I found a row of things I actually recognized and understood: air fresheners. I picked up a rose-shaped one and sniffed it, displeased by the fact that I could barely smell the scent through the plastic sleeve.

"Can I help you?" a woman's voice asked. I jumped and looked in her direction.

She was about a foot shorter than me – which was unfortunate for her, because I was barely over five feet myself – and a little chunky around the midsection. Her face was round and full, and atop her head was a spiked mess of pink hair. She wore a loose, sleeveless black top that revealed her arms, both of which were covered in vibrant, colorful tattoos. She had to be at least twenty-five or so.

"I-I'm looking for Paul," I stuttered.

"He's with somebody else at the moment. Is there something I can help you with, though?" Her voice was high-pitched and light, bizarre coming from someone of her appearance.

"No. I'm sort of...family," I wanted to say I was his niece, but I wasn't even sure if that was the correct answer anymore.

"Oh!" She grinned and held her hand out. "I'm Kate."

"I'm Alexis," I muttered, wishing I could retreat back to my car and avoid all of this. "Any idea how long until he's done?"

"No idea, but knowing him it could be a while." She laughed and shook her head. "I think he spends more time buddying up the customers than he does fixing anything."

"What do you do here?" I asked, trying to pass the time and being as polite as I could under the circumstances.

"Me? I work behind the counter," she replied, pointing to the checkout counter at the front of the store. "I've been here for almost two years now, and don't tell Paul, but I still don't know jack about half the junk people bring in here."

"Yeah, I've never been much of a car person, either."

Before the pink-haired woman had a chance to say anything else, Paul came walking out from the back of the store grinning and shaking his head. He looked just as I remembered him, if not a little heavier. He was a bulky man, with broad shoulders and muscles fit for a wrestler. His appearance had always intimidated me, but despite the way he looked, he was a gentle man. Atop his head was a thick mane of bronze hair that I was grateful I hadn't inherited from the family gene pool.

"Alex!" he said, walking in our direction with the grin on his face widening more than I thought possible, then suddenly engulfing me in his big arms.

"Hey, Paul," I squeaked under the pressure of his hug.

He released me, the grin never leaving his scruffy, oil-stained face. "Happy birthday!"

I frowned. "I guess you wouldn't forget a day like that, huh?"

"What? Forget my favorite niece's birthday?!" He laughed and ruffled my hair, like he did when I was a kid. "What brings you around these parts, having some car troubles? I told your mom that old Al-"

"Mom–no, Janet–gave me a letter last night," I interrupted, lying a little, not mentioning that Salem had filled me in on the rest of the story.

"About what?" He didn't seem to have a clue why I was here. I glanced past the aisles and customers and through the windows at Salem, wondering if it really had all been some sort of elaborate prank. He didn't move an inch.

"About her and Desmond not being..." The words caught in my throat. "About them not being my real parents."

"Oh..." he muttered, looking at me in shock. "Do you want to go to the back room?"

I could feel Kate's brown eyes gazing curiously at us. I nodded my head slowly and followed Paul into the back. We were surrounded by boxes of car parts that weren't out on the shelves yet, and in the far corner was a light-brown desk cluttered with used coffee mugs, scattered papers and a checkbook. He took a seat behind the messy desk, and I sat in the seat on the opposite side.

"What exactly did she tell you?" he asked, pushing some of the debris away so he could lean forward with his elbows against the wood top.

"She told me that you are my real...my real father," I said with some difficulty. "Is it true?"

He appeared just as uncomfortable talking about this as I was. "Yes, Alexis. I am your father." His voice was barely audible.

"Why...why didn't anyone ever tell me?"

"It was for your own good," he said with a sigh. "I was just trying to protect you."

"Protect me? Protect me from what?"

"From me...from my lifestyle." He appeared to be having trouble discussing it.

I frowned. "I don't understand, because you're a mechanic? How would that affect me? Or is it because you're a single father or something, and you didn't think you could handle raising me alone?"

"That's not it at all...I'm just not the fatherly type."

"I find that hard to believe." I laughed, although it lacked any humor. "You've always been a good uncle."

"It's much harder than you could understand, Alexis. There's more to it than all that." Paul sighed heavily and ran a hand across his face, smearing some of the oil around. "I take it Janet didn't explain much, huh?"

"She didn't really give me much more than 'Paul's your dad!'" It felt wrong lying to Paul about some of the details, but by the way Salem reacted to the idea of even entering the building gave me the feeling that he didn't want Paul knowing he was involved.

He smirked. "That sounds about right for her. This isn't easy for me to tell you..."

"What isn't?" I was getting impatient; someone needed to give me a straight answer soon before I went insane!

"You are going to think I'm crazy, and you are probably going to want to run away." He stared at me, watching my expression. "But don't. I promise you, there's nothing to run from."

"Get on with it, Paul." I couldn't take any more of these vague answers, between him and Salem, I was getting sick of it.

"The Waldron family is different from ordinary people." He was choosing his words carefully. I barely caught that he said 'Waldron' and not 'Hobbs'. "We are...vampire hunters."

I burst into laughter, but there was little humor behind what he said and his expression was dead-serious. "Vampire hunters?" I shook my head, about to get up and leave. "I knew it; it's all a joke. You and Salem are both going to get it for this crap. I-"

"Salem?" His eyes went from gentle to fierce, almost fearful. "Please tell me it isn't Salem Young."

I opened my mouth to confirm his assumption, but stopped myself. "You're the one who set him up to do it, aren't you? You're obviously both in on it. Okay...you got me!" I threw my hands up in frustration.

"Alexis, this is serious," Paul growled. "Salem Young isn't safe."

"He seems perfectly safe, and friendly, to me," I objected.

"Alexis, this is not a damned joke. I'm being serious!" I somehow knew by the tone in his voice and the look in his eyes that everything I had been told was indeed true. "Salem...he's one of them!"

"One of...them?" I gulped, eyebrows creasing with uncertainty. "Them? As in a 'vampire'?"

Paul nodded slowly. "He's one of the ones that lives around these parts that I haven't been able to kill yet."

"You kill people?" I gasped in horror.

"They aren't people, Alex. They're monsters!"

"I don't believe in monsters."

"Please, you have to listen to me," he pleaded, reaching across the table to touch my hand. I pulled away.

"If all of this is true, and you are who and what you say you are, why did Janet and Desmond pretend for so long, how are they involved?"

"They don't know the full truth," he said uncomfortably. "I put you in foster care after your mother passed away, hoping someone would find you and give you a better life than I could ever offer here on my own. But, I insisted they let me be a part of your life. So, I played the role of your uncle. It worked out kind of well for me, because I had already known Mr. and Mrs. Hobbs. I'd gone to school with Desmond. You can't imagine how hard it was, pretending all of this time to be your uncle," he explained with grief. "I told Janet that by the time you were old enough, I wanted you to know the truth about where you came from. I guess eighteen is old enough to understand in her book. All she knew, though, is that I was your dad, and that your real mom passed away."

"Why did it have to wait until now?"

"I had to protect you from them, if they knew I had a young daughter..." He shook his head. "There's no telling what they might have done to you. It was for the best. But now you're older, stronger, and more able to understand all this. Hell, you might even turn out to be a fine hunter."

"I refuse to believe this, Paul! It's not funny anymore." I didn't know what to think, my head was spinning with everything Paul and Salem had said.

I got up from my chair, ignoring his pleading calls and left the room. Tears began to stream down my cheek, from frustration and confusion. Then I looked out the window to see Salem in my car, staring back at me. I walked slowly out of the auto shop and grasped the handle to my door. I was scared to open it, afraid that Paul hadn't been joking...but the welcoming smile on Salem's flawless face made me change my mind. I collapsed onto my seat and glanced over at him cautiously, wiping away the tears from my eyes.

I thought over everything that I had read in vampire novels—noting the fact that he was out here, in the sunlight, not burning to a crisp. However, he was breathtakingly beautiful, and he did have a pallid complexion, but he seemed harmless—aside from the bizarre episode about his 'special abilities' that he went on about. Crazy, perhaps...but harmless.

Salem opened his mouth to speak, but I put my hand up to stop him as I remembered what Paul had said. "There's more about you than you let on last night, isn't there? You're not just some far-off offspring of a witch, are you?"

He lowered his eyes. "You are correct, Alexis Waldron."

Waldron. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was afraid of how you would react."

"But if you are what Paul says you are, and you try to avoid this place, why would you want to bring me here?"

Salem sighed. "I promised Janet I would."

"How's my mom...Janet...involved in any of this?"

"She knows my secret," he spoke quietly. "All thanks to Mark."

"Mark? As in her boyfriend?"

He nodded. "He is one of us as well."

"What?! Oh my god, is she in danger?!" I asked, beyond alarmed. Regardless if she was my biological mom or not, I still loved her.

"Of course she isn't." He smiled reassuringly.

"This is all some sort of trick, right?" My voice was filled with panic as I stared at him with pleading eyes. "Tell me this isn't real. Tell me my mom is at home waiting for me, and that she's secretly planning a surprise party and is just using you guys to distract me."

"I wish I could," Salem replied.

"I don't know what to think. This is all impossible," I said, shaking my head. "Okay, I'll play along, Mr. Vampire, but I have one question."

"Anything."

"Why, if Paul is your enemy, are you willing to be around me at all? Aren't you afraid hunting is in my blood or something? Or that, you know...HE might kill you?"

"I told you before. I find you intriguing; in more ways than I can even explain right no. And, you haven't been taught in the ways of hunting; therefore, I have nothing to fear from you. As far as Paul goes, I have nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about? I have another one for you, then. If you're a vampire, how are you out here in the sun? Shouldn't you have shriveled up and died by now? Or burst into flame?"

He grimaced. "This is reality, Alexis, not a story. Everything you have read about vampires—most of it is inaccurate or downright false. We are not beautiful; we don't turn into bats; we don't shrivel up in the sunlight, and we are most definitely not afraid of something as fickle as garlic."

"That's not entirely true," I whispered bashfully, turning to look out the window, hoping he somehow had not heard.

"What isn't?" he questioned.

"The beautiful part," I said, turning back to look at him.

"You are too kind." The sound of his laugh extinguished my embarrassment.

"So, then it is all true?" I paused for a moment. "Are you going to kill me?"

I really wished I didn't always blurt out what I was thinking.

He put his finger on my chin and turned my face toward him. I flinched at his touch, trembling slightly. "I would never hurt you. In fact, I have no interest in hurting anyone else for that matter."

"Paul said you're a monster, and that I shouldn't trust you."

"Paul," he said through gritted teeth, "is the monster. A lot of vampires haven't done anything wrong, not in a very long time. Some of us haven't at all. The hunters...the ones that kill without feeling or discrimination...they are the monsters!"

"A long time? So you're saying you used to be a monster?" I asked.

"Some of us, yes. Some still are, but I'm not among those. These hunters such as Paul do not understand that many of us are different. They only judge us by what we are, not who we are."

I stared into his pale blue eyes, wondering if he was telling the truth. If he really was a vampire, there was no telling over how many years he could have perfected the art of lying. "If your kind is nothing to be afraid of, why do hunters even exist?"

"I said a lot of us, not all of us. There are some vampires that are still a definite threat to society, and that is why the Waldron lineage exists. Your ancestors are natural-born hunters of our kind. It would overwhelm you to know just how many vampires exist in the world, how many exist in just this little town. That is why hunters exist."

I gulped at his words, trying to avoid wondering just how many vampires were roaming around in what I thought to be a peaceful little town. Sure, Willowshire wasn't perfect—we had criminals just as any town did, but thinking that there were undead monsters roaming through the city sounded far more sinister than your everyday crook. "Are your special abilities a part of being...what you are?"

"No," he said quietly. "I have always assumed it was something to do with my mother's heritage."

"Your last name is kind of contradictory, too," I said, speaking my thoughts again. "That is, assuming some parts of those vampire stories are true–and that you have been a vampire for a long time..." I was prepared to ramble, but he stopped me.

He smirked. "I suppose you are right. However, how do you know that I'm not as young as you are?"

"The way you talk and dress, your love for classical music and books, and maybe a little that you can't drive a car." I laughed.

"Those are all very valid reasons," he replied. "Of course, how ancient must you be to love classical music and books as well?"

"Ha! That has nothing to do with how old I am."

We laughed for a couple of minutes, but I stopped abruptly and glanced at him. "Well, then... how old are you?"

"I was born in 1885," he replied, bracing himself in assumption that I would freak out.

"You're 126?" I gaped at him, quickly doing the math in my head.

"More or less." He shrugged. "It's hard to keep track after all of this time. After a couple dozen years, they start to blend together."

I glanced up toward the auto shop window and saw Paul glaring out at us. I wondered if he could see Salem despite the glare on my windshield.

"We should probably get out of here..." I muttered and Salem followed my gaze.

"Let's go to your house," he said quickly.

"Why would we go there?" I asked as I pulled out of the parking lot.

"Don't you want to?"

"I guess..." I sighed as I turned left onto the road. "Not like there's anything there for me now, though."

"All of your belongings are there."

"Yeah. That's it."

"It will make you feel better," he assured me, but I was certain it would do the opposite. Nevertheless, I agreed to go home...at least temporarily.

Chapter Seven

The house was cold, vacant and depressing. I wanted to run to my room, collapse onto my bed and sleep until this nightmare was over. Salem followed me inside, although uninvited, admiring his surroundings as we passed through the kitchen and into the living room. It was incredibly dull and shabby in contrast to his house. I groaned when I smelled the sour milk that had spilled across the dining room floor the prior morning. I quickly gathered the mop and cleaned it up, spraying the area with cleaner to eliminate the wretched smell.

"You never did explain to me how you afford to live in that mansion of yours," I commented as I watched him look at my place.

"It is hardly a mansion, and technically, I did," he said as he looked at the TV set. "I told you I can make things materialize at will."

"So you're telling me you created a whole house?" I said with sarcasm.

He laughed lightly. "No, of course I didn't. The house was abandoned when I arrived here, barely more than a rotting hull. The furniture and touch-ups, however..."

"How do you do it?"

He was still fascinated by the TV. I grabbed the remote off of the boring, scratched up brown coffee table.

"Magic." He grinned up at me.

I glared. "I'm serious, tell me how?"

"I think of something, and it appears. It is really simple."

"Anything?"

"No. I can materialize a wide variety of objects. The smaller they are, the easier it is for me. I definitely could never manage anything as large as a house. And it's not something I am in constant control of."

"What do you mean?"

"I only discovered the ability a few years ago, and sometimes it works...other times, not so much." He laughed somewhat to himself. "Initially, things sort of backfired. For example, if I were to imagine a lamp...it would come out disfigured and broken. I eventually figured it out, though."

"And what happened when you first figured out you could do this...magic?"

"Well, I was...startled, as anyone would be." He appeared to be deep in thought. "But considering who and what I am, it didn't affect me as much as it may would others, I suppose."

I hit the power button on the TV remote and a news report spread across the 32' screen. Salem jumped back.

"Please tell me you've at least seen a TV before."

"I'm 126 years-old Alexis, of course I have seen a television." He shook his head at me. "I just wasn't expecting it to come on."

I wasn't paying attention at this point; I was watching the TV intently. The slick-haired man behind the screen was talking about an incident in Denver, Colorado. My heart was beating fast as I stared. I hardly noticed Salem walk up beside me.

"What is it?" he asked, watching the screen.

I tuned out his voice and heard only the rough voice of the news reporter.

"Earlier today at the Denver Zoo, a black bear escaped its holding pens while a zookeeper was placing food in its enclosure," he spoke quickly, "the woman was found brutally attacked within the bear's exhibit. We are still unsure how the bear escaped."

My heart sunk as a picture of a woman was pulled up on the screen—my mom. "No!" I screamed.

Salem's voice reached my ears again. "Alexis..." It was merely a gentle whisper, right behind my ear.

"No! Don't you dare to speak to me or touch me!" I shouted, pushing him away. "Mark did this! I know it!"

He looked taken aback by my assumption. "You think Mark did this?" He frowned. "We aren't like that, Alexis. There is no evidence that he had any involvement. The reporter clearly said that it was a bear attack."

"That doesn't make him innocent! It could all be some sort of cover up!"

"You are just upset because he took her from you."

"That has nothing to do with it!" Or did it? It was more Paul's fault than Mark's wasn't it? I fell back on the sofa. "Did it say...did it say if she was still alive?"

"I didn't hear anything about her dying." He sat beside me on the faux leather couch. "I assure you; it has nothing to do with Mark."

"I won't believe it until I hear it from mom–Janet, I mean." Not calling her mom was going to take a while to get used to.

"Why don't you call her?" he suggested.

"Right." I nodded, relaxing just a little as I stood up and got the cordless phone from the kitchen. So much for crude accusations the first time I called her after she left. I dialed her cell phone number. It rang once. Twice. Three times.

"Hello?" A deep male voice answered.

"Is Janet there?" I said.

"She can't come to the phone right now. Who is this?"

"This is her daughter," I said, ignoring the fact that I wasn't really her daughter anymore...or never was, I supposed. "Please, just put her on the phone."

"She's a little out of it right now, but I'll see if she is able."

"Thank you," I said.

Silence followed, and then muffled voices in the background.

"Alexis?" Her voice was different, scared, weak. "I was about to have Mark call you."

"How are you?" I felt relieved to hear her voice, but something about the way she spoke made me uneasy.

"I have been better." I heard her laugh, which was cut through with a hoarse cough and groan. "Happy birthday, sweetie."

"Thanks, Mom..." I muttered. "Tell me what happened."

I heard the muffled voice of Mark in the background, but I couldn't decipher what he was saying. "I was feeding the brown bears, when one of them must have gotten loose-"

I broke her off suddenly. "The person on the news said black bears."

"Right..." she trailed off. "Black bears. My mind is a bit hazy right now."

"Did Mark do something to you?" I blurted out anxiously.

"Of course not!" Her voice sounded unconvincing, almost as anxious as my own. "He's right here with me in the hospital, making sure I'm taken care of."

"How badly were you hurt, are you going to be okay?"

"It's not as bad as the TV might make it sound. It's just a few scratches really."

"The news reporter said you were brutally injured."

"The TV was over-exaggerating, like they always do. You know that." I heard another bout of coughing, then Janet's voice was replaced by Mark's voice again.

"Janet needs her rest. I'll have her call you back when she is feeling better."

He hung up. I crumbled onto the sofa, bawling my eyes out in frustration.

"What did she say?" Salem asked tenderly as he sat beside me.

I filled him in on the entire conversation, including the errors in her story. It must have been difficult to comprehend through my sobs.

"Perhaps she is just hazy like she said..." he said with the faintest hint of doubt in his voice.

"You don't believe it any more than I do, do you?" I said, sitting up and looking into his eyes.

He glanced down, strands of black falling across his face. "I believe that Mark was in no way responsible for this."

"I need to go to her," I said suddenly, angrily. Was no one on my side today?

"No, you don't. Everything will be fine, trust me."

"Trust you?! I don't even know you!"

"Alexis, you need to calm down. Relax."

"Calm down?! First, my mom left me, then I find out all this unbelievable crap about Paul and vampires, and now my mom is lying in some hospital bed with some monster supposedly watching over her!"

"Even if it were true about Mark, you wouldn't be able to do anything."

"I could help her!"

"No, you couldn't. And besides...you are too important to risk, regardless my insistence on Mark's goodness."

"Important? You barely even know me, Salem!"

"As far as you know," he whispered.

"What are you even talking about?"

"I can't explain it right now." He sighed. "Your friends are expecting you to be bright and cheerful, as they are going to arrive at any moment."

"What?"

"It's your birthday, remember?" He attempted a grin. "They're coming over to celebrate."

"How do you know?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "That blonde-haired girl might have mentioned it."

"Of course she did..." I grumbled. "Is this the real reason you wanted me to come home so badly?"

"That might have played some part in it, yes."

Chapter Eight

Salem remained downstairs in the living room while I took a quick shower before my visitors arrived. I changed out of my blue jeans and red tank top into a flowing dark-blue skirt and white, semi-frilly sleeveless shirt. I felt a little over-dressed, but it was my birthday party after all, so why not. Time passed slowly as I waited for the guests to arrive, and Salem was sitting silently on the sofa staring off into space. I wondered what was on his mind, but before I had the chance to question him, someone hammered their fist against the door. Salem came out of his stupor at once and stood up.

I peeked through the tiny peephole and groaned. There were at least ten of my classmates waiting out there. After putting on a false smile, I reluctantly twisted the door knob and let them flood into my house. They piled their presents on the dining room table and wished me a happy birthday individually. I was surprised not to see Jason or Karen among the crowd.

"Karen told me to tell you she'd be a little late," Brittany Crosswood said casually, as if answering my unspoken question. She was more of Karen's friend than my own. In fact, most of these people were little more than acquaintances, despite being in the same room as most of them for countless hours on school days.

"Ah, okay," I said quietly. Someone turned on the old, black stereo that sat on the end table beside the sofa and started blaring music. I sighed. This wasn't at all how I'd envisioned my evening.

Jason showed up about five minutes later, bustling in through the door without knocking and heaving a gift at me with a grin. The present was flat and badly wrapped. "Open it!"

"Now?" I asked, rattling the present around. "Shouldn't we wait until I open the other presents too?"

"Nah, no one's going to care," he insisted.

"Okay..." I pulled at the paper and gasped in shock when I realized what it was. I gaped at the sleek, black laptop that I held in my hands, temporarily speechless. "Oh, Jace! This is too much!" I flung my arms around his muscular form in a tight hug.

He laughed happily. "You've been saying for so long that you wanted one, so I've been secretly saving up my allowance and money from the part-time job at Howard's."

Howard's was a small convenience store in town that Jason had worked at for the past five months or so. I could feel them coming, the warmth of tears building up in my eyes. I fought them, but I wasn't strong enough. Not today. I hugged him tightly again. "You shouldn't have..." I whispered.

"I wanted to," he said with a grin. "Besides, after what you've been through, I'm extra glad I decided to do it. You needed some excitement, after...well, you know —all that."

If only he knew just how much I had gone through. I finally released him and happily ran to my room to put away my new laptop. As I headed back down the stairs, I saw the front door whip open and Karen came waltzing in carrying what was unmistakably a cake box. I smiled and approached her.

"Happy birthday, Alex!" she shouted when she saw me. "You look so much better than when you left school. I was worried sick, really."

"I feel a lot better too, and thanks...I will be okay," I lied; the excitement from the computer had been enough to mask the stress on my face, for now. "So, what kind of cake did you get?"

I pictured the cheesecake Salem had summoned for me last night, knowing that this one would not compare. "It's just chocolate with vanilla frosting. It's not very exciting, I know...but I didn't know what to get. I figured this was the safest bet with so many people here. And I mean, if you don't like chocolate, you can get out! Right?"

"That's right!" We both laughed, and for the briefest of moments, everything else melted away temporarily.

"So he didn't come, huh?"

"What? Who?"

"That new boy from school. I saw him like, right after you told us about him. He's got a cruuush on you, I think," she said teasingly.

"He didn't?" I said as I glanced into the living room, expecting to see him sitting down on the sofa again, but instead seeing a room full of people dancing to the beat of an unrecognizable song playing on the radio. I could barely imagine what it would be like when Jason threw his party–I knew way more than ten people would be showing up for that one.

"Let me handle this," Karen said in disgrace when she saw my face. I watched her casually enter the living room and shut off the radio. "How about everyone gets ready for Alex to open her presents while I order us some pizza?"

Everyone settled down after cheering at the idea of pizza. I smiled thankfully at my blonde friend as she passed by to order the food. The crowd of teenagers deserted the living room and filled the small dining area, surrounding me and the table of unopened gifts. Karen joined them after hanging up the phone.

"You've got to open mine first!" she insisted, handing me a small white gift bag.

I knew no matter what anyone got me, it wouldn't compare to the laptop from Jason. I opened the bag to reveal a gift card to Karen's favorite clothes store. I smiled, despite my disappointment. A gift card to almost anywhere else would have suited me better, but she was always insistent on me changing my style. Chances were that this would only end up lost somewhere, never used—but it was the thought that counted, I suppose.

Next was a present from Mitchell Banner, Jason's younger brother. It was a simple card with ten dollars in it—fine with me; money was almost always my favorite choice of gift—I could get whatever I really wanted that way. I shot him a smile and said 'thank you' before tearing open the next gift. As the pile dwindled down to the very last one, I had a mass of random things before me that I didn't need or necessarily want, but was, nevertheless, thankful for.

"Who is that one from?" Karen asked curiously, pointing at the last remaining present.

The last gift on the table was neatly wrapped in shining teal paper. I eyed it suspiciously, having not seen anyone bring it in. As I picked it up, I felt my heartbeat quicken when I read the tag: 'From Salem.'

"It's from him..." I said quietly.

"Who? That boy?! So he is here?" Karen's voice grew excited as she glanced around the room.

"I-I don't know," I said honestly, wondering where he had escaped to.

I tore open the paper, and my jaw dropped. It was an entire collection of Edgar Allan Poe's work in a beautiful leather-bound book, identical to the one Janet had left behind. There was a thin piece of paper, roughly the size of a bookmark, sticking up between the pages. I flipped through the book and pulled out the paper. In beautifully scripted letters, it read 'To my little raven.', and it was placed on the page where The Raven began. I felt my cheeks grow warm. I shut the book hastily as Karen came creeping over to peek over my shoulder.

"Well, what is it?" she asked impatiently.

"It's just a book."

"That's lame. Who gets someone homework for their birthday?" She laughed.

I glared at her. "It was a very thoughtful gift!" The words came out angrier than I had intended.

Karen looked taken aback, and I frowned. "I'm sorry," I apologized. "I'm just stressed...from you know what."

She nodded slowly. "I understand." I wondered if she really did. "But I mean if this boyfriend of yours is trying to impress you, he should've gotten you some jewelry!"

I smacked her on the shoulder playfully. "Boyfriend? I hardly know him!"

"Uh-huh, and what was all that blushing about then? Huh?"

Before I could muster a response, I was saved by a knock on the door. The pizza delivery man arrived and carried in four large pizza boxes. As everyone gathered plates of food, I stood back and waited. There were only two slivers of plain cheese pizza left by the time I got to the boxes. I wasn't surprised that no one had been considerate enough to let me, the birthday girl, get her share first. Nor did I really care; I wanted this all to be over with–And I wanted to know where Salem had gone to.

I sat alone in the living room on the sofa while everyone else chattered in the dining area, downing bite after bite of pizza.

"Cake time!" Karen shouted and dragged me out of the living room.

Good. This meant the facade was almost over, and I could go to bed. She lit eighteen brightly-colored candles, and the whole room was filled with a chorus of the traditional birthday song. I smiled awkwardly as everyone sung, noting that Mitchell was only moving his lips to the words and not really singing, then I blew out the candles. Karen dished out slices of cake to everyone—giving me the first slice this time. At least someone was being considerate. I smiled gratefully before sulking back to my spot on the couch.

She joined me moments later, followed by Jason. "So, how do you like the party, Alex?" she asked as she put a forkful of chocolate cake into her mouth.

I shrugged my shoulders as I swallowed. "So far, so good." I smiled.

"That's good. I hope it isn't too much...I just thought you would feel better with some company."

"I know. I appreciate it, really."

"Admit it–you're in a hurry to get all of these people out of here so you can play with your new toy." Jason winked at me.

"If by new toy, you mean that boy..." Karen laughed.

"I told you, I don't even know him!" For a moment, I thought about what it would be like to be with a vampire but quickly shook the notion away. I had never been all that interested in having a boyfriend, anyway.

"Wait, what? Alex has a boyfriend?" Jason said, more than a little shocked.

"No, she's just talking about that new boy from music class I told you guys about in the gym.""

"Oh, right, him. Come on, Karen, Alex wouldn't be into some music nerd." He laughed and Karen followed suit.

"You guys know me way too well," I lied, though not sure why. It was better to just leave it at that and get this night over with. Besides, the thought of Salem and me together was preposterous.

They both laughed again then returned to eating their cake. To my relief, the rest of the guests were already leaving. A few of them wished me a happy birthday again before vanishing out of the front door. Mitchell stayed behind to give me a quick hug and tell Jason that he was going to walk home. I sighed with relief and leaned back on the sofa.

"Thanks, again, both of you," I said, stifling a yawn.

"No problem," Karen said proudly. "Do you want me to stay and help clean up?"

"No, it's fine. I can handle it."

"Let me know how the laptop runs," Jason said.

"I will!" I said cheerfully and embraced him again. "I still can't believe you spent all of that time and money."

"It's not a big deal, really." He smiled. "Just make sure to put it to good use."

"Oh, I will for sure."

I followed them both to the door, quickly saying good-bye and sharing a warm group hug before they walked off to Jason's car. I wasn't surprised that they were leaving together, considering we were all three really close. I sighed with relief when I closed the door, then nearly screamed when I felt the cold skin against my arm. Turning around slowly, I lowered my guard.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Salem said apologetically.

"Where have you been?" I gasped.

"Upstairs," he replied casually. "I figured I would give you some privacy."

"You could have stayed."

"It would have caused a scene."

"No, it wouldn't have," I replied, but he was probably right. Everyone would be wondering who he was–and who knows what Karen or Jason would have done. "Thank you so much for the book, by the way."

"It was my pleasure." He smiled. "I hope you don't mind."

"Why would I? I love it."

"Well, what I mean to say is, I hope you don't mind that I used the blank book Janet gave you."

"How did you do that?" I blinked.

"The same way I summon all other objects...I wasn't sure if I would be able to do it, but I think it worked as planned."

I grabbed the book off the table, turning the crisp pages and noting that everything was exactly as I remembered reading it in other volumes. I plucked the paper out from the book and examined it. "I don't mind; I hadn't planned to use the book as a diary or anything, anyway. How did you know this was my favorite story?" I asked quietly, turning the thin piece of paper in my hand.

"Good guess?" H suggested with a grin. "Plus, it is hardly a surprise, considering your last name."

"Hobbs?" I wondered.

"No, Waldron," he corrected. "Hobbs isn't your surname, after all, remember?"

"Right..." I had sort of spaced that fact out. "What does that have to do with anything, though?"

"Waldron translates into the word 'wall-raven', which in a roundabout way is said to mean 'strong raven'," he said. That explained the little note scrawled across the bookmark.

"Oh," I said, considering what it could possibly mean...probably nothing. "How do you know that?"

"I have done my research," he explained calmly. "You aren't going to like this, but your family is sort of my mortal enemies."

"Emphasis on 'mortal', right?" I laughed half-heartedly. "How is it they haven't...killed you. I mean...considering they seem to know you are here, and Paul said you're one of the few he hasn't been able to finish off?"

"I'm smarter than they anticipate." Salem shrugged. "Plus, I don't go looking for trouble like some of my kind do. Some vampires enjoy the thrill of being hunted. God only knows why."

"How come I've never heard about real vampires before? I mean, if there are so many of you out there it would be all over the place. Nothing's a secret these days."

"We...they...don't act out in the open; they are discreet about what they do. Most likely, a lot of the murder stories you see on the news or read in the newspaper are related to vampires."

I frowned, not liking where this was going. "Do you..." I paused, unsure of what to say.

He seemed to understand and smiled reassuringly at me. "Of course not."

"Then, what do you do about blood? I mean, that part of being a vampire is true, isn't it?"

He shut his eyes briefly and sighed. "I was hoping to avoid these questions. Yes, that much is true. It is simple...there are other ways to satisfy my needs, such as through animal blood."

"Oh." I walked to the kitchen counter and collected the empty pizza boxes. "You weren't born this way, right?" I asked as I went to the front door.

Salem opened the door and followed me out. "No, I was once an ordinary human," he said with obvious remorse.

I dumped the boxes into the large green trash can beside my house. Moments later, I brought out a trash bag full of discarded wrapping paper, paper plates and the empty cake box.

"Well, how did you become a vampire, then?" I asked as we went back indoors. Salem was quiet for a while, thinking I guessed.

"My memory is foggy, as bizarre as that might sound. I believe that is how it is for all of us–perhaps we repress the memories, although maybe it is just due to how long it has been," he eventually replied, sitting beside me on the sofa. "From what I can recall, the place I called home had caught fire one night...there was smoke everywhere, my sister was screaming...I never heard my mother or father, but I could distinctly hear Hannah somewhere in the house. I can vaguely recall seeing her, but I'm not sure what happened to her..." He paused; I could see the sorrow in his eyes as the images replayed through his mind.

"She was barely three at that point. I made it out of the house before it crumbled completely, but I didn't escape completely unscathed. I suffered severe burns across my lower half. Raziel–my 'Sire', the man who bit me—claims that he found me in the alley behind my house, writhing in agony...instead of putting my misery to an end, he elongated it for the next 120 years or so." He scowled.

"You are miserable?" I frowned as I stared into his blue eyes.

"Well...not at the moment." He looked back at me. "The pain of becoming...what I am...was beyond anything you could ever imagine, for so many different reasons. My chance at living a normal life was taken away from me that night," he muttered in anguish. "But, at the same time, had it not been for that, I would have been dead centuries ago. Although watching the world grow and expand has been a gift, the rest of what you have to endure isn't worth it.

"I lost my family, not only to the fire, but to becoming what I am. My friends, I couldn't see them ever again. Everything was taken away from me that night. Everyone I knew and loved eventually aged, withered away and died, while I was cursed to walk this Earth alone for eternity–watching it all unfold from a distance."

I wondered if vampires were able to cry as I stared at him, but no tears came. The need to comfort him overcame me, but I didn't know how. "I'm so sorry, Salem..." I whispered, trying to ignore the growing curiosity to ask even more questions.

"Don't be." He smiled and placed his cold hand against my cheek. "If none of that had happened, I would never have met you."

I laughed. "Don't forget you're talking to the offspring of a vampire hunter."

Salem just smiled. I admired his expression for far too long; I lowered my gaze and blushed. "Can I ask one more question?"

"Anything."

"What happened to this Raziel guy?"

"He still exists somewhere, as far as I know. For the first five years of my 'new life', as he called it, he treated me as a slave. Although he referred to me as his 'apprentice', I felt like nothing more than a servant. He taught me the ways of being a vampire, but it sickened me. I refused to indulge in human blood, knowing I had once been one–my family were humans, my friends. I would never have done that to them, why would I even consider doing that to anyone, even a stranger?" He flinched at the idea. "He would have me bring him...food...every night." The pained look on his face was almost unbearable.

"People?" I gasped, knowing the answer.

He grimaced. "I wouldn't have felt quite as miserable had it been criminals or terminally ill beings...but these were innocent people."

"How could you put up with that for so long?"

"I had no other options, or so I thought," he grumbled. "You weren't the only one who fell for the lore of vampires. Raziel tried to convince me the stories were all true, that if I went out in the daytime I would combust." His eyes darkened. "One specific night, he made me do something intolerable. I couldn't bear to exist after that...He requested I bring him 'young blood', as he called it. In other words, the blood of a child – Raziel said it was the tastiest, most invigorating blood imaginable. I had no choice but to obey him, at least that's what I thought at the time.

"She couldn't have been much older than Hannah had been. I snuck through her nursery window, plucked her from her crib and presented her to Raziel. I immediately regretted what I had done. The next morning, I decided to end myself. It came down to either spending eternity doing his bidding or risking my existence by stepping out into the sunlight. I braced myself for death as I stepped out into the morning light, anticipating the inevitable —but it never came." I noticed how he never referred to it as his 'life'. "I stood out in the sun for at least fifteen minutes, and nothing happened." He stopped abruptly and changed the subject. "You should try calling Janet again, before it gets too late."

I blinked, deep in thought as I tried to imagine what he had been through. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to not only never talk to my best friends again, but to watch them grow old and die while I remained young. "Yeah, you're right..."

I grabbed the cordless phone, sat cross-legged on the sofa and dialed the familiar number. I only waited through two rings this time before her familiar voice answered.

"Hey, Mom," I said into the receiver. Would I ever be able to stop calling her that? "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm getting there." She sounded better, happier, than our last conversation at the least. "How was your birthday?"

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be." I laughed. "Karen threw me a surprise party, which went okay. Jason got me a laptop!"

"That's great, sweetie." I heard the muffled voice in the background. "I have to go; my dinner is getting cold. Go enjoy the rest of your night."

"Okay, keep in touch. Okay?"

"I will. Don't worry too much."

"I'll try. Bye, Mom." It might be impossible to call her anything but that.

"Bye, sweetie."

Salem delicately took the phone from my grasp and sat it on the coffee table. "You have more questions," he said knowingly.

"Just a couple," I replied shyly. "What happened to the burns?"

"Becoming a vampire could be seen as a type of cleansing, I suppose. Any illness, wound, scar, or deformity you might have had as a human is healed upon turning."

"Then, in a sense, isn't it better to become a vampire?"

"No!" he shouted, causing me to look away in slight regret for asking. "Nothing is worth this sort of existence."

"Okay," I croaked. "One more thing..." I braced myself for anger, but instead received a smile.

"Ask away," he said gingerly.

"It's more of a fact than a question." I twiddled my thumbs nervously. "Your eyes–they change color when you're summoning things or whatever..."

He blinked. "You noticed that?"

"Yes..."

"I am impressed." He smirked. "You must be very observant."

"Not usually," I confessed. "What else can you tell me about vampires? I want to know everything." I was surprised by my own question, but I had grown genuinely interested in the topic.

"While some of what you have heard or read or seen are definite myths, there are some attributes we definitely do obtain—such as speed. We can run quicker than any human, and drinking the blood of humans makes us exceptionally strong." He looked disgusted for a moment. "Powerful vampires can possess the ability to share visions and memories with others by the mere touch of their hand. I spent many years experimenting with what I could and could not do after I left Raziel. It truly was amazing to me that daylight did not kill me, and I wondered what else was and was not true.

"I knew that sleeping was no longer necessary, but I attempted to sleep, nevertheless—simply because Raziel claimed it was impossible, and I was stubborn enough to put it to the test. Unfortunately, he was correct. I cannot even imagine what dreaming is like anymore." He sighed and looked at me. "That's enough vampire talk for now though, I believe."

"Surely there is more that you can tell me." I was practically begging. Perhaps it was the vampire hunter in me that hungered for more information, or maybe I was just a curious girl.

"Well, there is one thing," he said with an expression of discomfort. "But I would really prefer not to discuss it right now."

My eyebrows arched upward. "Now you have to tell me."

"I am afraid that it might upset you, Alexis."

Swallowing hard, I tried to keep my face straight. "Why would it upset me?"

"Because I used this particular ability on you."

"What...what are you talking about, Salem?"

"Vampires are able to persuade mortals into doing essentially anything, without even a single motion."

My eyes were firmly locked on him, my mouth agape and an involuntary shudder rippled down my spine. "That's how you convinced me to agree to stay at your place?"

"That's how I convinced you to come to my house," he confirmed. "The effect was beginning to wear off towards the end of the evening, hence your outburst in the morning."

It was difficult to restrain myself from feeling angry. I felt completely violated, yet at the same time there was a part of me that was thankful that I'd gone with him and learned what I had. Now I understood why I kept having conflicted feelings about it, and the sudden calmness I'd felt after wanting to panic and leave. "Promise me you'll never use it on me again."

"I promise," he vowed.

The room fell silent for a moment, and then Salem glanced up at the clock. It was nearing 10pm. "Do you need to go somewhere?" I asked, trying to avoid thinking about this new-found knowledge.

"No," he replied. "I was just noticing your birthday is coming to an end."

"I don't mind." I laughed. "Not this year."

"There was one last gift I wanted to give you, but I wasn't sure how you would react." He looked uneasy.

"What is it?" I asked anxiously.

"It would be easier for me to show you, than to tell you."

I eyed him suspiciously. "Are you going to summon something out of thin air again or something?"

"No, not exactly." He chuckled. "Alexis, I know it is hard for you to fathom right now, but you do mean a lot to me."

"Yeah, you keep saying that. Are you ever going to explain what you're talking about?"

"In due time." He smiled lightly. "Close your eyes."

I hesitated a moment before letting my eyelids fall shut. My heart was thumping wildly in my chest as I waited intently for whatever was coming. Maybe he had lied about not being enticed by human blood and was about to bite into my throat; oddly, part of me didn't care. My eyes almost flew open as I felt Salem's cool breath against the side of my face. Tenderly, he brushed his cold lips against my cheek.

"Happy birthday, Alexis," he whispered into my ear.

I was speechless, breathless...breathless. "Salem..." I became more focused. "You can breathe?"

"Not quite as literally as you can," he replied, obviously stunned by my unexpected response to his action.

"Oh." My expression was blank momentarily, and then I grinned at him. "I was wrong earlier when I thought to myself nothing could compare to the laptop Jason gave me."

His lips twisted into a magnificent smile before he stood up. I was uncertain what he was doing at first, until he pried me off of the sofa and effortlessly cradled me in his arms as he made his way up the stairs. I grasped his arms tightly, afraid with every step that he would drop me. Somewhere deep inside I also still feared for my blood. What if he couldn't control his hunger around me? Then again... he'd been living this way for over a hundred years. Why would he suddenly hunger for my blood when human blood had never interested him in the past?

We approached my bedroom door, which was wide open and inviting. He laid me gracefully across my soft mattress and pulled the covers up over me. I nearly objected before he put a cold finger to my lips.

"It's late, and you have had a long, tiresome day," he whispered. "Get some sleep."

"But I haven't even gotten to enjoy my presents yet!" I playfully whined.

"Not even the last one?" he asked with an innocent grin.

"Well, when you put it that way...I enjoyed one of my gifts." I yawned. I was more tired than I had realized.

"Goodnight," he whispered sweetly and I drifted away into a deep slumber, thinking how maybe it wasn't so preposterous to imagine Salem and me as a couple.

Chapter Nine

My dreams were filled with horrific images. A raven hovered over a burning house. Shrill screams of an infant filled my mind. Salem, covered head to toe in flames, wobbling helplessly out of the smoldering building. A dark, cloaked figure whisking him up from the gray cobblestone alleyway. I heard him screaming, saw him writhing in agony.

"Alex!" Salem's voice yelled my name as the figure pressed his lips against the base of his neck. The world started to quiver and shake, and I heard him call my name again.

My eyes flew open. Salem was shaking me, yelling my name. "You were screaming in your sleep...are you okay?" he asked as he saw my eyes were open.

"I-I think so." I clung onto his cold, thin body. "It was horrible." I sobbed into his shoulder.

"It was only a dream," he said reassuringly.

"It was a nightmare, about you..." I muttered. "The burning house, Hannah, Raziel...and then I heard your voice calling for me."

"That part wasn't a dream," he replied.

"There was a bird, too." I remembered suddenly. "It was flying over the burning building...a raven."

Salem flinched. "Raziel claimed that some hunters could transform into ravens."

"Are...are Waldron's the only vampire hunters?"

"Surely not, the world is a vast place, but the Waldron's are the only ones I have ever directly encountered." He stared at me inquisitively. "Maybe you should speak to Paul again. Ask him if he knows anything about that ability."

"How would he know?"

"He knows a lot about vampire and hunter history alike. However, don't tell him I sent you...he can't know that I am with you. In fact, it's best that no one knows."

I begrudgingly agreed to see Paul that morning after breakfast. I looked through the phone book Janet kept in the drawer of the end table beside the sofa then tossed it aside when I had an idea. I ran back to my room, plugged up my laptop, connected to the first password-less Wi-Fi I could find and searched online for 'Paul's Auto Shop, Willowshire, Colorado'. Fortunately, it popped up right away.

I had the cordless phone with me ready for when I found the digits. I dialed the number, and Kate answered saying that Paul took the day off. She did, however, give me his home number to call. He may have played the role of my uncle, but we didn't meet up that often—which was probably part of his intent of keeping his distance to ensure my safety over the years—and I definitely didn't have his phone number stored anywhere. Janet might have, but I didn't know where, so this had been my only resort. I nervously input the number and waited for his answer.

"Hello?" It was definitely Paul's voice.

It took me a moment, but finally, I choked out a greeting. "Hey, Paul..."

"Alexis!" His joy of hearing my voice was clear. "Is everything okay?"

I glanced at Salem. "Yeah. Everything is fine. I just wanted to see you again...and to say I'm sorry for the way I reacted yesterday. I've done some thinking, and I want to talk about...things...again."

"Vampires, you mean?"

I cringed at the word. "Yeah, those."

"Okay. Do you want me to drop by your place?"

"No!" I spoke too harshly; hopefully I hadn't arisen any suspicion about Salem being here. "I'll come to you. I've been cooped up in this place by myself for way too long."

"You know, you are more than welcome to stay with me if you ever need to or want to." He sounded a little too eager.

"Thanks, I'll think about it. Where can I meet you at?" I scrawled the address down hastily and hung up. Salem watched me from the edge of my bed, anticipating what Paul and I discussed.

"I'm driving over there after breakfast, do you want anything?" I about slapped myself on the forehead. "Never mind..."

Salem laughed. "I'll find something to sate my hunger while you are away."

I wasn't sure how to respond, still uncomfortable at the idea of how he fed himself. I shuddered at the thought and clambered down the stairs. I grabbed two slices of bread, popped them in the toaster and waited impatiently, and hungrily, while they cooked. Moments later, the bread jumped out of the appliance. I smeared some jam across both slices before sitting down at the dining table and eating them quickly. Salem sat across from me, watching intently. It made me feel self-conscious.

"I'll be back before too long, hopefully," I said after I finished eating, grabbed my car keys and ran outside.

I followed the directions Paul had given me. They led me into a quaint trailer park nestled between a park and an elementary school. I imagined it got quite noisy around here. I scanned through the lot, looking for trailer 16. I found it toward the very end. The trailer looked okay from the outside, if not a little unkempt—peach paneled walls, four worn steps leading up to a tiny porch. The door was flimsy; I was almost afraid that knocking on it would cause it to fall over, but I rapped my fist against it anyway.

Paul opened the door slowly, and then pulled it open completely. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said sarcastically.

"It's not so bad," I said. The entrance was cramped; to the immediate left was the living room, which could scarcely hold more than a ragged brown love seat, a TV stand and a small box TV. To the right was a square dining table pressed up into the corner with only two chairs. The kitchen contained two counters, a small fridge and a microwave. Every surface seemed covered in random, indistinguishable things. I felt bad for him as I scanned the place.

"Do you want to sit down?" he asked, distracting me.

"Oh, sure," I agreed and sat on the love seat. It was surprisingly comfortable, despite the fact that I sank into the cushion.

"How are you?" he said, making an attempt at small talk.

"I'm all right...how have you been?"

"Not bad." He smiled. "Always tired from work, but I do enjoy it."

"Work as in as a mechanic, or...other work?" I didn't look at him as I spoke.

"Mechanic. I haven't had much 'other work' in a few months."

"That's good." I sighed, feeling uncomfortable. "I wanted to ask you something..."

"What is it?" He sat down beside me, offering me a warm soda he grabbed from a cabinet in the kitchen before he'd joined me.

I popped the can open, flashing him a smile in thanks before I took a sip. It was even warmer than expected, but I drank it anyway. "I had a weird dream last night, and I was wondering if you could help me figure it out." I wracked my brain trying to figure out how I was supposed to ask Paul about this without mentioning Salem.

"Well, I ain't much of a psychiatrist or anything," he paused and chuckled, "but I'll do my best." I took pride in the fact that my vocabulary and speech varied from his—I had Desmond to thank for that one. Before he decided to leave Janet and me, he was an English teacher and actually made an effort to dedicate some of his time to helping me expand my vocabulary.

I described the dream exactly as it had happened, without naming names. Paul just stared at me intently as each word escaped my mouth. "Do you have any idea what it means?"

"Not exactly, no," he answered.

"Someone told me that your–our last name," I corrected myself, "means 'raven'. Is there any meaning behind that?"

His eyes scrutinized me carefully. "Who told you that?"

"That's not important."

"It better not be who I think it is," he replied coldly, narrowing his eyes. "But, there might be some meaning to it. Our bloodline has been around for a long, long time, and every Waldron ancestor has been involved in vampire slaying. History claims that some of them have been able to turn themselves into ravens, but it's probably just all stories and tall tales."

"Do you believe it really is just all made up?"

"Of course. I know that might sound weird coming from someone who kills the undead, but really—transforming into birds? Can you even imagine?" He shook his head, laughing lightly. "That's ridiculous."

"I guess you're right." I looked down. "There was another thing that was bothering me."

"Is it about Janet?" He frowned. I guessed he must have seen the news, too.

"No. But, I am worried about her, too. I think Mark... might have had something to do with it."

His eyes grew suspicious. "What do you mean?"

"I might have found out that he is...he is one of them. A vampire, I mean," I whispered, worrying what Salem might think—was I betraying him by telling Paul this?

"If he is..." He gritted his teeth as he spoke, "he'll regret having laid a hand on her."

"Calm down, Paul. I don't know that he did anything. It may have just been a bear attack like the news said."

"Either way. Have you talked to your mom?"

I told him about the conversations I had shared with Janet and about how skeptical I was of her story.

"Sounds pretty fishy to me. Sounds like I might need to be makin' a trip to Denver."

I gulped. "Back to that other question..." I wanted to sway him away from that conversation altogether before he did anything irrational. "What can you tell me about my mother...my real mother?"

Paul's face displayed an expression of anguish, and I knew I wasn't going to like the story. "Her name was Destiny," he said, smiling faintly as he spoke her name. "We met in high school, fell in love, and got married when I was 24, she was 22. I hadn't told her my secret, I was afraid she would freak out. Of course, once I did tell her, she did freak out. She was very reluctant to believe who I was—what I was—but I insisted, time after time, that I wasn't crazy, and that vampires do exist. I thought she'd end up leaving me before she came 'round.

"Eventually, she had her proof, though. I took her hunting with me. She was terrified at first, but thrilled all the same. About a year later, you were born. She adored you, Alex..." He sighed, looking at me briefly. "You look so much like her."

"I do?" I whispered, wondering exactly what my mother looked like.

"Yes, so much so it is hard to believe you are not her. You definitely have her eyes; the shape of your face is the same, your hair." He laughed lightly before his voice turned grave. "During my next hunting trip, she insisted she went along again. I tried to convince her to stay home with you, but she insisted you would be safe with a baby-sitter. She hadn't been able to go along with me in a long time due to the pregnancy and recovering and all. Well, she eventually convinced me, and I regret that I let her go more and more every day.

It was late in January; we were scouting through the woods–a common feeding ground–when one approached us. He was stronger than I had been prepared for...I told Destiny to hide, but it was no use. I knew he could smell her; I knew he could hear her..." He paused; I could see the grief in his eyes. "He took her from me...from us...I vowed that day that I would kill every last one of those bastards I could find until the day that I die.

"That was when I sent you away. I didn't want to; you have to understand that. You were the world to me, Alex. You were all I had left of her. But it was for your own good; you were safer that way."

"I understand," I said, watching a tear trickle down his cheek. I could feel the moisture welling up in my own eyes, but I forced it back. "Paul–Dad... there is one more thing I need to know."

"Anything, Alex." He reached over and gently touched my hand. I smiled warmly, feeling closer to him than I ever had.

"What happened to the vampire that took Mom?"

"He escaped," he replied bitterly. "Of all the vampires I have fought in my lifetime, he was one of the few to escape. I might not be the greatest of hunters, but it is rare that I let one get away. He was old and powerful. I can still remember the way he looks, the sound of his voice, his name." He shuddered.

"Dad..."

"Yes?

"What was his name?"

"Raziel," he seethed, and I tried to cover up my sudden gasp at the sound of his name.

I leaned over and hugged him tightly, hoping he hadn't noticed my reaction. I wanted to hurry out of his house and find Salem to tell him what all I found out. "I am so sorry for everything you've been through. I am so sorry about Mom...."

He wrapped a bulky arm around me. "Don't worry about it, Alex." I could feel the moisture of his tears soaking through the thin material of my shirt.

"Oh, crap!" I said, releasing Paul and nearly dumping my soda on the already-stained carpet.

"What's the matter?" He looked alarmed and curious.

"I told a friend of mine that he could throw a party at my house tonight." I hung my head in shame. "How in the world did I get myself into this mess?!"

Paul laughed. "It's part of being a teenager."

"I've got to get home as soon as possible. Maybe I have time to talk to him and call the whole thing off."

"If high school is anything like it was when I was there, the house is probably already full!" He laughed again, with a gleam of nostalgia in his eyes. I was grateful that his mood had improved, but it didn't stop the dread that was welling up inside me.

"You're only making it worse," I grumbled. "Thanks for answering my questions."

"Anytime. Never hesitate to come over–and if the party gets out of hand, you know where to find me. I can come get you any time, and you can stay here."

"I might just take you up on that offer." I smiled and went to walk to the door.

"Oh, wait! Before you leave, I have something for you." He stood from the lumpy couch and went down the hall. I heard a door open then close, and he returned with a cardboard box. "I meant to give you this on your birthday."

"You didn't have to get me anything, Paul."

"I'm your father, of course I did." He smirked, pushing the box into my arms. "Go on, open it up."

As I pried open the box, I began wondering what he could possibly have gotten me for my birthday. I nearly dropped the box when I finally got it open: a silver and black hand crossbow lay within the core of the box. I swallowed and looked up at Paul, expecting an explanation.

"Every hunter needs a good weapon." He smiled, apparently thinking I would appreciate the gift.

I felt sick as I stared at the bow. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Alex. Let me show you how to use it," he offered, reaching over to take the bow.

"No, it's okay. I think I can figure it out," I muttered, pulling it away. "I've got to go."

"Sure, sure." He smiled again. "Maybe you will be the one that finally puts an end to that Salem Young."

It was difficult to hide my fury at his words. Salem was nothing but nice to me so far. "I have to go," I said again, grabbing the box and running out to the car. I slammed the door behind me, almost wishing it would fall off its hinges. When I got into my car, I angrily shoved the crossbow under the passenger seat and began driving away.

Chapter Ten

I raced home, driving faster than I probably should have. It was midday now, which ought to give me plenty of time before the party started. When I unlocked the door and made it inside, I was relieved at all of the space around me. Paul's trailer would have made anyone claustrophobic! The scent of pizza from the previous night lingered in the air. I glanced at the living room briefly before climbing upstairs, half-expecting to find Salem, but there was no sign of him. I dialed Jason's number as soon as I got in my room, but he didn't answer so I decided I would wait and call again later. I sunk down on the edge of my bed, wondering just where Salem might have gone to and when I would see him again. As strange as it was to admit, I had grown fond of his company.

An annoying light kept bouncing around the otherwise dim room, pulling me from my thoughts. I looked up and saw it was a ribbon of lights floating around on the screen of my laptop. Just a screen saver, I thought to myself. I wiggled the mouse to get rid of the bothersome light, and decided I might as well play around with this new toy a little while I waited to get ahold of Jason. I opened the Internet browser and typed: 'Denver, Colorado' into the search box. So many things came up that I wasn't sure what to go to. Then I saw something that made my heart sink.

"Denver Zookeeper not the only one mauled by a bear? Reports have been looming around the city of Denver, and other nearby cities, of brutal attacks similar to the attack on Zookeeper Janet Hobbs."

I clicked the link anxiously. It was a news article discussing not only the attack on Janet, but of three other people discovered in Denver with similar injuries, as well as a few in the surrounding cities.

"The only real explanation is one of the bears got loose, or there's a wild one gone mad!" says local Ms. Rachel Shetland."

"I've never seen anything like this. It's almost like the animals have gone on a rampage," says high school biology teacher and wildlife lover Leslie Woods.

"It's a coincidence. There are brutal murders and animal attacks going on all the time. There is no reason to think it's the same predator," Zoologist Mark Prince ensures.

I paused and re-read the last quote again, mostly the name of the speaker. Surely this wasn't the same Mark I thought it was. How many other Marks were there likely to be out there? A lot...but what were the odds of it being another zoologist named Mark, in Denver? I left the news page and went back to the search engine. After scrolling down the page even further, I found something else that caught my eye.

"Colorado Slayings – Man, Bear or Mystery?"

Beneath the title, it read "Your place for paranormal news!"

I clicked the link curiously and was brought to a page with a black background and red text. There were links to the side relating to UFOs, crop circles, Sasquatch, Chupacabras, vampires, werewolves, witches, and all sorts of other supernatural things. I ignored them, for the time being, and spotted the article about the Denver 'slayings'. As the page loaded, I noticed I had begun shaking a little and the hairs on my arms were standing. I inhaled deeply.

"Recently, a supposed bear attack occurred at the Denver Zoo. A Ms. Janet Hobbs was viciously attacked by one of the bears while feeding the animal. Her injuries were severe, ranging from gaping scratch marks across her face and mid-section, and two identical deep puncture wounds along her right wrist. What would cause this bear to attack this woman? Not to mention, these distinct markings on her wrist do not match the bite of a bear, but more closely resemble a snake bite.

Over the past few weeks, three other Denver citizens have been found attacked—with similar injuries, namely the wrist markings. Progressively, more and more incidents were spotted in nearing cities of brutal attacks, similar to the one on Janet Hobbs (Just the most recent in this string of 'incidents')–unfortunately, most of the other victims were not as lucky as Ms. Hobbs. Is there some sadistic murderer on the loose, attacking people in the exact same manner? Is it really the fault of animals, both wild and zoo-kept? Or is this something entirely different?

Tell me—did the word 'vampire' come to mind at all as you read this article? If so, you might be on the right track. If you are familiar with my other articles, you will know that I believe these Night Walkers are lurking around in our world, preying on our blood. These are definitely no mere animal attacks.

Keep your eyes open, and be wary! They could be anywhere. If you have any questions or comments, or sightings of a vampire, contact me!

-Amanda G."

My eyes grew sore from reading the bright-red text against the black background, and my hands hadn't stopped shaking. Clearly I wasn't the only one skeptical about these 'bear' attacks. I closed the browser and sat for a moment, thinking over what I had just read. What would Salem think, would he agree or would he think I was over-reacting and digging too deeply into this? It was odd to think how if I had found this website just a week ago I would have laughed and considered it bogus...but not anymore.

I stepped down the stairs carefully, still a little rattled from what I had just read. The coolness of the refrigerator felt relaxing against my skin as I browsed through its core. I hadn't realized how empty it was getting—there was half a gallon of milk, some orange juice, and some leftover spaghetti from who knows when. I dumped the pasta and poured a glass of juice.

"Looks like I'll be going grocery shopping..." I muttered aloud to myself. I searched for the envelope of funds Janet had left me with and pocketed some of the money before hiding the envelope beneath the microwave. As I was leaving the house, the phone rang, and I hastily picked it up; Karen was on the other end.

"Oh, my god, Alex! I'm so glad I got a hold of you. I've been trying to call you all morning, and you never answered! I even made a trip over to your house hoping to find you, but no one answered. I have been so worried!" She rambled on to the point that it was hard to catch each word. "I saw the news about your mom! Why didn't you tell me last night?! Are you all right? Is she okay? Do you need anything?"

Once I was positive she was done talking, I sighed and spoke into the receiver. "I'm as okay as I can be. She's in the hospital and doing better, and I'm sorry I haven't gotten hold of you. I should have known you would be panicking when you heard about it; Mom was always close to you, too." I smiled at the memories of how fond Janet had been of Karen, how she often treated her like another daughter. "I've just been so overwhelmed with Mom leaving and now this," I said, unable to tell her the whole truth. "And I didn't want to ruin the party you worked on for me. I'm sorry."

"I'm just glad it was nothing worse, and that you're okay."

"I'm fine, and I will let you know if I hear anything else about Mom. Thanks for calling," I said awkwardly, surprised by my eagerness to get off the phone. There was so much on my mind; even a conversation with my best friend wasn't going to be enough to distract me. "I need to run to the store, and like I said—I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Alex; I understand. Just keep in touch, okay?"

"I will," I responded and hung up.

After making a very quick grocery run, I dropped the food off at home. My attempt to get a hold of Jason failed once more. I decided to drive over to Salem's house to tell him about the site and see what he thought–assuming I could find the way there again. The twisting road was even more terrifying when I was alone, but I eased my way slowly along the asphalt. I met the familiar dirt path with a groan, not looking forward to the bumpy ride. Fortunately, the turn to the left came into view before long, and I was relieved to find I had miraculously remembered just how to get there.

The magnificent Victorian appeared empty when I pulled up. I sat in the parked car for a few minutes, admiring the vast house. I hadn't noticed the wide windows on the top floor before; they looked almost like two large eyes staring down at me. I shivered. My gaze was soon distracted by the surrounding nature. A cobblestone path started at the back of the house, curving off into dense foliage. My curiosity got the best of me, and I exited the car. I hoped Salem wouldn't mind me trespassing around his house.

I followed the thin, winding path through the thick forest. There were berry-speckled shrubs here and there, and the sound of rushing water. It all looked very well taken care of. I glanced behind me, shocked that I could no longer see any evidence of the house or my car. It was amazing to be among nature for a change. A white bunny stood out from the surrounding green. I slowly approached it, wanting to get a closer look.

I jumped back and almost screamed when I saw a pale hand slowly, carefully reach through the shrubbery and grab the rabbit. It wriggled helplessly as it was pulled out of sight. The noises coming from behind the bush were unbearably disgusting—the high-pitched squeal of the poor bunny, the sickening slurping sound...I covered my ears. I tried to run, but my legs felt like jelly. Part of me knew what was going on, but my mind wouldn't let me admit it.

"S-Salem?" I whimpered with my eyes locked on the spot where the white rabbit had stood just seconds ago.

I heard the crunch of twigs and the thump of something hitting the ground. "Alexis..." His silky sweet voice met my ears, and I shuddered unexpectedly. "What are you doing out here?"

I couldn't see him; he was shrouded by the wilderness. "The house seemed empty, and I saw this path out here...and I thought maybe I would go exploring while I waited for you to get back from wherever you were...and there were no lights on...and..." My voice trailed off when he emerged from behind the bushes.

His appearance was startling. The light blue eyes I had begun to admire were brightly tinted with red. Blood stained his pale hands, which he promptly hid behind his back. He looked ashamed. "I was hoping to avoid you seeing me like this," he said quietly, keeping his distance.

"No...It's okay..." My voice was just as quiet. "I understand what you were doing, and I'm not upset."

He arched a brow. "You aren't the least bit scared?"

"Oh, no...I'm a little disturbed." My laughter lacked any humor. "It's just something I've got to get used to, right?"

"Or you could avoid me altogether," he suggested with a frown.

"I'd rather not," I whispered.

"There is a creek not too far from here, if you would like to see it while I...clean up."

"Sure," I replied warily, eying the spot again where the rabbit had once stood.

Chapter Eleven

We walked down the winding path for a few more feet until it broke off, and our shoes fell upon dark soil and gentle green moss. The sound of water grew louder with each step. As I looked around the area, I saw that we came into a clearing in the dense forest. The surrounding trees formed an arch overhead and brilliant rays of light eased through the branches and leaves. Ahead of us, beneath the archway, was a magnificent, long creek lined with large stones varying in size and color. A fallen tree lay across the water, forming a natural bridge.

I watched in awe as Salem gracefully leapt up and walked across the log. He smiled back at me expectantly, but I shook my head. There was no way I was climbing across that thing! I could easily picture myself tripping, falling into the creek and smashing my head against one of the many large creek rocks.

"I will keep you safe, you know that," he called to me as he hopped off the opposite side of the tree, ran his hands through the water and cleansed the blood off. "At least come to the water's edge."

I obliged, walking to the edge of the rippling creek. I sat on the moist soil, pulled both of my shoes and socks off, and slowly inched my feet into the shallow water. It was freezing cold!

"How can you stand how cold this is?!" I said as I pulled my feet out.

"It feels pleasant enough to me." He grinned. "Let your feet adjust to the temperature."

I reluctantly lowered my feet back into the ice-cold water. Gradually, it didn't feel quite as cold.

"See, it's not so bad."

"It's still a lot colder than I was expecting!"

Before I had a chance to react, Salem had crossed the water and was at my side, pulling me further into the water. Despite my shouts of protest, he continued dragging me in. I shivered against his chest as he held me. "It's even colder with you next to me." I laughed through chattering teeth.

He just smiled down at me. I was relieved to see his eyes had returned to their familiar pale blue. I gazed up toward the sky, noting it was beginning to darken and realized I had never gotten a chance to convince Jason not to have the party. I groaned.

"What's wrong, Alexis?" he whispered into my ear.

"It's late and I didn't get a chance to get ahold of Jason yet." I sighed.

"Oh, I see," he said, the disappointment in his voice clearly evident.

"No, not like that. Jason's just a friend. He's supposed to be throwing this big party tonight at my house, and I really don't want it. I tried to call him and have him put it off to another night or forget about it altogether, but I never got hold of him."

"Oh," he replied quietly. "Do you need to leave, then?"

"Maybe...I don't know. Is there a phone at your place?"

"No, but that could easily be arranged." He laughed. "Or better yet..." He held out an empty hand, and his eyes twinkled violet momentarily. A small cell phone materialized against his palm. "This ought to work."

"You're amazing, do you know that?" I grinned and took the phone from him. I quickly dialed Jason's number—finally he answered!

"Hey Jason, it's Alex," I said into the cell.

"It's about time! The party is in less than an hour, and I've been trying to call you for the past two hours!" His voice sounded a little strained.

"I tried calling you this morning, but you never picked up."

"I was out picking up some stuff for the party. Are you at home?"

"No..." I muttered. "I'm at least twenty miles away from home."

"How am I supposed to throw this party if you're not there?!" He nearly shouted.

"There's a spare key under the owl statue beside the front walkway. I'll try to make it home before the party is over, just start without me. And remember your promise!"

"No alcohol." I could hear his voice relaxing. "You better make it; it wouldn't be the same without you."

"I'll try to make it; I promise."

"Great! So, have you tried out the laptop yet?"

A sudden queasiness overcame me as I recalled the articles I had read. "Yeah...I used it a little today." My voice was distant. "Just to test it out. I'll definitely use it more, though."

"Awesome, glad you're using it. See you soon!" he said excitedly and hung up.

"Something is bothering you," Salem said as I hung up the phone. He took it, looked at it curiously for a moment, and laid it on top of the fallen log. I wondered if he'd ever used a cell phone before.

"Is it that obvious?" I scowled.

"Your expressions are easy to read," he replied. "What is on your mind?"

He climbed onto the makeshift bridge and helped me up. I sat beside him, letting my feet dangle over the edge and rest in the cold water. I didn't know where to begin, whether with what I heard from Paul or what I had read online. I decided to start with the story that was less painful to tell and rambled on about the articles.

"You believe it is a vampire doing it all, then?" he asked once I finished talking.

"Yes...I don't know. I mean, doesn't it seem a little weird to you? Before it was more about Janet than anything, but now I know the same thing has been happening to more and more people," I blurted out quickly. "How likely is it that a bear is doing all this?"

"It's not very likely at all." He grimaced. "You may have been right all along. But there is more you want to tell me."

"Yeah..." I sighed. "This won't nearly be as easy as the stuff about the articles, though..."

I retold the story Paul had told me early this morning, keeping my eyes focused on the rippling creek as each word fell from my mouth. Salem was silent the entire time, waiting patiently for me to finish. He cringed at the mentioning of Raziel.

"I'm so sorry, Alexis," he said quietly and draped an arm around me, pulling me closer to him.

"Would it bother you if I said I was tempted to...help Paul find Raziel and put an end to him?"

Salem gazed down at me; I couldn't read his expression. "It doesn't bother me exactly, not in the sense you mean, anyway, but the thought of you hunting." He recoiled as he spoke the words. "Once you begin, it's hard to stop..."

"I wouldn't hurt any more of your kind; I swear."

"You say that now. It is more the chance of you getting hurt that I do not want to think about." He shook his head. "I won't allow it. You need to avoid it at all costs. It is in your blood to be a hunter; you would not be able to stop so easily."

I didn't respond. I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't want to hurt Salem or myself, but at the same time, I hungered for vengeance against the monster who had taken my mother from me.

"There's another reason," he said, breaking the silence, and I could tell from the sound of his voice that it wasn't something I wanted to hear.

"What?"

"If you kill him, you kill me, and any other vampires he created."

"No..." The word was barely audible. "Paul has been searching for him ever since the incident...what if he finds him?"

"Then I can only hope he doesn't succeed." Salem frowned. "Had it not been for meeting you, I honestly wouldn't have cared to have died by now."

"Salem, what if..." I could hardly get the words to come out, "what if Paul finds you?"

"He's found me before." He grinned slyly. "I told you already; I am smarter than he anticipates. I imagine Raziel is hardly any different. In fact, he is probably smarter and quicker than I am."

"Oh..." I wasn't sure how to respond. I sulked, leaning my head against his shoulder and thinking as I pulled my feet out of the water. "I've got one more question."

"More?" He laughed. "You are full of them!"

"I'm sorry. You would be, too, if this were the other way around!"

"I suppose you are right."

"Your accent...it sure doesn't come from anywhere around here," I commented. "Where are you from?"

"That is one question I was actually surprised you had not asked yet. While my ancestors may have originated in Massachusetts, I was born and raised in Wales." He smiled, appearing to be reflecting on old memories.

"Wales..." I said in awe. "How did you end up here, of all places?"

"I have traveled most of the world," he said thoughtfully. "Eventually, I decided to settle down somewhere."

"But why here?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Alexis. I know you will object because you already know my other secrets–but this is something even I cannot quite comprehend."

"I think I can handle it."

"I am not so sure." He looked up to the sky. The glow of the moon could barely be seen between the shrouds of trees. "It involves you."

I jerked my head up from his shoulder and looked directly into his twinkling blue eyes. "How could it have anything to do with me?"

"That is exactly why I don't think you will understand."

"Please, just tell me," I begged.

"Very well, but promise me you won't laugh."

"I promise."

"Here, take my hand," Salem said as he stood up from the log. By now, it was already dark, but I reluctantly took his hand and followed him as we began to walk further into the woods along the path. I had to know what he was going to tell me, late for the party or not.

"I am sure you have heard of Plato in school," he commented as we delved deeper into the forest.

"Yeah, sure," I said, somewhat confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Let me finish," he said lightly and smiled. "According to history, he wrote of humans originally having four arms, four legs, and a single head made up of two faces." I stared awkwardly at him. "But, in fear of their power, Zeus split them all in half, condemning them to a life of searching for their other half... I don't necessarily believe in that, however..."

My expression told him I was still unsure where he was going with this.

"Alexis, do you believe in soul mates?" I believe his cheeks would have flushed at that moment had he been human.

"I-well...I had never really thought about it before," I replied honestly. "But, even so, why would you think I was your 'other half'?"

"Raziel, actually." He grimaced. "He said that when you bite a human, you can see their memories, and sometimes snippets of their future. He saw you..."

"What?!" I asked incredulously.

"He didn't know you were human–especially not the daughter of a Waldron—from what I gather...but he said he saw you and me, and in more than just the sense that we were together; we were...together, a couple."

My mouth moved to speak, but nothing came out. What was I supposed to say in response to that? "You have been waiting over a hundred years for me?" I said in disbelief.

"Apparently so," he replied. "When Janet and Mark came to me, they brought a picture of you so that I would be able to identify you at school. I was awestruck when I saw it was the girl Raziel had shown me."

"That's why you're so protective of me, and why you have been so eager to be around me."

"That definitely has something to do with it." We stopped walking abruptly and Salem pulled me close to his body.

I looked up at him. "That's why you find me so 'intriguing'."

"Indeed." He smiled, his eyes lingering on my own for a mere moment before cautiously brushing his cold lips against mine. I shut my eyes and returned the gesture, wrapping my arms around him in a tight embrace. My fingers ran through his silky hair as we shared another kiss. I wanted the moment to last forever, but he suddenly pulled away. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Why was he apologizing? I shook my head. "What for?"

"That was inappropriate," he said, averting his eyes.

I laughed. "Salem, there was nothing wrong about it. I know you come from a different time, where that might have been considered inappropriate, but really-" My words were swept away by the touch of his lips against mine again.

"I'm not sorry, then." He grinned as our lips parted once more, and he looked toward the sky. "You missed your party; I am almost certain."

My mind was void of any thoughts other than this moment until he mentioned the party. I was far too giddy at the fact that I had experienced my first kiss, even if it was not quite how I had thought it would be. I was unsure about the idea that we were somehow meant to be together, destined to meet. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that at all, or if I truly believed it, but at this moment, I didn't care. Soul mates or not, I knew that I wanted little more than to explore this relationship with Salem. "How long have we been out here?" I wondered. Glancing at my watch, I gasped. "It's after midnight?!"

"Time flies when you are having fun they say, right?" He smiled pleasantly and leapt down from a small embankment into the water we had been sitting over earlier, the impact splashing chilling water up at me. I had been so caught up in his story that I had not realized the path had looped us back to where we started.

I shivered from the touch of the icy water, and even more so as he lifted me up from the ground and cradled me in his arms–I could feel the coldness of his skin through the material of his shirt. With how thin he was, it was difficult to believe he could so effortlessly hold my weight. I wound my arms around his neck as he carried me back to his house.

The old Victorian was invitingly warm as we entered—I half-expected Salem to put me down when we got over the threshold, but he didn't let go. I grew nervous as he smirked and carried me up the spiral staircase. I had never been to the top floor, but that wasn't what made me nervous.

"You really shouldn't be so anxious, Alexis. You know I wouldn't drop you." He playfully pretended like he was going to drop me and I nearly shrieked.

"Don't do that!" I said, gripping ever-tighter to his body. "And you can just call me Alex, you know."

He smiled apologetically as we reached the top of the stairs. A deep red rug ran along the hallway. Framed pictures lined the walls; three of which depicted different people that I could only assume were Salem's relatives. I wanted to stop and look, but he continued walking down the hall, passed an opened door to a restroom on the left, then a closed door on the right – which I could only guess was a bedroom. Finally, we approached the last door at the end of the hall.

He pushed it open, and I was amazed by what I saw.

Chapter Twelve

The floor in the room appeared to be glass, a crystal-clear mirror reflecting everything that touched its surface. A queen-sized canopy bed sat in the center of the room, draped in shining silk black sheets and blankets. Matching pillowcases covered the four pillows that rested atop the mattress. The posts holding up the bed were spiraled silver bars that held up matching silk curtains which enclosed the bed. Two identical black nightstands sat on either side of the bed.

My eyes were fixed on the floor now, watching our reflections following us through the dim-lit room. It took me a moment to realize there was a chandelier dangling from the ceiling. Salem gently placed me on the bed, tugged the covers from beneath me and draped them across my body. The smooth silky texture felt amazing against my skin. I turned over onto my side, facing the wall and relaxing my head against the cool texture of the pillows.

"Is this your room, Salem?" I asked, shutting my eyes tiredly.

"Yes, although I don't put much use to it," he said quietly as he sat on the opposite side of the bed behind me. He ran his cold fingers through my hair and a smile spread across my lips as he asked, "Would you like to stay in the bedroom this time?"

"I already regret telling you no the first night you offered to let me stay in one of the bedrooms." I laughed lightly as I enjoyed his gentle touch.

"You are always welcome to stay here," he whispered. I could feel him closer to me now. I tensed slightly as he lay on the bed and wrapped an arm delicately around my torso. Not only was this all new to me, but there was always still that little nagging thought, deep down, that he could hurt me at any moment. "If you are uncomfortable, I can leave."

"No, I'm plenty comfortable," I said as I relaxed a little. "I'm just not used to any of this."

"Neither am I," he confessed.

I turned my head to look at him. "After these hundred years, you have never been with anyone like this?"

"I've been waiting for you, my twin soul," he replied quietly.

"Twin soul..." I muttered the words sleepily. "I like that."

"Good." He smiled again and kissed me gently on the cheek. "Get some sleep. You can call to apologize to Jason tomorrow."

"Oh, no..." I moaned, about to sit up. Salem held me down with a gentle hand.

"There's no point in bothering him now, Alexis. He is probably asleep or at least on his way home from the party," he assured me.

"You're right." I sighed, shut my eyes and fell asleep in Salem's embrace.

When I woke up, I found Salem lying beside me, his arm still around my waist. I almost jumped up until the memory of the previous night quickly rushed back to me. Instead, I turned over and smiled happily at him. "I was certain I was dreaming again."

"Well, if you are, I hope you never wake up." He kissed me gently on the forehead. "You should call Jason after you have eaten."

"I will," I mumbled as I stretched. "What's for breakfast?"

"It's already been taken care of." He grinned. I eyed him suspiciously, noting the purple flash in his eyes. "Follow me downstairs."

Resting on the dining table was a plate of French toast triangles sprinkled with powdered sugar, a small portion of strawberries, and a glass of orange juice. Beside the plate was a glass vase with a single red rose in it. I blushed at Salem as he took my hand and led me to the table. "You shouldn't have..." I said quietly, admiring the food hungrily.

"It isn't as if I slaved over a stove to make it," he said with a hint of amusement. "Hopefully you still enjoy it just the same."

"Of course I will!" I insisted and sat down. Salem sat across from me and watched me eat. I savored each bite. "Do you eat regular food?" I said after swallowing a mouthful of toast.

"No, it serves little purpose."

"Do you miss it?"

"Certainly..." He frowned. "But at the same time it's better for my diet."

We both shared a good laugh at that, and I finished my meal. Salem then passed me the same phone I had used last night, and I redialed Jason's number. It took longer this time for him to answer.

"Hello?" Jason's groggy voice came through the cell.

"Hey Jace, how was the party?"

"It was fantastic!" he said excitedly. "It's too bad you didn't make it, though. Are you sure you are doing all right? Where were you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied casually. "I'm glad you had a good time. I just wanted to say that I was sorry for missing out on it."

"It's all right. Maybe you'll be there next time." He sounded hopeful. "I will come later to clean up; I promise."

"It's still a mess?"

"Just a little." He laughed lightly. "Don't worry about it; I'll take care of it. Now are you going to tell me where you were?"

I quickly thought up an answer. "I was out driving, and I guess I lost track of time. There's just been so much on my mind lately."

"Oh. I understand," he said. "Well, I'm just glad you're okay."

There was that phrase again–I understand. I knew they didn't, they couldn't. I wished I could tell Karen and him everything. "I'll be fine. Hey, listen, I need to run a few errands, but I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay, bye."

I put the phone down and stared across the table at Salem. His mind seemed to be elsewhere at the moment and I frowned. "Salem..." I said it quietly, part of me not wanting to disturb him. He blinked and looked at me.

"Yes?"

"I'm beyond late for school," I said as I looked down at my watch. It was after noon. Jason must have skipped school, too.

"Problem solved." He smiled, although looking somewhat ashamed. "I called in for you. You are sick with the flu, if you weren't aware."

"Oh, I am, huh?" I laughed and shook my head.

"Yes, and you are strictly on bed rest."

"I'm not entirely against that idea," I replied, reflecting on how comfortable the bed upstairs was.

"This isn't just so you can get out of school...there's a reason I did this, and I hope you do not disapprove. I have this nagging feeling that you are correct about the attacks in Denver," he said suddenly, extracting me from my comforting thoughts. "I thought about all you had said as I laid with you last night."

I gave him an uncertain glance. "But what can we do about it?"

"Something I would much rather avoid." He scowled, staring blankly at the dining room table. "You need to request that Paul take you to see Janet...he will know whether Mark is the cause."

My eyes widened. "You want me to go to Denver? With Paul?"

"Either that or try to convince Paul to go on his own."

"I'll try." I stared at my half-empty plate. "Where can I throw away the rest of this?"

"Don't worry about it. I will take care of it," he said, grabbed the plate and dumped it and the remains in a trash bin that was concealed behind one of the mahogany cabinets.

"When should I try to talk to Paul?"

"Anytime-the sooner the better."

I nodded. "I guess I'll drive over to the shop."

I left Salem's house reluctantly, but promised I would return as soon as possible. The drive along the winding road was becoming more familiar and less scary. The thought of going to Denver both thrilled and terrified me. It was a sudden decision, but Salem was right—it had to be done, before it was too late.

During the drive, my mind kept going back to what Salem had told me. Twin souls. I liked him, but what was I getting myself into? I had never imagined myself in a serious relationship before, let alone a destined, lifelong commitment. And how could I, after all that I had seen with Janet and Desmond...or Paul and my real mother, even? One relationship broken by lust and one by death. I wasn't sure any of the feelings I was starting to have for Salem was worth the pain I had witnessed in Janet's or Paul's eyes. Salem did seem so nice though...so sincere in his feelings. Before I could think about the subject anymore I was approaching the auto shop, and my thoughts switched to the task at hand.

Paul was at work today, thankfully. I could see his figure moving around behind the glass windows. He was talking animatedly to a female customer. I left the Alero in the parking lot and discreetly entered the store, aiming straight for the air freshener aisle again. I listened patiently to him and the customer as I waited. Once their conversation ended, I turned around the end of the aisle and nearly bumped into my father.

"Alex!" he shouted in shock. "What a nice surprise."

"Hey," I greeted him casually. "Could we talk...in private?"

"Oh. Yeah. Of course."

The back room was identical to how it was two days prior. It felt like it had been so much longer ago. I leaned back in the familiar chair as he took his seat behind the desk again. I fidgeted anxiously as I tried to decide what to say to him.

"Is everything all right?" he asked in a caring, fatherly voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine...I just need to ask you a favor."

"I'll do anything you need me to, Alex, you know that."

"Have you been keeping up to date with what's going on in Denver?"

"I have." His voice held a hint of anger. "I've been seriously thinking about taking a trip there, actually."

"That's...sort of why I came here. I think it's really important that you–or we–go and figure out what's going on over there."

"You want to go to Denver with me?" He looked stunned, if not a little pleased.

"Only if you want, or need me to."

"The more hunters the better."

I frowned at the term. I wouldn't be there to hunt; I would be there to protect Janet and to establish a cause for these horrific deaths. "Is there anyone else that can go with us? I don't think I'd be much help if it turns out...you know."

"My sister–your aunt–Kim, she's one of us." He motioned toward a picture frame sitting on his desk. It held a photograph of him and a woman with startling green eyes and brilliant red hair.

"That's my aunt?" I asked in awe. "She is gorgeous."

He chuckled. "She'd love to meet you, Alex. I've told her so much about you over the years."

"Well, get a hold of her as soon as possible and let's make plans to go to Denver before things get worse."

"Sounds like a plan to me...but you'll end up missing out on a few days of school."

"It's okay. I'll make up for it."

He looked unconvinced at first, but agreed. "I'll get Kim on the phone right away. Why don't you go grab a soda from the machine?"

I nodded and left the back room. The soda machine was outside in the front of the store. While I was browsing the selection, I had the feeling someone was watching me. From the corner of my eye, I could see the shape of someone standing beside me. As I put in my fifty cents, I silently hoped they were just waiting in line for the machine. The soda rolled out at the bottom of the machine, and I grabbed it, hesitating a moment before turning around.

"Oh, Kate...it's just you." I smiled warmly at her familiar face.

"Hey!" The pink-haired woman grinned at me. "My shift starts in ten minutes. This is day seven of my workweek, and I am so ready for some days off."

"Seven days in a row?" I asked in awe.

"Yep. Hopefully someone else gets hired on to manage the counter soon because I'm really getting sick of all this work. I appreciate the cash, but working with no days off is going to drive me insane!"

"It would do the same to me," I said as I twisted the cap from my drink and took a swig. I was grateful that Paul opened the door to get my attention and dragged me away from the conversation. It wasn't that I had a problem with talking to Kate, but there were more important matters at hand.

"Kim says she is ready whenever," my father said quietly as he led me back to the room. "I can set up a flight for as early as tomorrow if you're really up to it."

"The sooner the better...right?"

"Right," he answered with a grin. "I'm so glad you are on board with this."

If only he knew I wasn't. I sighed quietly, hoping he didn't notice.

"I'll handle the flight arrangements; you head home and pack yourself a bag. You won't need much, maybe a change of clothes or two and your bathroom stuff."

"Should I meet you at the trailer tomorrow?"

"Nah, I'll just meet you at your house."

I frowned. This meant I wouldn't be spending the night at Salem's. "Okay, I'll be there."

"Oh, and don't forget your bow," he said as I was stepping out of the room.

Chapter Thirteen

Salem kept me company and helped me pack, a feeling of dread weighing down on me—what was I thinking? I could tell that even he was nervous about me leaving, no matter how many times I assured him I would be all right. He paced around my room as I collected my bathroom items and stuffed them in my book bag.

"I could come with you," he suggested.

"Paul would recognize you in a second."

"You're right." He sighed. "I just don't feel comfortable with you being among them."

I wasn't sure whether he meant my father and aunt or the possible vampire lurking around Denver—maybe both. After my bag was fully packed we both sat on the edge of my bed, our hands intertwined.

"I'll be safe; I promise."

"Unfortunately, that is not a promise you can keep on your own," he said smugly. "Try to stay at the hospital while Paul does his...work..."

"That's a good idea," I replied. "I can stay with Janet. I should call to check where she's staying."

"Go ahead." He offered me the cell phone. "You should take this with you, also. I have one of my own that you can reach me at. The number is already in there." He smiled.

"Thanks." I returned the expression as I dialed Janet's number. "Hey, Mom-"

"How many times do I have to tell you that she is fine?" Mark growled.

"I-I just wanted to talk to her," I said in shock "Just for a second."

"Fine, but make it quick."

"Alex?" I was relieved to hear Janet's voice. "How are you doing, honey?"

"Where are you at, Mom?"

"Just in a hospital here in Denver. It's not that important, really."

"Yes, it is!" I thought carefully. "I wanted to send you some flowers, but I need the address."

"Oh...that's sweet of you." I could tell she appreciated the idea. "Hang on, just a second." I heard the muffled voices again, this time Mark's voice sounded angry and loud. She whispered the address to me, and I could tell she was more than a little frightened.

"Thanks, Mom..." I mumbled. "Are you sure you don't want me to bring you home or something?"

"No, it's okay...I'm fine where I am. Denver is my home now, sweetie." I didn't believe that for a second. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye." I said it too late, she had already hung up.

After relaying the conversation to Salem, I heaved my bag downstairs. We were both further convinced that something was just not right. It was nearing time for Paul to arrive to pick me up, and I was growing more and more anxious as the minutes passed. Salem stayed with me, anxiously sitting on the couch beside me. He insisted he would hear the car pulling up long before they arrived.

"I wish you could go with me, Salem," I said quietly as he played with my hair absent-mindedly.

"As do I." His voice was withdrawn, and I knew he was filled with worried thoughts still. "Please make sure to call as soon as you get to Denver. If Paul asks, tell him you are talking to Jason."

"I will," I promised.

"He will be here soon," he muttered and sat up. "Be safe, my little raven." He leaned in close and gently pressed his lips to mine before heading through the back door. I stared after him, wondering if this might be the last time I would see him.

Not two minutes later I heard the rumble of Paul's Jeep Wrangler pulling into the driveway. I stared out the back window, watching Salem vanish from sight. The knock on the front door startled me despite knowing it was about to happen, and I ran to open it. Paul stood there with a grin on his face, and beside him was the pretty red-haired woman from the photograph on his desk.

"You must be Alex," she said in a light, wispy voice. "Paul has told me so much about you."

"Sorry I can't say the same for you," I said with a frown.

"Keeping me a secret are you? Embarrassed of your little sis?" She smiled comically at Paul as she nudged him with her elbow, then looked back at me. "I can tell you everything you want to know on the trip."

"Let's get in the car; we don't want to miss our flight," Paul said with a sense of urgency, then took my bag and headed to the vehicle. "We've got a bit of a drive to even get to the airport."

The airport was packed, and it took Paul almost twenty minutes to direct us to the right side of the huge building. This was precisely why I wasn't looking forward to the trip (excluding the fact that we were possibly going to meet a hostile vampire) —airports are too busy, too crowded and too stressful. We made it through security without any issues, and made it to our terminal right on time to get in line and wait to be seated. Paul was fortunate enough to get three seats together. I wasn't sure if I felt good about that or not, but I was relieved to know I wouldn't be sitting beside some chatty stranger—plus I was interested to hear more about my aunt's life.

The seats on the plane were relatively comfortable. Aunt Kim took the window seat – apparently she had experience with sky diving and loved imagining herself soaring over the world—I took the middle and Paul was at the end. I was perfectly content until the large, rotund guy in the seat ahead of me decided to recline his chair so far back that it crushed into my knees.

"Excuse me, sir?" Paul said politely to the man. "Could you please straighten your chair up a little; you are squishin' my daughter."

"Oh, yeah. Sure," he grumbled in response, clearly not eager to re-situate.

With great relief, I stretched out my legs and relaxed as the seat was lifted. The flight attendants gave instructions on what to do if an accident happened while in flight, and then requested everyone to put on their seat belts. I gripped onto the chair arms as the plane ascended and the flight attendant's safety instructions played through my mind—I had not braced myself for any of this. This would be my first plane ride, and I had not been anticipating the push of force against my body as we rose into the air. Kim leaned over and patted my arm reassuringly. She appeared completely at ease, almost giddy.

"You'll get used to it, trust me." She smiled. "I can't even count how many plane trips I've taken. I was nervous at first too, but now I love it."

"What do you do for a living, anyway?" I asked as I nicely declined the peanuts the attendant offered. My palms had grown sweaty as I continued to anxiously grip the arms of the chair.

"Well, outside of...hunting...I'm a journalist," she replied, glancing out the window. "As well as a bit of a thrill-seeker, I guess you'd say." She turned toward me and grinned. "Maybe someday I will take you skydiving."

I was certain she could see the horror in my expression. "Umm...I think that's something I'm going to have to say no to." I laughed nervously.

"Your dad's never been too keen on the idea, either," she said, eying Paul. "It's amazing how he doesn't freak out about his side job, which is way more dangerous than parachuting out of a plane."

I laughed, trying to hide my discomfort on the subject of vampire hunting. It amazed me how open she was about discussing the subject, especially on a full plane, but no one seemed to notice. Of course, she never openly used any words beyond 'hunting', so no one would know exactly what she was talking about. If anyone did hear her, they would probably just assume she was talking about hunting animals.

"I think I'm going to try to take a nap," I said out of nowhere, despite not being tired. My mind was lost in thoughts of Salem, wondering what he was doing – probably worrying himself to death. I was also still conflicted on this sudden relationship that had been sprung on me. Sometimes the idea thrilled me, and I could feel my heart flutter, other times it was almost enough to make me queasy. I told myself it was just the flight and shut my eyes. There was so much noise on the plane that it was impossible to sleep. I could hear children crying in the back. The man in front of me was talking to the lady beside him about an authentic Italian restaurant he had gone to during a business trip to Rome—he was apparently a food critic and was working on an article about it. Paul and Kim were chatting across me about their plans in muffled voices. I tried to mute them out the most, not wanting to think about what was going to happen when we reached Denver. The worst of it was probably the conversation going on between the two ladies in the seats opposite ours.

"I can hardly believe so many people are flying to Denver," one of them said in a somewhat hushed tone. She had a very distinct Southern accent. "There've been so many murders here lately that you'd think no one would go. You've been seein' the news too, hadn't ya?"  
"Well, Cynthia, we can't be the only ones just passin' through to Portland. You have to remember this ain't a one-stop flight. Most these people are probably headin' elsewhere and just connectin' through Denver same as us," her friend replied.

I tuned out their voices as best as I could and attempted to reflect on the other night at the creek to distract myself. I finally dozed off.

Paul shook me gently as we descended. Why, oh, why couldn't he have waited until after the matter? I was enjoying a pleasant dream that reflected memories of the night at the creek. However, that wasn't what made me unhappy about being woken up; it was the lurching of the plane as it began falling toward the ground. I was almost certain we were going to crash into the runway, but slowly the plane leveled itself. The wheels popped out, and we were safely on land again. The only thing that caused me not to feel relieved was the fact that I was going to have to endure that again on the way home.

Chapter Fourteen

We rented a simple little copper-colored car that Kim picked out and paid for, then headed to the address Janet had given me after Paul inserted the information into the GPS. We passed a hospital on the way, and I had an uneasy feeling we had been given the wrong address. I gasped.

"Paul..." I mumbled as I stared at the address on the little yellow Post-it note. "I have a bad feeling."

"What is it?" he asked as he peered back from the passenger-side seat.

"I don't think Janet is in the hospital."

"What makes you think that?"

"We just passed the hospital, and that wasn't the address."

"Denver's a big place, Alex. There's bound to be a bunch of hospitals," he replied calmly. "Let's just follow the directions from the GPS and see where it takes us. Okay?"

"Okay," I said quietly, crumpling up the note in my hand. I felt around in my pocket for the cell phone Salem had given me. I browsed through the contacts and couldn't find one that said his name – probably just in case Paul got hold of it. I found Jason's number, Janet's, and Paul's among the list. My heart jumped when I saw the word 'Bat',' and I laughed out loud.

"What's so funny?" Paul asked as he looked back at me again.

"Nothing...just a text from Jason," I lied. "I'm going to give him a call really quick, to let him know we landed safely."

"Is there somethin' going on with you two?" he said with a grin.

"No!" I said. "We're just friends!"

"Sure, sure." He laughed. "We'll be quiet so you can talk to your 'friend'."

"Thanks..." I grumbled and set the phone to call Salem's number.

"Hello?" My stomach fluttered at the sound of his voice.

"Hey S...Jason," I quickly corrected myself. "I just wanted to let you know we made it to Denver."

"Good. I was worried." He sounded anxious and didn't question me referring to him by Jason's name—it had been his plan, after all. "Where are you now?"

"We're on our way to find Janet."

"Stay at the hospital with her if you can," he insisted.

"I'm beginning to wonder if she's even at a hospital."

"Why do you say that?" The anxiousness increased.

"I'll have to tell you later, Paul's being snoopy," I muttered. "Try not to worry too much."

"You know that's impossible."

"I know."

"I miss you." There were those flutters again.

"I-I miss you, too..." My voice trailed off when Paul glanced at me with an 'Uh huh, I knew it' look on his face. "I've got to go; we're almost at the place."

I hung up the phone and tucked it back into my pocket. The GPS alerted Kim to turn left, that our destination would then be on the right in just three hundred feet. My eyes scanned the area for a hospital, but all I saw was a row of small houses. This had to be the wrong place.

"Where's the hospital?" I said as we cruised down the street.

"You may have been right, Alex," Kim said gravely as she stopped the car in front of one of the houses. "This is the address." She pointed out what appeared to be an abandoned house at the very end of the road.

I recalled all of the horror movies I had seen revolving around haunted houses, and this house could have been pulled directly from one of those films. Just looking at it gave me chills. The two-story building was covered in thick layers of ivy; wooden boards crossed over the two lower story windows. The windows above the awning were shattered, and I could have sworn there was a dark figure standing behind the glass, staring out at us.

"Did you see that?" I whispered to my father. I glanced back up at the window, and the figure was gone.

"I didn't see anythin'," Paul replied. I saw him lean forward in his seat and rummage through his luggage. "I'll go out first, and then you two follow behind me."

"Okay," Kim and I replied in unison.

Paul handed something over the back of his seat. I shook my head when I realized what it was—a hand-crossbow identical to the one he gave me for my birthday. I had intentionally left mine behind so I wouldn't have to use it—so much for having an excuse. "Oh, no...I'm not taking that!" I protested. "How did you even manage to get that on a plane?!"

"It's just in case, Alex. Put it under your sweater," he instructed and ignored my question. "You have yours, Kimmy?"

"Yep, got it." She smiled.

I watched as Paul left the car and walked down the cracked sidewalk. He approached the door of the abandoned-looking house and knocked gently on the wooden surface. No one responded. He turned toward us and beckoned us over with a quick gesture. Kim and I climbed out of the car and marched along the concrete. I walked behind her, fumbling with the crossbow as I tucked it under my hoodie.

"I'm going to break down the door if no one answers this time," Paul grunted and knocked again.

"That's illegal, Dad."

"See if I care," he said and slammed his thick shoulder into the rickety door. It crashed loudly against the floor.

Cobwebs clung to the ceiling. The atmosphere surrounding the house gave me the creeps, but I stepped over the threshold regardless and followed them inside. There wasn't a single piece of furniture throughout the entire downstairs. The floorboards creaked noisily beneath us with each wary step. Paul turned around and held up his hand, signaling for us to stop.

"There's someone here," he whispered. I was about to ask how he knew, but then I heard a muffled voice from upstairs and something crashing into the upper floor. My dad approached the aged staircase and began climbing up it. With each step, I could picture him falling through the rotting old wood and had to force those thoughts away to focus on what was ahead. He made it up safely then we followed quickly behind. I was beyond unprepared for this. I could feel sweat trickling down the side of my face, and my heart felt like it was about to burst through my chest. If that wasn't bad enough, the butterflies I had felt only minutes before had melted into bile in the pit of my stomach.

"You should have stayed away." I shut my eyes tightly as I heard Mark's deep voice reach my ears. I couldn't tell just where it was coming from; it seemed to reverberate off the walls.

"Where's Janet, you bastard?!" Paul shouted, holding his crossbow cautiously ahead of him as he rounded the corner.

"Janet is not important," Mark hissed. "I d0 sense that you forgot to bring something with you, however, Alexis." 
I stopped behind Kim as she followed Paul into a room full of sheet-covered furniture. "I don't know what you're talking about," I replied in a croaky voice, trying my best not to lose the contents of my nervous stomach.

"I had truly hoped you would have brought Salem along with you, that way I could have killed two birds with one stone," he snickered maliciously. "Or, in this case—a bird and a 'bat', right?"

I gulped as I felt Paul's eyes turn towards me. "Salem and I have nothing to do with each other," I said bitterly, meeting my father and aunt in the room.

"Stupid child!" Mark bellowed. "Don't think that I'm going to fall for your lies. Your father might be daft enough to believe you, but I am far wiser. I know about you and the boy."

"How? And why would you care?" I asked and ignored the angry glance Paul was directing at me.

"He is a pathetic excuse for a vampire, don't you see? Feasting on animals!" He spat. "He thought he could change me, too. To be 'strong' like him, but I can tell you that there is no strength in hiding in the shadows drinking animal blood. The blood of humans..." he paused, making a deep and audible sniff with his nose. "...is just too enticing. Too delicious. Strengthening."

"You're a monster!" I yelled, the realization that Janet had been the temptation he was talking about finally sinking in.

"A monster? Now, now...what would Salem think if you called us such names? He and I are no different, don't you see? I imagine it will be little time at all before he drains you of blood, too."

"You are wrong about him. He's different!" What had he meant by 'too'?

Paul was about to say something to me but Kim shook her head. "This isn't the time or place, Paul," she said.

"Just tell us where Janet is. Please!" I pleaded.

"Hurting her was a mistake; I will admit that one. At first, anyway." His voice had grown softer. "She had cut herself with a kitchen knife the morning before the...incident...and I tried to control myself. But once I smelled her blood, oh...it was hard to control my thirst for more. The hunger was far too powerful."

"How many people have you hurt, Mark?" Paul spat as he spoke, turning out of the room and into the next which was roughly identical. There was only one room left, down the long hallway and at the very end.

"Oh, you know, just a few. Before Janet cut herself, I would slip away now and then and get what I could. It was never quite enough to satisfy, though." He laughed darkly. "But all three of you should do the trick."

"So, you admit that you killed all those innocent people...and you put Janet in the bear cage after you..." I gasped; the rest of the words were too difficult to speak.

The wretched laughter came again, sending shivers down my spine. "And I saved the best for last."

I watched as my father inched closer to the door down the hall, steadily holding his weapon. Why had I agreed to come here? He and Kim were experienced hunters, whereas I was a coward with a shaking crossbow and feelings for a vampire. Feelings for a vampire that for all I knew could lead me to be in this same situation. What the hell was I thinking!

My thoughts of Salem vanished, and I held my breath as Paul wrapped his hand firmly around the wobbly doorknob and pushed the door open. At first, I couldn't see anything, but once my eyes adjusted I saw two red dots floating around amidst the dark void. Red, glowing eyes. The eyes of a vampire that had just eaten.

Paul tripped forward suddenly. I glanced downward and gasped in horror, stumbling backward.

"No! No! No!" I shouted, staring in disbelief at the body sprawled across the floor. Paul gathered himself and tried to ignore what he had tripped over, but I could see the anguish in his eyes.

"I simply couldn't help myself." I could see Mark's teeth shining in the darkness. I now realized what the crashing sound had been. "This is why you don't let your guard down and fall in love with a vampire."

Janet's empty, dead eyes stared up at me as I cried—this wasn't happening...it couldn't be happening! I had just spoken to her on the phone less than a day ago. The moisture behind my eyes began to cloud my vision, and the sickness in my stomach churned.

"Oh, Alex...don't cry. She begged for it after all I put her through." I could see him grinning mockingly.

"Just shoot him already, Paul!" I shrieked.

"Yes, Paul, shoot me," Mark taunted from his shroud of darkness. I realized he hadn't noticed Kim yet, and she crept noiselessly to the side of us. My father held his crossbow steadily in front of him, but he had no intent of shooting the vampire. He was the bait, the distraction, while his sister inched around the empty room, preparing to strike.

I heard the click of her weapon. Mark flinched as the arrow seared through his skin, and yet he didn't fall over as I had anticipated–Kim had missed her target–his heart. He laughed mockingly at us. Before I had the chance to think, he was out of my line of sight. Paul and Kim turned in search of him in the darkness. My eyes grew wide as his cold hands slithered up my back and around my throat.

"Get your filthy hands off of her!" Paul said through gritted teeth.

"You might as well give up now," Mark replied, coiling his hands tightly around my neck. I gasped for air, but it was no use. I struggled, wriggling my arm between us, attempting to grasp the arrow that pierced his skin. I felt it with the tips of my fingers and put as much pressure as I could manage against it. He shrieked and pushed me away. I inhaled deeply; the rush of air burned as I consumed it. I dizzily crashed to the floor beside Janet's body.

Paul took his chance, fired an arrow, and I watched Mark stumble backwards. I let my eyes fall shut with relief, knowing that Paul hit his sad excuse for a heart. The screaming agony from the vampire lingered for only a few seconds as I fell unconscious.

Chapter Fifteen

When I came to I was lying in an unfamiliar room, on a lumpy uncomfortable bed. The walls were covered in drab yellow wallpaper dotted with small white flowers. I groaned as I turned over on the mattress. There was a small flatscreen TV sitting on a dresser covered in flaking paint. I knew immediately that I was in a hotel, and a very cheap one at that. My neck was sore, and my mind was hazy. I leapt up as soon as my memories came rushing back.

There was no one else present in the room, so I carefully stumbled over to the bathroom. I switched on the light and was appalled by what I saw in the small mirror over the pale yellow sink. My wavy brunette hair lay limply against my shoulders, twisted in a mess of knots. There were evident bags under my hazel eyes, and I could faintly see the light line of freckles across my cheeks. This semi-familiar girl in the mirror made me sick–especially thanks to the big black and blue marks along my throat and neck. Shuddering in disgust and anger, I discarded my clothing and headed toward the shower. I twisted the hot water on and climbed in, sitting at the bottom of the tub as the water ran down my back. I sobbed noisily as the image of Janet lying dead on the floor raced through my mind. A sudden knock on the door pulled me away from my thoughts–for which I was thankful.

"Alex? Are you okay in there?" It was Kim.

I turned the water off and draped a towel across myself. "Yeah!" I shouted as I dried off. "I'll be out in a minute!"

"Okay, just making sure," she said, and I could hear her walk away.

I pulled my clothing back on, dreading that I hadn't brought in something clean to change into. I didn't want to leave the bathroom and face them, especially Paul. I took the hotel towel and ran it along the inside of the tub, drying up as much moisture as I could before curling up inside. I pried the cell phone from my pocket and quickly dialed Salem's number.

"Alex?" His voice was just as anxious as this afternoon, if not more so.

"Salem..." I whispered his name. "I shouldn't have come here."

"What's wrong? What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Janet's...Janet's gone," I mumbled through a rush of sobs.

He didn't respond right away. "I'm so sorry, Alexis." I knew there wasn't much else he could say. "Are you okay?"

"Not really."

I could hear him growl; his voice had grown furious. "What did he do to you?!" he demanded.

"It's nothing...I'll be okay," I muttered, rubbing my fingers gently across my neck. I winced at the pain.

"You are lying."

"I'll tell you...show you...when I get home," I mumbled.

"When are you coming home?" The anxiety returned. "I will come get you if I have to."

"Our flight leaves in the morning."

He relaxed somewhat. "I will be waiting at your house."

"I have to go, Salem..." I said as I heard Paul ramming his fist on the bathroom door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Exiting the bathroom, I discovered Paul and Kim waiting expectantly for me. They both sat in dull beige armchairs beside a coffee table, each of them sipping from what were obviously beer bottles. I grimaced and sat on the bed. Both their eyes were focused intently on me.

"Are you all right?" Paul said, although I knew there was more he wanted to say.

"I guess, I mean...no," I mumbled as I lay back on the bed. "What now?

"Now," he replied angrily, "you explain what that monster was talkin' about when he said you and Salem have been together."

"He was just trying to get under your skin...trying to get your mind off killing him," I lied, not looking in their direction.

"Alex, I may not be the smartest man, but I know when I'm bein' lied to. Tell me the truth."

"He isn't what you think he is. He is my friend; he is the one that convinced me to see you and to come here! He is helping us!"

Paul shook his head in anger. "You never trust their kind!" he roared. "Your moth-Janet–trusted one and look what happened to her!"

"I'm not listening to this. You don't know him the way I do, and until you do—you have no right to say a damned thing!"

He sighed, glaring in my direction for a long time. "You weren't talkin' to Jason earlier." It was a statement, not a question.

"No, I wasn't," I confirmed.

"Give me your phone," he demanded.

"No!" I yelled. "You have no right to take anything from me."

"I'm your father."

"You've never been my father, and you never will be!"

"Alex..."

"You have no right to take my stuff! You can't tell me what to do! 'Father' is just your title. Where were you when I was growing up and needed a father? When it was just me and Janet? Huh? I'm eighteen now—don't treat me like I'm ten!"

The look of shock and hurt on his face didn't affect me in the least. I was too angry to care–and I was right. I turned over on the mattress, facing away from them. "I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up until it's time to catch the plane," I grumbled. I was thankful that sleep enveloped me before the tears had a chance to return.

The sun shone through the thin fabric that acted as curtains, the rays fell straight across my sleeping face. I frowned as I woke up and climbed out of bed. Paul and Kim were slumped over in the armchairs, still asleep. I looked at my watch and gasped in horror. We were going to be late for the flight if we didn't leave quickly. I woke them and the three of us rushed to pack up, check out and head to the airport.

The flight home wasn't as bad as the trip to Denver, partly because I was upset to the point that I might as well have been numb. No one talked to me, and I didn't speak to them. When we landed, we walked in silence to Paul's car, and it continued as he drove me home. As we pulled into my driveway, I could see Salem's silhouette behind the windows. Something about it made me shiver, possibly from remembering the figure I saw at the house in Denver. Maybe Paul was right, should I trust Salem after seeing what Mark was capable of? After all, he had been a vampire that Salem had believed was harmless. I shook my head at the thoughts, not sure what to believe.

I didn't say good-bye to Paul as I got out of the car. I slammed the door shut and raced into my house. Salem embraced me immediately, and I wondered if Paul could see us hugging through the window. I didn't care. Part of me hoped he could. I heard his car pull out of the driveway and felt relieved. Salem pushed me away from him slowly, looking me over, and I saw a flash of anger in his eyes as they fell upon my throat. His hands were shaking.

"Salem, it's okay," I whispered, holding his hands in an attempt to steady them.

"No, no it isn't," he growled. "Please tell me he is dead."

I nodded slowly. "Paul killed him."

"You..." he glanced away as he spoke, "you didn't have anything to do with it, did you?"

I understood what he meant and shook my head. "No. I would have been helpless, even if I had wanted to do anything."

He pulled me into his embrace again. "I'm sorry about Janet." His voice was a mere whisper.

"Me too...there is going to be a funeral for her in a couple of days, here in Willowshire, but I don't think I can go," I said shamefully, and tried to stop the tears from starting but failed.

"That isn't something you should miss out on, regardless of how painful it might be."

"I just don't think I could take it. I don't know if I could see her...like that." The steady stream of tears intensified, and I hoped he could still understand my broken words. "Paul and I had a fight too; I don't want to see him there either."

"What was your fight about?"

"You..."

Salem pulled away again, his eyes looking deeply into my own. "What does he know?" He sounded almost afraid.

"Mark told him that we had been seeing each other—I don't even know how he would know that. Well...I mean...I guess Janet told him something, and he just assumed... I don't know. Anyway...while we were at the hotel Paul tried to tell me I couldn't see you anymore," I replied. "I got mad; I told him he couldn't tell me what to do." I felt childish.

"We have to be very careful, Alex." He sighed heavily and led me to the couch. "I wouldn't doubt him coming after me."

"I won't let him touch you." I leaned forward on the cushion, staring down at our feet.

"I'll have better control of that than you will," he replied, subtle amusement lingering behind his words.

My stomach growled desperately, and I realized I couldn't even remember the last time I had eaten anything. Salem seemed to catch on, and I saw his eyes flash purple. "What are you doing?" I asked curiously.

"You will see."

And I did. A bowl of strawberry ice cream appeared on the coffee table. I eyed it for a second, unsure if I really wanted it, or if I could even keep it down. Salem reached forward, grabbed it and offered me a spoonful. "It is what you eat when you are depressed, right?" He grinned, and I opened my mouth. The taste of the sweet, cold cream was delicious—possibly because it was the only thing I had eaten in almost two days. After consuming the dessert, I cuddled up against Salem and asked him what he had done while I was away, besides worry. I needed to hear something to get my mind off of Janet, to stop the tears even momentarily.

"It wasn't nearly as eventful as what you went through," he replied quietly, running his hands through my hair as I listened. "I spent most of the time here, waiting for you."

"Didn't you get bored?"

"Not at all," he mused. "I should think you would be more traumatized right now than you are."

"I don't know; I think I am just in shock. It feels like I should just wake up, and all this had been a nightmare. This is all just so unreal."

"I understand." I knew that, unlike my friends, he really did. He kissed my forehead as though it was an ordinary action for him, and it felt natural to me. "You have been through a lot in these last few days."

"I need a vacation." I laughed half-heartedly as I rose long enough to grab a tissue from the box nearby and wiped my nose.

"That was exactly what I was thinking," he said, and I lifted my head to look at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Let's go somewhere, away from all of these troubles."

"But Salem, I just got back from a trip...and what about school?"

"Are you really that concerned about school?"

I thought about it for a moment, reflecting on my poor grades, my lack of interest aside from music class, and my current situation. "No," I replied honestly. "But I'm not sure if I could stand another plane trip if that was what you were thinking. And...what about my friends?"

"We could drive," he suggested eagerly. "And your friends would always be just a phone call away."

"Salem, does this have anything to do with Paul...?"

"It isn't safe here anymore, for either of us."

"Why not? Your only danger is Paul, and so long as we're together I am not letting him touch you."

"I just have an uneasy feeling, Alex," he said and exhaled deeply. "But if you are more comfortable staying here, we just have to be extra careful."

"Let's go to your house," I suggested.

He appeared thoughtful for a moment. "As far as I know Paul doesn't know of it, so we would be safer there I suppose."

"Then, it's settled." I smiled. "We'll stay there. "

"Alex..." His expression had been so certain, so ready, but now he looked disappointed. "I'm not sure this is the right thing to do."

"Would you rather we stayed here...?"

"No, it isn't that. I am stealing you away from your life."

"What life?! I just lost the only family I ever really had; my father is angry with me because I am hanging out with a vampire and my mom...my mom is dead. What else is there?" I sounded back, angrier than I had intended.

"Wouldn't you find it strange living together so soon in our..."

"In our what? Relationship? Look, Salem, I really like you...you know that. And yes, I am still a little uneasy about...about what you are, but I am a big girl. I can take care of myself, and this is what I want. I have no reason to stay in this house of haunting memories."

He still seemed unconvinced. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Was this what I wanted? Just hours ago I had been afraid that Mark was right, that maybe Salem could turn into a true monster. If one evening I was washing dishes in the kitchen of the Victorian and sliced my hand, would I end up drained and on the floor like Janet? Part of me didn't care either way right now. "Yes." I forced a smile and took his cold hand in mine. "Before we go, I wanted to ask you something, though."

"Another question?" He playfully groaned. "Well, let me have it."

"Mark was like you, right? He was against feeding on humans."

Salem nodded slowly.

"He said that he hadn't meant to hurt her...that she cut herself with a knife accidentally, and the scent of her blood caused him to...well...do what he did." I didn't want to finish what I needed to say. "If I..."

He put his finger to my mouth to stop me from speaking. "You have nothing to fear from me, Alex." His voice was reassuring and gentle. "Mark was a young vampire, making him less capable of controlling himself in such a situation. I have much more practice."

"That sounds weird." I laughed.

"What does?" His brows rose slightly.

"The thought of him being younger than you. He looked around forty, and you look my age."

"Don't go making me feel ancient, now." Salem grinned. "Let's head home."

I liked the sound of that, of home, our home...maybe a little too much.

Chapter Sixteen

I didn't bother packing any of my belongings—there was no sense in it when Salem could summon practically anything I desired—aside from the laptop Jason gave me for my birthday. A twinge of guilt welled up inside me as I contemplated the idea of never seeing Jason or Karen again. Then again, no one ever said I would never see them again. I tried my hardest to hide my struggling thoughts from Salem as we entered the old Victorian house.

"What do you want to do now?" he inquired as I set my laptop on the dining room table.

"I'm not sure," I replied honestly. "I am so used to having a schedule that tells me what I should do and where I should be and when. I'm not used to being able to just do whatever."

"Welcome to my world." He smiled lightly. "We can do almost anything...whatever you desire."

Just what did I desire? At that moment, it was a complete mystery. I knew I would have been happy just sitting on the sectional having a conversation with Salem, or reading a book in the nook beside the bookcase, but I longed for something more. I pondered the idea of walking down to the creek again, but there had to be something more we could do...something exciting enough to keep my mind off of the rest of life for a brief while. What did I desire, aside from the gorgeous vampire that was staring at me patiently awaiting my decision?

"The lake!" I shouted, much louder than I had intended. "I still haven't gotten to really see it yet."

Salem shrugged. "If that's what you want." He took my hand and led me behind the spiral staircase, where a door stood that led out back. We walked together along a stone path that led away from the house toward a field of bright green grass. He stared at me awkwardly for a moment as I tore off my shoes and socks. I simply grinned up at him and ran through the cool grass. It felt amazing against my bare feet. Salem stood behind, chuckling at me as I made a fool of myself.

"C'mon!" I hollered. "It feels good!"

"I'm not so sure I can appreciate it quite as much as you can."

"At least give it a try," I beckoned him over with a wide smile on my face.

Salem shook his head, still laughing, and removed his shoes and socks. "I suppose it feels nice," he said quietly, and then grinned playfully at me.

I screamed, running toward the water's edge. I collapsed onto my back against the cool blades of grass as he pounced on me. His expression was calm and gentle.

"Did I startle you?" he asked as he rolled off of me and over to my side, staring up at the darkening sky.

"Maybe a little," I whispered, waiting for my heart to settle down. I nuzzled up against him and peered upward, following his gaze. It was strange how at peace I felt with him, despite the moments of doubt, which seemed to routinely creep into my mind. "It must be strange for you," I said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"Seeing the world change over the years."

"It has certainly been interesting," he mused. "But the world really isn't that much different. More technologically advanced, though, that's for sure."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"No, but it doesn't much interest me either."

"What does interest you, Salem?" I asked as a shooting star soared across the darkening horizon. "Aside from me, that is."

"I have spent years reading, researching, learning to adapt to the changing world, but exploring the world was my ideal quest, until I decided to stay here."

"Am I stopping you from doing that now?" I frowned, but he couldn't see it.

"Of course you aren't," he said happily. "I have something new to experience and explore now."

I would have smiled at his comment had I not suddenly felt excessively warm, despite his cool body beside me. For some reason, the picture of Mark standing over Janet with his red eyes gleaming and that sickening smile rushed back into my mind. My palms felt clammy, and a rush of nausea overcame me. I grasped onto Salem's arm tightly, and he sat upright, lifting me up with him. I wished he hadn't—it only made me feel worse. He could tell something was wrong; I could see it in the alarmed expression on his face.

"What's wrong, Alex?" He frowned, putting his hand to my forehead. "You're burning up!"

"I-I don't know," I stuttered with panic. The world felt like it was spinning, and I clung onto him even tighter.

Salem stood, pulled me up into his arms and carried me over to the lake. "You aren't going to like this very much, but it will cool you off."

My eyes widened in fear as I realized what he was about to do. He walked into the water, and I stared downward noting with each step he took how much closer I came to touching it. "Salem, it's going to be too cold!" I cried between gasps of air.

"That's the idea," he stated and walked further in; his knees were engulfed by the darkness. Soon, his waist was hidden beneath the water's depth, and I closed my eyes tightly as I anticipated the frosty liquid meeting my skin. I cringed when it first touched me, shivering against his body as he held me close. I felt little relief, however.

"It's not helping!" My eyes were still shut, and I leaned my head close against his shoulder.

"Give it time; the cold will help the fever." He didn't appear affected at all by the frigid water.

I could only imagine how it appeared from his point of view: a sudden gust of wind, a whirl of black and violet feathers swarming around us. He gasped in shock, and I felt his grasp loosen. I screamed as I felt my body falling into the lake, but the cold never came. A gruesome, snapping, twisting sound came to my ears. I heard Salem's voice; he sounded frightened and concerned, but I could no longer see him. Nor could I feel him anywhere around me.

My eyes opened finally. I was hovering over the lake; I could see Salem standing several feet below me, staring up in horror. I felt lighter and at ease. Had I drowned and not realized it? Was I a spirit, suspended over my dead body as it floated down to the bottom of the lake? Maybe I had fallen asleep on the grass beside Salem, and this was all a dream. I tried to yell down to him, but no sound came.

"Alexis..." Salem mouthed; his jaw dropped in awe. "Can you hear me?"

I failed to answer him, although I was positive I was opening my mouth. I nodded my head—maybe he would at least be able to see that.

"But you cannot speak?"

I shook my head.

"Do you know what happened?" His eyes had yet to return to their normal size, and he looked...frightened, uncertain.

My head shook once more.

"Look down..." he murmured.

I lowered my eyes toward the now-still water, transfixed at what I saw reflected on the surface. The brunette-haired, hazel-eyed girl I was used to seeing did not stare back at me. Instead, I saw a magnificent bird with violet and blue hues shimmering against its otherwise ebony body. The wings were outstretched and flapping at its side. Piercing black, beady eyes stared back at me. The flapping ceased, and I noticed with fear that I was falling. I plummeted into the freezing water.

The sound of stretching, cracking and twisting bones came to my ears again. My eyes were wide open, but I could see nothing. I was completely surrounded by dark, cold water. Seemingly not of my own control I opened my mouth to scream and the liquid pushed itself inside, choking me. As I felt my consciousness slipping away, Salem tangled his arms under my own and pulled me to the surface.

"Alexis?" The gentle, accented voice reached my ears, but it seemed so distant. "You are safe now. You will be okay."

I struggled to open my eyes. Slowly, his face came into view. He smiled, trying to conceal his concern, worry and possibly fear. I was laying on the sectional, draped in thick wool blankets.

"Was I asleep?" My voice came out in a dull croak.

Salem shook his head. "No. You nearly drowned. Do you remember what happened?"

"I had a bizarre dream..." I began to say, but from the look on his face, I knew something was off. "It wasn't a dream, was it?"

"No..."

"This can't be real." I went to sit up but my head felt woozy. "Vampires were one thing, being the daughter of a vampire hunter was a whole other—but turning into a raven?! This is impossible!" I shrieked. My throat burned fiercely. I curled up in a ball and covered my head with the blankets as I began coughing.

"Alex, calm down, please." Salem pulled the cover from over my head. "I mentioned to you before that it was possible...not likely, but possible...for Waldron's to become ravens. I at no time before imagined I would see it, and I especially never thought you would be capable..."

"You said you thought it was a myth," I said, rubbing my throat.

"Legend says that only the strongest, most dangerous hunters have the ability. I admit I didn't believe any of it when Raziel first told me." He didn't look at me as he spoke. "According to him only three Waldron's had ever had the gift. You make the fourth, I suppose."

"Gift..." I mused insincerely. "Salem, are you afraid of me—of what I am?"

"No, just a little worried about what you could be capable of if Paul ever corrupted you into following his ways." He glowered.

"I have no interest in hunting, Salem!" I was hurt that he could even think I would ever harm him.

"I know, Alex," he replied, finally looking at me again. "But imagining the possibilities makes me somewhat curious."

"Curious about what?" I asked sharply, knowing where this was going.

"What you could be capable of." He turned to look away again, but I placed my hand against his cheek and held his head still. "What if you could make the world a better place...by accepting what you are, and defeating the evil of my kind? The ones like Mark."

"You said before that it would be too dangerous." I could not believe the words coming from his mouth!

"Perhaps you could train yourself to be careful about it. Imagine if we never had to worry about creatures like him attacking innocent people, because you were there to protect them."

"You're a creature like Mark!" I reminded him bitterly.

"I am nothing like him!" he growled.

"I didn't mean it like that, Salem." I brushed my hand comfortingly across his cold cheek. "But how would I know who was the enemy and who was like you?"

He thought for a second, taking my hand from his face and lacing his fingers between mine. "You would never be alerted of their whereabouts because they would never attack anyone."

"How does Paul even know about you then? Have you hurt someone here, Salem?"

"No. Let's just say we met before, in a rather uncomfortable situation." He grimaced at the memory.

"What situation?" I started to grow more and more worried that Paul had been right. What if Salem had once fed on humans? What if he ever started again?

"It was somewhat similar to the incident on the way to the creek," he muttered. I sadly recalled the white rabbit. "I was hunting late one night in a deserted park. Little did I know, this happened to be the park beside a trailer community where a vampire hunter lived. Paul was driving to the trailer when he noticed me. He knew the park was closed to civilians that late at night and stopped his car to watch me. He knew immediately what I was when he saw my eyes." He frowned. "There had been a squirrel – I cannot imagine how that makes me sound...a vampire feasting on the blood of squirrels!"

"I would rather you drank the blood of kittens than humans."

"As would I." He smiled now. "It would seem he always had a weapon on him, just in case. He came creeping into the park, crossbow wielded and pointing directly at me. I discarded the rodent and speedily dashed behind a tree before he had a chance to shoot. I hastily told him I meant no harm, and that I wasn't like the others. He wouldn't believe me, despite the evidence lying before him. Stupidly, I even told him my name, hoping that perhaps he had heard of me in a good sense."

"At least you got away. I think he is angrier about that fact more than he is of us even being together."

"I sincerely doubt that." He laughed. "I think that is enough for tonight, Alexis. You're still weak from what happened. Shower, change into something warm, and then let me put you to bed."

I woke up nestled beneath the black silk blankets of Salem's bed. To my dismay, he wasn't beside me. I stretched across the wide bed and caressed the smooth fabric with the palm of my hand. The shimmering black material felt amazing, but it sickened me all the same. It reminded me of a raven's feathers. The bedroom door creaked open slowly.

"Good morning, little raven," Salem said. His pet name made me squeamish when it used to make me happy. I hadn't noticed right away, but he carried a tray in his hands. I rolled my eyes, although I did appreciate the sentiment.

"And what am I having today?" I asked inquisitively as I tried, and failed, to see what lay on the tray.

I sat up, and Salem laid the tray across my lap. My mouth watered at the plate of chocolate-chip pancakes drowning in syrup, with a light dollop of whipped cream in the center. "Enjoy," he said with a pleasant smile and gently laid across the bed beside me.

I savored each sweet bite. "That was amazing," I said as I laid my fork down and placed the tray across the top of the nightstand. My stomach didn't appreciate the meal as much as my mouth did. That feeling was lost immediately by the feeling of Salem's delicate lips against my own. I felt his tongue trace the shape of my lips, and I jumped, pulling away.

"What was that about?" I asked quietly.

"You had some syrup on your lips." He grinned playfully at first but then frowned. "I...I am sorry. I know I should not have done that, it was far too forward and early for such actions..."

I laughed and wrapped my arms around him in a tight hug. Three simple, yet powerful words fought to escape my mouth. My eyes widened at my own thoughts, and I jerked back again.

The frown on his face had returned, but before he could speak I answered his yet unspoken question. "No, it's not that. I just feel kind of sick to my stomach." It wasn't completely untrue, and it wasn't entirely from the large breakfast either.

"Oh," he said and pulled me slowly against his chest. "I'm sorry if my food made you ill."

"It's okay."

"I was thinking," he said as he ran his hand down my back in a relaxing caress. "You should see Paul again."

I gritted my teeth. "I'm not talking to him."

"He can train you how to hunt, Alex...if you wanted to."

My mind wasn't made up yet. It was tempting; I would admit that. But, me? A vampire hunter? It was difficult—no, impossible—to imagine. "I don't know if I want to or not."

"Paul would be pleased," he replied, speaking carefully. "You could even get on his good side again. Convince him that I upset you and you aren't seeing me anymore, he would like that. You need him, if you want to do this."

"Aren't you worried I'll get hurt?" I frowned, thinking of the possibilities. If I reacted the way I had when we encountered Mark again, I was definitely in trouble. I had never been in a real fight in my life, and just holding that weapon made me nervous.

"Of course I am," his voice was soft and low, "more than you can ever know."

"Then why do you want me to do this so badly?"

"I told you already, Alex. Think of all the innocent people you could save. People like-"

"I'll think about it," I mumbled, cutting him off before he could mention Janet's name. I didn't want to lose it again.

"Your body seems prepared for you to make the decision."

I shivered. "I don't like thinking about it. How do I even control it?"

"That is something you will have to talk to Paul about, too."

"Fine." I sighed heavily. "I will talk to Paul...but I am still not happy with him."

Salem gave me a satisfied smile and kissed me gently. "Everything will be fine. Trust me."

And I did.

Chapter Seventeen

After much convincing, I agreed to attend Janet's funeral. Salem offered to escort me to the event and hide out in my car until it was finished. I was anxious, distraught, and a whole mix of other emotions that I couldn't even think straight. I was hesitant to leave Salem when we drove up to the church, but he insisted I would feel better after some closure.

I wore a simple black dress and the only heels I had-which were white and clashed with the dress, but I didn't care. Who was going to notice my shoes anyway? I spotted Paul sitting in the back row of pews and pretended not to recognize him. Jason and Karen were there, too, sitting in the middle row with a few other friends of mine that had been acquainted with my mom. Karen looked like she was about to spring up from her seat when she saw me, but Jason held her down. I waved at them with a frown before scouring the funeral home for other familiar faces. I saw a few relatives that I had not seen in years, that I suppose technically were not my relatives at all. What shocked me the most was finding Desmond and Melissa sitting in the front row.

I stopped in my tracks, gazing at the tan-skinned man I had not seen in twelve years, but there was no mistaking who he was. His hair was curled and nestled against the back of his neck in a short ponytail. I scowled at his girlfriend; she didn't deserve to be here. It seemed disrespectful to bring her to the funeral of the man's ex-wife. She was perhaps in her late-twenties and had long, wavy, blonde hair that curled in fantastic loops at the ends. It took me a moment to realize Desmond was calling me over to him, and despite not wanting to, I went to him.

He draped his arms around me, which felt awkward. The last time I saw him he was much less affectionate. I felt a pang of guilt as I thought through the hateful, painful memories I had of him leaving Janet. Being a kid at the time, I could only think that he didn't love me, didn't love her, and ever since that day I couldn't find it in myself to love him anymore. Yet, had I been mistaken? He appeared so happy, so healthy, with her. Was I wrong to have hated her, too? Though if he had not left mom...Janet...then there wouldn't even be a funeral, because there never would have been Mark. I shook the thoughts from my mind as I barely returned the gesture.

"How are you faring, Alex?" Desmond asked sincerely.

I shrugged my shoulders as he released me from his arms. "I've been better."

"Understandable," he said with a frown. "You look well."

"Thanks...so do you." It was hard to talk to him. I didn't feel like I even knew him anymore.

"Melissa and I would like to take you out to eat after this, if you would be interested," he offered casually, returning to the pew beside his girlfriend.

I sat a few inches away from them, eying them skeptically. "I'm not sure...maybe," I said quietly, thinking that food and conversation were among the last things I'd want after this. "I'll let you know when it's over."

The room had fallen silent as a man approached the podium before us. I had intended to listen to his words, but my mind had completely numbed as it occurred to me how real this was. The woman who had raised me, that I had known as my mother for my whole life until recently, was gone–completely–and nothing I could do or say could change that fact. The man's gentle voice faded from my ears, and I began to feel like I was watching a muted TV show, barely able to comprehend what I was seeing. Desmond tapped me on the shoulder after what had felt like mere seconds.

"Alex, dear?" He sounded concerned.

"What?" I blinked. The man was no longer up there. Everyone was lining up beside the open casket at the front of the room. I swallowed the bile that was rising in my throat. I wasn't ready for this.

"You don't look well," he commented. "You don't have to go up there, you know."

"I-I know..." I muttered. "I don't think I can. I'm going to go get some air."

"Okay." He frowned, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "This isn't easy for me, either. I hope you know that."

"I know," I said, turning to leave. "I'll take you up on that offer, by the way."

His expression softened into a smile. "Great. Mel and I will meet you outside in a few."

"Okay. My car is the silver Alero; you should be able to find it," I paused, then said, "Tell mom...tell her I love her." I started to sob uncontrollably and ran outside. I struggled to find my car through the blurring of the water in my eyes. Fumbling with the handle proved useless as I attempted to get the key in the hole, but it didn't matter anymore. Salem was at my side immediately, holding me tight against his cold chest. I didn't hold back; I let the tears fall relentlessly.

His hand soothingly caressed my back, and I realized how right he was. This wasn't something I should have passed up. I may not have been able to bear seeing her, lying still and lifeless in her coffin, but I would have forever regretted not being present at the funeral at all. She may not have given birth to me, but as far as I was concerned Janet Hobbs was my mother. Salem tried to pull away from me, and I attempted to stop him, but it was useless. My strength was nothing compared to his.

"Someone is coming," he whispered and disappeared from sight.

I looked up through the haze and saw Desmond approaching; Melissa linked onto his arm. I groaned. Maybe agreeing to go out with them wasn't the brightest idea.

"I am sorry for your loss, Alex," Melissa said quietly, pulling me into her arms. "Truly." This was far more awkward than the hug I shared with Desmond.

"Thanks..." I said, grateful that the hug didn't last long.

"Your friends–Jason and Karen–said they were sorry, too, and that they would stop by to see you later," Desmond said. Did I notice a hint of tears behind his glossy brown eyes? "I told them I would pass that along to you."

I nodded slowly. "Thanks," I repeated.

"Speaking of friends," Melissa said with a sly grin. "Who was that handsome young man comforting you just a minute ago?"

My eyes widened. She'd seen Salem. How lovely. "He's a friend," I lied. He was more than that now. In fact, despite my reservations and the little time I had known him, I was beginning to believe his soul-mate notion.

"It's too bad he ran off; we would have taken him along with us," Desmond said with a gentle smile.

"That's okay...he'll-" My voice was broken off when I saw Salem appear from nowhere. I eyed him frantically.

"I would be happy to join you," he said, walking to my side. "I'm sorry I disappeared so suddenly, I was saying my farewells to Mrs. Hobbs."

Desmond stared at him curiously, and then smiled. "Great."

We agreed to take separate vehicles and meet up at the restaurant. It was an Italian place, which made me sicker than I anticipated. I remembered vaguely the man on the plane to Denver reminiscing about some Italian restaurant he had been to–it reminded me too much of what I had seen and endured in Denver, which had led to all of this.

We reached the restaurant shortly after Desmond and Melissa pulled into the parking lot. Salem grasped my hand tightly in his as we entered the building. The smell of fresh cooked bread was almost overwhelming. My stomach reacted immediately, growling ferociously as we followed my 'father' and his girlfriend. Our waiter led us to a table in the center of a full room. Fortunately, I didn't feel over-dressed as I scanned the surrounding tables. Women were clad in dresses, men in button-up shirts and some even tuxes. I had forgotten that Desmond could now afford to dine at these fancier places, unlike when I was growing up.

I scooted into my chair, Salem sitting in the one adjacent to mine. Desmond and Melissa sat on the opposite side of the table. My throat felt like it was going to swell when I noticed the shining rock on her finger. She appeared to notice my gaze and grinned.

"Don't you worry, Alex," she replied in a gentle tone. "Des and I aren't to that stage just yet."

I exhaled and smiled. "That's good to know. Well, it isn't...that's not what I meant," I rambled and Salem gripped my hand underneath the table. The cold of his touch was somehow soothing.

"So, are you going to introduce us?" Desmond's eyes swept across the two of us.

"This is Salem," I said quietly. "I met him in music class."

"That's lovely," Melissa smiled. "Are you two, y'know...together?"

"Something like that," Salem replied with a smile as he peered at me from the corner of his eye.

Our waiter took our drink orders—Salem requested a glass of ice water, which I knew he would either seldom drink or not touch at all. I got a soda; Melissa followed Salem's order, and Desmond requested the finest wine they had.

"You aren't originally from around here, are you, Salem?" my adoptive father asked, obviously hearing the accent in his voice.

"I was born in Wales, actually," he replied with a polite smile.

"Speaking of places outside the country, where have you been off to?" I asked, eying Desmond.

He frowned somewhat, possibly hoping I hadn't noticed. "We flew in from Egypt when we heard the news," he said casually, flipping through the extravagant menu.

"Egypt is a very interesting place," Salem said, and I glanced at him fiercely. He gripped my hand tightly—reassuringly. "My parents and I took a vacation there a few years back," he added, and I relaxed. "It's much closer to Europe than it is to America though," he added, laughing slightly.

"Are they travelers, too?" Desmond asked.

"Were," Salem corrected forlornly.

"What shall we be having this evening, ladies and gentlemen?" the waiter asked, interrupting our conversation and setting our beverages down. I took a chance to look up at him; he had tanned skin and a curved mustache above his thin lips.

Salem passed on food despite Desmond's insistence, stating he had no appetite. I wanted to say the same, but forced myself to request the lasagna. I didn't listen to the other two's orders—the dish's names were far too complicated to understand, anyway. The waiter walked off, and I watched Salem wink at me as he took a small sip of water. I wanted to giggle, but I fought the urge.

"You two seem happy together," Desmond mused, watching us closely. "That's good."

"We are, sir," Salem said with a smile and turned to kiss me lightly on the cheek. I felt warmth rising where his mouth had touched, despite the cold of his lips.

"Good. Maybe I will have to make a trip back here in a few years for the wedding." He grinned.

I gasped as I took a sip of my soda, nearly choking. My lips moved to talk, but I couldn't make the words come out. Salem smiled back at Desmond.

"You never know," he replied, his smile ceasing to fade.

I wanted to cover my head in my hands. Fortunately, the food didn't take much longer to arrive, and our table was filled with silence as we dug into our meal. Salem simply sat and watched, sipping his ice water every now and then. I had to admit, I was glad I had opted to eat. The food was amazing! Salem and I barely spoke, just nodding and muttering the occasional "Wow's" every once in a while between the stories Desmond and Melissa told us about their adventures around the globe. I could tell that Salem was somewhat eager to further discuss travel with them, but perhaps felt it would be a dangerous topic to delve too deeply into.

"How have you been, Alex?" Desmond said suddenly after recounting a long, tiring description of a trip they had taken once to New Zealand. He must have forgotten he already asked me at the funeral. That didn't entirely surprise me, though. There had been a lot going on in that moment.

I put down my fork and looked up at him. "I've been all right, considering..." I replied. "I know Paul is my real father now, and school is going...not so great."

"Oh. I had no idea your moth...Janet had told you. I must confess that is one of the reasons I brought you out to eat. That and to catch up, of course." He smiled. "And that's no good about school, Alex. You need a good education if you want to get by in this world."

"That's not always true; Mom said you dropped out of school."

"There are exceptions to almost every rule, Alex. And despite being well off now I still regret dropping out to this day. I was lucky enough to get into a teaching career, despite my poor choices as a teenager."

"Well, maybe I will be lucky, too."

"Are you trying to tell me you are dropping out of school, Alex? Your mother and I raised you better than that."

Salem must have sensed the fire starting to burn under my skin and thankfully changed the conversation before I could retaliate against Desmond's remark. "Thanks for taking us out, Mr. Hobbs," Salem said, feigning a yawn as Desmond finally stopped staring at me, and dabbed a napkin to his lips.

"It was my pleasure. I hoped it would lighten the mood, make things a bit easier for all of us, considering," Desmond replied, looking slightly perturbed—whether it was from Salem changing the subject or the matter of me possibly leaving school. Maybe it was both.

"It was definitely good," I murmured as I chewed on a piece of bread, still angry at his comment. What kind of nerve did he have to try to say he had any true part in raising me?

The waiter returned moments later with the check and a handful of mints. We each took one and stood up from our chairs. Desmond and Melissa walked us to the car, and I received yet another embrace and condolences from each of them. Desmond shook Salem's hand, and I wondered if he noticed how cold his skin was, but he didn't seem to react.

"Alexis, if you ever need anything...anything at all," Desmond handed me a business card with a number written messily onto the back, "you call me, okay?"

"Yeah, Da...Desmond," I said as he smiled at me.

I relaxed some as I watched them wander off to their own vehicle. Salem and I climbed into the Alero and headed back to his place. All I wanted now was to curl up in bed and cry myself to sleep—I knew it was inevitable. After all the stress I had endured and emotions I had tried to hold back, it was time to let it out.

Chapter Eighteen

Three weeks had passed since the funeral. Despite all that had happened, I was happier than I had ever been. Salem and I spent most of our time walking through the woods, reading one another books from his vast collection, or simply lying in the grass talking. For someone who seemed plucked from a different era, I was amazed how much we had in common. I felt as though I could spend a lifetime with him and never get bored or run out of things to say. Before long, it felt as though years had passed since I scoffed at the thought of being in a relationship with a vampire. To me, he was no longer some mythical and frightening creature. He was Salem–my charming, caring, handsome Salem. Few things could pull me from this happy existence, and one of those was ringing in my pocket.

I stopped reading to Salem the page of Moby Dick I was on and pulled out the familiar little cell phone. The flashing screen alerted me that it was my best friend, Karen. For a moment, I was reluctant to answer, knowing already what she would say. She and Jason had called me innumerable times since I stopped showing up for school shortly after the funeral.

"Hello?" I said timidly.

"Alex! I swear sometimes I think you've disappeared. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Karen, just like last time."

"Well, excuse me for caring! So are you like, dropping out of school or what?"

"I...I don't know."

"Well, either way I don't think you're going to be graduating with us. You've missed way too much, Alex."

"I know." She had said this all before, several times.

"I thought we were supposed to graduate together, you know? I mean we always talked about it. Walking up there in the gown, throwing the cap. What happened to that, Alex?"

"I don't know. Look, I am sorry...really. I just don't think I can do it. I mean...I don't think I want to."

"You know you can tell me anything, right? What's going on?"

"It's just...Mom...and..."

"And what? Is that boy you've been with controlling you or something? You tell me, and I will get you away from him for good!"

"No...it's not that. Not at all. Look, I need to go. Okay? I will talk to you soon; I promise," I said, hanging up the phone.

I immediately felt guilty hanging up on Karen like that. She really was still my best friend, and I knew I should treat her better, but right now I just needed this escape. Talking to her reminded me of everything that had happened. I was much more content being hidden from reality with Salem.

Just as I had thought the disturbances from my reading were over, Salem took the opportunity to present me with yet another reoccurring pull from my happiness.

"Are you going to go to Paul's shop today?" He had been pressing the issue more and more the last few weeks.

"Fine!" I yelled, still slightly upset from the call with Karen. Despite being annoyed with him presenting this now old argument at such a bad time, he was right. I had put it off for too long. The sooner I learned to control...whatever it was I had been 'gifted' with...the safer my remaining family and friends would be.

"I'm sorry, Salem; I was just upset. I shouldn't take it out on you. You're right...I will go. First thing tomorrow..."

He looked at me with suspicion for a brief moment before opening his mouth. "Good. I believe you this time. Now come on, let's finish the book. I am simply dying to know if he gets the white whale." He smiled wide.

I hit him playfully with a couch pillow. "As if you don't know, how many times have you read this? A hundred?"

"A few."

"Yeah...a few hundred!" We both laughed for a while before resituating and continued the read.

When I arrived at Paul's shop the next morning, he was beyond shocked to see me. The surprise was soon overshadowed by his immense relief when I told him the tragic news about Salem and I 'breaking up', and that I was eager to become a hunter. More than anything, he was intrigued by the fact that I could transform into an actual raven. He had never believed it was possible, despite the legends. He was somewhat over thrilled at the fact that his daughter was one of the very few capable of such an ability. I, personally, dreaded it.

Five out of seven days of the week were spent in the back of the auto shop. Paul had it cleared out to make room for us to practice combat techniques. He taught me to use the crossbow he had gifted me. I was reluctant to begin with and my aim was very poor, but after just a week and a half, I had mastered that skill, practicing on targets he had crafted out of old emptied fuel tanks. The fact that I enjoyed the use of it scared me more than a little. Maybe Salem was right about this addiction. We practiced mostly in the late afternoon and into the night, during after-school hours because I had him believing I was still attending.

It was difficult coming up with tales to give him about how school was, what Jason and Karen were up to, and the upcoming graduation in six months. He pressured me from time to time to ask Jason out to a movie, even if Karen joined us. He wanted nothing more than for me to forget about Salem entirely. In fact, one of his main goals at training me was with the hopes that I would be the one to kill him.

We went through simple close combat techniques. At first, it was a little difficult. I had not been in a gym or done any physical activities aside from P.E. class in forever. I was actually amazed by how flexible I still was and how easily I learned to kick and punch—Janet and Desmond had put me through gymnastics and martial arts lessons as a child, but that had been so long ago. Just another group of things I had lost interest in after Desmond had abandoned us. I learned that these particular two classes had been Paul's idea, with the obvious intent of me using that skill for my future 'job'.

I was dumbfounded by how graceful Paul could be as well. I had heard from Salem how Paul wasn't the best hunter he had ever seen—how he could barely hit the broad side of a barn with his crossbow, and was far too slow to be of much concern. I was not sure if Salem had been exaggerating or if Paul had just improved ten-fold from their last encounter. Neither would have fully surprised me.

During the weeks of training, I had actually grown a lot closer to Paul than I thought imaginable. He told me that he was envious of my natural skill at fighting and my impressive aim, as well as my raven abilities. I knew he was just flattering me in some regard, but I couldn't help but to admit that I had gotten quite good. He also reflected on when he first started his training. One of his favorite memories was how he used to hunt wild game with his dad, long before he even knew of his heritage. Eventually, he began training to hunt the undead with his sister and father, but he seldom took it serious back then. He was far too focused on the relationship he had formed with Destiny, which he partially blamed for his admitted lack of skill back then. He regretted it, but at the same time was thankful that he spent so much time with her – before she was gone.

Every night after practice I went to Salem's house, exhausted and sore. Paul's plan was working, but not in the way he had hoped. With how much time I spent away practicing and in bed sleeping, I had little time with Salem. He would stay with me as I slept, and treat me to a late breakfast. That was about all the time we got together during the past three weeks.

"Are you eager to return tonight?" Salem asked, sitting across from me at the dining table. He was turning a spoon around in his fingers; the ceiling light glinted off of the metal. He appeared nervous.

"Not really." I sighed tiredly and ran a hand across my face. "Paul wants me to try...changing."

"Have either of you figured out how to do that?"

"He thinks being around your kind might trigger it somehow," I said quietly. "When I am in danger, and my adrenaline is pumping...even though it didn't happen when I was around Mark."

His eyes grew cold, and the spoon clattered to the floor. "What does he expect you to do?" His voice was harsh.

"He wants to take me hunting tonight..." I murmured, barely touching the food on my plate, "real hunting, against a vampire."

Salem shut his eyes and shook his head. "No! You're not ready!" His palm smacked against the tabletop.

Despite his reaction, my lips curved upward slightly. "Salem, I've had nearly a month's worth of practice. I think it's just you that isn't ready."

"You might be right." He sighed and began pacing around the room. "What if I went with you?"

"How would that work? Paul would know you were there in a second."

"I wouldn't have to be right beside you...just within the area."

"I don't know. It might work. I don't really see the point in you being there though, I'll be fine."

"If anything happened to you..." His voice trailed off.

"You'll be putting yourself in danger if you go. Don't forget about Paul."

"There is no reason to worry about me," he said assuredly.

"He's not as bad as you let on, you know."

"Do you hear yourself, Alex? This is what I was afraid of."

"I guess I'll tell Paul that I'll do it. He said I didn't have to if I wasn't ready, but I just decided that I am." I sighed, hoping I really was ready and partially ignoring Salem's last sentiment. "He says he's been hearing some strange things down by the graveyard towards his place—people going missing and such. He thinks it may be vampire-related."

"It's possible," he said simply, though still obviously upset by what was happening.

As Salem cleared my plate, I called Paul and told him I would meet him at the cemetery. I was not looking forward to it in the least. The first experience with changing had not only been startling, but also painful. I also wasn't quite sure I was ready to face a vampire, despite all of my practice. And just what was I supposed to do once I was in that form? Salem and Paul being in the same place together made me even more nervous.

The day was dragging on slowly. Salem and I snuggled up on the sofa and discussed strategies for tonight's event. He was going to leave before I did and await our arrival, concealing himself behind whatever was available, and watching to make sure I was safe. As we talked, my phone suddenly vibrated. Plucking it from my pocket, I saw Jason's name across the screen.

"It's Jason again..." I murmured.

"Answer it," Salem suggested. "I'll leave you alone if you want."

"No, it's fine," I replied and leaned up against him again after I hit the answer button. "Hello?"

"Alex!" Jason's voice was a pleasant, welcoming sound. It felt like forever since I last heard it. As I listened, it began to sink in how much time I had spent away from my best friends. I missed a party, at my own house, because I was spending time with Salem instead. There had once been a time when Jason, Karen and I were inseparable, and now I had practically replaced them with a boy I hadn't known that long, especially in comparison to two almost lifelong friendships. Yet, despite how wretched it made me feel knowing that I had abandoned my friends, I was happier now than I had ever been before–and that just made it worse. These feelings increased at the sound of Jason's voice as he continued talking, but I did my best to suppress my emotions. "I have been so worried about you. You still haven't been to school, and I have stopped at the house countless times, and you never answer-"

"I'm fine, Jace," I said, breaking him off. I felt terrible having to sound so stern with him, but how many times were he and Karen going to tell me the same stuff?

"Right..." He sounded sincerely worried and unconvinced.

"I am, honest."

"That's good." He paused for a moment before saying, "I kind of wanted to ask you something."

"What is it?" This couldn't be good.

"If you are feeling up to it..." He paused again. "Would you want to go out for lunch, with me?"

"Um, when?" I stared at Salem hopelessly, wishing he could do or say something to save me.

"I was thinking today, but if some other time would be better..."

The only thing that led me to agree was the hope that it would get Paul off my back. "Where'd you have in mind?"

"There's this really nice diner down by my house. Mitch works there, actually. I'm sure you know the place."

"Oh, that's cool. I guess that works."

"Great!" His voice was over-enthusiastic. "Be ready in an hour?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Are you sure you really want to go? I mean...I've been trying to get you to hang out for like a month now, and you always say no."

"Well, you never asked me to go eat, did you?" I laughed.

"Oh, I see how it is!" he replied, laughing also. "Alright, well...I'll see you in an hour!"

"See you," I muttered and hung up the phone. Salem stared eagerly at me, awaiting my story. To my surprise, he wasn't upset.

"You need time with your friends," he insisted. "It has been far too long since you have been with them. I thought of pushing the subject other times while you were on the phone but refrained."

"I don't think you understand, Salem," I said, shaking my head. "This is Jason. A boy. And he asked me out, alone."

He shrugged. "Friends can eat out alone."

"Fine," I grumbled. "I have to go home so he can pick me up."

"I'll join you," he offered.

"Okay, but don't let him see you when he shows up. I'd hate to have to make up some reason for why you are there. They still don't really know about us."

The drive away from Salem's house was frighteningly enjoyable to me now. The twists and turns no longer made me nervous. I found an unexpected thrill as we went over the hills and around the bends. Part of me didn't like this, but I tried to convince myself it was merely because I was so used to the roads. A light drizzle of rain began trickling down the windshield.

My house was freezing cold and depressingly empty when we arrived. It hurt more than I imagined, walking through the door knowing that I would never see Janet here again. I wouldn't see her anywhere again. Salem noticed my expression and pulled me into his arms. The uncontrollable tears came trickling down my face in moist, warm drops. I wiped my eyes and looked up into his pale blue ones.

"I think I want to sell the house," I blurted out with little forethought.

His eyes narrowed. "But it's your home."

"It doesn't feel like home to me anymore." I frowned. "I can stay with you."

He smiled warmly and wiped away one of my tears. "You can stay with me without selling the place."

"There's no reason to keep it," I objected.

"It's the home you grew up in." He frowned, and I now understood why he felt so inclined to make me keep it.

"I'm sorry that your childhood home is gone, Salem...but this house really has no meaning to me anymore...it's just a big painful reminder, an empty shell from a life that I used to have. And besides, I practically live at your place already. There and Paul's."

"If that's how you feel, then I won't stop you." His expression finally softened again until he peered through the front windows.

My mouth fell open when I saw the headlights glimmering through the window, and a sudden downpour of rain reflecting in the light. I hadn't even had time to get ready! Groaning, I ran upstairs to find a pair of clean clothing, changed, then brushed my hair. It wasn't as if it really mattered, Jason had seen me in far worse conditions before. When I returned downstairs, Salem was gone. I sighed and gathered my slick red raincoat from the front closet.

Jason knocked loudly on the door, and I opened it reluctantly. To my dismay, he held a bouquet of brilliant yellow daffodils before him. His expression was cheerful but apprehensive. With a shaking hand, he offered me the flowers.

"Thanks, Jace," I said happily, hiding my discomfort.

"You're welcome." He smiled. I had never seen him nervous around me before; it was awkward. Was it just because we had not seen one another in so long? "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, just let me put these in some water." I grabbed a tall glass from one of the kitchen cabinets, ran the faucet and let it fill the cup about halfway before plopping the daffodils in it. "That should do it."

Jason led me out to his car, which was still running. He politely opened the door for me and shut it after I got in. He walked over to the other side and got situated. Once we were both buckled in, he pulled out of the driveway, and we were on our way.

Chapter Nineteen

The diner was smaller than I had imagined it would be. It was run by friends of the Banner family. The walls were painted a shade of deep burgundy, with lavender trim. At the entrance was a row of benches for when the place was packed. Fortunately, it was fairly empty this afternoon – possibly thanks to the sudden downpour. I recognized Mitchell standing behind the podium. He smirked at us, mostly at his older brother. His appearance was very similar to Jason's—the same shade of brunette hair, but his was curly and his eyes were blue rather than chocolate.

"Hey Jace, hey Alex," he said casually. "I'll take you to your seats."

We followed Mitchell to a cozy little booth in the back of the restaurant, right up against two large windows. The blinds were pulled up, and the brewing storm was visible. I sat down on the left side of the table; Jason took the right. Mitchell handed us each a menu and asked what we'd like to drink—we both ordered sodas, and he left to retrieve them.

"This place is nice," I commented, looking up at my childhood best friend.

"Yeah," he said and smiled. "My family comes here all the time."

"What made you decide to ask me out for lunch?" I asked curiously as I began browsing the menu.

"I have sort of wanted to ask you for a while." I looked up in shock, noting the color rising in his cheeks. "It wasn't until I ran into Paul at the supermarket that I finally got the nerve to ask. He said you could use some time out of the house."

I swore under my breath. "It doesn't surprise me that he had something to do with this," I fumed.

He frowned. "You didn't want to come?"

"No, that's not it. He's just been really bothering me lately about going out more, even though I've told him I've just been too tired."

"He's probably just worried about you."

I nodded, not wanting to talk any more on the subject. "I think I know what I want," I said.

"Great," he said. "I'll probably just get a cheeseburger. Boring, huh?"

"Probably more exciting than my grilled cheese." I chuckled. I had missed spending time with him.

Mitch returned with our drinks and asked for our orders. He winked at his brother as he left with the information. Jason's cheeks flushed again. "So, any idea what happened to that boy from music class? Karen and I haven't seen him since."

My eyes widened somewhat at his mention of Salem. "I don't know. I haven't really seen him since then either."

"Weird. Maybe he got suspended, or moves a lot or something. Or maybe he got sick." I was glad Karen had not told him whatever it was she thought she knew.

"Maybe..." I mumbled. "How's Karen?"

"She's doing fine. She's been worried sick about you, too, though."

"Oh." I frowned and played with the wrapper from my straw. "Well, can you tell her that I'm fine? I just talked to her on the phone not that long ago...but maybe she will believe it if it comes from you."

"Of course," he answered with a grin. "Would you believe she is actually jealous that I asked you out?"

I blinked and dropped the paper. "What?"

"I guess she kind of likes me." He shrugged. "I never noticed it before, we've all just been friends for so long... so I didn't really notice any signs."

"Wow. I didn't know that either." I meant that more about him having an interest in me than Karen being interested in him. That had never been a secret to me.

"You have missed a lot of school," he commented as I took a sip of my soda. "None of it has been very exciting, though. This isn't going to screw up graduating with us is it?"

"That's not surprising." I laughed. I had forgotten what it was like talking to someone who understood what my life was like outside of vampires. "Well..."

Mitchell returned with a round tray of food at just the right time to end the conversation before it got too uncomfortable. For that, I was very thankful. He placed a plate before each of us and sat a bottle of ketchup on the table.

"Thanks," I said as he walked away. I had also forgotten what it was like to have food served to me without the use of magic, and how long it takes to have a meal cooked. I could hardly imagine what it would be like to cook anything again. I laughed to myself at the thought, and Jason looked at me awkwardly.

"What's so funny?" he asked as he bit into his cheeseburger.

"Nothing," I mumbled. "I'm just happy to be here."

"Oh." He smiled wide. "Me too."

We ate in silence. So far, this was going a lot better than I had feared. Maybe Salem had been right all along and there was nothing going on outside of friendship...but I still had my doubts. Especially with how Jason had been behaving—blushing was not something my best friend often did.

"Hey, Alex..." Jason's voice broke the silence suddenly, and he reached a hand across the table.

I gulped as his skin touched mine. "What?"

"Thanks a lot for coming out with me today."

"No problem." I smiled, eying his hand. "I've had fun."

"Me too." He looked away for a second. "I was kind of hoping we could do it again sometime."

"Yeah, maybe..." I said with a frown. I was glad he wasn't looking directly at me.

"I was kind of thinking maybe next week we could see a movie, maybe...If you're up for it?"

"We'll see," I replied, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

"Do you have other plans or something?"

"No...not exactly. If something comes up, I'll let you know."

"Okay." He smiled again. Mitchell returned, gave him the check and walked off. "There's something else I wanted to talk about."

"What is it?" I asked reluctantly.

"My parents..." He sighed, seeming to be barely able to speak the words. "My parents are getting a divorce."

"What?! How did that happen? They've always seemed so happy!"

"Exactly. They've seemed happy. But they haven't been. It was Dad's idea, he said there is no more passion in their marriage, and he doesn't want to go on if things are going to stay that way," he explained. "I'm thinking of looking for a place to move to. I can hardly stand the arguing and fighting anymore. With the money I get at Howard's, I should be able to afford something small."

I frowned. "I'm so sorry, Jason. I had no idea."

"Yeah, me either really," he said, smiling just slightly. "It will be okay, though. Do you want me to take you home after this?"

"Sure," I mumbled, deep in thought about Mr. and Mrs. Banner. They had always been such a cheerful, happy couple. It was bizarre thinking it had all been a facade.

Jason let go of my hand long enough to pay for the meal and get out of his seat. As soon as we were standing, he reached over casually and took it again and didn't let go again until we reached the car. He once again opened the door for me before getting in on his side.

"Alex," he said calmly, buckling himself in and glanced at me. "I had a nice time, really."

"Yeah, it was fun," I said, looking back at him. That was my first mistake. I was shocked at how close he was to my face. "Jason-" before I got the rest of my words out, his lips were against mine. I pushed him away, possibly a little harder than I had intended and his opposite shoulder slammed against the car door. All of the training with Paul had made me stronger than I realized.

"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his shoulder. "I shouldn't have done that. I don't know what I was thinking."

"It's okay..." I said quietly, averting my eyes. "I just...I just wasn't expecting it, is all."

"You liked it, then?" His voice was hopeful.

I couldn't answer him. "Let's just wait before we do that again," I murmured. "Just take me home, please."

"Okay..." He sounded upset, but I tried to ignore the urge to comfort him. "I'm sorry. I hope you aren't mad at me. I just..."

"I'm just...surprised, that's all. Let's just go. Please."

After a short, silent drive, we reached my house. I said bye quickly and ran inside. Salem was waiting patiently on the sofa, reading a book. I hesitated for a moment, then walked into the room and greeted him. He could tell that I was upset.

"What happened?" he asked as he set the book aside. "Did you not have a nice time?"

"I did up until the end," I grumbled and slumped down on the couch. "Jason kissed me."

Salem stared at me, a flicker of anger illuminating his eyes with a hint of crimson. I had never seen him react in such a way; it was startling. He clenched his fists tightly. "Salem..." I whispered as I backed away slightly, "Your eyes..."

"Did you..." He didn't finish the sentence as he ignored me. He sighed and looked away from me. "Did you return it?"

"No!" I shouted. "I can't believe you would even ask that!"

"I just wouldn't be completely surprised if you saw something better about him." His lips were set in a firm, straight line. "The warmth, the lack of worrying about Paul, living a normal life again..."

I shook my head in anger. "You obviously don't know me as well as I thought!" I got up to leave the room, but his cold fingers lacing around my arm stopped me.

"Don't leave, Alex," he whispered in a gentle voice. "I apologize for my behavior..."

"You're the one that said I should go. You're the one that said-"

"You're right." He sighed, turning me around to face him. His expression was more relaxed, and his eyes were natural again. "I'm not used to having competition."

"You don't have any competition. He's my best friend, who clearly thinks I want to be more than that...and I think I have Paul to thank for that later."

Salem didn't reply, instead he put his arms around me, dipped me downward slightly and kissed me deeply. My head was spinning, but I wasn't complaining—it was a good feeling this time. He pulled me up and kissed me again, this time more gently. "I want my lips to be the only ones to ever touch yours," he whispered in my ear.

"Salem..." I replied quietly, pressing my body against his. Those three words came to mind again, and I pushed them away. "Salem...why were your eyes red when I told you that?"  
"Anger can cause that to happen." He frowned. "Unfortunately, it's not something easily controlled."

"Oh..." I said as I thought it over. "I should get ready for tonight."

He regrettably loosened me from his embrace, and I sauntered upstairs to shower. I got dressed in an entirely black outfit—Paul insisted it would be easier to sneak around the cemetery if I blended in with the darkness. I could hear a car pulling into the driveway as I wandered downstairs. I wasn't ready yet...then again, would I ever be?

"Salem?" I said as I entered the kitchen. I sighed sadly, realizing he said he would leave before Paul and I left. I wondered if I would even notice him when I got there—part of me hoped I wouldn't, and I truly hoped Paul didn't find him. It was a good thing that hunters didn't have the strong senses of vampires; otherwise Paul would be able to find him in a heartbeat.

When I went to open the door, I peered through the window and noticed with shock that the rain had turned to snow. Gentle flakes were whirling through the air, illuminated by the lights on Paul's Wrangler—so much for blending in with the surroundings. I grabbed my crossbow from one of the kitchen drawers and headed out to the car.

The drive to the cemetery was tense. I avoided eye contact with Paul as I furiously thought over what happened between Jason and me. I decided to wait until a later time to bring it up. There were far more important things I had to focus on – like getting a grip on my nerves. Paul pulled the car over about a mile away from the cemetery to make it less conspicuous. We walked the rest of the way in silence; my jaw tightly clenched as I fought the urge to yell at him about Jason.

The graveyard was surprisingly beautiful, yet depressing at the same time. A light dusting of snow covered the ground, sprinkled across the tops of the tombstones and the realistic silk flowers lain before them. There were sparse trees spread throughout the cemetery, their brown leaves holding on loosely and seemingly as dead as the corpses in the ground. I wondered where Salem might be hiding, but I tried to avoid searching for him. A sudden crunching sound reached my ears, and I turned to look at Paul–from the look on his face, I knew he had heard it, too.

"Be very quiet," he whispered in a tone so low that it was hardly audible. "Someone's here."

I nodded my head, following slowly behind him as he crept toward a large crypt in the far end of the cemetery. I noticed we were surrounded by a tall wrought-iron fence from all sides other than the small gate we had entered through. I hoped I could run fast enough to reach the gate, or else climb over the fence, if necessary.

Someone whimpered from behind the crypt. My heart leapt in my chest, thumping loud and hard as we approached the tomb. Then, a voice came–it was a woman speaking in a false-comforting voice.

"It won't hurt long, precious," she said soothingly. "Just relax."

"P-please..." The new voice was young and gentle, but terrified.

Paul glanced back at me and signaled for me to go around the other side. I nodded and stepped to the right of the building as he inched to the left. My weapon was out; my hands were steady, and I was ready for whatever hid behind that building—or so I thought.

The image before me made me gasp in horror. A little girl, maybe eight years old, curled up on the ground beneath a tall woman with a mess of black hair falling in strands from her scalp. Salem was right—he was an exception. This woman may have once been beautiful, but her face was distorted and hideous from the hunger in her eyes. I gulped at the sight of the two long fangs easing out below her upper lip. She turned away from her prey; her eyes now focused on me.

"More snacksss," she hissed. "What a pleasant surprise!"

Paul came from behind the crypt, tugged the girl away and faded from view. I was left alone to face this monster. She leapt into the air–I was amazed by how high she could jump! I spun around, looking for her. She was behind me now, preparing to pounce. I swung my weapon in her direction, pulled the trigger and released an arrow. It punctured her throat, and a line of thick blood oozed out. My eyes grew wide as I felt the familiar nausea and discomfort from the night at the lake.

"No, no, no..." I muttered to myself. Although I knew this was part of Paul's plan, I didn't want it to happen. I shrieked in agony as my bones twisted and snapped, shrinking and curling into the shape of the raven. I was soaring above the vampire within seconds, my wings flapping beside me at ease. How is a raven supposed to defeat a vampire? I wondered to myself.

"Open your mouth, Alex!" I heard Paul shouting to me, but I didn't see him.

What use was that going to be? I opened my mouth—or beak, rather—and a loud caw reverberated off the surrounding tombstones. The vampire clutched her hands to the side of her head as if she were in agony. "They can't stand the sound!" Paul yelled.

I flew down, cawing once more as I landed on the vampire's shoulders. She tried to bat me away, but I wouldn't budge. Without much thought, I pierced her skin with my beak, and she screamed, flailing her arms before crashing to the snow-covered ground. I flitted my wings behind me and jumped off of her body. My eyes, although perhaps not the ones visible to the outside world, were wide with fear and confusion. Her body writhed and wriggled on the snow, as if I had severely damaged her.

The snapping, crunching sound came again. I flinched as a burst of radiant feathers surrounded me, and I fell upon the frosty ground beside her. She took the chance to clamber to her feet, although she was still in evident pain. Suddenly, she was on top of me. My hands grasped onto her shoulders, and I pushed her away with all the might I could muster, shoving her into a nearby tombstone. I caught sight of my crossbow lying idly in the snow, and I crawled over to it, aimed it in her direction and shot again. She moved before it could hit her. Something had clearly weakened her, but it hadn't been enough.

Before I had time to react, her body was over mine again. Her long, thick nails clawed at my skin as I tried to hold her back. I screeched as the nails dug deep into my shoulders. The monster of a woman cackled, and then opened her mouth wide, fangs bared and ready to strike. Salem had been right; I was not only going to get hurt out here–I was going to die.

Something moved outside my line of sight, and my heart sunk when I realized it wasn't who I had expected—it wasn't Paul. Salem, with glowing red eyes, appeared beside us. He swiftly kicked the female vampire as hard as he could in her ribs, knocking her off of my body. He tackled her to the ground, and I stared in fear as his fangs were bared.

"No, Salem!" I shouted, but he didn't listen. His teeth tore deep into her flesh, and I shut my eyes.

Paul finally came into view, the sound of his boots crunching in the newly fallen snow made me open my eyes. He stood a few feet away, wielding his crossbow and preparing to shoot either one of them. I panicked, ran into him and pushed him over as the trigger went off. My mouth fell open, and I expected a howl of agony to erupt, but no sound came. I rolled over onto the snow, grasping at the shaft in my side.

Paul's lips trembled as he stared at the arrow embedded in my skin.

I fought to keep my eyes open, fought to focus on where Salem was, but everything was spinning so fast and growing hazy. "Salem..." I gasped, and I was swallowed by darkness.

Chapter Twenty

"Get away from her, Paul!" Salem said fiercely. I could feel something wet and cold beneath me as I suddenly regained a bit of consciousness and realized I was still lying in the snow. My eyes were open, but I could hardly focus. My father knelt beside me, his eyes frantically staring from my face to the wound in my side.

"I'm not leaving her, you monster!" Paul replied through gritted teeth. "If I wasn't so worried about her safety, I would kill you right now!"

"Do you not realize that I saved her life?!" Salem shouted, incredulous.

"That doesn't make you any better than the rest of them."

I could hear my own shallow breathing and the faint sound of painful moans. "Salem..." I coughed.

"She wants me, Paul," he said in anguish. "I can help her, please."

Through the haze, I could see my father stand and back away. Salem was at my side now; his cold hand gently brushed against the side of my face. "Alexis? Can you hear me?"

I nodded my head weakly and shivered. "Salem...is she..."

"She's dead," he assured me. "Try not to move."

I wasn't sure at first why he wanted me to remain still until I felt his hand at the base of the arrow. "No!" I cried out in pain.

"It has to come out," he said calmly.

My body shook with unbearable pain as he tore the arrow from my skin in one swift motion. The screams I heard didn't sound like my own—they sounded horrific and terrifying. I curled up in the snow, holding my arms tightly against myself trying to stop the shaking. Salem gathered me into his arms and held me.

"It's okay, Alex," he whispered soothingly. "The pain will fade soon; I promise. You are lucky it didn't hit any organs, just tissue."

"What happened...to the little girl?" I gasped as I remembered the vampire's poor victim. From the look on Salem's face, I knew I didn't want the answer.

Paul stared at us angrily. "How did you know she would be here?!" he demanded, ignoring my question entirely.

"That's really not important right now, Paul," Salem seethed.

"Don't forget I could kill you where you stand, monster."

"P-please, stop fighting," I pleaded, shivering against his cold body.

"Let me take her somewhere warm," Salem said, lifting me up as he stood.

"No. I can take her to a hospital," Paul objected.

"It burns!" I screamed. "Salem...it burns!" I squirmed violently in his arms.

He stared at me with confusion, and then turned his frightened gaze toward my father. "Please tell me those were just normal arrows."

Paul frowned and shook his head.

"What is on them?!" Salem demanded, cradling me in his arms, his eyes wide and fearful.

"They're tipped with venom," he said in shame. "It helps weaken your kind for when we miss our mark."

"Is it fatal, Paul?" Salem's voice was pleading now.

Paul didn't answer.

"Is it?!" Salem shouted.

"I honestly don't know," he muttered. "I've never shot a human before."

"You better pray it isn't," Salem growled and began running at speeds faster than I had ever imagined possible.

I could vaguely feel the smooth silk beneath me, and see a figure pacing back and forth at the front of the room. Everything looked like it was shrouded in a mist of fog, and my head ached as if I had been bludgeoned with a bat. I groaned and pulled my hands to my face.

"Alex?" Salem's sweet voice reached my ears. Where was he?

"S-Salem..." I whispered between a sudden shiver.

"Are you cold?" He sounded absolutely devastated.

"N-no. I'm okay. Where are you?" I felt around the bed for him, and then the realization washed over me; he was the figure pacing at the end of the bed. I felt his weight hit the mattress as he lay beside me. His cold hand met my clammy forehead.

"You're running a fever," he said sadly. "Do you remember anything from last night?"

I wracked my brain in an attempt to recall the previous night. Images flashed through my mind of myself floating over a blurred figure, Salem pouncing through the darkness, and Paul was there, too. I shook my head; this didn't make sense. They wouldn't have been together; Dad would have killed Salem.

"Why were you and Paul together last night?" I asked groggily.

He relayed the memory, and it all came to me in sudden images. "No..." I groaned. "Paul saw you!"

"That's not important right now, Alex," he said quietly, pulling me against him. "How do you feel?"

"Confused." I laughed bitterly. "A little sore, too...and everything is blurry."

"It will fade," he whispered comfortingly into my ear, his embrace tightening. "Are you hungry?"

"No," I said and laid my head against his chest. "What do we do now?"

"Nothing has changed, Alex."

"Paul knows."

"He doesn't necessarily know anything. For all he knows, I am stalking your every move."

I laughed. "Did that noise bother you?" I mumbled, somewhat embarrassed. Why should I be?

"A little." He grimaced. "I wasn't aware a raven could be so powerful. Like I said, I have only heard stories."

I sighed contentedly as I relaxed against him. "How did I hurt her so badly? That's what I really don't understand. It was just a peck, really."

"I think it's similar to the arrows," he spoke quietly, hesitantly–not wanting to upset me, I suspected. "Perhaps Waldron ravens are capable of producing venom that is harmful to my kind."

I shook my head. "None of this makes any sense Salem. Ravens are just birds. Birds don't have poison."

"Listen to what you are saying, Alex," he sad and chuckled. "You are lying against a vampire, and you spontaneously turn into a bird! How is the idea of being capable of such damage outside of reason, knowing this?"

"Because...we're just birds!" I shouted. I wasn't sure why I was acting like this, maybe it was just the confusion still swirling around in my head from the night before.

"You aren't a mere bird! You are far more than that. It is scarcely different from me being able to do this." His eyes flickered purple and a bowl of chicken noodle soup appeared on my nightstand. "I've been through this with you before; the world isn't at all how you may have once believed. Waldron's have always been strong and dangerous to my kind, and clearly, they have developed a form of poison that weakens us," he explained with slight distaste. "Now, get some food in you. It will make you feel better."

I wanted to reject the soup, but I knew he was right. I began feeling better after I consumed just half the bowl, and I could feel my fever starting to pass. Salem said the fluids probably helped dilute the poison in my system. He disposed of my half-devoured meal and returned immediately.

"How do you feel now?" he inquired, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You're no longer clammy; that's a good sign." He smiled pleasantly.

I shuddered as he flashed his teeth at me. An image of him with deadly fangs entered my mind, and I wondered unwillingly how exactly he had killed the female vampire. "I'm okay..." I answered, lost in thought.

"You seem frightened." He frowned and sat beside me again.

"I just...have a lot on my mind, about last night. I saw you attack her."

He glanced away temporarily. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Don't apologize. It was just sort of unexpected, and scary," I said honestly. "I never thought you could be like that."

He laughed quietly. "I can do plenty of frightening things, Alexis. The important thing is that I don't, unless necessary...such as last night."

I nodded mutely as I considered this. "I don't think I want to practice hunting anymore."

"If that's how you feel, I won't pressure you to continue, but I think it might be wise of you to reconsider."

"Why?! For what purpose! I nearly got myself killed last night!"

He cringed at my words. "That was of no fault of your own. Paul is more to blame for that than anyone else. You did exceptionally well."

I shook my head and sighed. "I just don't know if I can handle it."

"Don't change your mind just yet, Alex." He pulled me close again. "What you are doing is a good thing, and I will always make sure you are safe."

"I guess." I sighed in defeat.

He smiled and kissed me lightly on the forehead. "You'll have plenty of time to think once you have rested."

Chapter Twenty-One

A mere week had passed before I was out on the battlefield again. Despite my initial reservations, I had decided that this was what I wanted. This time I would fight solo. My feud with Paul was not over, and I hadn't spoken to him since the incident, despite his constant phone calls. I stalked through the cemetery again—my father was right about it being a common feeding ground. I found my target leaning against the base of one of the many tall trees. He eyed me hungrily; a devious smirk painted across his pale face. His skin was rugged and dirty, and his build was tall and muscular.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said casually, flipping a golden coin in his left hand.

I eyed him curiously. "Were you expecting me?"

"Word has been going around that there's a raven among these parts," he replied smugly. "I just had to come and see what all the fuss was about. I never imagined it would be a little girl."

Where could he possibly have caught word of that? My eyes didn't leave his. I had anticipated a scene similar to my prior visit to the graveyard, but instead it appeared that I was the victim. I reached for my crossbow, but he was much too quick. The coin flipped one last time, landing with a quiet clink against the top of a nearby gravestone. His cold hands were suddenly wrapped around my wrist, preventing me from grabbing my weapon.

"You will be the first raven I have tasted." He grinned maliciously, leaning his face toward my throat.

"You won't be tasting anything tonight I'm afraid," I replied calmly. With my available arm, I punched him hard in the jaw. He fell back, stunned by my strength, but within seconds his laughter resumed.

"A feisty one, I see," he remarked. "You are just making this more enjoyable for me. I haven't had a challenge in a long time, and despite what my dear mother always told me–I don't mind playing with my food."

"I'm glad you are having so much fun right before you die," I replied fiercely. He sprung at me, but I rolled out of the way. My head slammed into a rock behind me. I was hardly aware of the damage at first. The man's nostrils flared as the scent of my blood reached his nose, and he licked his pale, thick lips hungrily. My fingers found the spot on the back of my head; I could feel moisture against my fingertips.

The distraction was enough for him to get the opportunity he had anticipated. I staggered to get up, but he lunged toward me with full force. The stone behind me crumbled beneath our combined weight. I could feel the rough rock stabbing into my back as I laid there helpless for a moment. His mouth opened wide, revealing his stained yellow fangs. I shuddered and tried to block out the memory of Salem, but it was impossible.

"You are truly making this too easy for me, raven! And here I thought I had a real fight on my hands for once," he snarled, his lips nearing my throat once more.

"You got lucky." I kneed him as hard as I could between the legs, sending him hurtling over my head and behind me. Grabbing my crossbow, I turned and pointed it toward his chest.

"Considering the rumors I have heard of your family's shooting skill, that's not going to do you much good," he barked with laughter.

"Unfortunately for you, I have better aim." I pulled the trigger. The arrow whistled through the air, and the vampire, caught up in his own banter, was too slow to realize what was happening. I grimaced as he fell to the ground, a bloodcurdling scream emitting from his gaping mouth. My eyes were wide with horror as I watched the vampire's body contort in misery. Despite what he was, I couldn't control the pain I felt at watching him die.

Salem appeared at my side from some place unseen. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me away from the horrific scene. "I was afraid for a moment," he whispered. "I almost intervened."

"How does it not affect you like it does the rest of them?" I asked, "The blood; I mean."

"There is a difference between human and animal blood," he commented after checking my scalp—the damage wasn't severe. We walked away from the dying vampire. "Over time I have not only grown accustom to animal blood, but I enjoy it. Your blood actually smells—and probably tastes—quite revolting to me now."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, not quite sure if that was a compliment or not.

"You were quite impressive out there." He smiled, although it was obviously forced.

"Do I scare you?" I asked in wonder.

"You don't, but what you are capable of certainly does. I am very fortunate to know you will never turn against me like that." He paused and looked at me. "You won't, will you?"

"Of course not!"

"Good." This time his smile was sincere. "I was thinking tomorrow, perhaps we would go back to the creek."

"That would be nice," I said as we walked to my car. "Will you be eating innocent bunnies again?"

He glared at me momentarily, and then shrugged. "Possibly. I should, actually."

"You don't eat as nearly as much as I would imagine," I spoke quietly, opening my door and getting in.

When he was inside, he looked at me. "I don't enjoy it the same way they do. Let me try to put it in a perspective you might understand. Food is intended as fuel, but humans are weak and easily give in to temptation, ignoring that fact. They will eat and eat, no matter how full they might be, simply because they enjoy the taste. That's similar to how a vampire feeds...they will go beyond what is necessary to keep them going, because they thirst for more. I may have grown fond for the taste of animal blood, but I only drink what I need."

As I thought this over, Mark's wretched voice came to mind "Once I smelled her blood, oh...it was hard to control my thirst for more! The hunger was far too powerful." I felt sick to my stomach thinking about it, about Janet.

"That makes sense," I said quietly as we drove to the old Victorian. "I've done some thinking, Salem...and I sort of want your opinion."

"On what?" There was an edge to his voice.

"My house," I replied simply. "Now, before you say anything—I'm not going to sell it."

He smiled at that. "Good."

"I want to rent it out. I was thinking I could offer it for cheap to Jason." I noticed the unsettling look on Salem's face and placed my hand against his. "His parents are going through a divorce. It would be good for him, and I think it'd be good for me, too. I don't want to stay there anymore, especially when I could just stay at yours."

There was a hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth. "Are you asking to move in with me?"

"I might as well have already, right?"

"Considering you spend every night there, yes." The sound of his laughter was pleasing to my ears. "If that's what you want to do, I won't stop you. Giving it to Jason leaves you the opportunity to visit the house whenever. And you will still own it, of course."

"Right."

His expression changed suddenly when we pulled into the driveway. He climbed out of the vehicle, despite it still moving, and raced toward the front door. I noticed in horror that the stained-glass windows were shattered. Shards of green and blue sparkled under the porch light.

I deserted the car and followed Salem into the house. There was no evidence of theft, but someone had definitely broken in. I felt sick as I glanced around the living room, noting that the only things that had been touched were my belongings, which led me to one conclusion.

"I think I know who did this," I said angrily.

"Paul," Salem snarled furiously. "His scent is lingering in the air."

"This is bad, Salem...this is bad..." I said as I realized what this meant.

"We should just be thankful we were away," he said, calming down some. "But I don't doubt he will return. I will keep a vigilant watch for him, Alex...and if he tries anything, I cannot promise I won't hurt him."

"I-I understand," I stuttered, watching him gather a broom from the front closet and sweep up the mess of glass from the porch. "Do you want me to do that?" I offered as I ignored the haunting possibility of Salem killing my father, or vice versa.

"No, it's fine," he answered with a forced smile. "But thank you."

"What are you going to do about the windows?" I frowned. "They were so beautiful."

"Do you really need to ask?" He laughed gently.

"Oh, right. Magic," I replied. He dumped the shattered glass into the garbage and glanced at me curiously.

"Does it bother you?"

"No, but I want to try something. I want to make my own meal tonight."

"Why? You don't like mine." He put on a fake pout.

"Don't be silly," I replied with a chuckle. "It's just something I'd like to do, because I sort of miss it."

"I understand," he said. "Go ahead. But, I will provide the ingredients."

"Deal."

I told him each ingredient I wanted for my dinner. As I opened the mahogany cabinets, I watched in amazement as a box of rotini noodles appeared with a jar of meat-flavored pasta sauce directly next to it. I glanced back at him and grinned. "Thanks," I said and began prepping my pasta. The water boiled slowly on the black stove top, and my stomach was not in the mood to be patient. I was beginning to rethink my request to not have my food magically prepared.

"I had forgotten how long this can take!" I said miserably as bubbles slowly began to rise in the pot.

"Someone is quite impatient," Salem said playfully behind me. He was sitting at the dining room table, studying the empty holes on the front door.

"What's on your mind?" I asked as I dumped a small portion of noodles into the pot.

"Simply wondering what they should look like this time."

"You don't want them to look the same as before?" I stirred the noodles slowly to prevent them from sticking.

He shook his head. "No. I have something else in mind."

"Really? What?"

"I'm afraid you will have to wait and see." He grinned at me.

"Okay, fine." I laughed, eager to see what it was. A question suddenly popped into my head, and I stopped stirring abruptly. "How do you think Paul found this place?"

"He could have followed us at some point. That's the only logical explanation I can come up with."

When my pasta was done, I sat across from him at the table and began eating. I no longer felt self-conscious when he watched me eat. Plus, his attention was apparently someplace else tonight as he gazed thoughtfully at the door. After eating, I spent the next two hours curled up in the nook chair reading through portions of the book he had made for me. Before I knew it, I had dozed off. The book slipped from my fingers and crashed noisily on the ground.

I jumped up and gasped at the sound, then sighed with relief when I acknowledged the cause. My vision was fuzzy at first, but once it adjusted I realized Salem was nowhere to be seen. I half-expected him to be on the sofa, or even at the dining table. I picked up the book and laid it on one of the shelves beside the chair. As I stumbled tiredly into the kitchen, my gaze was immediately drawn to the front door.

The windows had been replaced by slick new ones. The backdrop was made up of misshapen colorful stained glass varying in blues, greens, and purples. Against the left window was the image in the shape of an ebony bat. Beside the bat, on the opposite window, was the image of a raven painted in a mixture of black, blue and purple. I had to step back to realize the creature's wings were curved into the shape of the upper half of a heart, while their bottom halves were connected at the tail to form the end of the heart.

The scream that burst through my lips sounded powerful enough to shatter the new windows when Salem came up from behind and twisted his arms around my waist.

"You scared me!" I gasped, relaxing into his embrace.

"I noticed," he said and chuckled lightly. "What do you think of it?"

"It's beautiful," I said, admiring the windows still. "It does make me want to ask though..."

"No, vampires can't turn into bats, as I have told you already," he spoke as though he had read my mind. "It was the only thing I could think of that made sense."

"I like it," I said happily. "A lot!"

"I'm glad." He turned me around to face him. "You didn't sleep very long."

"You're right." I knew what was coming. I couldn't fight the exhaustion forever.

I kissed him gently once, and he took my hand, leading me upstairs. There was a light on in the hallway, illuminating the picture frames along the walls. I stopped abruptly behind Salem and gazed at the images. The first one to catch my eyes was the photograph of a little girl cradled in a woman's arms. They both had brilliant blonde hair that reminded me of spun gold. The woman was wearing a simple white gown with blue trim along the neckline and a wide happy smile across her lips. The child was bundled up in a wool blanket with her head nestled against the woman's bosom. I took my eyes off of the picture to look at Salem; his eyes were withdrawn and sorrowful.

"This is Hannah and your mother, isn't it?" I asked in a gentle, yet curious voice.

"Yes." His answer was simple, and I could tell it hurt him to even look at the pictures, which made me wonder why he even had them.

"Did you 'make' these?" I asked, knowing it was impossible for such pictures to have existed back when his family was alive – not to mention they would have burned in the fire.

"Of course...my memories of their faces are so vivid; it's almost painful." He frowned. I squeezed his hand gently.

"They were beautiful, Salem." I smiled despite his sadness. "What was your mother's name?"

"Margaret," he said fondly, "everyone called her Maggie, though. And my father's name was Arthur." He directed my attention to a gold-framed picture slightly higher up on the wall. The image depicted a fine young man with similar features to Salem's, notably the black hair. Arthur's hair was short and slicked back, and he had a faint mustache above his upper lip. He wore thin spectacles that made him appear slightly older than he was, and behind them were hazel eyes.

"I was starting to wonder where you got your hair from," I said as I looked up at him. "You definitely have Maggie's eyes, though."

"Personally, I am grateful I didn't inherit her hair." He smiled, and then pointed up at another picture, set in between the other two. It was of a beautiful boy—perhaps ten-years-old—sitting in a rocking chair holding a black kitten on his lap. I knew without a doubt who I was looking at.

"You were handsome even then," I said in awe.

"Oh, you mean to say you weren't ogling at the cat?" He grinned as I playfully slapped him on the arm.

"No, I wasn't, although he is cute, too." I shook my head, smiling. "Did the cat have a name?"

"He didn't have a name for a long time, actually," he mused. "We generally referred to him simply as 'Kitty', until Hannah was old enough to speak. They had an amazing bond." He smiled sadly. "She named him Daniel."

My brows furrowed. "That's a weird name for a cat."

Salem shrugged. "When my mother inquired about the source of the name, she said it was the name of a man she met...but Hannah was obviously too young to know anyone, so my parents assumed she had created an imaginary friend and passed the name along to the cat."

"Wow," I whispered. "And what's behind this other door?" I asked, indicating the mysterious door on the right wall, beside the picture frames.

"That's the guest bedroom." He shrugged again. "It was empty before you arrived...I had intended for you to use it the first night you stayed, but considering you objected that offer..."

"How do you remember them so vividly, Salem?" I asked suddenly, remembering how he had once told me that his memory of his mortal life was vague.

"I suppose those were some of the memories I didn't repress."

Before I had the chance to say anymore, Salem had me in his arms and was carrying me off to bed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The air outside was chilly, and the sky showed promise of snow. Salem and I walked hand-in-hand toward the clearing. I could tell from the thoughtful expression pasted on his face that he was up to something, but I kept quiet. I wore a thick sweater over a long-sleeved shirt, but shivered nevertheless. Salem, however, was completely at ease wearing a pale blue short-sleeved T-shirt that made his eyes appear even brighter than usual. I envied him at that moment. In fact, I envied many things about him. Immortality, while he spoke of it as a curse, was something any human ought to lust for. Never having to sleep! I could only imagine the possibilities. How many books could I consume in the saved time I would have from not sleeping—or how well I could learn to play the piano!

I was pulled from my thoughts when Salem spoke, announcing our arrival. We were a few feet away from the creek, which was covered with a thin sheet of ice. I shivered just from the sight of it.

"Are you sure this was a good idea?" I laughed. "I would hate to actually get the flu, although karma probably owes it to me."

"Don't worry." He smiled. That familiar violet glimmer in his eyes appeared, and I knew something was about to happen. "Close your eyes," he whispered.

I obeyed, awaiting his command to reopen them.

"Go ahead, open them."

My nose reacted before my eyes had the chance. I could smell the distinct aroma of burning wood. Then my ears recognized the sound of crackling embers. I opened my eyes to find a bright, billowing fire amongst a pile of logs that hadn't previously been there. Lying roughly three feet from the warm fire was a lavender blanket laid out across the grass. Atop the blanket was an unopened basket. I eyed Salem curiously. "What's this all about?" I asked.

"I'll tell you in a moment," he said with a sly smile. He sat down on the blanket and patted the empty space beside him.

I sat next to him, and he opened the basket to reveal a sliver of cake identical to the one I had asked for the first night we met. "Well, this can't be in celebration of the day we met," I said as I tried to piece everything together.

"No, you are right. It isn't." He offered me a fork. "November 12th, 1885 was my birthday."

My eyes widened as I realized what he was saying. "Today would be your birthday!" I gasped. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It actually sort of slipped my mind." He shrugged. "It's not something I really think about anymore."

I reached over and hugged him tightly. "Happy birthday Salem!" I kissed him delicately on the cheek. "I can't even imagine how nice it must be not to have to actually get older on your birthday."

His eyes were dark. "Alex...do you remember what I said to you the first day we met? About being blessed with another year of life on your birthday?"

"Of course." I nodded, taking a bite of the cake. "Why?"

"Today might be my birthday, but it truly isn't something to celebrate." How had this gone from a celebration to a moment of sadness? "While you get to continue growing, aging...I'm stuck like this."

"I think of it the exact opposite," I said thoughtfully, putting my fork down. "Aging isn't fun—it's scary. Knowing that someday I will be fragile, wrinkled, old, and eventually die..." I shuddered at the idea. "You, on the other hand, you will be the same for the rest of time."

He stared at me for a long time without speaking. I allowed him to have his moment of silence while I indulged in more cake. "I suppose I understand it from your point of view," he said quietly.

"Good," I replied. "It's much more depressing on my side of things, I think. You still get to live, even if you don't age. What's so special about aging, anyway?"

His eyes were now focusing on the fire, and I wondered if it was bothering him with memories of his family's death. "It's most every human's dream to go through the natural course of life. You're a child; you go to school; you learn; you finish school; you meet someone special, you get married; you have a family; you grow old together, and you die together." The orange hues of the fire danced in the darkness of his pupils. "That opportunity was stripped from me."

"Not completely..." I put my fork down again, no longer interested in eating. "Salem, you have seen so much more than any human ever could. You have spent years traveling, reading, learning. We get a limited time on this planet, while you get all the time in the world!" He turned his gaze on me again. "Plus, you don't need to be human to meet someone special, right?"

His expression softened. "Of course not" He pushed the basket and cake away and pulled me to him. "Let's not spend this whole afternoon dwelling on that," he said with a smile and pressed his lips gently to mine.

I went to return the kiss when he jerked away suddenly, his eyes alert and scanning the area. "What-" He pushed a finger to my lips before I could finish speaking. Then, I heard it, too: a faint rustling nearby. I breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed it was just a doe galloping through the clearing. Salem's lips twitched slightly.

"Do you mind...if I..." His words trailed off. "Stay here, for a moment. I'll be right back."

I nodded, knowing what he was doing. I covered my ears, awaiting the sound of the poor animal losing its life. I watched the fire weave back and forth as the wind pushed against it, and a shudder ran through me. Salem returned moments later, a hint of red in his eyes, but I tried to ignore it. He sat beside me again.

"Where were we?" I smiled, leaning in to kiss him again. He was hesitant at first, then pulled me down onto the blanket and kissed me deeply—there was a faint coppery taste to his lips, but I tried to ignore it, tried to focus on him and not the scent and flavor, and what it meant. My hands traced down the side of his face, across his neck, then rested against his collarbone. Our lips parted slowly and I inhaled deeply, the cold air rushing through my lungs.

I kissed him once more before lying my head against his chest. My hand fell across his heart, where it rested for a few moments and I tilted my head up to look at him.

"It's weird," I said quietly, "not being able to hear your heart beat...because, it doesn't..."

His face was expressionless. "Yours beats enough for the both of us."

I noticed then how erratic my heart was beating. I blushed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said tenderly. "It's among my favorite sounds."

Our peaceful, comfortable, picnic was interrupted again as an extra chilly wind pushed across us, making the blanket flap and bunch up. Salem lifted me off of him and sat me up, this time his eyes were startled. "Alex, we need to leave." His voice was urgent.

"What? Why?"

"Paul is here, somewhere," he hissed.

"You saw him?" I asked anxiously, glancing around.

"I smelled him, on the wind." He took the beautiful blanket and patted down the fire with it, putting out the flames. "We have to go, now!"

A twig crunched. Salem growled and spun around. It was too late. Paul stood across the clearing, peering at us from behind a tree. His face displayed a look of utter disgust. I wondered how long he had been watching, and what all he had seen or heard. My heart was racing even more now.

"Alex!" Paul roared at me. "Get away from him!"

"No!" I shouted. "You shouldn't be here!"

"Neither should you," he replied through gritted teeth. "Do you want to end up like Janet?"

"Don't you ever use her name against me. Salem isn't Mark! I have every reason to be here," I argued. "You've done more harm to me than he ever has...to anyone!"

I could tell my words struck him hard, but he shook his head. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just kill him right now, Alexis!" Paul shouted fiercely, aiming his crossbow in Salem's direction.

Out here in the clearing, with the radiant sunlight directly on his face, Salem's pale skin was more defined. The light, purple lines beneath his eyes were evident—in fact, I wasn't sure I had ever noticed them before now. He stood between my father and me, as if protecting me from Paul.

"You can't kill him, because...because I love him!" I shrieked from the top of my lungs.

"Damn it, Alex! Why'd you have to get into this mess?!" Paul yelled furiously.

Salem dropped his gaze from my father and turned swiftly to face me. I knew this was a mistake by the mischievous grin forming on my father's face.

My lips quivered; my stomach grew queasy. "Salem, move!"

It was too late. Everything happened so quickly, too quickly: the click of the crossbow firing, Salem turning abruptly to face Paul, the sharp arrow soaring through the sky, Salem's agonizing scream as he crumbled to the ground. I stared in horror at him lying in the soft grass. I fell to my knees, screaming profanities at Paul, telling him to leave, telling him I hated him. He gave me one last glance—a look of betrayal marking his ashen face—before he ran from the clearing. I crawled over to Salem's still body. The tears began falling, and I didn't make any effort to stop them.

"Salem...oh, Salem, please..." I sobbed, pressing my hand against his cold cheek. "Please..."

He smiled weakly. "Alex, it's okay..." he whispered hoarsely. "Look away, for a second..."

I nodded my head slowly, relief pulsing through me as I turned my head. When he moaned in pain again I had to fight the longing to look, to make sure he was okay. Something snapped, and this time I couldn't help but look. Betwixt his fingers was two halves of the arrow. My eyes fell immediately on the hole in his chest, directly below his heart. "He missed," I whispered.

Salem smiled gently through the pain, "Typical for him...fortunately."  
"The poison isn't causing you any discomfort?"

"Not enough to do anything permanent, I don't think. I just...just feel a little weak."

I watched the wound steadily heal until there was scarce evidence that he had been injured at all. He sat up slowly, flinching as if he were still in immense pain, and then wrapped his arms around me. "Say it again," he spoke quietly, his lips right at my ear.

"I love you, Salem..." I said, my heart thumping in my chest.

I could feel his lips form into a smile. "I love you, too," he said tenderly and held me tightly within his embrace.

"Salem, why didn't you run from Paul or something...instead of turning toward him?" My eyes were confused, if not a little irritated by how close to death he had brought himself.

"I knew he would miss," he answered assuredly. "He always does. That man has some poor aim for a hunter."

"You didn't know he would! He seemed to hit his mark more often than not in training. How many times has he come after you?"

Salem laughed. "This is may be the fourth time. I told you, hunters underestimate me, or in his case—overestimates himself. You've got to remember that training is not the same as the real thing. You should know that as well as anyone, after what happened your first night."

"You have to promise me something, Alex," he said suddenly. "If you for any reason speak to Paul, or anyone who knows him as a hunter, I need you to pretend like he did succeed..."

"You want me to pretend you are dead?"

"Yes. That way, he won't be after me anymore at all."

"Okay," I promised. "You should've just moved away from here the first time he came after you," I said with a sigh.

"I had my reasons not to." He smiled and kissed below my ear.

"What reasons?" I asked, although I knew the answer.

"You."

Chapter Twenty-Three

The following morning I was not surprised to find the ground covered in a fresh blanket of snow. It glimmered against the faint sunlight that peeked through a canopy of clouds. Salem was downstairs when I awoke, curled up comfortably on the sectional indulging in a book. He immediately jumped up from the couch and wrapped his arms around me.

"Good morning." I laughed happily as I returned the hug. "How long has the snow been coming down?"

"At least three hours," he answered. "Breakfast is waiting for you in the kitchen. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," I said as I unwound myself from his arms and waltzed into the kitchen. "What is this?" I asked as I stared at the misshapen, slightly-burnt pancakes on my plate.

He shrugged and sat down. "I attempted to make you something from scratch, since you were so eager to not have your food magically prepared..."

I shook my head and laughed. "I said I wanted to cook because I missed doing it. I don't have anything against you summoning my meals. I especially prefer it over burnt pancakes."

"It was at least interesting for me," he said with a chuckle. "I don't mind if you don't want to eat it. I wouldn't if I were you," he said with a look of disgust. "I can't even remember the last time I cooked anything, if I ever have for that matter."

"Well, it's been far too long." I laughed again and dumped the food into the garbage. "Now, summon me something delicious!" I grinned.

A plate of fresh, steaming waffles covered in strawberries appeared on the table. It definitely looked more appetizing than what he had cooked. "Thank you," I said and began eating. "What's the plan for today?"

"You have some voice mails from Paul," he said without glancing up. "I listened to them. I hope that is okay."

"Of course," I said as I swallowed a mouthful of strawberry. "So, what does he want?"

"He's received a lot of phone calls relating to your absence from school...I guess he was your next contact listed after Janet."

"Oh." I grimaced then shrugged. "I'm old enough that I can just drop out. In fact, I'll do it later today."

He frowned at my response. "I don't want you to do that."

"Too bad," I replied stubbornly. "It's way too late for me to catch up on everything this year anyway. If I didn't drop I would have to go again. The only thing I had been looking forward to was graduating with Jason and Karen, but it is too late for that. What else did he have to say?"

"There were several furious messages filled with profanities, about how disappointed he is, how hurt he is, and repulsed." He frowned. "I am truly messing up your life."

"No, you're making it better, trust me. It isn't your fault that Paul can't accept you for what you are."

"He also said that Jason was in an accident." His voice was low and careful as he spoke, watching for my reaction.

"What?!" I leapt up from my seat, nearly knocking my plate onto the floor. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"Calm down. He's fine; he just suffered a broken arm and a few gashes. Paul didn't say much relating to the incident, so you might want to call Jason."

"Why didn't you tell me as soon as you found out?!"

I didn't hesitate for a moment; I didn't care to even hear his answer. I ran up to the bedroom, grabbed my cell phone and input Jason's number. Waiting for him to answer felt like forever, but finally, I heard his voice.

"Hello?" He sounded hoarse and tired.

"Jason! Are you okay? Paul left me a message saying you were hurt." I wondered if he could understand me through my rushed words.

He laughed. "I'm all right; it's nothing too serious. My arm is in a cast, and I had to get a few stitches on my shoulder."

I sighed with relief. "What happened?"

"I was driving home from Howard's last night and hit a slick spot on the road. My car slid and another car slammed into the side of me." His voice changed abruptly—a hint of remorse.

"Was the other driver okay?" I asked hesitantly.

"He was fine..." He sighed. "But his wife didn't make it."

"Oh, no!" I gasped. "That's awful!"

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I can't help but feel like it's my fault somehow, even though it was nothing either of us could control."

"Don't let it get to you, Jace," I said reassuringly. "Would you be able to meet me somewhere? I kind of need to talk to you about something important."

"Of course!" The enthusiasm in his voice was evident; it was nice to know that I had a friend still eager to see me. "Where'd you have in mind? It has to be somewhere within walking distance...my car's in the shop."

"My house," I replied. "Are you sure you are okay to walk? I can just pick you up if you want."

"No, it's fine; I think I can manage. The pain medicine has done the trick." He laughed. "When do you want me to come by?

"An hour or so?"

"Okay, I'll start getting ready as soon as we hang up." He laughed again.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll see you there."

I quickly told Salem what had happened and where I was going. He offered to join me, obviously uncomfortable with me being alone with Jason again, but I insisted it wouldn't be safe—Jason could tell Paul. First, I made a quick stop at the high school and did exactly as I told Salem I would—I went to pull myself out of school completely, hoping I wouldn't regret it at some later date. For now, there was no point in me being enrolled in school. There were far greater things that I could devote my time to—like saving my hometown from the undead.

It felt like a long time had passed as I sat in the school parking lot contemplating what I was about to do. Was I making the right decision? Would I later regret it? I almost backed out before finally mustering up the courage and headed for the school doors.

It was odd being among the familiar surroundings of my school. I could plainly see my locker as I walked down the hall toward the principal's office. Memories ran through my mind of Jason, Karen and me laughing together while we walked down the halls, something that I hoped I would never forget or miss too much. My pace slowed as I neared the office, my heart beginning to pound as I pushed the door open.

The office aid eyed me curiously, and then smiled warmly at my presence. I wasn't very familiar with the woman, but she appeared gentle and friendly. She wore her dirty blonde hair up in a messy bun, and a thin layer of makeup concealed her true self. I approached the desk and requested to speak to the principal.

"May I ask your name, please?" she said in a sweet, polite tone.

"Alexis Hobbs," I replied, tempted to say Waldron as I was growing used to the name.

"Are you over your flu, Ms. Hobbs?"

"What? Oh, yeah." I felt my cheeks grow warm. "Thanks for asking."

The office aide smiled and dialed the number to the principal to check to see if he was preoccupied. "You are welcome to go in, Ms. Hobbs," she said after hanging up the phone.

I nodded and slowly crossed over to the beige door in the corner of the small lobby. My nerves were overwhelming and I nearly backed out again, but I knew this was something I wanted to do. I pushed open the door and found myself face-to-face with Principal Norbert.

"Excuse me, Ms. Hobbs," he said bashfully and stepped back. "Caroline hadn't warned me that she told you to come in; I was about to come get you."

"That's okay." I laughed uncomfortably and followed him into the room. He sat behind the desk, and I sat on the opposite side in an uncomfortable blue chair.

"What might I help you with?"

"I came to drop out of school," I said a little too quietly, but he appeared to hear me clearly.

He leaned forward on his desk, clasping his fingers together and staring at me quizzically. "Are you positive that is something you want to do, Ms. Hobbs? You are already through 90 percent of public school, why stop so close to the end? You need your diploma. How will you afford a home without a diploma?"

"I already have a house."

"You cannot expect to be given everything in life. This is more important than you might realize, Ms. Hobbs. Isn't there something you desire to do with your life after high school?"

I couldn't very well tell him the true reason why I was dropping out of school, but my mind was at a loss for excuses. "I can get an ordinary job at minimum wage if I have to."

The principal scowled and shook his head. "You show so much promise in music class, from what Mr. Collins has mentioned in the teacher's lounge. You don't want to continue on to a music career? There are college courses on the science of music, you know?"

I shrugged. "It's not that important to me," I lied. "It's just a hobby."

"Have you thought about how this will impact others? What of your future family. Children are expensive, Ms. Hobbs. A minimum-wage job will not cover that. And what about much later in life? Have you thought about retirement? Working a minimum-wage job until you are sixty or seventy and then having to scrape by off of a few hundred dollars a month from social security is not a pleasant life. My mother did just that, and I would not wish it on anyone."

I had never even thought about the notion of ever having children, and for the briefest moment, I wondered if vampires could have children. "She seemed to raise a successful enough kid," I replied firmly.

He attempted to persuade me even more for the next fifteen minutes, but I didn't have time to listen anymore. By now, Jason was probably at my house waiting for me, and was no doubt freezing, stuck outside in the cold. I gave Principal Norbert my final decision and despite his ill attempts to convince me otherwise, my drop out was finalized after a few quick signatures.

Chapter Twenty-Four

As I drove to my house, I was careful to avoid any ice on the roads, and watched my fellow drivers who, thankfully, were just as cautious as I was. I had to come up with a reasonable excuse to offer the house to Jason, one that didn't include Salem. Would he believe me if I said I was living with Paul? I contemplated that possibility as I pulled into my driveway, finding Jason was already there waiting. There was a layer of slush covering the ground and sidewalk that led to the door.

"Hey, Jason!" I yelled as I opened my car door. I was about to step out onto the slush when he hurried over, took my hand and helped me steadily through it. "Thanks." I chuckled. "Can't afford to be slipping and breaking my skull."

"Yeah, wouldn't want you to end up in a cast like me." He laughed and my eyes fell upon the white bandage wrapped around his arm.

"Not bad enough to need a sling?" I inquired as I unlocked the front door.

"Nope, thankfully. Those things look so uncomfortable," he grumbled. "Not to say this is comfortable, and man does it itch."

"I'm really sorry that happened, Jace." I frowned and let him lead me into the house.

I switched on the dining room light and was still unimpressed by the place in comparison to Salem's amazing house. I tossed my keys onto the table and went to offer Jason a drink when I realized in horror how long ago I had bought food. I also spotted the glass with the dying daffodils in it that Jason had given me; I hoped he wouldn't notice them, but it was somewhat inevitable.

"Smells kind of funny in here," he commented as I ran frantically to the fridge.

As soon as I opened it, I gagged. All of the food I had purchased had spoiled.

"Wow..." I sighed. "Sorry you had to see, and smell, this."

"It's okay." He laughed. "How long has it been since you stayed here?"

"A while. I've been," I paused, thinking it over, "I've been staying with Paul."

"Really? That's nice of him to take you in like that and help you out while you've been sick and all. Wish I had an uncle that nice. My mom's brothers are crazy! Want me to help you clear that out?"

"Are you sure you're okay to help, with your..." I pointed to his injured arm.

"Yeah, no problem, I still have one good one, you know." He smirked.

The next hour was spent disposing of the rotten food, cleaning the fridge, and leaving it open to air out. I ordered a pizza and pocketed the remaining money that Janet had left me. Jason was shocked when I told him what had caused her untimely death—although, it wasn't entirely true. My story involved her being bitten by the bear at the zoo, and getting a terrible infection from it that spread quickly to her heart—I hated lying to him, especially about something so serious, but overall I knew it was the best thing to do.

The pizza delivery man showed up just in time to interrupt any responses from Jason on the story behind Janet's death. Jason and I sat in silence for a few minutes when I abruptly sat down my slice of pizza and looked up at him.

"How are things going over at Howard's?" I asked as casually as possible.

"Great. I got a raise last week!" he exclaimed after swallowing his food.

"That's good news." I smiled. "There's something important I need to talk to you about."

He looked slightly uncomfortable now, if not a little worried. "It's not about the other day at the diner, is it?"

"Not entirely, but it's got to do with something you told me while we were there," I replied, tapping my fingers nervously on the table as I recalled that afternoon. "How are your parents doing?"

Jason stopped eating and sighed. "The arguments are getting even worse, and to the point that Mitchell and I wind up sleeping outside in my car to avoid the noise some nights."

"That's horrible," I said, noticing the sadness in his eyes. "What would you say if I offered you my house, for a very low rent?"

His expression perked up slightly. "As a roommate?"

I laughed and shook my head. "No, though that is a tempting idea. I think I'm going to just stick with living with Paul for now...he gets lonely."

"Oh. Then, just me?"

"You could bring Mitchell, too, if you like...or whoever else. Just as long as you keep it safe and clean."

"Wow." He smiled really big, exposing his straight, white teeth. "That would be awesome, Alex! Are you sure you'd want to do that?"

"Yeah...there's nothing left for me here now, besides bad memories." I sighed. "I thought about selling it, but then decided to ask you first if you'd be interested in it at all."

"I would be more than happy to take it!" He grinned again. "Imagine the parties..."

I shook my head, laughing. "I had a feeling you might say that."

"How much were you thinking...for rent?"

"I really don't want any of your money, actually," I said, shrugging. "All I want is to know it's taken care of, and I can come by whenever I need to."

He blinked. "You are going to let me stay for free?"

"Yeah. You're my best friend, Jason. I can't take your money." I smiled at him. "You'll have to pay the rest of the bills though of course, and some land taxes once a year, but aside from that it'll be free."

"This is unbelievable, Alex!" He leapt from his chair and gave me a one-armed hug and an unexpected peck on the cheek. I was secretly glad it wasn't more than that. "Don't be surprised if you get some money from me now and then, though. I don't want to feel like I am taking advantage of you! When can I move in?"

"Anytime. If you want, we can take out the furniture, and you can replace it with your own, or you can just keep it...or sell it. I really don't care."

"Are you serious?" He gaped at me, examining the surroundings. "You can't imagine how grateful I am, Alex...and Mitchell will love it, too!"

"I'm glad. I just have one other condition..." I said suddenly.

"What is it? I'll do anything!"

"Don't tell Paul...he wouldn't understand."

"Sure, I won't say a word about it." He grinned and hugged me again. "I'm going to go home and tell Mitch. Mom should be relieved to have us out of there, too. That way, we aren't there to see and hear the arguing and fighting anymore."

I smiled, grateful that he was happy, and that I would no longer have the burden of tending to the place—not that I did a good job of that. "Tell Mitchell I said hi. Try not to spend too much time fighting over bedrooms."

Jason laughed. "I've got a feeling it won't be too hard. Thanks so much Alex!"

"You're welcome," I said, gave him a set of house keys and walked out with him. He took my hand and guided me to my car to protect me from the slush again, and before long I was pulling out of the driveway, and he was walking home, both of us headed in different directions.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I scoured the local cemetery that night, despite not hearing any rumors of bizarre behavior in the vicinity. I was positive I had not eliminated every vile vampire in town, and I had a strange feeling that I might encounter one here tonight. Before arriving, I called Salem to let him know where I would be, and I knew that before long he would show up—whether visible or in hiding. The snow and slush had all but dissipated, leaving a thick layer of mud on the ground. The brown sludge was thick against the base of my sneakers. My crossbow was concealed beneath my dark jacket, the lump only noticeable if you were actually looking for it.

The area was completely quiet, giving it a creepy vibe—as if an old graveyard wasn't disturbing enough already. I passed through a section of near-identical headstones, idly reading the names and dates as I walked by each one:

Henry Eddison – 1954 – 1986.

Jeffery Leonard – 1936 – 2000.

Marcy Wickman – 2000 – 2006.

The last one overwhelmed me. Only six years of life...my lips curved downward, and I tried to ignore the oncoming depressive thoughts until my eyes met the grave marker beside Marcy's. It looked new, as if it had just been placed recently. In fact, had I taken another step forward I would have collapsed into the vacant grave. Hesitantly, I peered downward—it was empty. My curiosity got the best of me—as it often had—and I crouched beside the headstone to get a look at the name.

It was difficult to read in the dark, unlike the older ones I had read just seconds ago; these letters were black. My hand began trembling as I traced my index finger along the inscription. As my eyes adjusted, the letters came into view, and I gasped. Big, bold letters ran across the front of the stone:

ALEXIS WALDRON

SEPTEMBER 9 – NOVEMBER 13

I jumped away from what was presumably my grave and bumped into something—someone. I shouted and tried to run, but a cold hand wrapped around my arm. I sighed with relief.

"Salem?" I said in a hopeful voice. "Please tell me that's you."

"I am afraid not, my dear." The voice was unfamiliar, masculine and dark. It did, however, hold a similar accent to that of Salem's.

My body involuntarily shuddered, though not at all from the gust of wind that swept passed us. He spun me around with the slightest movement of his hand, and I came face to face with my assailant. His face seemed almost gentle. He must have been in his mid-thirties, before he became a member of the undead. His eyes were circled with deep, purple shadows, and the irises were a surprisingly cool shade of amber. A mane of pale blonde hair cascaded down to his shoulders, and his lips were arched in a dreadful grin that stole away any beauty that may have existed on his face.

"You cannot begin to imagine how long it has been since I waited for this moment." His cold, smooth hand swept the side of my face. "Once word of a raven caught my attention, I simply had to come to this little hole of a town to meet her! And for it to be you, of all people!" He laughed darkly, but I didn't understand the humor.

"Where did you hear that from?" I gasped at his touch, while attempting to keep my voice level and not show my fear. Where was Salem when I needed him!

"I have my connections. However, that is unimportant, Alexis. What is important, is what I am about to offer you." His hand fell upon my throat, but his touch was gentle, without intent to hurt me—yet.

"There is nothing I could ever want from a monster like you!" I shouted, squirming to get away but despite how gentle he was holding me I couldn't break free.

He shut his eyes and shook his head slowly from side to side, making a 'tsk-tsk' sound. "You really shouldn't lie to me like that, dear Alexis." His eyes opened, revealing empty black voids. My jaw fell open when I saw Salem's face reflected in his pupils. "I am fully aware of your relationship with a 'monster' such as I, and I know he would hate to hear you call him one."

"Salem isn't a monster." My voice was low and steady, very much unlike my heartbeat.

"Then, why should I be classified as one?" He grinned again and I could see the tips of his pearly fangs. "That truly hurts my feelings." His voice was overly sarcastic.

"I doubt you even have feelings!" I shouted, wriggling in his grasp once more–this time he tightened his hold on me.

The vampire cocked his head to the side and looked at me, examining me from head to toe. "Let's get back to my offer, now, shall we?"

"Whatever it is, I don't care. I'm not doing anything for you!"

He smiled fully then, despite my response—as though he expected it, and I was amazed at how stunning he looked with the moonlight casting a radiant glow against his blonde hair. "I have never personally met a Waldron that could turn into a raven; this is truly a treat for me. And, to have one in my arms, so warm and wriggling...it is most tempting. I could kill you right now, and no one would ever know where to find you. However!" He paused dramatically, leaning his head toward my throat. I could hear him inhaling my scent. "What if I offered you everlasting life? It is what you wish for, is it not?"

"Are you asking to make me, a vampire hunter...into a vampire?" I almost laughed. But he was far from being wrong with his assumption on my want for immortality.

"That is precisely what I am offering you, Alexis Waldron! Never having to worry about aging, isn't that what you want?" His voice was alluring. "Imagine, being with your beloved Salem without having to worry about age or death ever coming between you! Considering he doesn't appear willing to grant you your desires, I thought perhaps I would offer."

"Death is still possible." My voice was a mere whisper. "My family is evidence enough of that."

"Your family has never been the best of hunters, aside from a few and perhaps yourself. You show potential at being so much more, however."

"That's why you want me, then, isn't it?"

His gaze met mine, and he smirked. "You are also quite intelligent, but are you smart enough to make the right decision? As a vampire, you could be so powerful, so capable. By my side, we could take control of the infantile vampires; teach them the proper ways of hunting. Imagine the endless supply of blood we could gather, town after town!" His malicious laughter sent chills down my spine. "Tell me this does not tempt you, my darling Alexis?"

My mind was racing with questions, worries, wonders, the possibilities...how would Salem react to this? Would he love me less if I accepted this vampire's proposal? Would I become a monster, or would I be capable of controlling my want–my need–to feast on human blood?

"Salem's opinion is not important," the vampire murmured, his cold lips right below my ear. "All that matters now is this moment, this decision." It was hard to resist the hypnotic tone of his voice as it whispered against my throat.

"And if I say no?"

He shrugged his shoulders and let out a wisp of laughter. "Then, I shall enjoy your blood thoroughly before discarding your empty corpse in this pit beside us."

"That sure gives me a lot of options," I groaned. "Before I make any decisions, answer me one thing," I offered, hoping to buy me some time. Surely Salem would be here soon.

The blonde-haired vampire arched a curious brow. "What have you to ask of me, raven?"

"Who are you and how did you know where to find me?"

He didn't release me, but loosened his grasp on my arm. "How I found you is simple. I have a direct connection with your Salem, although he might not be aware of that. We have somewhat of a...bond, you might say, as do all vampires and their Sires." His mouth formed a malicious grin, and my eyes grew wide.

"Raziel..."

"Ah, so he has mentioned me! How delightful," Raziel mused as he brushed his fingers through my hair, despite my obvious objection to his gesture. "Now, was that all you wanted to know or may we get through with this? You must understand how difficult it is for me, mere inches from you...the blood coursing through your veins nearly beckons to me! I don't understand how Salem can tolerate it."

"Because he can control himself—something that all of you should learn to do!"

"That leads me to believe you are not going to accept my offer." He frowned. "You would have made such a wonderful addition to the family."

"My own family would hunt me down and kill me eventually."

"Not necessarily. Do you realize how long I have walked this earth without a single brush with death?" Raziel laughed. I could feel his breath against my skin. "I could teach you the proper ways of being a vampire. The ones you have killed are mere fledglings without guidance!"

This was not how I imagined my death, helpless in a graveyard with a vampire—especially not the one that turned Salem into what he was. But what choice did I have? I couldn't bear to live for all eternity with Salem loathing me for what I had become, or worse still— becoming a monster like the one in front of me. "I can't accept your offer..." I said quietly, feeling the tears well up in the corner of my eyes.

Raziel sighed against my cheek. "You have greatly disappointed me, dear raven...and your beloved Salem, no doubt." He laughed mockingly. "I would have thought you had his best interest in mind!"

"This would be his best interest!" I shouted. "He wouldn't want me to be like you!"

The vampire shook his head once more. "Your answers astound me, but very well." My eyes widened in horror as he flung my body to the ground. I heard something crack as I hit the side of a tombstone. Why was I not transforming?! I could fly away; I could escape this brutal torture! And where the hell was Salem!

I struggled to get up then realized with anguished screams that it was no use—my leg was either fractured or broken. Raziel laughed as I shook with pain on the muddy surface, his body looming over me. I saw his once-amber eyes flood with darkness. With one sudden, swift motion, he was on top of me, his hands pressed into mine. I thought he was about to end it all, but instead I saw something reflected in his eyes. Images played like a movie through his pupils, and suddenly I was engulfed in the darkness as though dragged into the scene of a movie.

Chapter Twenty-Six

My eyes quickly scanned the area. I was in a small house decorated in plain, dull furnishings. The living room was cramped with a small sofa, a rocking chair and an old bassinet. To the left of me was a kitchen that looked extremely outdated, and realization struck me: Raziel was sharing a memory with me. My legs took me down a small hall and into a room on the right. I wasn't in control of my movements; the vampire must have been guiding me.

The room was bright and colorful, with a small bed in the corner and another rocking chair beside it. I gasped at the sight of the adorable little girl curled up in the bed. A braid of golden hair lay delicately across her sleeping face. She looked serene, until her eyes flew open. I worried that she had seen me, but realized there was no way that was possible. Someone else was in the room with me. I turned to see a tall figure hiding in the shadows. His eyes glimmered like amber jewels, and I knew at once who I was seeing.

"Daniel!" Hannah's angelic voice whispered when she saw him. "I knew you'd come back!"

Daniel? This couldn't be right. The man stepped out of the shadows, wiping away all doubt. This was Raziel's face. The eyes, the blonde hair, the gentle features—there was no mistaking him.

"Hannah, my love!" He smiled and lifted the small child into his arms. "I have missed you so."

"Momma says that you are imaginary, Daniel," the little girl said as she hugged the man. "Is that true?"

The man laughed. "Of course it isn't. If I were imaginary, I couldn't possibly be holding you. You would be floating!"

A flood of harmonious giggles filled the room. How had no one else heard the sound? Perhaps the Young family was so used to hearing Hannah talk and laugh with herself at night that it no longer woke them. The bond between her and Daniel was beautiful, yet it somehow sickened me.

"I brought you a present," Daniel said with a sly grin. "But you must keep it a secret."

"Okay!" Hannah said joyfully, anticipating the surprise.

Daniel pulled a locket from the pocket of his brown vest and offered it to the child. "I bought this especially for you," he said and his face lit up at the girl's reaction. "Let me put it on for you."

I watched as the man placed Hannah on the floor and gently wound the necklace around her neck. She pulled it up to her face and pried open the locket. There was a small black-and-white picture of her on one side, the other was empty.

"Why isn't there a picture of you in here?" she asked.

"I don't photograph well," he replied with a light laugh.

"Or you really are imaginary!" Hannah said with a gasp.

"Perhaps." Daniel smiled sadly. "There is one more thing I have for you, dear Hannah. Can you promise that you will give it to your mother in the morning?"

"Okay!"

"Good girl," he said and offered her a folded piece of paper. "Make sure Daddy isn't around when she reads it," he warned, emphasizing unpleasantly on the word 'daddy', and then patted her lightly on the head.

"Okay!" She hugged Daniel and kissed him gently on the cheek.

"Time for bed then," he said, picking her up and gently placing her on the tiny mattress. He pulled the covers up and tucked her in. "I'll be back tomorrow night."

"Promise?" she said with a pout.

"Promise." He smiled and disappeared out the window.

The vision faded and another appeared. I was now outside, peering in through a window. Daniel was beside me, discreetly hidden so that he wouldn't be caught peeping. Hannah and Maggie were sitting together on the rocking chair in the living room; our view of them was from the side. Their voices came through the window as if we were right beside them.

"What is it, Hannah?" Maggie asked as the small girl offered her a piece of paper.

"Daniel asked me to give this to you."

Maggie's eyes grew angry at the name, but she relaxed somewhat and sighed. "How many times must I tell you that he is not real, darling?"

"He is real!" Hannah argued.

Maggie ignored her daughter and unfolded the paper. I suspect she had been anticipating a letter covered in childish scribbles or nothing at all—instead she found a note scrawled in magnificent lettering. I could barely read the letters from where I was. But, I could distinctly hear Margaret's voice as if she was reading it aloud, although her lips never moved.

"Dearest Margaret,

Despite your regrets and frequent requests that I cease to visit my dear Hannah, I am afraid I cannot abide by your rules. She is mine just as much as she is yours. Come to your senses and please tell Arthur the truth. Tell Hannah the truth! She deserves to know who her true father is. It pains me to be away from her, and for you to try to convince her that I am unreal is preposterous!

Please, if you cared for me at all, you would do this for me—for us.

With love–whether returned or forgotten,

Thomas D. Winter"

Before I had the opportunity to even think about what I had just seen, I was dragged into another memory. Daniel was weak and drunk, slumped against the wall of an alley. His eyes were red and swollen from tears, and he looked younger than before. His face was flushed and red, full of life—he wasn't a vampire in this vision. Clenched in his hand hung a crumpled piece of paper that had obviously been read countless times, judging by the state of it. His voice entered my head as he re-read the note:

"Thomas,

I did not know how to tell you this in person. I am with child. It is unlikely—no—it is impossible that this child is Arthur's. It is yours, Tom. I know that we had planned to set off together, and that I would leave him, but things have changed; we have reconciled. I cannot do this to Salem or Arthur. I will raise this baby as his, and it will never even know your name. I am sorry Thomas, but you must understand. This is for the best, for us all.

Farewell,

Margaret."

After one last swig of alcohol, he tossed the bottle furiously at the wall across from him. The bottle shattered and sprinkled tiny pieces of sharp glass all around. His eyes were suddenly alert to the sound of footsteps.

"Who's there?" he asked with a drunken slur.

No one replied. I watched as a woman with bright-red eyes stalked toward him, knelt beside him and frowned at his pitiful appearance.

"What's the matter, doll?" she said with false interest.

"Nothin' important," he grumbled.

"I can take away all of your agony," she offered, taking his chin in her hand. "Would that be ideal for you?"

He simply nodded his head. He regretted his response immediately when the woman bared her fangs and sank them into the flesh of his throat. His screams were unbearable; he thrashed around in agony as she meant to drain him completely.

"Please..." he whispered hoarsely. "Just let me die."

The woman's eyes fell upon his pleading lips, and she laughed. "A beggar, are we?" I watched a trickle of blood run down her chin. As she went to take his life away, a sudden sound disrupted her, and she left him lying limply in the alley.

I was at the house again, staring in through the same window. My heart leapt at the sight of Salem; his appearance was the same as I knew it to be now. He was sitting on the floor with Hannah, playing with a small black cat. Daniel was beside me once more, his appearance different from that in the alley. His cheeks were no longer flushed. His skin was ashen, and his amber eyes had a ring of crimson around them. My gaze was averted as I heard an unfamiliar male's voice.

Arthur entered the room and requested that Salem and Hannah retreat to their bedrooms. His expression was calm, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. Once their children were out of the room, Margaret appeared behind him. She looked withdrawn, and her eyes showed evidence of recent tears.

"How could you do this to me, Maggie—to our family?!" Arthur's accent reminded me vaguely of his son's. "When? When did this happen?"

"I-I cannot remember exactly, Arthur," Maggie sobbed. "It wasn't intentional—we were having trouble and...and things got out of hand. Please, you must forgive me!"

Her husband was raging; his fists clenched tightly beside him. "You betrayed me in the worst way!"

"I am sorry, Arthur!"

I wanted to look away, but I was forced to watch. Arthur's palm swiftly met Maggie's cheek. She cried in pain, recoiling from him.

"Arthur!" she screamed. "Please! Do not do this! The children will hear!"

Beside me, Daniel was obviously furious—and perhaps ashamed. I could sense his urgency to protect Maggie, to stop the inevitable brawl between husband and wife, but he couldn't. It would have only made the situation worse.

Arthur's hand met Maggie's cheek once more, and this time she fell to the floor. She curled up in a ball and started sobbing hysterically. Her husband deserted her, leaving through the front door.

The memory I least wanted to see came flooding through my mind. Arthur and Maggie were on better terms. They each slept in the same room, in separate beds. I walked out of their bedroom and down the hall. There was a small fire burning unnoticed in the kitchen. I desperately longed to put it out, to save Salem the grief of what had happened to his family—but it was impossible. My eyes stared in horror as the flames grew higher and higher. They licked at the walls, the furniture, and the beautiful rocking chair. I was standing in the middle of the fire, unharmed as the flames weaved their way down the hall.

I ran along the hallway, into Hannah's room where the fire was starting to crawl. Daniel was standing outside her window, looking in. I wondered if he had set the blaze, but the vision did not answer. Once he saw the orange hues illuminating the open doorway he slammed through the window and went to retrieve her.

"Daniel!" she shouted happily in a tired voice as he plucked her quickly from her bed. "I thought you would never come back!" She frowned and then seemed to notice the alarm in his eyes. "What is it, Daniel?"

Daniel hesitated and flinched at the sight of the girl's half-brother curled up on the floor beside her bed. "What is he doing in here, Hannah?" he said in a rushed voice.

"I had a nightmare after Mommy and Daddy fought last night." Daniel cringed at the word 'daddy'; I was amazed by how much pain it caused him. "So Salem stayed with me."

Salem muttered something to Hannah about going back to sleep, and then realized someone else was present. He screamed at the sight of the pale figure in his sister's room.

"Get out of our house!" Salem yelled, it was the same beautiful voice I had grown to love. Daniel paused abruptly, prepared to escape the house with Hannah, but Salem had distracted him.

"I will not leave without her!" he yelled, cradling her in his arms. "You...you weren't supposed to be in here."

"Salem!" Hannah yelled. "Look!"

Salem turned toward where the girl pointed, and stepped back in horror as the fire swept across the wooden floorboards. He averted his eyes from the flames when he heard Hannah screaming, but to his dismay, she was already gone through the broken window along with Daniel. The fire grew around him, licking away the floor beneath him. His cries of agony filled my ears—I could barely withstand it. I watched as he forced himself through the burning flames and out through Hannah's window.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I thought another vision was coming when I heard Salem's voice, but I was mistaken. The weight upon me was lifted, and Raziel was nowhere to be seen.

"I was beginning to wonder if you would ever show up." Raziel laughed. I lifted my head in search of him. He was getting up from the ground, wiping the corner of his mouth. I realized in horror that my neck was moist...my fingers found the spot, and I gasped in horror. The visions had all just been a distraction. Salem was too late...I was dying; there was nothing he could do for me now.

My eyes found Salem, crouched behind a tombstone. He glanced at me briefly, his eyes full of despair, then focused on Raziel. "What have you done to her, Raziel?!" he demanded.

"I hadn't quite had the chance to finish...she was nearly mine!" he fumed. "For a raven she was quite easy to trick." His laughter filled my ears.

"You didn't..." Salem's voice was cut off as Raziel leapt at him, shoving him against a tree. The blonde-haired fiend slid his icy fingers around Salem's throat and grinned.

"I thought you would be stronger than this, Salem." He frowned. "What have you been up to all these years? I admit, I used to keep an eye on you after you left, but I could only stand seeing you suckle on rabbits so much. Such a pity. I wasted so much time on you."

Salem shoved him away with little effort. "You underestimate me," he growled and pinned him to the ground. "Tell me you didn't turn her!"

Raziel grinned up at him. "No, I didn't get that far...but she won't live much longer, so it matters little now."

"I'll save her."

"Just like you saved your beloved sister." Raziel smirked. With the love he had shown in those visions, how could he speak of her like that?

"How do you know any of that?"

"I was there." Raziel laughed once more. "You don't remember, do you?"

"No..." Salem's voice trailed off as he stared transfixed into Raziel's eyes. I knew immediately what was happening—he was relaying a memory to Salem.

"Daniel..." His voice was distant; he was still trapped in the memory. Suddenly, he let out a blood-curdling scream.

The crunching, snapping, twisting sound came all at once. I was above them, a twirl of feathers spinning on the ground below me. My leg was still undoubtedly broken, but the rest of my body felt at ease now. My mouth fell open in a loud outburst. Salem collapsed off of Raziel's body, both of them covering their ears at the piercing sound. I soared downward and perched myself on Raziel's shoulders. My beak met his flesh, and he flung his hand at me. The poison didn't appear to be weakening him in the slightest; in fact, he appeared mildly amused.

I was soaring again, but this time it was not intentional. My avian body slammed into a nearby tree, and I crumbled to the ground. My body convulsed again, and I acknowledged that I was no longer a raven. When my eyes were able to focus again, I screamed. Raziel had Salem pinned to the ground, a devious grin across his ashen lips.

"You could never imagine what I saw in her memories and future," he said as he held Salem firmly still. "It is so unfortunate that you will never know what could become of her and of her abilities...and your future together."

"She isn't going to die," Salem snarled, fighting against Raziel's strength.

The older vampire shook his head in pity. "There is no sense in fighting, my child. You are weaker than I, and you always will be unless you start living like a real vampire. Animal blood might be able to sustain you, but it will never give you the strength, the power, which human blood can."

"I'm not interested in power! You should have just left me to die rather than turn me into this monster!"

"You do not mean that." As he spoke, I saw a glint of silver extracted from the pocket of the brown vest he wore. "I had my reasons to keep you as alive as possible. I had such high hopes for you, dearest Salem. You were young, clever, and had so much potential. I suffered much anguish after you deserted me, but it wasn't because of my own feelings." He smirked. "There is so much you missed out on. If you had known the truth, you would be begging me to take you back, begging to go back in time to be reunited."

"What are you talking about?" Salem asked, a hint of fear in his voice, but I couldn't perceive why.

"It is not my place to explain, and with how tonight's events are turning out, you might very well never know."

"Wait!" Salem protested—against what I wasn't sure. "How did you know where to find Alexis?"

"A Sire has a direct connection to that of his offspring. I can look into your thoughts and memories as if I was inside your very mind," he explained. "Not every Sire possesses this ability, or perhaps is not aware of how to access it...but that scarcely matters anymore. None of this information will matter in the next few seconds. It is such a pity, dearest Salem..." He sighed and spoke almost affectionately. "I will always remember you as being my first. But enough of that, I am going to enjoy carving out your pathetic heart."

Salem's screams reached my ears immediately, and I struggled to stand until the sharp pain in my leg reminded me that I was helpless. With some relief, I felt myself becoming the raven once more, but I barely had enough strength left to hover even a few feet off of the ground. Raziel blocked Salem from my view, and while I didn't want to hurt him, my mouth fell open and the cemetery was filled with the loud, piercing sound of my caw once again. The source of the silver glint I had seen moments earlier was lying beside Salem—a short, curved dagger painted with vibrant red blood.

Raziel trembled at the sound, his ghastly hands cupping over his ears. My gaze fell upon Salem, and my heart sank. His head was to the side; his serene face masked in splatters of blood and grime, his eyes shut tightly. A deep gash ran across his chest, but I knew he wasn't dead. Somehow I knew that if he was, I would have felt it—or at least I had hoped. The caw filled the air again and Raziel faltered, and I watched Salem's eyes flicker open.

My strength was waning, and I felt myself crash to the ground once more. With what little energy I had left, I watched the scene before me as I felt my eyelids drooping. Salem, despite the wound in his chest and obvious agony he was in, gathered himself from the ground and tackled Raziel into the nearest gravestone. Fighting the urge to shut my eyes, I could see his fangs bared against his Sire's throat.

His voice played through my mind from a distant memory. "Raziel is more important to you alive. If you kill him, you kill me, and any other vampires he created."

"No, Salem!" I cried, although I wasn't sure it was loud enough that he could hear me. "Don't!"

He ignored my ill-attempt to stop him, if he even heard it at all. I shut my eyes tightly and felt the moist tears trickle down my cheeks. Raziel's blood-chilling scream made me shudder, and I covered my ears awaiting the most painful sound I could imagine: the sound of Salem screaming as he too died. It never came.

"Clearly..." Raziel's voice broke through the screaming, "I did underestimate you..."

I was reluctant at first, but slowly I let the darkness swallow me.

"Alexis. Wake up, please..." Salem's voice begged from the shadows. I opened my eyes and smiled at his flawless face.

"I knew heaven would be beautiful," I mumbled.

"Heaven?" Salem shook his head. "You're not in heaven, Alex."

My brows furrowed. "What did I do to deserve to go to Hell?"

He shook his head again and lifted me into his arms. "You aren't dead."

"I must be. Raziel killed me. You killed him, and that killed you." I stated this as though it were a fact.

"No, Alex..." His expression grew worried. "You didn't die; you were close, but you definitely didn't die. And as it turns out, Raziel's tale of killing one's Sire must have been just another way to keep his 'offspring' at bay."

"How am I not dead?"

"I intervened before he had the chance to kill you, remember?" he replied tenderly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "It was almost too late..."

"You saved me." I smiled weakly. "Oh, Salem...the things he showed me..."

"I know," he whispered, pulling me against him. "Hannah didn't die in the fire. I had been so certain she had...the memory of her dying had been so vivid, almost as if a false memory had been planted in my mind."

I would have thought he would have been pleased by that news, but from the look of disgust and pain on his face, I was unsure. "Why doesn't that comfort you?"

"He killed her," he replied through clenched teeth.

"No!" I gasped, "No. He loved her."

Salem frowned. "Daniel may have loved her, but Raziel did not. He showed me something, something I gather wasn't shared with you. He tried to live with her, tried to tend to her, but failed. The monster in him couldn't handle it. Daniel was dead long before he—Raziel—killed Hannah."

"Why did he change his name to Raziel?" I wondered aloud.

"Possibly to help forget who he once was." He shrugged. "Hannah demanded that he come back and save me...but I don't think she understood what he would have to do to 'save' me."

"Yet, you never saw her at all?"

"Not that I can recall. He must have been keeping her somewhere else..." He shook the memories from his head for a moment and focused his gaze back to me.

"You were so willing...to die for me," I said quietly, wincing as he examined my leg.

"Of course I was," he replied gently then lowered me onto the muddied ground. He crumbled my gravestone into pieces with one swift kick. I stared at him in awe as he pushed Raziel's body into the pit that had been originally intended for me. Salem's eyes flashed purple and a mound of dirt appeared, filling the hole.

"Your wound..." I whispered hoarsely. "Is it healed?"

"Not yet, but that's not important. Let's get you to a doctor. You have lost a lot of blood, and need your leg checked out," he said as he lifted me up once more.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I had thought the fracture in my leg was the worst of the damage, but I was mistaken. It was amazing how oblivious I was to the severe blood loss. The trip to the hospital was a mystery to me; Salem explained that I had passed out along the way and was unconscious for nearly three days. The doctor had given me a blood transfusion to recover some of the lost fluid – he assumed it was caused from the severe gashes in my leg and Salem, nor I bothered to tell him otherwise. He was, however, somewhat skeptical about the bizarre bite mark on my throat. I insisted I was bit by an animal during an afternoon hike and fallen down an embankment, but he seemed unconvinced. They ran a few tests to ensure I wasn't infected with any diseases from the bite, and all the results were clear. I was just grateful that they released me. I loathed hospitals almost as much as I hated gym class. When I exited the hospital room, donning my new set of metal crutches, I was shocked to find Paul sitting in the waiting room. My instincts told me to retreat and walk in the other direction, but it was too late–he had seen me.

"Alex, please don't go!" He stood up from the plastic chair and rushed to my side. "I know we've been on rough terms lately, but I had to see you."

"How did you even know I was here?" I grumbled, leaning my weight uncomfortably on the crutch the doctor had provided.

"Salem called me, actually..." He stared down at his feet. "This would be the second time he saved your life. I think I owe him an apology, Alex."

"Well, I'm glad you finally got that through your thick skull."

"I'm trying to be civil here. Could you at least try to hear me out?" He sighed with frustration.

"Whatever, Paul." I didn't meet his eyes. "You'll at least be glad to know Raziel is dead—also thanks to Salem."

"He told me all about that, too." He sighed. "This isn't going to be easy for me, Alex, but I think over time I can come to accept your relationship with him."

My eyes finally met his. "Are you serious?"

He nodded his head slowly. "I think so, anyway. I never imagined a vampire could feel so strongly for a human, but I can see—and hear—the way he cares about you."

"He's more in touch with his human half than the vampire in him," I said as Paul opened the hospital doors for me.

My face brightened when I saw Salem leaning against the side of the building, drenched in the pouring rain. The moisture plastered his ebony hair to his scalp, and beads of water trickled down his pale face. He looked relieved to see me, but a little anxious at Paul's presence. Surprisingly, to both of us, Paul offered my arm to Salem. My father took one of my crutches so that Salem could intertwine his cold arm with mine, and he led me to the Wrangler parked far off into the lot.

When we were in the car, Salem sat in the back with me, holding my hand tightly in his. Paul peeked back at us, a smug look on his face. I began to worry if he had sincerely meant he was going to try to accept our relationship. As we rode along the street, I leaned my head tiredly against Salem's cold, wet shoulder and shut my eyes.

I was barely asleep when I heard the voices—part of me was unsure if I was conscious or not.

"I think I owe you an apology, Salem," Paul muttered, barely audible over the rush of wind and splattering rain against the windshield.

"You are forgiven," he muttered in response, caressing my hair gently. "I understand your reasons."

"It's not going to be easy to get used to."

"I understand that, too," Salem replied in a hushed voice, obviously not wanting to disturb me.

"Salem," Paul spoke just as quietly. "I give you the benefit of the doubt, but if you ever so much as scratch her...well, let's just say I won't miss next time."

"You have nothing to worry about."

My eyes barely opened when the car pulled to a stop outside of the Victorian. Salem nudged me gently on the shoulder in an attempt to wake me. "We're home," he whispered into my ear.

I sat up and stretched my stiffened arms, smiling happily at the sight of the welcoming doors. Salem helped me out of the car and acted as my support, leading me up the alabaster stairs slowly and steadily.

"You are welcome to come inside, Paul," he hollered back at my father who still sat in the Jeep, his expression blank.

He hesitated before leaving the vehicle and following us into the glorious house. A shimmer of regret crossed his face as he eyed the stained-glass windows on the door. As he opened his mouth to speak, Salem silenced him.

"I know. You are sorry for the windows, also."

"You can't read minds, can you?" Paul laughed darkly.

"No." Salem smirked, looking back at Paul. "You're just somewhat predictable."

"Which is why I've never been able to kill you, I guess," Paul grumbled.

"Dad!" I shouted. "That's enough."

"Sorry, Alex. Old habits die hard, y'know?" Paul frowned. "But I'm tryin'."

"Thank you. That is all I ask for."

"What would you like to eat, my little raven?" Salem asked as he lowered me onto the sectional. His eyes twinkled violet momentarily, and a plump pillow appeared in his hands. He gently placed my fractured leg against the pillow. I smiled gratefully, and watched my father gaze around the house. He was clearly mesmerized. But who could blame him?

"I'll have whatever Paul wants," I said with a sly grin.

Salem looked uneasy. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Alex," he muttered.

"What isn't? Paul asked as he entered the vast living room. He was momentarily distracted by the white grand piano in the corner. "Ah, I see what she really likes about you."

Salem laughed delicately.

"Dad, if you could have anything to eat right now–what would it be?" I asked, ignoring them.

"Steak and a baked potato!" he answered quickly. "Why? Does Salem have his own chef to go with this mansion of a house or something?" he scoffed.

"Not exactly, no." I grinned. "Go on, Salem..."

Salem frowned at me, then I saw the mystical purple highlights in his eyes, and he gestured for Paul to look into the dining room. Upon the dining table were two plates, each with a steaming hot potato with all the toppings imaginable nestled beside a large steak. My father stared in awe at the food, his jaw gaping open.

"How?" he mumbled; his eyes focused now on Salem.

"There is more to me than just being a vampire." Salem grimaced somewhat.

Paul shook his head in disbelief. "Amazing..." he whispered. "What else can you do?"

"That's about it."

I smiled to myself, happy to see they were getting along—at least a little, anyway. Salem brought me my plate and helped me sit up. "Thank you," I said and pecked him on the cheek while Paul delved into his meal. I picked at mine, somewhat wishing I had chosen something of my own—steak wasn't among my favorite foods, but the potato was delicious.

"Salem?" I said quietly, eying my dad in the kitchen. "Did you have any idea about Hannah being Daniel—Raziel's daughter?"

He shook his head and scowled. "That's not something I ever expected...I don't even want to think about it."

"What do you think he meant by all that stuff he said to you?"

"I don't know, Alex..." He sighed, appearing thoughtful. "Perhaps I never will quite understand that, now."

"And...My future." I gasped. "What do you suppose he saw?"

"I don't know that, either...but we will have plenty of time to find out."

After I finished my meal, I grudgingly let sleep overcome me as my father asked Salem all about his bizarre summoning abilities.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

When I awoke the next morning, Paul was gone and Salem was nowhere to be seen. I sighed heavily with disappointment; I wouldn't be able to get up on my own and would have to wait for Salem to return from wherever he happened to be. As I thought this over, the front doors flew open, and he was walking gracefully through them. He came to my side at once and pulled me into his arms.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, staring at my injured leg remorsefully.

"I could use help getting to the bathroom," I groaned, knowing this would include him carrying me upstairs. "What were you doing outside?"

"I was saying farewell to your father. He stayed throughout the night to ensure you were okay." He smiled, lifted me into his arms and rushed me up the spiraling stairs. He helped me through the restroom door, and I insisted I could take care of the rest myself, although I wasn't completely sure of that. I could hear him shuffling around behind the door while he waited for me. I took care of the persistent nagging of my bladder, washed my hands, and then quickly brushed my teeth, leaning against the counter for support.

He was waiting with his arms outstretched and a wide smile when I opened the door. I allowed him to carry me down the stairs but was surprised when he didn't take me to the sofa. Instead, he swung my legs over the bench in front of the piano and sat beside me. I looked at him inquisitively as he placed his hands over mine and guided them to the keys.

"Play that tune for me, one more time," he requested after kissing me softly.

"Okay." I breathed and flexed my fingers. He kept his cold hands upon mine, following them as they sped along the ivory. The song felt somehow sadder to me now than I had ever realized. I don't think I had ever actually listened to the music as it pulsed through my fingers into the instrument. I was always too focused on playing the piece that I forgot to take the time to truly hear, and feel, the emotion behind it. I shut my eyes, allowing a warm drop of moisture to slip across my cheek as thoughts started welling inside my mind. It went unnoticed as Salem's eyes were focused on the movement of my hands.

Once the music faded, I collapsed into his arms. He didn't understand why I had begun bawling, and I didn't take the chance to explain it to him. He simply held me, which was all I wanted, all I needed at that moment. The realization of all that had happened within the last few months came back to me through the song all at once–losing my mother–twice–gaining a father, dropping out of school, nearly dying, falling in love... I wiped my eyes and looked into his piercing blue stare, which darted back and forth from my face to the piano.

"I had never noticed how beautiful it is," I said between what was a mixture of a sob and a laugh.

Salem merely smiled and held my face in both hands, "Nor had I," he said, but he wasn't talking about the music as he stared longingly at my face. He kissed me tenderly once more, and then pulled away. "What do you call that tune, anyway?"

I thought for a moment, and then my lips curved into a simple smile. "Nevermore."

The End

To continue the series with Hybrid now, visit the author's website at www.kaylapoe.com

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Guardians  
Book One  
By Lola St Vil

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Chapter One

Okay, it's official: I'm a coward. No one is in class today but me—and the new twin foreign exchange students from Japan. The boy's name is Rio. He's tall, lanky, and on the cutting edge of fashion. His hair is flaming red and falls into a shaggy bob cut that usually covers his face. His lips are plum red and he has eyebrows most girls would die for.

Rio looks like a Harajuku poster boy. This I learned from Wikipedia; it is a fashion trend in Japan where the kids dress in bold colors, patterns and off-the-beaten-path clothing. I find him sexy in a dark, mysterious way.

His twin sister, Miku, is more bohemian. No matter the weather, she can be found in dresses that are usually soft, flowery, and flowing. She has almond-shaped gray eyes like her brother. Her hair is jet black, bone straight and falls down to her waist. Her bangs frame her soft face beautifully. She wears a single honey blonde braid on the right side. But where Rio stands at 6'0, his sister is nearly a foot shorter.

We've said hello to each other in passing, but I've never struck up a conversation. I wonder what it would be like if I had that kind of charm. Would I take over governments? Start wars? Or maybe, just try to get a date for senior prom?

It didn't surprise me that the twins are here. They never miss a day of school. Since they arrived, I've been fascinated by the way they are with each other. They could be laughing quietly and joking around, but if a student enters the room looking worried or upset, it changes the mood of the twins. Suddenly they are concerned as well. Of course this is all me—having way too much time on my hands to analyze other people's behavior.

Still, I imagine their lives are somehow filled with adventure. I wish mine were. I'd like my life to be as exciting as Joan of Arc's or Queen Elizabeth's. Their existence changed the world. I daydream about being that kind of girl. But those women were brave and defiant. Me, on the other hand, I can't even cut one lousy class.

The reason for such a low turnout in my last class period is the weather. New York City rarely has temperatures above 30 degrees in January. But here we are just two weeks in to the new year, and it's a blissful 70 degrees outside. So everyone said a silent "Thank you" to global warming and ditched class.

My friend Sara was trying to coax me to join her, but at the last minute, I chickened out. I never go against the rules. Not because I don't have a desire to, but because I am afraid of the repercussions. What if I cut class and got caught? They'd call my mom and I'd be grounded. Not that I ever really go anywhere but still....

It isn't just the weather that has made people skip Mr. White's history class, it's Mr. White himself. He rarely makes eye contact with the class, or even asks questions to see if we are following along with the lesson. It's as if he's talking to himself. He's a one-man show, and we inconvenience the hell out of him by being there.

I raise my hand and get permission to go to the bathroom. I head down the hallway and encounter the Armani- Dior-McCartney parade. Fashionistas come towards me armed with posh handbags, perfect teeth and utter disapproval.

I am the only kid at Livingston Academy that doesn't have old money. Actually, I don't have new money either. My Grandfather was a janitor here for twenty years before he died. As a favor, the dean arranged it so I could get a partial scholarship. It's still out of our price range but my Mom won't hear of public school.

Standing there, I thought I'd get my stuff and make a break for it, but no, I walked right past my locker and into the girls bathroom. Like I said: big coward.

I look at myself in the mirror and sigh. I am so uninteresting. My face is too round, my eyes are too far apart and my cheekbones lack the height needed to elevate me to exotic. The only things that stand out about me are my eyes: they're as purple as the stupid dinosaur. And, well, that's just weird.

What's even weirder is that they go various shades of purple depending on my mood. If I'm angry, they become such a deep shade of purple they appear black. When I'm sad, they lighten up and take on an electric, neon glow. I hate my eyes. They come from my father. He had encountered my mother on her way home from school—and raped her. She went to the police, but they never caught him. She tried to put that night behind her, but then I came along.

My mom, Marla, calls me the one good thing in her life. Funny, I never saw it that way. She had a scholarship to Columbia University and was going to be pre-law, but she had to postpone school to have me. Then my grandparents died in a car accident and she had no one to help support her.

So, she put off school and got a series of dead-end jobs to make ends meet. Law school became a distant fantasy. She poured all her dreams into me. She wants me to be what she would have been had she not had me: a brilliant attorney slash striking social butterfly.

But it takes a full night of cramming to squeeze out a C+ or B- on my exams. That is not brilliance. And as far as being striking goes, as I said, the only remarkable thing about me are my eyes. I always get asked about wearing contacts. I get so fed up with that question.

So here I am, Emerson Hope Baxter, a fifteen-year-old, purple-eyed freak living in New York City. I look at myself in the mirror once again. I smooth out a wayward strand of ink colored hair and tighten my ponytail. I take one last look at myself. I'm 5'4" without a curve in sight. I sigh, again.

I wash my hands and head out the door. The urge to ditch doesn't last long. Besides, even if I had ditched class, where would I go? Everyone who cut class today had something fun and exciting to do. Their life had urgency and meaning. My life, on the other hand, is routine and ordinary.

So, no ditching, but I'm doing the next best thing; I head to the nurses office, my safe haven. The nurse's name is Cora. She lets me crash on one of the cots when life at Livingston Academy has gotten to be too much. I run to the safety of the Lysol-scented office until I get enough nerve to face the world again.

As I head down the hallway I hear a moan coming from the janitor's closet. I walk up and press my ear to the door. I turn the knob half expecting it to be locked, but it isn't. The person moans even louder.

"Hello?"

"Help!" a male's voice says weakly in the dark.

I gently drag him out of the closet and prop him up against the wall. I know I have seen him before. I can't remember his name, but he works in the main office. He's about fifty or so, balding with dark rimmed glasses and kind eyes.

"They're coming for him. Must stop them...hurts so much," he says in barely a whisper.

His face is pale and his lips are pressed together so tightly they form a thin white line. I put my hand on his shoulder to calm him. That's when I first see the blood. It has seeped through his white shirt and tie and continues to spread its way across his abdomen. By the time I find the origin of the blood, it's seeped down to the floor. I put my hand on the hole in his stomach but that does little to slow the bleeding.

"Help! Somebody help!" I cry out. The hallway answers back with staunch silence.

"Help me!" I call out again. Nothing.

He's trying to say something. I lean in closer.

"Find him. Tell him to run."

"Find who?"

He hands me a crumpled blue 5x7 index card. The kind all the students have to fill out detailing their address and other important information. It's covered in blood.

"Find him," the man insists again.

"Okay I will," I promise, hoping that would get him to stay calm.

I call out for help once again but this time I don't wait for the silence to mock me. I stuff the index card in my pocket and I run down the hallway as fast as I can. It doesn't seem fast enough. Should I have left him alone? Can he hang on until I get back? How long does it take an ambulance to come? Stop thinking, just go! My heart is pounding so hard my chest hurts. I scan the hallways. Not a person in sight.

As I call out again, something hurls itself at me and throws me down to the ground with the force of a category five hurricane. I hit the floor. I would have thought I were dead save the acute pain traveling from my shoulders down to my ankle. I groan in agony as the thing that attacked me pins me down to the ground. I stare into the face of my attacker.

It's Rio from my history class. But before I can be sure, he covers me with something. Everything goes dark. I don't have time to pinpoint what it was because just then gunshots rang out.

I don't know who is shooting because my attacker won't let me up, so I fight him. I know in my head that it is a bad idea to stand up, what with a hail of bullets flying overhead, but panic steps in, and I just want to flee. I have to get up and run away. I punch him repeatedly. I kick and scream for him to let me go. It's hard to tell if he can hear me over the sound of the gunshots. If he does, it in no way affects him. He holds me down effortlessly with his body and what I think must have been some kind of dark blanket. But where did it come from?

I make one last desperate attempt to free myself; I push past the pain running down my side and hurl myself forward to get out from underneath the boy holding me captive. He doesn't even budge. How can he be so strong? He's only 120 pounds or so.

Suddenly, I hear the most beautiful song ringing out into the hallways. It sounds like the kind of melody you've heard at a funeral. Sad. Haunting. Sorrowful. Tears sprang instantly from my eyes. I'm heartbroken but I don't know why. It's as if the melody has etched the saddest possible memories into my heart. The pain is worse than any physical thing I could have experienced. I want to die. My captor looks into my eyes.

"Don't listen," he begs as he holds me closer to his chest.

The blanket he has spread over us has somehow gotten darker and heavier. The song sounds far away now. And although I no longer feel the desire to die, I am so saddened by what little melody I can make out; I continue to weep, loudly, into his chest. Somewhere in between the sobs I think I hear groaning, but I can't be sure.

The shots stop just as suddenly as they had started, and the hallway is silent again. The blanket is pulled off of me. I was right. It was Rio who held me down.

"What the hell is—." My voice dies in my throat. Lying about ten yards away from us are three bodies. And standing a few feet away from them is Miku, Rio's twin sister.

Horrified, I make my way over. Three men lie lifeless on the floor. I've never seen them before. They have on dark suits and ties. A trail of bloody tears has run down their faces. Each of them had torn their shirts open, exposing large blue and green bruises on their chests. I lean in closer and see several bloody self-inflicted gashes. It's as if they were trying to rip their hearts out.

"What did you do?" My voice is filled with so much anguish, I barely recognize it. Before Miku has a chance to reply, Rio comes towards us shouting, "We have to go! They're coming."

No sooner had he gotten the words out than a group of men comes barreling down the stairs wearing suits and carrying guns. They begin shooting.

"Emmy, let's go!" She doesn't wait for me to move. She grabs my hand and drags me down the hallway towards the exit. I fall in step with her for fear that if I don't she'll hurt me like she did the men on the floor. I knew it was her. She was the one singing. She had killed three people without putting a hand on them. And now I'm being dragged down the school hallway by a murderer and her brother. But I figure I'm better off with them than the "Wall Street" mafia back there, right?

The wonder twins and I dodge into the stairwell. Bullets whiz over our heads. The singer pulls the fire alarm. Kids quickly flood the stairwell. The PA system comes on. I can't hear what the principal is saying as the brother and sister team and I run at breakneck speed past the student body and out the door. Once outside, a red sports car comes towards us at top speed, jumps the curb and stops just short of hitting us. The door flings open. The driver, whose face I can't see, says, "Get in."

They try to get me inside the car but I fight them off, kicking and screaming. I'd rather die here than get in this stranger's car and end up bruised and broken in some dark alley.

"Get off me!" I shout back.

Had it not been New York City, the sight of a group of teenagers fighting would have been disturbing. But seeing as how the city is always full of strange characters and even stranger happenings, not one person even stopped. Although, there were a few who looked on as they walked by but dismissed it as juvenile horseplay.

Rio somehow gets both my arms behind my back and holds them there. I struggle, but it does no good. His grip is too tight.

"I got her. You clean up," Rio instructs his sister.

"I cleaned up last time," Miku replies.

"So you should be familiar with the process," he retorts. She stares back at him coldly.

Rio lets his guard down for a half a second. That's all I need. I shoot off down the street. They grabbed a hold of my shirt from behind. I scarcely manage to slip out of it. I thank myself for layering this morning because I didn't trust the weather to stay this warm throughout the day. I'm half way down the block. My muscles beg me to stop or even slow down, but I don't give in.

What's going on? The question bounces inside my pounding head with every labored breath I take. Don't stop to analyze, I reason with myself. Just get some distance.

I spot a cop car halfway down the block; seeing an end to their pain in sight, my muscles fully cooperate. I'm now running at top speed, mere yards away from help, when she appears before me, stopping me dead in my tracks.

She looks to be about my age, maybe a year or so older? She stands at a statuesque five feet nine inches. Her beauty defies logic. No one that stunning can be real. Even if she wasn't blocking me, I would have had no choice but to stop and marvel at the sheer radiance of her face. Her skin looks as if it had been carved out of the night sky: smooth, black, glowing. Her eyes are the color of gleaming pennies; her full lips spread across her face and form a spectacular smile.

Her hair reaches past her shoulder and down to her lower back in thick curls with streaks of copper matching her eyes. She wears black leather pants that hug every flawless curve and a matching fitted black leather vest. I gasp at the impossible perfection before me.

I want frantically to reach out and touch her for two reasons. First, to make sure she is real, and second, I long to put my hands on something so flawless. But I can't reach out and touch her. That's not to say that she isn't real. She's real, as is the silver handgun she's pointing at me.

I hear a car pull up, but I can't tear myself away from the girl in front of me. "Get in," she orders. She doesn't need the gun. I know from the chill going down my spine that she is dead serious, and disobeying isn't in my immediate best interest. I tear myself away from her face and see the same red car, its door open. I get into the car.

Once inside, the car zooms up Broadway going at nearly twice the speed limit. The twins are seated next to me. I want to ask where they are taking me, but I'm afraid the minute I open my mouth, I'll cry. I refuse to give my conquerors the satisfaction of seeing me weep. Instead, I look out the window at the crowds of New Yorkers passing by. As usual they are all in a hurry to get where they need to be or leave where they've just been.

They remind me of my mom. She's always racing home to make me dinner. But neither of us are good cooks, so we always end up ordering out. I wonder if I'll ever see her again. I had been in such a rush this morning, I didn't say good bye. I didn't even say goodbye to Ms. Charlotte, my cat. She waits for me on the windowsill at exactly 3:30 p.m. everyday. I don't know how she knows it's time, but I swear she does. She'll be waiting today....

I try to swallow but can't. A big lump forms in my throat. Tears stream down my face. Then I remember the emergency card the man in the closet gave me. I had told him that I would help find this boy and tell him to run. It made no sense to me, but it had mattered to the man, and I should have done it. Oh well. I'm sure this boy is safer than me, wherever he is.

I surreptitiously remove the crumpled, blood-stained paper from my pocket. I can't make out the home number or address of the boy the closet man had failed to reach. But there, printed clearly underneath light splotches of blood, it reads:

"Emerson H. Baxter."

***************

I was wrong about the alley. We pull into a quiet, charming, tree-lined street somewhere on the Upper East Side. Everything about the neighborhood says "old money lives here," from the rows of five story brick townhouses to the pristine community garden. When we get to the townhouse at the end of the block, the car pulls into the driveway. The twins get out of the car and hold the door open for me. I know I should try to run, but I'm sure my limbs won't comply. I slowly get out of the car.

I see the driver for the first time. He's black and slightly taller than Rio, but his muscular body makes him a hundred times more intimating. He's wearing a black hoodie and a platinum twisted chain. I can't make out his eyes under his Gucci shades. The twins motion to me to go into the house. Sensing I'm about to object, Rio sighs impatiently, and Miku takes my hand and walks me through the frosted glass door.

The house is breathtaking. From the high-dimension ceiling to the smooth wheat-colored finished floor, there isn't one square inch that's not appealing to the eye. The house has a historic feel, but the décor is modern with sleek, clean lines. The browns and reds that highlight the décor make the space warm and cozy. The paintings are mostly Monet. Some I recognized but two I have never seen before. The bay window looks out onto the Park.

Rio and the driver come in behind us and close the door. I'm feeling lightheaded and find it hard to focus. Miku looks at me, smiles brightly and says, "I'll get you a soda," as if this were any other day and I'm a good friend who happened to come by. Rio goes into another room and comes back with a small trash can and places it at my feet. "Don't bother," he says to Miku. Just then a wave of nausea hits me. I double over and vomit. I miss the can completely.

Miku goes away and comes back with a wet towel. She bends down and pats my face. "I want to go home. You can't keep me here. Please," I beg her. She walks me over to the plush sofa and sits me down.

She turns to Rio. "How is she?"

"Tired. Shocked." I hate being talked about like I'm not in the room.

"Why are you asking him? I'm right here."

She pays me no mind. "She should sleep," she says to the driver.

Is she kidding me? I've just been in a shoot out. I've seen a man bleeding to death and I'm being kidnapped. How does she think I could possibly sleep?

"Tell me what's going on. Who are you? Why did you force me into your car and who was shooting at us?" The more questions I ask the more hysterical I become.

"I want to go home," I shout at the top of my lungs. The driver comes up to me and takes his shades off to reveal soft, warm, hazel eyes. He places a hand on my shoulders. He looks into my eyes and speaks with a soft velvet voice oozing charm. "You would like to go to sleep," he says simply. After he said that, nothing mattered more than the desire to close my eyelids. I've fought off sleep before, but this isn't like that. There's no fight. I want nothing more than to give into darkness. The last thing I see before I drift off is the girl who held me at gun point coming towards me.

***************************

"She's got to be a part of this whole thing. Why else would Lucy send half a dozen Runners after her?"

"She looked genuinely surprised when they came. This girl has no idea what's going on."

"That doesn't make sense. The council would never expose a human to that kind of danger."

"I'm telling you she knows nothing."

"It doesn't matter if Emerson knows something or not. If Lucy thinks she's involved, she's dead."

As I listen to the conversation taking place in the living room, I keep my eyes closed. They had carried me into one of the bedrooms when I fell asleep. This is all a dream. This is what I get for falling asleep watching the SyFy Channel. But even as I'm saying it to myself, I know it's a lie. This is real. And this Lucy person sent a bunch of guys to kill me. What did they call them—"Runners"? What have I done to this Lucy to make her want me dead? I'm gonna lay still and keep my eyes closed. This nightmare has to end.

"Is she awake?" I think Miku is speaking. Rio answers.

"She is, but she's trying to wish this whole thing away."

"We don't have time for this." I recognize the voice of the girl who pointed the gun at me.

She sounds irritated and on edge. I open my eyes and scan the room looking for a phone. There isn't one. I snort at the absurdity of my situation. What would I say to the cops if there had been a phone? "Hi, my name is Emerson Baxter and I'm being kidnapped and held hostage inside, what looks to be, the centerfold of Architectural Digest."

Someone knocks on the door of the room. Miku's voice calls out to me sweetly behind the door, "Emmy, it's time to get up." She opens the door and comes over with a tray of food. She sits beside me. On the tray is a small bowl of broth with pieces of a few white squares and a handful of green onions. "It's miso soup. It's good. My mom used to make it. Oh, and a turkey sandwich. I got Jay to make it for you. He's a culinary genius, but he's a little stingy with his talent."

"Who's Jay?" I question.

"The driver."

"He should have his license revoked."

"He did." She laughs and hands me the tray.

"I'm not hungry."

"Rio says you are."

"How does he know what I feel?"

"It's a long story. First food then Q&A, okay?"

I was ready to argue, but the aroma of the soup hit my nose and my stomach growled. I take one spoonful of the soup intending to stop there, but it is so good I end up drinking the whole thing.

Miku studies me. "Now, try the sandwich."

"No, I'm fine. Really." She looks pleadingly at me.

I'm such a pushover. I take a bite of the sandwich. It's the best thing I have ever put in my mouth. It has some kind of spread that gives the turkey a kick. There's also a light sweetness to it but I can't figure out from what. I look at Miku in awe.

"I know. It's amazing huh? You should try his parmesan potato bread. It's his specialty. But he really has to like you to make it."

I gobbled it up in four quick bites.

I am making a pig of myself, but Miku doesn't seem to mind. She hands me a can of soda. I drink it down and wipe my mouth with the napkin she had thoughtfully placed beside the tray. I thank her. She smiles and motions for me to follow her. I take a deep breath and walk after her out of the bedroom, into the living room.

I must have been asleep for hours, judging by the dark sky. The living room is lit softly by track lights. Someone has cleaned the spot where I'd thrown up; the sour smell is gone. The house now smells of green tea and jasmine. There's no one in sight.

"Everyone's waiting outside," Miku informs me as she leads the way. We walk up a few flights and through a black gated door onto the roof. Standing there beside Rio is the driver, Jay, and the gun girl.

It seems impossible but she is somehow even more striking than she was when I first saw her. She walks up to me. Her voice is official and impatient. "I'm Ameana. And this is Jayden." She motions towards the driver. He says, "It's cool, call me Jay."

Ameana continues without the slightest concern as to whether I respond or not. "You have something in your possession that is vital to me and many others. We need you to hand it over."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I stammer. She looks at the others, then back at me. "You have no idea what I want from you?" she asks again. I try to keep my voice from trembling.

"N-n-no," I say weakly. She turns to Rio. He replies, "She's telling the truth. The Runners haven't told her anything. She has no idea what's going on."

I don't know where the anger came from. All I know is that I had had enough of this sci-fi bull. I direct my comment to Ameana. "Look, warrior princess, I don't know what you are talking about, okay? I was just trying to help some guy I found in the hallway and then all hell broke loose! If you plan on killing me before this Lucy person, then fine, do it. If not, I have to get home."

"How do you know Lucy? Has she come to see you?" Ameana turns to Rio.

He answers her unspoken question. "She has one. I would know if she didn't."

"One what?" I ask.

"How do you know about Lucy?" Ameana demands again.

Hoping that if I give her some answers she'll give me some, I reply, "I overheard you guys talking. So, who is she? Why is she out to kill me?" I look into their faces and see something in them I didn't see when bullets rang out over our heads—fear.

"Is she some kind of super bad girl? I mean how many guns can a girl carry?" All my attempts to lighten the mood fail. "Please, tell me what's going on. I may be able to help. But you guys have to talk to me," I plead. They confer silently with each other.

Before anyone can speak, a boy pops out of thin air. Seriously. He came out of nowhere. Startled, I jump back, lose my balance and fall head first down the side of the five story building. I don't even have time to register that I should scream. I try to prepare myself for the pain. My head will hit the ground first, so maybe death will come swiftly. Please, please come swiftly.

There is no pain. I feel no pain. Yes! Somehow I must have been knocked unconscious so quickly, the pain never had time to register. I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead.

Then I hear Rio's voice. "Emmy, open your eyes" I do. I am lying safely on the floor of the roof. I look up at the faces staring back at me; Rio, Jayden, Ameana, Miku and the new pop-up guy. He looks like a J Crew model. He's wearing a designer military-style jacket, a royal blue stretch pullover that brings out his eyes, and white cargo pants.

Well, if I am dreaming, at least I'm dreaming about pretty people. Everyone on this roof is hot. Well, aside from regular looking old me. Pop-up guy says to me, "I'm Reason. But you can call me Reese." He extends his hand. I go to shake it when I see something big and dark like a shadow hovering above. I look up at Reese and gasp. Protruding out of his shoulders blades, are wings! Honest to goodness wings! Huge, disturbing, flapping-in – the-wind wings!

He sees the freaked out look on my face and then it registers with him. "Oh, sorry, I always forget." Suddenly the wings disappear.

"Am I dead?" I choke. I look over at Miku.

She answers coyly, "No, but we are." In the hallway shootout earlier I had thought this is as confused as I can get. I was so wrong.

Reese kneels down on one knee and takes my hand. "I'm sorry to startle you. It's rude and very 'un-angel-like.' I get on Jay for gliding rudely, and here I am doing the exact same thing." He helps me up.

I whisper something about it being okay. But I don't think he buys it.

Ameana stares out into the dark night. The worry in her voice is obvious. "I thought he'd be back tonight...."

"You know Marcus; he won't come back until he's found out something. In the meantime, check on Emmy for me," Miku says.

Ameana looks at me as if she is scanning me, as if she can see inside my body. "She'll live," she says dismissively—wait, can she?

Miku takes my hand. "Good, let's all go back downstairs and talk. I'm guessing you have questions." Um, one or two.

We all take a seat in the spotless kitchen. It has everything a cook could want, from the top of the line sub-zero refrigerator to the stainless steel eight-burner stove. It looks like no one has ever used it. If they did use it, they were obsessed about cleanliness. To stop myself from hurling all my questions out at them, I occupy myself by counting the tiny flicks of gold embedded in the black marble countertop.

"We don't have time to play twenty questions. We only have time for one. So make it good," Ameana instructed.

"What? I can only ask one question? Are you serious?" She looks at me and glares. "Fine" I paused. There is so much I don't know. I have no idea where to even start. I think for a moment and ask the most important question.

"Did the man in the closet get help? Is he okay?" Miku grins as if she's just she won the lotto. Rio shares her joy, as does Reese and Jayden. They all look at me strangely. Like I revealed something important but didn't realize it.

"That's what you want to know?" Ameana says incredulously.

"Well, there are lots more, but you said I could only ask one," I say bitterly.

"He's been taken to the hospital. He's critical but stable. There's a good chance he'll make it."

"Thank you," I say curtly, matching her tone.

She gets up to leave the room. As she is almost out the door she says, "Fill her in. Tell her what she needs to know." And nothing more, I think, reading between the lines. Then she walks out.

I can't hold it anymore. "Are you angels? Who's Lucy? Why did she send those guys after me?"

Miku gets up and pours me a glass of water. "Here, you'll need this."

I take it from her and drink it. I'm not thirsty, but I have a feeling she won't take no for an answer. She sits back down and Jay prepares to addresses me. But before he can get started, Rio tells him to hold on. Then out of nowhere he says loudly, "Emmy's cold, bring her a sweater, please."

How did he know I was cold? I didn't make any gestures to indicate being cold, but he's right. I've been getting goose bumps for 10 minutes. I just didn't want to stop them now that they're finally talking.

Rio points to something next to me. I follow his gaze. I don't see anything. He points up and there right above my head, hanging in the air is a rust colored wool sweater. It's just hanging there in thin air. Miku nudges me to take it, and so I do.

Then she shouts towards the entry way, "Thanks Mina."

"Wait, how did she—"

"She can move objects and people. Cool, huh?" Miku explains.

If I ever did drugs, I would stop today. But since I've never done them, I can't explain what has just taken place in the past few hours.

"Miku, please! What's going on?" I beg.

Jay comes to my rescue. His voice is steady, but he seems very far away.

"In the beginning there was the creator; the highest measure of good. Over time, this entity has been given many different names. But its original name was Omnis, which is Latin for All. Omnis created nature and with it, a law that no one element can exist without an opposing element. This is known as the law of opposites. This concept encompasses all things, except for Omnis himself.

"Omnis then created humanity. Everything had been perfect. So perfect, in fact, that humanity began to doubt the need for Omnis, and, over time, their connection to him all but disappeared.

"Omnis concluded that, like nature, humanity needed the law of opposites to keep it balanced. If humanity never felt despair, it could not seek out the hope he provided. If they never experienced sickness, they would not marvel at the grace of good health.

"And after seeing how wasteful humans were with the life he had given them, he knew that the only way for them to appreciate their own existence was to make it ephemeral. But because he loved humanity far more than anything he had ever created, it was difficult for him to be objective.

"So he created a council of impartial judges that would look at the complicated design of humanity and do what was necessary to keep it in balance. Omnis created three council members: Death, Time and Fate. Although the council honors and respects him, it operates independent of Omnis, to assure that balance is maintained.

"In addition to the council, Omnis decided he needed the opposite energy of himself. He is grace, forgiveness and goodness, so he wanted a force filled with rage, bitterness and evil. This force of evil would serve as an incentive for humanity to strive to be good and follow in the path that led to Omnis' welcoming arms, or they would suffer at the hands of evil.

"He called on his favorite and most cherished angel, Atourum, and told him what he needed done. The angel readily offered to serve, but Omnis cautioned that in order to become the personification of evil, there had to be hate in one's heart. Not just for humans but for Omnis himself. But Atourum could never imagine hating his creator.

"Omnis explained, 'The only way for them to believe in me, Atourum, is for them to believe in you. Go, be merciless. Be savage and cruel. All the world will say your name with fear and contempt. Then, and only then, will they seek out salvation from me.' Atourum bowed to his master and vowed to do as told.

"In order to become evil, Omnis sent Atourum to Earth several times for him to witness firsthand the flaws of man. Each trip to Earth made Atourum more and more susceptible to human influence and less connected to Omnis. The more affected Atourum was by humanity's shortcomings, the harder it was to get back into heaven. Eventually Atourum gave in to the savage ways of man and committed murder. This caused Omnis to ban him from heaven forever.

"Atourum said to Omnis 'I am now your opposing force, just as you wanted. Humanity will recognize your light by measuring it against my darkness. You take souls and put them in your mansion in the light. But humans will not appreciate this gift until you create an opposing space to the light. The only way to measure the beauty of your house is to measure it against the horror of mine.' And so it was Atourum was granted Ren, meaning 'house of fire.'

"They also came to an arrangement: Omnis would take all children and Atourum would take all the adults who had committed unspeakable acts. But they could not agree on who would get the souls that died as teenagers, souls that had yet to choose either the path of darkness or the path of light.

"They left it up to the council. The council decided to put souls that died between the ages of 13 and 19 on a bridge. The bridge is halfway between the light and the House of Fire. The souls would linger there until they choose the path to which they felt more connected. They would not know which is which. They would only follow the path that felt right to them.

"Neither side was allowed to guide the souls; they had to find their own way. It was called 'The Walk.' Each soul lingers for as long as it is undecided and then once it accepted either the light or the dark, it would go in that direction.

"Omnis and Atourum were each allowed to choose six souls from the bridge to be Watchers. A Watcher's job is to keep an eye on the bridge and ensure that neither side intervenes in 'The Walk.'

"Omnis chose six of the purist souls. He called them "The Guardians." Atourum chose six of the darkest souls on the bridge and named them "Akon" meaning "chaos."

"There were only two rules both sides had to abide by: neither side could tell a soul which way to go, and neither Omnis nor Atourum could know the location of the bridge.

"Centuries passed, the bridge would fill up, and the souls would take 'The Walk' and go on into the light or the darkness. Each time the bridge was empty, The Guardians and Akons would go to the light or to Ren and be promoted.

"On the first cycle of the bridge, the soul chosen to be first Guardian was a soul named Julian. He watched vigilantly and made sure that nothing interfered with 'The Walk.' All the souls were left to choose their own path.

"One day he took notice of a soul on the bridge that seemed to be having more trouble than the rest. It seems this soul wanted to follow the light but was drawn to the darkness. Julian watched it waver back and forth. It couldn't decide which path to follow.

"Julian talked to the soul. Her name was Femi. She lived in a small village in Nigeria. Her whole family was killed when her village was raided. She was subsequently beaten to death for standing up to the men who did it.

"She told him that she was drawn to the darkness because of what it offered her: power, strength, and control. Since her life on Earth had lacked those things, she ached to have them. The other side offered her peace, happiness and hope, but she had seen those things on Earth and they were easily taken away.

"When Julian was on the bridge just as a soul, it never appealed to him to follow any direction but the light. But as he talked to Femi, he began to understand her and sympathize with her dilemma.

"She was hopeful and filled with peace, but when violence came this last time it had stripped her of those things. 'Why run to happiness if it can get taken away?' she asked. Julian understood for the first time that 'The Walk' was easier for some than others; there were souls that could not feel the inferno of hell or the glory of heaven. That would have made it too easy for them. They'd have to decide what they wanted most: peace or power. That was the only question that stood between heaven and hell.

"Julian couldn't stop watching Femi go back and forth on the bridge. He thought about her constantly. He spoke to the other Guardians. They encouraged him to keep a distance and not interfere. They were certain she would follow whatever path she was destined to take.

"Souls had come and gone on the bridge, but Femi was still undecided. She's so confused. Julian reasoned. She's not evil, she's just broken. So one day, unable to watch her suffer indecision anymore, Julian pointed the way to the light.

"Not long after, Atourum summoned the council and asked Omnis to attend. Once all of them had gathered, Atourum told everyone that, according to the Akons, Julian had broken the rules. Atourum was livid and demanded revenge.

"'She was my soul. She would have gone to me,' Atourum spat.

"'You don't know that. She has goodness in her,' Julian responded.

"Omnis told Julian to approach. He addressed his servant warmly but firmly. 'You have disobeyed me. I know your heart is true and you have goodness and purity in you, but you have yet to learn obedience. I will send you back to Earth as many times as it takes for you to learn to follow my directions.' Then Julian was cast out of the sky.

"The council asked Atourum what he would like as retribution for the rule that had been broken. Atourum said: 'I ask to know the location of the bridge.' The council flatly refused. They knew that once Atourum found the bridge, there would be an invasion. All the souls would go towards darkness by fear or by force. That would more than triple the size of Atourum's followers, enabling them to destroy all of humanity.

"Furious, Atourum reminded the council that they were supposed to be objective. He accused them of siding with Omnis. The council went behind closed doors to talk the matter over. When they reached a decision, all parties were once again gathered.

"Death, Time, and Fate all spoke in unison. 'We, the council appointed by Omnis, have come to a conclusion on the matter of the bridge and the broken rule. While we will not give Atourum the location of the bridge, we will create a triplex that holds a map to the bridge. The triplex will then be placed somewhere on Earth every six hundred and sixty-six years. You, Atourum, will be given a chance to seek out the triplex.

"'If the map is found before midnight of that year, you will be permitted on to the bridge to do with the souls whatever you wish. If Atourum does enter the bridge, all balance will be lost and the Earth will be plunged into chaos and fire. Therefore we are also granting the Guardians a chance to seek out the map and destroy it.

"We will hide it somewhere on Earth. Each side can go about seeking the map any way they choose. However, the same basic rules still apply: Guardians can not kill human beings. If this is done, they will be thrown down to the flames. Only the first Guardian can take a life; and although Akons can kill a human, they can not take a soul unless that soul is willing. Each side will be given a name with which to start their search.

"Only humans that are integral to the search can be informed of the mission. If humanity as a whole should find out about the search, the council will intervene and both sides will be punished. Humanity must remain, with a few exceptions, unaware of what is happening. We can not and will not tolerate exposure, as humans are frail and panic when faced with uncertainty.'

"And so, every six hundred and sixty-six years, Guardians and Akons come down to Earth to find the Triplex."

Panic rises inside me as I say out loud what Jay won't. "This is the sixth hundred and sixty-sixth year."

"I'm sorry, Emerson, but we're going to need that in the form of a question," Reese jokes in his best announcer voice.

I ignore him and go on. "That means you guys have to find an object that could be anywhere on Earth? If you don't find it, we will all die a fiery death?"

"That's about right," Jay chimes in.

My stomach feels queasy again. Maybe eating was a bad idea. Okay, note to self: news of the end of the world is best taken on an empty stomach. I'm fighting back bile. My hands are clammy and won't stop shaking.

"It doesn't have to be fire. It can come in many ways, like a flood, earthquake, or tsunami. Most people think hell on earth would just be fire, but really, it's a combination of things," Miku says casually as if we were discussing where the best lunch specials can be found. We all stare back at her.

"What? It's true."

Rio looks at her dubiously. "You're a creepy little angel."

"So, what's the name on the paper?"

Everyone looks at me as if to say "don't be stupid," but I had to ask. I need to hear it out loud. The look of sympathy on Miku's face confirms my deepest fear.

"My name is the clue."

"You, Ms. Baxter, have just gotten to the final round! Now, will you choose door number one or door number two?" Reese is getting on my nerves.

Apparently I'm not the only one. I feel a soft breeze beside me. I look over and Jay is still seated beside me. But I know he moved because Reese's mouth has literally been taped shut. Jay leans back in his chair to admire his handy work. I look at him bewildered.

"How did you...?"

"Skills baby girl," he smirks. Even as I'm hearing news of impending doom, I can't get over how amazing he looks. And when he called me "baby girl," I felt a warm feeling wash over me. Wow, he is so hot. Focus, Emmy. Focus.

Not one to be out done, Reese rips the tape off his mouth and "pops" up behind Jay. He holds him in a headlock.

"Where you gonna go now, speedy? Come on. I'd like to see you glide out of this," Reese says triumphantly.

They wrestle back and forth, each trying to pin the other one down. Every time Jay gets the drop on Reese, Reese disappears. And whenever Reese manages to get the upper hand, Jay moves at an impossible speed.

Rio announces that he has dibs on Jay. Reese, offended, pops up behind Rio and pulls the chair out from under him. Miku howls with laughter. Apparently the end of the world is a light-hearted subject.

"Excuse me!" I snap, not bothering to hide my irritation. "Are you guys kidding me? Was this all a joke? I thought this was serious. You guys just brought me here as some stupid elaborate game?"

"No, it's real Emmy." Miku puts her hand on my shoulder. I shake it off.

"If this is real then why aren't you guys taking it seriously?"

"We're just tryin' to be easy," Jay says.

"How can you 'be easy'? We're talking about the end of humanity. Forever!" I am seething.

"Emmy, calm down," Rio says gently.

"Don't you get it? I can't help you guys. I have no idea where your map is. Your council made a big mistake." I look at all of them with a mixture of hysteria and disbelief.

Miku chimes in, "You're the clue the council gave us. They're never wrong."

When I speak my voice is unsteady. "They're wrong about this; I'm just some girl. I watch bad TV and spend way too much time reading about things that can't possibly happen to me."

I stand up and look into their all-too-calm faces. I'm so frustrated, I could scream. "If I'm your clue then we're all dead. Do you understand?"

"Well, we're already dead, so...," Reese joked.

"Fine, you just sit there and keep making jokes. It's obvious you don't care." I storm out of the kitchen. They all follow, with Reese heading me off.

"Stop popping out in front of me!" I shout.

"It's called blinking," Reese states matter-of-factly.

"Whatever. Knock it off." I can feel rage welling up.

Jay comes from behind me and blocks my way.

"Move! I'll fight you, angel or no angel." The sheer thought of being confronted with violence by a girl who's half his size and only a fraction of his strength, amuses him to no end. I ball my fist and speak through clenched teeth. "Move!"

He can barely keep from laughing. He holds his hands up as if to surrender.

"Alright, baby girl, it's all you. I'll just glide back to my spot, killer. It's cool."

He moves so fast that by the time his words hit the air, he is already out of my way. He looks like light reflected on a car window going 120 miles an hour. Now only Reese remains.

"Before you storm out, at least give us a chance to apologize," he says as he silently appeals to Miku to intervene.

"We were just blowing off steam and we're sorry," Miku offers from behind me.

"No, you're not. It's not your life that's coming to an end. It's not your mother whose—"

I freeze. My mom. She's probably got half of New York looking for me.

"It's okay. We called her. We told her you were studying with us and you fell asleep. She knows you'll be home late," Rio says in an effort to calm me down.

"Who did you tell her you were?"

"Classmates of yours."

I'm weak with relief. I crash onto the sofa and sob. They let me. They don't approach or try to comfort me. I'm grateful for that. I need the space to fall apart.

My mind wanders from my mom and on to my neighbor, Donna. She has a four-year-old son, Benjamin. I take him to the park on weekends. He loves the swings, and he's sure if he keeps trying he can go high enough to touch a cloud. The thought of his little body pulverized by some evil force makes me sob even harder.

And just when I think it's not possible to shed any more tears, a fresh salty stream runs down my face. Sorrow and desolation engulf me. I stop trying to hold myself together and let the weight of my grief pull me into the fetal position. My body steadily rocks, sob by sob.

They don't speak or impose on me in any way. They allow me all the time I need. Maybe patience is another power that angels are granted. And even though I'm ensconced in misery, I'm certain that if they were not with me, I would be worse.

Finally I stop crying. I don't feel better, I've simply run out of tears. So I just lie there and take in the silence. My head is throbbing. I'm light-headed and empty. I should eat something but the thought of chewing is exhausting.

"I have some questions," I say to no one in particular. My throat is raw and strained. I speak so softly I think they don't hear me.

Rio asks, "What do you want to know?"

"What's a tri thingy?"

"A Triplex. It's a cover coat that protects the object inside it by taking the shape of its surroundings. It's what our wings are coated with. That's why you can't see them even though they're out all the time; it blends into whatever surroundings we're in. If it's snowing, the Triplex will take the form of falling snow," Rio explains.

"Can't people feel your wings when they're standing beside them?

Reese responds, "Not with the Triplex. It takes no space. It has no definite form. You can only find it if you expect it to be there. I can always see Miku's wings because I know that they are there."

"Why did I see yours before then?" I inquire.

"Because you thought you were dead. You were expecting angels; so you saw one. I'm not sure you realize it but you screamed the whole way down... and even after you were safely back on the roof." He's trying hard not to make fun of me. "I think I lost all hearing in my left ear." Apparently he can't help himself, nor can I really blame him.

I must have looked like a nut. I didn't even realize I had screamed. "Sorry about that," I mumble.

"What? I can't hear," Rio shouts back.

I throw a pillow at him and he blocks it with his wings. It didn't get anywhere near him.

"So the map of the bridge is in the Triplex, making it virtually impossible to find," I surmise.

"Virtually," Jay chimes in. "But since your name is our clue, we think that the council met you and decided to leave the Triplex with you."

"I think I would remember running into Death, Time and Fate, don't you?"

Miku replies "Actually, no, you wouldn't. The council would have used someone you know to put the Triplex somewhere in your life where you wouldn't discard it, either because of necessity or sentiment."

"Nothing jumps out at me. Sorry."

"Don't worry. It will," she says encouragingly.

"We're already two days into the New Year. Why did it take so long for you guys to come to me?" I ask.

"There are 53 Emerson's in New York City alone," Reese retorts.

"So, how do you know that I'm the one?"

"You're the only one being shot at today."

"Oh." Point taken.

"It's more than that. I'd felt dark waves heading toward you and thought that it would be a good idea for us to keep a closer eye on you," Rio adds from across the room.

"You knew they'd attack me?" I am amazed. "Can you tell the future?"

"Why, you play lotto?" Rio jokes.

"Seriously. How do you do it?"

"All Watchers, Guardians and Akons have at least one power. It comes from their last moments on earth. Let's say you were crushed by a car on your last night on Earth—"

"Ooh, that's a good one," Miku says, completely taken by the image of carnage in her head.

"—Anyway." Rio rolls his eyes and continues. "Let's say after being crushed to death, you get chosen to be a Guardian. Your power would be the ability to manipulate metal because at your time of death, that is what your spirit asked of Omnis. Everyone's powers have to do with the way they died."

"So, you can't see the future," I state, half-deflated by this additional downer to death.

"No, but I can feel the emotions and desires of people miles away from me. Their emotions give way to their actions. I knew you were feeling nausea even before it registered in your body. "

"That's why you brought over the trash can," I say, amazed.

"Yeah I could tell by your color wave you were feeling unsettled and overwhelmed. I knew you'd get sick but I didn't know the exact moment or where to place the trash," Rio clarifies.

"You see people's feeling as colors?"

"Yep, he's our very own mood ring," Jay teases.

Rio ignores him and continues. "They appear in colored waves. Humans usually emanate the same three colors; orange, gray and blue. That usually means worry, insecurity and fear. It can change throughout the day. If they meet a loved one or find out there's a baby on the way, the change is powerful. They radiate a soft white glow."

"So you know what the guy down the street is feeling right now?"

"I know what Manhattan is feeling. That's how I was able to find you in the hall. Your color wave is almost always..." He was going to say something but then thought better of it.

"Let's just say your color changed to onyx. That means the person fears for their life."

"Can you change what people are feeling?" I have to know.

"No, but along with Jay's ability to 'glide,' he has suggestive powers. So if you radiate deep sadness and you're near me, I'll get Jay to suggest something to lift your spirits."

"That's sweet," I can't help but say.

Rio smiles, "Can't you tell by now what a nice guy I am?"

Miku scoffs, "Yeah, tell her what you and Jay do when you see a cute girl radiating purple."

"What does purple mean?" I ask.

"It means she's... thinking private thoughts," Miku says coyly.

"You know when a girl's turned on?"

"And then he has Jay go up to her and 'suggest' she gives him a kiss," Miku volunteers.

"Jay!" I scold.

"On the cheek," he says, unable to face me.

"What kind of angel are you?" I accuse.

"What kind of angel would you like?" End of the world or not, that boy's a flirt.

"He has to use his powers. How else would he get a girl with me around?" Rio taunts.

Jay shouts back, "You're crazy. My game is foolproof."

I quickly interject before they decide to fight it out. "Do all of you have a protective shield?"

Rio says "No, only me."

"So, what were you doing when you died that you asked for a shield?"

Right away I know that I shouldn't have asked that question. The mood of the room instantly changed. They all stiffen up. Reese looks up at the ceiling as if it were suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.

Jay looks down at the floor. Miku avoids her brother's eyes. Rio's jaw tightens. And for the first time since we've been talking, he looks pained. Miku says, "Excuse me," gets up and goes to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry. It's none of my business how you died. I'm sorry Rio. Don't be mad," I say trying to fix this major error.

He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's just being polite. I've offended him.

He gets up and says, "I'm gonna go look out for Marcus." He moves quickly and heads up to the roof.

I made an angel sad. What kind of monster am I? "Why don't I take you home? Tomorrow we'll be at your school just in case the Runners come back." Reese gets up and holds out his hand. I take it and stand up.

I want to know what "Runners" are, how they'd all died, and who Lucy is and why she's after me, but I don't want to risk saying anything else to upset them. Jay senses my dilemma.

"Don't worry," he says. "We'll fill you in on the rest tomorrow."

"Okay, thanks. And can you tell Rio I'm sorry, again. Please?"

"He already knows, remember?"

"Oh yeah, right," I say, now feeling even more inadequate.

Just then Ameana comes out of her room and addresses the guys. "It's too late for her to go home by the usual means. Reese, Blink her a block from her house."

"No problem," he says, taking my hand.

Panic spreads through my body. What is she talking about? I can't just pop in and out of places like Reese. What if I get home and half a leg gets left behind? No way. Not gonna happen.

"It's okay, Emmy. Blinking is much safer than driving. Or at least it is when Jay's behind the wheel," Reese jokes.

"I'm right here. You wanna go? Let's do this!" Jay counters.

Ameana is not amused. I look down and remember that the sweater I have on doesn't belong to me. "Just let me put this back in the room."

"It's Miku's. She's cool if you take it home," Jay offers.

"No, it's not mine. And it looks like it costs a lot of money. My mom will wonder where I got it," I explain.

I head back into the bedroom where I had slept. It's decorated in lace and satin. Teddy bears from different countries are displayed throughout the room. It's not really my style, but it's pretty.

Miku enters the room. I don't even give her a chance to say anything. I give her a big hug. "I'm sorry if I said anything that hurt you. I was just—"

"Stop. It's okay. And why are you returning the sweater? Don't you like it?"

"I do but—"

"But nothing."

"I'll keep it here. And get it whenever I come back, okay?"

I can tell that she is about to argue her point, so I rush on ahead.

"Miku, there are six Guardians, right?"

"Right. The first Guardian is in charge of the other five."

"Is Ameana the first Guardian?" I ask.

"She acts like she is, but Marcus is the first Guardian. He's our leader. Just like Julian was. The second-in-charge is Ameana, then me and Rio, and then the two knuckleheads out there."

"You guys don't seem worried about finding this Triplex thing. That must mean you're close, right?" I ask, trying to downplay my fear.

"We've been trying to track down Julian. He's the best link into how the council thinks. He can give us a better idea of what we need to look for. Marcus went to check out a few places he could be. We'll find him soon. Try not to worry."

"Why did the council leave him to roam the Earth when he knows where the bridge is?"

"Julian was sent back by Omnis, so the council could do nothing about that, but they stripped him of some of his memory. He doesn't remember where the bridge is, but he does recall the council."

"He remembers them?"

"Yeah, but he thinks they're aliens who abducted him," Miku quips.

"So, all the alien stuff is true?" I have to ask.

"Well, Julian's aliens are true, I can't say for the rest of them."

Reese shouts to us from the living room, "C'mon ladies. Some of us have to recharge!"

I look at Miku blankly, "We find a spot that is absolutely quiet and perfectly still. It recharges us. Like what sleeping does for you," she explains.

"Oh, like meditating?"

"Without the annoying sound of the ocean and the smelly mats," she smiles.

"Okay. Five more seconds and I'm coming in. You two better be ready!" Reese barks.

So much for the patience of angels, I think.

Someone calls out from the living room. This time, it's Jay. "He's back!"

"Good, I bet he has a lead on Julian. C'mon." She drags me back into the living room.

Standing there among a room full of gorgeous angels is the most perfect creature I have ever seen. If beauty were measured by water, all of them would be a full glass, while I would be the proverbial half-empty. But Marcus' beauty spans two oceans; seriously, he's flawless.

He stands at 6'1. His hair is chestnut with natural auburn highlights. His eyes are blue green with flecks of gold. His lashes, jealous of the attention the eyes are getting, stretch out like a proud peacock. His nose, lips and cheeks are the original blueprint of beauty. His shoulders are broad and strong. His arms and legs are well defined but not bulky.

He's wearing dark Diesel jeans, a charcoal gray cashmere sweater, and an open black leather jacket. The simplicity of his outfit in no way detracts from his stellar beauty. The only time I've ever encountered something close to the beauty of Marcus was when I first met Ameana. And even that encounter would be a distant second.

I refuse to blink and miss a moment of him. The water builds up in my eyes. It stings. It burns. No, I won't blink. It's like having a thirst so deep water cannot quench it. The more I drink him in, the more of him I want.

Tears gather in my eyes, waiting, begging for me to blink. I won't. So the tears run down my face. My vision gets blurry. No, I won't blink. My eyes feel like they're being pricked by hundreds of small pins. It stings badly. But I remain steadfast. The second round of tears falls from my eyes. I won't blink. I will not move from the vision before me.

My stomach quickens. My whole body is warm with the exception of my hands, which are ice cold and trembling. I don't know a lot about the heart, but I'm certain it's not supposed to beat this fast. I want to look anywhere besides his face, but the thought of looking away from him makes me dizzy with despair.

Suddenly I'm very aware of how I'm dressed: faded jeans and a Winnie-the-Pooh "Piglet" T-shirt with the cartoon pig trying to catch a runaway balloon and saying "Oh, d-d-dear." Great, Emmy, that's real sexy.

And if my hair looks the way it usually does after I've slept, right now I resemble a mad scientist. I want to go back into the room and fix it, but it's too late. He's already seen me. I mean, it's already time to go.

Miku, whose existence I have all but forgotten, pokes me lightly. I blink. A third round of tears make their way down my face. It's embarrassing but I'm powerless. Not for the first time today. Get a hold of yourself.

He had been studying a small red leather-bound book. Miku introduces us. "Marcus, this is Emerson Baxter. She's gonna help us save the world." He looks up at me, says a quick "hey" and goes back to the book. His dismissal stings worse than my eyes.

"Tomorrow we need to go over your life and find out about everyone you know, everyone who knows you. They know that you're not a boy like they originally thought. We're going to keep you in school because you're safer in a crowd of humans," he contends.

"They attacked me in a crowd today," I say.

He continues to flip through the book and responds without looking up. "They weren't trying to kill you, they just wanted to get you before we did. If Lucy wanted to kill you, she would have sent Akons. But since we got to you first, she's gonna have to get past us now. The only way she can do that is to send out all six Akons."

"So, this Lucy person isn't out to kill me?"

"She is, but only after she's tortured you and gotten enough information out of you to locate the Triplex. Then she'll have the Akons finish you off or do it herself, if she has time."

"Oh," is all I can say.

He is speaking about my death so casually; Miku and the others exchange a look. I guess I'm not the only one who thinks he's being rude.

"The council forbids Akons from attacking in public. So you should be okay if you stay in public places. You are never to be left alone unless we are standing watch. Do you understand?" he asks, once again never looking up at me.

Why isn't he looking at me? I know I'm not "angel-good-looking," but I'm not a dog. What's his problem?

"Where do we pick up Julian?" Miku asks.

"We don't. Lucy got to him first. There's a good chance he's dead."

"Wait, you told me that the council couldn't kill Julian but this Lucy woman can? Who is she?" I ask Miku.

"Don't worry, Emmy. We're not gonna let her get to you," she says.

"Who is she?" I demand.

"Atourum," Marcus says plainly.

I can't breathe. The air is too thick that I've forgotten how. I lean against the wall for support.

"The devil is a woman?"

"You tellin' me!" Jay jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"For this cycle, yes," Miku says.

Jay looks into my ashen face and what he sees there causes him to worry. He comes up to me. "I can calm you down, if you want."

My voice cracks, "No. Just take me home. Please."

Marcus speaks with the authority of a general. It sounds strange coming from a boy barely eighteen. "Jay and Rio will watch over you tonight. Reese, when you're done taking her home, get back here and help Miku search a few Runner hangouts. See if anyone knows anything." Reese nods in agreement.

Marcus turns his attention to Ameana and says, "Mina, can we talk?" There's something in the way he says her name. It bothers me. Then it bothered me that it bothers me.

She leads the way and he follows her into her room. Why can't they talk in front of the rest of us? Wasn't all business talk done on the roof or in the living room? Why did he want to be alone with her? He said her name with such care....

I try hard not to look at Rio. I don't need an angel mood ring to tell me what I'm feeling. I don't want to know. I just want to get as far away as possible.

I tell myself it's because I'm being hunted by the source of all evil. I tell myself it's because the fate of the world rests on information I don't have.

But when Reese lifts me up into his arms and Blinks me out of the house, the thing that I'm upset about isn't Lucy or the end of the world. There's only one thing that upsets me: He said her name with such care....

Chapter Two

I wake up with a headache. My body feels like it's been in a wrestling match, and judging by how sore I am, I lost. I roll over in my bed and groan. It was all a dream, right? No "Human Mood Ring." No "Master Chef slash Driver." No "J. Crew angel with the 'I Dream of Jeannie' powers." No "Warrior Princess slash Fashion Model." No "Japanese Bohemian Songstress." No Marcus. I feel a sharp pain of regret. Well, at least the world is not in peril.

When I got home last night, it was only a little after ten. My mom didn't flip out. She thought I had finally taken her advice and gone out with Sara. She said I didn't have to make up any excuses about studying. It was cool to go out with a friend so long as I was back before ten thirty. I just mumbled in agreement and went to bed. I heard her ask if I wanted a slice of the pizza she had ordered, but I was too tired to answer.

My mom has never been big on nutrition or doing anything in the traditional way. When I was a kid, I would have vanilla ice cream for breakfast; she said it was the same thing as having milk. It always made me happy when she let me do stuff like that. I felt special having been given a fun mom and unusual eyes.

Then when I was thirteen, my mom told me the truth about my father. She didn't want to, but I kept asking a bunch of questions, and she hated lying to me. So one day after asking her a string of questions, she told me the whole story. I haven't felt special since.

I think she regrets telling. She tries to make it up by always telling me how much she loves me and how happy she is to be my mom, but that just makes me feel worse. I feel like I don't really deserve her love. Still, I'm glad she loves me.

Given the way I came about, all I can do is try to be a good daughter. That's why I don't cut class. I clean the house from top to bottom every weekend. I go food shopping and do the laundry. She says that I should be out with friends, but I'd rather take care of her. We have movie nights, bowling tournaments, and book club once a month.

She is more like a friend than a mom, and most of the time, that's a good thing. I can tell her stuff and she won't get mad or overreact. But sometimes she can be forgetful, forcing me to be the responsible one. She's lost three sets of keys this month, she never remembers to turn off the lights before she goes to bed, and if I don't take her credit cards to pay the bills, she'll let them pile up.

Last year she forgot to pay the light bill and we spent Thanksgiving weekend in the dark. I was so annoyed at her. Then she knocked on my door with a bowl of ice cream and two flashlights. She said it was our duty to eat as much as possible so that it didn't melt. And, well, I took my responsibility very seriously. Then she challenged me to a laser flashlight duel. We then followed that up with a heated game of shadow puppets, which I won. Since then, I'm in charge of calling the utility companies and paying them. And she's in charge of keeping the ice cream levels high.

I yawn, stretch out and pull the covers off of me. My room could double as a library. I have tons of biographies and Greek anthologies. I also collect travel books. I have about a million places I'd like to go, but since I've yet to get the money, I have to settle for books. There are three places I'm determined to find a way to get to: Paris, Athens, and Florence.

Maybe once I travel my imagination won't go so wild that I actually think the fate of the world rests on me. I can only imagine what a psychiatrist would say about my long drawn out fantasy. Luckily I can't afford therapy, so I'll never really know how crazy I am. Looking around our apartment you would think we're better off than we actually are. We have a two-bedroom apartment in Soho. My grandparents left it for my mom in their will.

My mom worked two jobs and went to night school to become a nurse's aide. Now she finally has a decent income and we can do a few nice things once in a while, like a cab ride or a nice dinner out. I want to get a job, but she won't let me. She's always saying something about how I shouldn't be wasting my youth and accelerating to adulthood.

We both have the same taste in furniture: old English, classic styles with a soft romantic feel. Something you'd see in the home of the royal family (if the royal family shopped at IKEA). We have books everywhere. When we argue, it's usually about which of us had which book last and misplaced it.

Ms. Charlotte, my cat, is ignoring me. She's gray with black stripes and she doesn't care to be left waiting at the window for hours. I owe her an apology. But I know she isn't ready to forgive me. She makes a point of strutting by me, her tail high up in the air.

"Okay, I know I was wrong. I'm sorry," I say, picking her up off the floor. She meows as if to say "let me go." I stick my tongue out at her. That's her favorite game. She can't help but stick out her claws and try to catch me. I hold her close to me. She purrs then jumps off of me. That means I'm close to forgiveness, but I need to buy her a treat in order to seal the deal.

Finally, I get out of bed, get dressed and head to the kitchen.

I walk in and find Miku, Rio and Jay having breakfast with my mom. I am beyond stunned; so much for the dream. My mom smiles brightly and says, "Hey, honey! Your friends came by to take you to school, and I convinced them to have breakfast with us."

"Oh, um, great," is all I can manage. "We were just getting some interesting info about you from your mom," Miku says.

"Yeah, why didn't you tell us you got cast as a bumble bee in your second grade play?" Jay asks, hardly holding back the laughter from his voice.

My mother corrects him, "No, she was Queen Bumble Bee, and she was the only one in her group with a line."

Rio thought I wasn't embarrassed enough, so he looks at my mother and says, "Do you remember the line she had?"

My mom turns to me and says, "She remembers. C'mon honey, say it for them." I am going to kill Rio with my bare hands.

"No, we have to go. We're going to be late," I say desperately.

Jay jumps in "Actually, we've got plenty of time." I am going to kill him, too. But I'll make his death slow. Very slow.

"C'mon honey. Say the line," my mom persists.

Miku chimes in, "Please, Emmy." I look at all of them and roll my eyes.

I'm outnumbered. I sigh and say the line between clenched teeth.

"I'm the Queen Bee so please be-e-e-e-e-have." The kitchen rocks with laughter. Jay cannot bring himself to stop. Miku looks at me with adoring eyes and Rio shakes his head. My mom is beaming. Screw it. I'm gonna kill all of them.

We finally get in the car and head to school. As soon as I'm inside I bark at them, "Are you guys trying to embarrass me to death?"

"It's part of the job, Emmy, to find out as much as we can about you," Miku replies.

"How is my second grade play important to the fate of the world?"

"You never know. Marcus said to look at everything," Rio counters.

Hearing his name incenses me. "Whatever, it's not like he cares. He barely looked at me last night," I was trying to be breezy about the whole thing but it came off whiny and childish. Miku and Rio exchanged a look that was too quick for me to catch. Jay blasts the music. It's hip-hop; it's loud and has a really good bass line. "The music's gonna turn the car over," I say. "Relax, I got this," he says, grinning from ear to ear.

At that exact moment I figure out the perfect way to get him back for the school play thing. I lean forward and say to him "Jay, this is a nice car. What is it, a Honda?"

As soon as I say it, he pulls abruptly over to the side. He gets out of the car and paces back and forth as if trying to calm himself. I knew that would get him. The twins and I are really enjoying Jay's tantrum. Jay comes back into the car and addresses me with the utmost seriousness. "This is a Phantom Black Pearl, Audi A4. Her name is Siren and she will not be disrespected. You should apologize," he instructs. I suppress a smile and say, "Oh, sorry."

"Not to me, to Siren," Jay shoots back. I look at Rio and raise my eyebrows.

Before I can ask Miku, she says, "Yes, he is serious." So I try not to laugh as I choke out an apology to the car. I mean, "Siren." Wow, who knew angels were nuts?

We are two blocks away from school when Rio goes over the plan. "Miku and I will be in your class along with Jay. When Reese is not on Runner duty, he'll be a senior. For now, he's following a few of them to see if they lead to Julian. Ameana will be coming in as a senior from Jefferson High."

"What about Marcus?" I ask.

"He'll be a senior also. That way he only has a few classes. He needs to be able to come in and out of the school if need be," Jay says.

"Whatever. I don't care." No one's buying it.

We park the car a block away from school and get out. The warm weather from yesterday is a distant memory. It's twenty-something degrees, but the wind-chill is making it feel like the low teens. The air is so frigid, I can see my breath. The sun hanging high above us is purely decorative. The cold is unrelenting. Everyone is rushing to enter the building.

On the way to school Miku had told me that she cleaned up after the Runners by going back into the school when all the students had left for the fire drill. She called Reese on her cell and had him Blink the closet guy to the hospital. She quickly mopped up the blood, and removed the bullet holes in the wall. Since she had no way of fixing up the wall, she kicked it in so that it left one gaping hole. Everyone considered it a random act of vandalism. I ask her how she was able to kick a hole in the wall, and she pointed out that all of them had strength that far surpassed that of humans.

Still, I expected to hear some kind of discussion about what went on yesterday, but there was nothing. Everyone had either cut class and missed it or dismissed it as another fire drill come and gone. I did hear in homeroom that Ron Wexler, who works in the attendance office, had been mugged outside the school. The principal reminded us over the PA that it's best to walk in groups and that we should all be very careful.

Miku has been close by me every minute of the day. She asks me a million questions ranging from what hospital I was born in to what my favorite color is. I feel bad that she has the task of playing reporter. My life is nothing to write about. I mean, aside from the past 24 hours.

I finally get a chance to sneak in a few questions of my own. "Guardians are not allowed to take a life except for the first Guardian, but he must ask the council's permission, right?"

"Yeah, we can threaten humans, just to get them to tell us what we want to know but we can't take their life. Or we go to...well, you know."

"But you sang yesterday and the three Runners killed themselves. That was you, right?"

"Yes, but according to the council, humans are people with souls. Runners are humans who have sold their souls to Lucy in exchange for wealth, power and position."

"So, rich people have all sold their souls?" I ask, recalling some old saying.

"No, but many Runners are rich."

"Oh, for a second I thought Donald Trump was a Runner," I say, laughing at my own stupidity. Miku raised her eyebrows but refuses to say anything. Could it be? Is Trump a Runner?

Miku doesn't let me get in another question. She hits me with another one of her "Getting to know Emmy" questions. As much as I hate talking about myself, it does keep my mind off of Marcus. Well, kind of.

I haven't seen him all day. I resist the urge to ask the others where he is. He is supposed to be in school, but I have yet to see him. Is he with Ameana? Maybe at the last minute he went with Reese to follow up on a lead they got last night. Maybe it's none of my business where he is. After all, he's just some guy; some hot angel guy who ignored me the whole time I was with him.

I feel a sharp pain of disappointment when I enter the cafeteria and he isn't there. He has to blend in with the other students right? So how will he do that if he doesn't come to eat like the rest of us? Ameana isn't here either. They're probably doing superhero couple things right now, saving the planet, fighting evil. Holding hands....

I can't take it anymore, I need to get away. So far today, I've been asked by half the student body about Jay. Apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks he's hot. He has yet to step out of class without a girl faithfully in tow. He's enjoying every single moment of it. He also knows more about sports and cars than any one person on the planet, but that's not an angel thing. That's just Jay being Jay. Anyway, the guys like him. He's cool, laid-back and easy-going.

While I'm happy for Jay, it's getting a bit crowded at my table. The girls who never once talked to me before now find it nearly impossible not to. They see how Jay is with me and think that maybe if they become my friends, I'll introduce them. I'm certain none of them thought for a second that Jay and I were together. He jokes about me like a big brother would. And he's way out of my league. Well, then what does that say about Marcus? I ask myself miserably.

Before I can turn to Rio and tell him that I'm headed to the library, he turns to me and says goodbye. I guess I'm radiating whatever color means fed up and ready to bail. Miku was going to follow me, but luckily Scott, a guy in my math class, comes up to her. Scott has been in love with her since she first came to our school. He's kind of a nerd but sweet and very polite. I know that Miku won't risk hurting his feelings, so I slip out when he strikes up a conversation.

As long as I'm in a crowd I should be okay, so I'm not worried. I walk up two flights of stairs and head to the library.

Down the hallway from the library a crowd has gathered. A bunch of students are just standing around looking inside one of the classroom doors. I pass the library and go to take a look. I'm guessing its a couple arguing or making out, since I don't hear any shouting. Everyone always stops to look at that kind of stuff.

I head to where I see 14 or 15 of my classmates, including Sara, peering into one of the classrooms. "What are you guys looking at?" I ask. Sara takes my hand and gushes excitedly, "Oh my gosh! There is the most amazing guy in the lab with this girl. She's kind of cute, too, I guess. But he's so...."

She can't finish her words. She just makes a sound that vibrates down to the rest of her body. She's positively giddy.

I peer inside the empty classroom and see Ameana and Marcus. A stream of light radiates from her. I think it was the sun, but I don't see how it could have been that bright. Anyway, it seems to radiate from Ameana's hair. Great. She's so pretty, she glows.

They are evidently in the midst of a very serious and personal conversation. His face is close to hers. As he continues to talk, I hear some of the male students standing beside me, talking about asking her out. Some are bold and vow to get her to say yes. Other guys are just trying to figure out how they can rig the lotto so that they could stand a chance at getting a girl like that.

My face heats up and the sharp pain returns as I watch their close interaction. He says something to her and she breaks into a graceful smile. He smiles back and gently caresses her cheek with the palm of his hand. I run down the hallway in search of a place to be alone and lick my wounds.

I find a small empty classroom and go in. I sit on the floor in the corner, wrap my arms around my knees and put my head down. I cry softly. I feel like a loser. He is obviously in love with her; they're a perfect couple.

I'm just the purple-eyed freak he has to tolerate in order to save the world. Then they'll go back to their perfect lives in the sky. He'll take her on walks around heaven, just the two of them. I feel like such an idiot. Who falls for an angel? Idiot.

Suddenly I feel a cold wind enter the room. I look up, and standing in front of me is a muscle-bound, dark-haired guy. He has a sly grin and black eyes.

"I'm sorry. I thought I was alone," I say as I gather myself up.

"I know you did," he says. "That's why I'm here."

Before I can even think about what I should do, he reaches out towards me with his hand. At once, my body goes stiff. My hands are at my side. It looks like I'm bound, but there is no visible rope.

I try to move but can no longer communicate with my body. It is as if the boy is the puppeteer and I'm the wooden puppet. I do exactly as he wishes. He laughs like an evil character in a B-movie. A chill goes down my spine, but I can't move to warm myself up. I can only stand there and pray my favorite mood ring will register my terror and come get me.

"She's been looking for you, all this time thinking you were a boy. But I knew the council would play tricks. So, you're a girl. Not only that but a pretty plain one. So, how does it feel to be at the center of this whole thing?"

He waits as if I can actually answer his question. "Well, I'm sure it's been a real pain. Speaking of which, I have not yet introduced myself, I'm Agony. I know it's a little on the nose but I like for people to know what they should expect when they see me coming."

Where are they? What's taking so long? Then a thought occurs to me that rocks me with panic—maybe they're all dead. Maybe Lucy figured out a way for Akons to appear in front of humans and now they're all at her mercy.

Agony continues with his hateful speech. "She wants information from you so I can't outright kill you. But I can try and convince you to tell me what you know. Are you going to cooperate?" He made me nod my head "yes." I had no say-so in the matter.

"Where is the Triplex?" His words are dripping with contempt. He frees up my tongue, lips, and jaw. My voice cracks with fear.

"I don't know." He holds out his hand again and he somehow "tells" my right pinky to stretch back until it snaps. My pinky complies. It bends back until I hear it snap. The pain is unbelievable. Tears run down my face but I am silent as he has put my lips back under his control.

"Now let's try that again. Where is the Triplex?" He frees up my mouth gain.

"I'm telling you, I don't know!" I scream at him. "Please, stop! Please!"

He raises his hand once again, this time giving orders to my ring and middle finger. They follow directions. I scream so loudly inside my skull, I'm sure I'm going to explode. I can't take the pain. My body is being made to break itself.

"I'll do you a favor. I'll kill you right here. It'll be quick and painless. That way you won't have to go before Lucy, deal?" He frees my mouth gain.

"Go to hell!" I cry out. Who the heck said that? I realize it's me. I guess I'm more than in pain, I'm fighting mad. Well, verbally at least.

Agony shrugs his shoulders and says, "Okay, we'll do it the hard way and take you to her. But before we go...."

He raises his hand a final time and snaps my index finger, thumb and wrist in one swift motion. I don't call out. Not even in my head. The pain is so severe my body doesn't know how to process it. My mind shuts down. I see a wave of darkness headed towards me. I greet it eagerly, close my eyes and pass out.

****************************

I see blurry shapes as I open my eyes. They move closer. I hear voices but they sound like they're underwater. I try to move my mouth but can't. I feel as if a ton of weight has been placed on top of me. There is no way I can move. I watch the blurry shapes mingle with each other. I think someone is calling my name, but I can't be sure. Even if I were, I am unable to answer. The only thing I can do is let the weight pull me under. Just as I slip out of consciousness, I hear a voice whispering in my ear. It sounds soft, pained and lovely. It keeps repeating the same phrase over and over again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"She's gonna be a bit hazy when she wakes up. She has to take the pain medication I prescribed every four hours."

"But she's okay?"

"Please tell her to be more careful. She took a very bad spill. It's lucky she only broke her hand."

"Thank you so much Doctor."

I can tell by my mom's voice that she's worried. I want to tell her I'm okay, but my tongue feels heavy. I slowly open my eyes. Thankfully the shapes are coming in to focus. It's my mom and the doctor; he looks to be in his fifties, wears glasses and has a rosy face. He smiles at me. "How are you feeling, Ms. Baxter?" I blink a few times to get him into focus. He pushes a button on the side of my bed. The bed slowly rises, allowing me to be in a slightly elevated position. My mom pours me a glass of water. I drink it gratefully.

"I'm okay," I say, when I've swallowed. My mom isn't satisfied. She wants a point-by-point bulletin on how I'm feeling. How's my hand? How's my head? Did I want more water? I let her fuss because I know it's the only way she can get the worry out of her system. She's finally a bit calmer when the doctor informs her that I can be released as early as tomorrow.

She goes out into the hallway to call my uncle Max and tell him everything is okay. Uncle Max is my favorite and only uncle. He lives in Connecticut and comes down to see us for birthdays, and we go up to him for holidays.

He is the complete opposite of my mom: he's reliable and practical. But we get along great. He and his wife, Tracy, always go out of their way to make sure we're having a good time when we come over. They can't have kids, so when I was little, they'd encourage me to tear up the house and make all the noise I wanted. They complained the house was always too quiet without kids in it.

My right hand isn't in as much pain as it was before, but a dull throbbing ache radiates through my hand. I would ask for more pills, but I don't want to feel foggy. I think that's the trade off: no pain, but you feel like you live in a cloud. The door opens and I think it's gonna be my mom but it's not. It's Miku and the others.

"How are you feeling?" Rio asks.

I smile weakly. "Isn't it your job to know?"

"Yeah, but it sounds rude if I don't ask," Rio reasons.

"I know you hate all the attention I'm getting, but this is going too far," Jay jokes.

"It's what a girl has to do to get some attention when she's surrounded by the good looking elite!"

Miku is closest to me. She holds my hand the whole time. I don't need Rio to tell me that she's feeling guilty. "I'm fine, Miku. It's no big deal."

"No, it's my job to look after you and I failed. I'm so sorry," she replies.

"Stop it. It's okay. I'm fine."

Ameana X-rays me. "He broke all your fingers and your wrist. That's not fine. You don't have to act brave. It's our job to look after you, and we didn't. It won't happen again."

What she says sounds sincere, but for some reason I feel uncomfortable hearing it. It feels like I'm a project. Like I'm a pet she left out for the night that got into trouble. I can take care of myself. I mean, maybe not against an Akon named Agony, but I'm not helpless.

Reese looks at me gravely. "How long do you plan to lie in that bed? I saw this really hot nurse and well...."

Jay picks up on his cue. "How could she see you when she's busy looking at me?"

I zone out on their childish banter and focus on Marcus. I realize now that he's been staring at me the whole time. He leans against the wall farthest from my bed, like he's afraid I've got something he doesn't want to catch. But his face doesn't look repulsed at the notion of being next to me. In fact, it looks like he's working hard to keeping himself away. But that doesn't make sense. He has an expression on his face that I can't read.

The conversation in the room is light. I think they are trying to keep my spirits up. Then Marcus speaks and the room goes completely quiet. His tone is dead serious.

"I told you not to go anywhere alone. You could have been killed."

"I just needed some time to myself."

"You don't get time to yourself. You get security 24 hours a day. That's it."

"You don't run my life. I will do what I want, when I want," I say evenly.

"This isn't about you. This is about the billions of people who will die if you don't stop acting like a selfish brat!"

"Marcus," Ameana scolds. He turns to her; she speaks with certainty and calmness. "We should let her rest."

He looks over at me with daggers in his eyes. "I won't have this conversation with you again."

He storms out, and Ameana follows. Miku strokes my hair.

"He's just tense because of the whole end-of-the-world thing," Miku explains.

"I was almost killed by a demon and he's yelling at me?"

"You're the only lead we have, and more importantly, he doesn't want anything to happen to you," Reese says.

"Yeah, I'm the clue and he'd hate to lose the only lead he has. Got it," I say cynically.

Rio was about to say something, but a quick glance from Miku told him not to.

"Why'd you take off?" Jay asks.

"I just wanted some time to myself that's all."

"Rio said you were upset. What happened?" Jay asks.

"Well I don't know if you heard, but I'm being hunted down by Atourum."

"That's the only thing that drove you to want to be by yourself?" Reese asks.

"Yeah," I lie. I don't know if they buy it. I know Rio doesn't. He sees right through me. I'm sure I am radiating jealousy and misery. I wait for him to say something but he doesn't.

"Can you guys tell me what happened? Why I'm not dead right now?" I ask, in a hurry to change the topic.

While holding my hand, Miku recounts the story.

"Agony was waiting for you to be alone. He sent out Runners to keep an eye on you. I couldn't sing because of the large crowd in the lunch room, but Jay was able to take out two Runners before they had a chance to even draw their weapons. None of the kids had any idea anything was going on. Rio had to hold out his shield and stand in front of the cafeteria. Ameana and Marcus were following a lead, and by the time they got back, we had taken care of the Runners."

"When we got to you, Agony was already dragging your body out the window. Ameana lifted him in the air and slammed him against the wall. You fell to the ground, and I went to make sure you were okay. Agony held out his hand and made Ameana choke herself. Before he could do more serious damage, Marcus ran in and threw him on the floor with such force the building shook. Agony's body left an imprint. Ameana dropped a desk on his hand so he wouldn't be able to use it.

"Marcus got on top of him and forced him to look into his eyes, asking the Akon his name. He said it with a little smile, 'Agony.'"

"Marcus smiled, too, and said, 'Yes, it will be.'

"Then he looked deeper into the Akon's eyes. Agony began to scream. He begged for Marcus to kill him. Marcus granted his wish and Agony disappeared in black smoke. Reese then went to take care of the Runners' bodies, and Jay and I brought you to the hospital."

"What did Marcus do to make Agony wish for death?"

"He can look into your eyes and see your worst fear. For Akons, its how they died. For humans it's usually how they think they will die. Then he reflects it back to the person. Only that fear is magnified. They truly feel like it's actually happening to them, but it's a thousand times worse than what they thought it would be. If he looks into someone's eyes and sees that they fear being burned alive, he then reflects it back to the person. They not only feel like they have been set on fire, they can actually smell their seared flesh."

"I have to say, the way Marcus killed Agony, that was kind of overkill," Jay says. "Marcus didn't need to scare him to death. He has super strength. Even among angels, he's stronger. And Agony is actually lower-ranked among the Akons. It's not too hard to take him down; Marcus could have just crushed his skull."

"Why didn't he?" I ask.

"I don't know. It's like he was taking it personally," Jay says, thinking aloud.

"Well, isn't it personal? Agony attacked Ameana," I say before I can censor myself.

Rio is about to say something but then thinks better of it yet again. What is he wrestling with? Why can't he just spit it out?

"I tried to wake you but I couldn't," Miku said.

I can tell by the sadness in her eyes she is really shook up by the thought that something could have happened to me. I feel a pang of regret for going off on my own.

"Miku, it's my fault. I shouldn't have been off by myself. You didn't know that this was going to happen. Please, stop blaming yourself." She can't look me in the eye.

I try to change the subject. "Do you guys have a lead on Julian?"

"We should let you sleep. We'll come see you tomorrow," Reese says.

I shake my head, "No."

"Are you always this stubborn?" Jay asks.

"Um, yeah, pretty much."

"Tomorrow, we'll come over and explain everything but for now, just rest," Reese adds.

"Fine, but tomorrow I want details," I press.

They start to leave the room. I call Rio and ask him to stay. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he says, trying to sound casual.

"What was Marcus feeling when he was in the room earlier? I mean, besides highly pissed at me. I thought he was...I thought I saw a glimpse of something," I explore, thinking back on his every move and word.

"You know, sometimes it's great to know what people are feeling even before they do. I never lose at poker. Jay owes me like a million dollars cause I always know which way he's gonna go. But sometimes it sucks because you know secrets about people you shouldn't. I find it best to keep it to myself," Rio declares.

"Don't you think I should know what's going on?" I plead.

"Don't you think he should know why you ran off and needed to be on your own?"

"I needed to think," I say lamely.

"About who?" Rio asks to register his point.

"You mean 'about what?" I question cautiously.

"Do I?" he asks with a raised eye brow. I can't answer him. He tells me to get some rest and heads out the door.

As I am drifting off, I vaguely remember my mom coming in saying something about an overnight stay and coming to pick me up tomorrow. I'm not sure if I answered her back. My eyelids are heavy, and giving into them feels good.

I wake up the next day and the painkillers have done their job. I want to throw a parade in honor of them. I'm still swollen and the sling and cast make it impossible to use my right arm. The nurse helps me put on my clothes.

"Do you know when my mother's coming?" The nurse shakes her head "no." I look at the clock. It's 10:15 in the morning. I want to be home as soon as possible. I hate hospitals. Knowing that people have died here creeps me out. I also want to get back to normal. Well, as normal as I can with all that's going on.

I look at the clock again. Five minutes have gone by, but it seems like forever. I really hate hospitals. Another nurse enters and says I'm being signed out. She puts me into a wheelchair and wheels me to the nurse's station. I question the need for the chair.

"Really, I feel fine. I can walk out on my own." Before the nurse can protest, someone interrupts us.

"Why can't you just follow instructions?" I look up to tell this person to mind their own business, but the person speaking is Marcus, and the words die in my throat.

"What are you doing here?" I ask rudely.

"It's nice to see you, too." I think my rudeness stings him a little. Good, I hope it hurts. That's what he gets for scolding me like a child.

"Your mom couldn't get the day off, so we offered to pick you up and take you home." I look around. "Where are the others?"

"I sent them on an errand."

"Why, so you can scold me again?"

"No, so I can be alone with you."

*********************************

Marcus carefully helps me out of the car and into my apartment. He says I should give my mother a call so she knows that I'm okay. I call and her cell goes to voicemail. I leave her a message, trying to sound casual. I hope my voice doesn't give away the fact that I am standing mere inches away from the only person I have thought about for the past 24 hours.

Marcus is looking over my shoulder as I hang up the phone. A part of me is still mad at him for the way he treated me yesterday. But an even bigger part of me is curious as to why he wants to see me alone. Maybe he wants to apologize. Or maybe he just wants me. I roll my eyes. I'm hopeless. Why would he want me, when he has Ameana? But there is some small flicker of hope that I can't get to burn out.

"Are you okay?" he says pulling me out of my thoughts and silly daydreams.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I'm so in love with you.

"Come sit down. The doctor said you should rest," he starts in again.

"I have to feed Ms. Charlotte, my cat." I make my way towards the kitchen but he puts his hand gently on my shoulder. I feel my skin tingle where he's placed his hands.

"I'll do that. Just sit and relax."

He guides me to the sofa.

"Do you need anything from the kitchen?"

I think about you all the time and even though we have only spent a few minutes together and you were rude for most of it, I love you. I love you. I love you.

"Emerson? Hello?" He startles me out of my thoughts again. How long has he been calling my name?

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, failing to cover up my confusion.

"Do you need anything from the kitchen?"

"Um, no I'm okay."

I'm finding it hard to look him in the eye. He's so beautiful. I try and focus on the fact that he was a jerk to me the night before. That helps me think of him as a jerky gorgeous angel instead of well... a gorgeous angel.

"Thank you for coming to get me." That's the only thing I can think to say.

"It's my job to make sure you're okay. If I had done a better job as First Guardian, you wouldn't have gotten hurt at all."

Great, he's here out of guilt. How romantic.

"Look, you don't have to feel like you have to take care of me. I shouldn't have run off, as you kindly pointed out yesterday when you were tearing into me."

"You knew the rules. I specifically told you that you were not to be alone. You disobeyed me and you got hurt," Marcus condemns me again.

"Wait, I'm confused. A minute ago it was your fault that I got hurt, and now it's my fault?"

He takes a beat to calm down and says, "No, I should have known you wouldn't follow directions. I should have anticipated that."

"What does that mean?"

"You always go around doing whatever you want."

"You don't even know me," I retort.

"Miku's been filling me in. Everything you do is impulsive. You don't think. Like the time your mom told you to stay in the car, and she came back and found you on the other side of the road nearly run over by a truck."

"That guy almost plowed into Ms. Charlotte. I had to save her."

"You ran across a busy street and risked your life to save a stupid cat you didn't even know."

"Don't you call her stupid. She's been with us ever since then. She's family."

"It was a stupid thing to do. You could have been killed."

"Yeah, then you'd have to find your precious Triplex by yourself. Is that all you care about?"

"What else should I care about?"

"Nothing. Forget it. Just go home!" I'm done with this back and forth.

"I told you, I needed to see you alone."

"Yeah, well, we're alone, so what do you want?"

"I need to know what it is you're not telling Miku."

"I've told her everything there is to know about me."

"No, you haven't. There's something that sets you apart. The council wouldn't have entrusted you with such an important object if they didn't think you were special."

"I'm nobody. Okay? I wasn't even meant to be here!" I shout at him. I am angry that he is forcing me to have to say aloud what I always feared to be truth.

"What? What do you mean by that?" he asks.

"Get out," I say with a mix of pain and self pity.

"This could be important. What do you mean you weren't meant to be here?" he pushes.

I close my eye and wish I had Reese's power. I would Blink myself to the other side of the world. I told Miku that my father had died before I was born. I couldn't tell her the truth. No one aside from Uncle Max knew about my father. I didn't want people to look at me and only see my mother's rape.

I feel that had I told them that I was a product of rape, they would see the crime and not the girl who resulted from it. My mother has been able to see past my conception, but she's special. Everyone else can't be counted on to do the same.

Marcus waits for me to open my eyes. He stands over me looking concerned. I'm sure it has to do with the Triplex, everything does. So what if I have to split my life open and lay it out on the table for strangers to view? So long as the world is saved. Is it wrong to want to keep a painful part of my life to myself? Is it wrong to be mad at the guy who's standing between you and Atourum?

"Emerson, I need to know."

"Just leave me alone."

He puts my medication on the coffee table along with a glass of water and walks out. The minute he does this I want to call him back. But what would I say?

"Hey, I know you don't know me but I'm falling for you and I want you to leave your drop dead gorgeous model slash angel girlfriend and be with me. Oh and by the way, I'm the product of the most evil and horrendous crime a man can ever commit. So... you wanna grab a bite?"

I'm in pain again. I take the pills and drink the water Marcus poured for me. But they are ineffective. I can't fault the pills. I don't think they're supposed to cure this kind of pain.

Chapter Three

The next few weeks don't get any easier. They are no closer to finding Julian. They are getting nervous because none of the leads had worked out. Even Jay was a little less jubilant than he used to be. I don't know what Marcus told the others, but for the next few days, they let me get some distance. Miku still follows me around everywhere I go, but she gives me more space. They ask about my arm daily. I tell them it was all but healed. They make me go for another checkup. They also pay for me to go to physical therapy even though the doctor said I could do it on my own at home. Aside from that, they are pretty hands-off.

That's not what I wanted. I didn't mean that we couldn't be friends. I just meant that.... Okay, I'm not sure what I meant. But this isn't good. They need me to find the map and now I've pushed them away. Great, first I ruin my mom's life by being born and now I'll have a hand in ending humanity. This day calls for ice cream. Not the low fat stuff—the real deal.

I head to the kitchen and fix myself a big bowl of chocolate chocolate chip. I pour some milk for Ms. Charlotte and head into the living room. I turn on the TV, and, believe it or not, there are some decent movies on. But I'm not interested. I can't stop thinking about Marcus.

Not in the same gaga way I usually do. I'm thinking about what it means that he's the First Guardian. It can't be easy to be in charge of five angels and saving the world. Then, to top it off, the only clue he has goes and falls for him. That kind of sucks. It's not his fault I'm head over heels. It's not his fault I can't think straight when he's around. His job isn't to protect my feelings. His job is to save the world. Why should he have to put up with me and my emotions?

Well, I'm done playing the lovesick little girl. I'm gonna go over there and figure out a way to help them. And I won't give Ameana's boyfriend another thought. I get my coat, kiss Ms. Charlotte and head out to the angel house. I don't see them around outside, but I know they try to stay hidden.

I hop on the bus and head to the house. I recall the first time I had been here. I was so terrified. Now, I confidently run up the stairs and knock on the frosted glass door. No one answers. I knock again, nothing. The door is unlocked. I guess you don't have to worry about burglars when you can kill in like six different ways without even trying. I decide to go in.

I walk up the steps where I hear a conversation taking place. I think they're having a meeting of sorts. Everyone is seated around the table. Reese and Jay appear to have just gotten there. I guess they were on guard duty tonight.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to talk to you guys for second. If that's okay."

Everyone looks up at me. No one objects outright so I continue.

"I just came to say I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. Miku, I'll give you as much useless information as possible. I'll tell you everything." Well almost.

"It's not really your fault. We popped into your life, expecting you to tell us everything about you when we haven't really given you any info on us," Miku says.

"It's what you guys need to do to find the Triplex, so it's understandable."

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean the whole thing has to be so...," Jay answers.

"Businesslike?" I offer.

"Yeah, so we'll make it interesting for you," Reese says with a wicked smile.

"How so?" I question.

"We'll trade you a question for a question."

"Sounds good," I say taking a seat next to Miku.

Jay jumps in like he's been waiting forever to ask this question. "Who looks better? Me or Blinker Boy over there?"

"Don't worry, Mommy loves both of her boys equally," I say, knowing full well they're just teasing me.

"Okay, my turn. Why did you guys wait until mid January? Why not come as soon as midnight hit on New Years Day?"

Reese responds, "We had to check out some other information before we began the search."

"Information about what, and from whom?" I ask.

"It doesn't really concern you. We came to get you as soon as we could," Marcus says bitterly.

"I thought we were going to be open and honest with each other. C'mon, you guys are supposed to answer my questions," I say looking around the room.

"You asked a question and we answered it. Our turn," Marcus says with the usual tone of finality.

"Fine, what do you want to know?"

"Why are you alone?" Marcus asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't go to parties. You don't date. You don't even go to movies with friends. Why is that?" he digs.

His eyes are fixed on me. He's challenging me. Is he still mad that I kicked him out of my apartment? I thought angels are supposed to be forgiving. I refuse to blink or look away. I stay focused on him. The others become silent spectators.

"I'm not alone. I have my mom," I say with righteous indignation.

"Yes, and your cat."

"Ms. Charlotte, yes. It's just us three and we're fine with that."

"Really?" he asks dubiously.

"My turn. Why did you ask me that?"

"I'm just asking to get to know you. Isn't that the game?" he lies.

"What's your problem?" I say unable to hold back.

"You mean besides the little girl in my living room who's wasting my time, time that we don't have to spare?"

"I am doing the best I can to—"

"To what? Lie to us?" Marcus accuses.

"I'm not lying," I say trying to control my temper.

"You're keeping something from us."

"I'm not keeping anything from you," I bark at him.

He turns to Rio. "What is the color wave of a person who is lying or withholding the truth?"

"Gold" Rio says.

"And what color is Emerson?" he asks.

Rio hates being put on the spot. "She's reds and browns."

"Angry and frustrated, I picked up on that. What's the other color?" he asks. Rio looks at me. He's sorry for whatever he is about to say.

"Rio, what's the other color?" Marcus is no longer asking. He's giving him an order, never once taking his eyes off me.

"Gold," Rio says reluctantly.

"You will stop wasting my time," Marcus orders me.

"I don't owe you anything. You are in charge of them, not me. I will not be bossed around. I'm not your dog. And if you ever speak to me like that again, I won't help. See how far you get without your only clue."

His stare is dead cold and unwavering, as is mine. It seems that for the time being, we are at an impasse.

*************************

What did I ever see in him? Why was I willing to fall for a guy I didn't know? Angel or no angel, he's rude and bossy. How dare he try and tell me what to do. Just because he has wings doesn't make him Omnis.

Anyway, my father has nothing to do with this whole thing. The clue is about my life. My father has never been a part of my life.

I am on the sofa not paying any attention to Cary Grant or his love interest. I just keep thinking about Marcus and how much I hate him. I mean it.

How does he know I don't go out? He's too busy looking for maps and having private talks with Ameana to know what I've been up to.

Anyway, I do so go out. I went out just the other day to get a DVD cleaner to clean my DVD player with. What does that say about me? It says that I am a good DVD owner. I take care of my DVD player, and I don't mistreat it.

I don't ask it inappropriate questions and then get mad when it won't answer me. I don't embarrass my DVD player in front of other DVD players. No, I am good to it, and it is good to me.

Okay, maybe going to buy a DVD cleaner isn't the height of exciting. But it's rude and hurtful of him to call me out like that. I went over there to apologize and that's what I get. Guys. Wings or no wings, they all suck.

I promised myself I would not sit here and sulk. My mom is working another late shift so it's just me in the house. I don't know why she's picking up all these extra shifts. I hope it has nothing to do with my birthday coming up. I don't want anything fancy. She knows I'm happy with a $20 gift card to Barnes & Noble.

I get on the phone and call Sara. We've both been too busy to hang out. I could use a non-angel friend. The phone rings five times and goes to voice mail. I leave a brief message about us maybe going bowling, and ask her to call me back.

I take a quick shower and find something to wear. I'm going out. I don't care where. I'll show Mr. 'Why Are You Alone.' I'll hang out and have a great time.

I put on the radio as I do my hair. They're playing oldies but goodies. I blast it and dance all around the apartment. Then my favorite Bee Gees song, "Staying Alive," comes on. I shake, rattle and perform with my hair brush mic. My imaginary audience of fifteen thousand is loving it. They shout my name and keep asking me for more. And, well, who am I to say no?

By the time I am done with my hair, I've played an imaginary sold-out tour all around the world. Ms. Charlotte has been my opening act. I hold her up and try to get her to take a bow. "C'mon, thank all our fans from all around the world," I say, as I, too, bow gracefully for the "crowd."

Someone starts clapping for me, for real. Startled, I turn around quickly. It's Mr. Dictator himself, Marcus. "Didn't Omnis teach you to knock? What are you doing here?"

He's trying to hide his amusement but he's not doing a very good job.

"I knocked but you were too busy thanking Detroit to hear me."

I go over to the radio and turn it off. I'm embarrassed but I don't care all that much. It's my apartment. Who told him to come anyway?

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Can we sit for a sec?"

"No. I'm on my way out."

"Where to?" he inquires.

"A place called 'none of your business' and then I'll stop at the 'stay out of my life' shop and get you a T-shirt."

"Clever."

"What do you want?"

"Miku sent me to ask if you wanted to come to dinner."

"Do you guys even need to eat?"

"Yes and no. Yes, we eat. And no, we don't have to."

"So, why do you?"

"Food is a collector."

"Should I know what that is?"

"A collector is something that stores detailed memory. It includes sights and sounds as well as smells of our old lives back on earth."

"So when you eat, you remember the things that happen to you before you died?"

"It's more than that. Jay's mom used to make chocolate cake all the time. So now when he eats a piece of chocolate cake, he remembers the time and day he had eaten that same food. In other words, that particular food holds a particular memory."

"How long do the effects of the collector last? Will Jay spend the whole day recalling the last time he was with his mom eating cake?"

"No, collectors are ephemeral. They do not last. The average time is about three minutes. It's usually not a good idea to have too many collectors in one day. It screws you up and makes you wish for things you can't possibly have again."

"Like what?"

"Family. Every time Jay has a collector, he ends up being really down because he misses being with his family."

"Why can't he just go see them?"

"If we were allowed to do that, we would never complete our mission. We'd always be trying to get back to our old lives. So the further away we are from our families, the stronger the memories are. But if Jay were to try and track down his mom, by the time he would've gotten close her, he would forget who she is. That's so that we stay focused on bigger matters."

"Bigger matters than your family?"

"Yes."

"Like what?"

"A billion other families."

"Oh."

"So, will you be coming to dinner?"

"This invitation isn't coming from you, it's from Miku, right?"

"Why?"

"Because, if you asked me, I wouldn't come."

"Well, it's from her. So, you coming?"

"Yeah, I guess."

He leads the way and I follow him to the house.

When we get there, Miku greets us and takes us to the kitchen. Jay and Rio have laid out an amazing banquet of food. There's a roast turkey, honey ham, and roast beef. All the dishes are placed on exquisite china. There's mixed green salad, glazed baby carrots and three kinds of potatoes, in addition to bowls of fruit and various cheeses.

I point to the dishes on the table that are unfamiliar. "What's that?" I say to no one in particular. Rio answers, "It's Jay's show. I'm just here to help set up."

Jay gladly picks up his cue and starts naming off the dishes that I didn't recognize. He is bursting with pride as he announces each of them.

"Okay, here we have green apple and celery salad with walnut vinaigrette."

He walks down to another dish. "This is lemon-roasted green beans with Marcona almonds."

He gets to the last dish and pauses for dramatic effect. "And the pièce de résistance: corn bread casserole with butternut squash."

"Jay, everything looks so good. You did all this?"

He speaks but never takes his focus off of whatever is in the oven. "Baby girl, I got skills you don't even know about."

"But whose gonna eat all this?" I ask.

"It's not all for us," Miku says. "We hardly eat. Rio and I can't have collectors, Reese only likes liquid ones, Ameana hates them, and Marcus refuses to even try one."

"So, that means it's just you and me," Jay says, taking a chocolate cake out of the oven.

"You're gonna eat all this? That's a lot of memories, Jay. Are you sure that's a good idea?" I ask, concerned.

"I'll only try the bread and maybe some cake. I can handle that."

"I'm not gonna be able to eat all this," I warn him.

"It's cool; most of this is going to the shelter down on West Fourth. Every week we make a big meal and help them feed the homeless."

"You are so sweet," I say.

"Yeah, you Earth girls like, huh?" he says.

Just then Reese Blinks in and Ameana comes out of her room.

"Okay, everyone take a seat and don't dirty the table cloth. It's new and I'm not doing another wash," Miku says with the authority of a First Guardian.

This is going to be interesting. I put a few things on my plate and watch to see what the others will do. Jay places a piece of warm bread on his plate. He puts it in his mouth and then he disappears. I turn to Marcus, stunned. I didn't know that having a collector made them literally disappear into their memories.

Marcus, reading my face says, "Don't worry, he'll be back."

I turn my attention to the center of the table where Reese is pouring himself a glass of foggy brownish water.

"Reese, what is that?"

"River water. Jay always gets me some when he's in the area."

"And you like it?"

"No, it's river water. But the memory it collects is a favorite one of mine with me and my sisters. It's the day our dad took us fishing. I try not to have collectors, but when I do, this is my favorite." He drank the whole thing down. When the last drop was finished he, like Jay, was gone.

Miku plays with her napkin while Rio watches her. He then takes a piece of fruit from the table and asks her a very odd question.

"You think strawberries are safe?"

"I wouldn't," Miku warns.

I turn to Marcus for an explanation. He leans in and whispers to me. His lips are brushing my ear but I try not to pay attention to the tingle it causes to run down my spine.

"Their deaths were very violent. Every collector they have always takes them back to the end of their lives. It's called Spreading. That means the violence and blood from their life on Earth is so profound, it has seeped into every memory they have. Even after death." Marcus says.

"How'd they die?" Even as I ask, I know he won't answer me. Like Rio, Marcus isn't keen on sharing the secrets of others.

"You should eat something," he says.

I put a piece of ham in my mouth. It's so good, I take four more thick slices. Jay is the best cook I've ever known. I'd tell him, but he hasn't come back yet. Plus, I have a feeling he already knows how good he is. I try some of the vegetables and it comes as no surprise that they, too, are delicious.

I turn back to Marcus. He and the twins are joking around about something I didn't catch.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Last week, Reese and Jay were racing to see who could get to school faster. Reese lost focus and ended up inside the women's bathroom at a nursing home," Miku laughs.

"Where he scared an 80-year-old woman half to death," Rio adds.

The thought of Reese and that scared old lady has me cracking up. Then both he and Jay reappeared.

"Reese, you didn't tell me you were into mature women. I have a neighbor—she's only 65, but she's got nice legs. What do you say?" I ask him with a straight face.

Jay knows instantly what we were talking about. He laughs so much, the rest of us start up again. Reese shakes his head. "Okay, okay. You know what? Make fun, but I'm a good and decent angel. Not only did I revive her, I promised to be her date for the prom."

"You what?" Jay says laughing so hard he can barely get out his words.

Reese answers with pride, "That's right. The Martin and Sylvia Tannenbaum Center for Assisted Living is having their Annual Seniors' Senior Prom Night. This year's theme is 'Sunset Serenade!'"

Jay struggles to speak but can't stop laughing. The twins are beside themselves. I look over at Marcus and he's laughing as well. I've never seen him laugh. It looks good on him. Even Ameana can't help but join in.

"If you need any dance moves, ask Emmy. She's got some great moves." He looks at me and smiles. He's never done that. Even though I hate him, it's good to see him happy.

Over the course of the next hour, Jay disappears three times. When he reappears after the third time, looking somewhat sad, Marcus suggests he not eat anymore. Reese has another glass of river water and comes back laughing. He tells us about catching a fish even bigger than his dad's. The twins start boxing everything up to take to the shelter. We have hardly eaten anything.

I had a few slices of ham and a turkey wing. I found out angels can't eat meat because then they flash back to the memory of that animal. And it's usually the last moments of their lives, and, just like the twins, the animal comes to a bloody end.

The food is packed up nicely and put into containers. I offer to hand it out with them, but Marcus comments on the time. I look at my watch and realize it is almost eleven—past my curfew. Marcus says he'll take me home.

Jay volunteers to glide me, but Marcus says he will do it since Jay had been planning on going to the mission all week. He also reminds me that my mom won't get home until sometime after one. So I calm down and say goodnight to everyone.

Marcus goes into the garage and comes out in a sleek black car. It looks overdone and way too fancy for my neighborhood. "What kind of car is this?" I ask as I get in.

"A Lamborghini Gallardo. I know that because Jay wouldn't stop talking about it for the first three weeks he had it. We ran down a Runner and Jay took his car after we killed him."

"So, this is Jay's?"

"They are all his."

"How many does he have?"

"Ten or so," Marcus says, like he's talking about skateboards.

"Where does he keep them?" I want to know.

"Around the city."

"It's so flashy. I don't think I like it."

"Because you don't like flashy or because you don't think you deserve to sit in it?" Marcus grills.

"A little of both I guess," I say.

"It's just a car. It can be crumbled and broken like any other. And, believe it or not, this is one of his least conspicuous cars."

"What about Siren?"

"I've thought about stopping him from taking the cars, but he's like a kid when he first gets them. I can't bring myself to tell him to take them back. He goes through about five cars every few weeks. But Siren is his favorite."

"How do you guys get away with having so much?"

"Most people make up their own theory about us; students from other countries with rich parents or that sort of thing. Every once in a while we have someone who wants to know everything. So, we send Jay to suggest they never inquire about us again. He doesn't like doing it, but we can't just put out a banner saying, Angels here."

"You can't be under the radar with these cars," I reason.

"Jay says so long as he's chasing Runners he might as well do so in style. According to him, life is too short to drive a hatchback."

"I guess it makes sense."

"When we first got here, Jay was tracking a Runner. They went a few short rounds and Jay killed him. Then he went around the block opening car doors in order to find which one belonged to the now deceased Runner. Turns out the Runner had just lost everything and the only thing he could afford was a 1988 Daewoo Charade. It was so broken down that Jay had to call Ameana to come and use her powers to get the car inside the garage," Marcus recounts, enjoying the memory.

I laugh along with him. "How long did it take him to find a new Runner whose car he could take?"

"Only a few days, but you should have seen the look on his face when he needed a screwdriver to start the car. Reese would stop recharging just to go over to the window and watch Jay kick, scream and threaten the car to work. It became a test of wills."

"And the car won?"

"Every time."

I laugh so much my eyes fill with water.

I lean back into the cozy crimson leather interior and enjoy the heated seats and leg room. "This is kind of nice," I admit.

We drive the rest of the way in a comfortable silence, like two people who have known each other a long time. It doesn't take long to get home. It would have taken half as long if Jay were driving because Jay doesn't believe in things like stop signs and red lights.

Once we pull up to my building, it begins to snow. The light flakes fall on to the windshield and melt away quickly. I'm mesmerized by their random pattern. They don't know where they'll fall, they just go along with the wind.

I am too busy looking out the window to hear him call my name. He touches my arm.

"We're here," he says.

"Sorry, I spaced out."

"What were you thinking about?"

"The snow. It's beautiful. But it has to give itself into the wind and go any which way the wind blows."

"That's what makes it beautiful. They trust each other," he hints.

"Well, that old lady trusted the locks on the bathroom door and look what happened to her," I joke.

He laughs, "Yeah, that could not have been pretty."

I lean in closer and shift my head to the side. My lips make contact with his. I press slightly into him. His lips are the softest thing on this planet. And even though it is cold outside, they are warm and impossibly delicious. I am certain I'll never pull away from him without help.

As if reading my mind, he gently pulls away from me. I open my eyes and look at him. I'm expecting to see any number of emotions—shock, confusion, maybe even a smile. But what I see on his face is something I could not have prepared for: outright disapproval.

My face crumbles, panic washes over me. I run out of the car. He calls my name, but I keep running. I go to my room and flop down on the bed. Ms. Charlotte curls up with me. I cry until we both fall asleep.

*********************************

I wake up wanting to put last night out of my head. So it stands to reason that everything I do reminds me of last night. I try not to replay the horrible moment, but it's really out of my control.

It's Saturday morning and everything in my house is screaming "loser." My toaster did it when it popped up with the bread. My kitten slippers keep squeaking "loser" every time they hit the floor. I take a spoon of my alphabet cereal and it spells "loser." Okay, it didn't spell out "Loser" but it did spell out "Uoser" which is close enough.

I've never been in love. I don't know if I am now, but whatever this is, it hurts. And according to like a billion love songs, if it hurts, it's love. I am completely ill-equipped for this.

I can't believe I kissed him. How could I have been so stupid and crazy? I go back to that point in my head every ten seconds. The car, the story about Jay, the snow and then....

I shudder at the memory yet again. How embarrassing. How truly mortifying to kiss someone who so obviously doesn't want you. I could move away. Yes, I could go far away and never step foot in New York City again. Where would I go? Kansas. Yes, Kansas. No one ever says, "Hey, let's leave New York to go to Kansas." That means no one I know will move there.

Shoot, there is the slight matter of saving the world. That might slow down my attempt to start a new life. Okay, so I'll stay to help save the world and then change my name and move to Kansas. Good plan.

I realize that I will some day live down the rejection. But what I won't live down is kissing another girl's boyfriend. Ameana is not the warmest girl in the world, but I had no right to do what I did. I have to tell her. There's no way around it.

I never thought of myself as this person. I'm no angel by any means, but I'd like to think that I'm a nice person. I've helped an old lady across the street. I've carried groceries up a flight of stairs for a mom who had her hands full with a stroller.

But now I'm Hester Prynne, and I've got that nice scarlet letter branded on me. Granted, I'm the one doing the branding, but that makes it hurt all the more.

What I find most appalling and would never say aloud to another living soul is this: I would do it again. The few seconds our lips touched were the best I've ever known. That makes me the worst kind of offender, the kind who repeats her offense at the first opportunity.

There is a knock at the door. "Who is it?' I say, peering into the peephole. Reese stands on the other side looking like his usual J. Crew self. I open the door.

He smiles and says, "So, you're alive?"

"Kind of."

"Can I come in?" he asks. I let him by and go over to the sofa. Usually I'm a better host than that, but today I can't muster up the strength. I curl into a ball on the sofa and leave some space for Reese to join me.

"Did you come for more interrogation? Or did Marcus send you to make sure I don't attack him again?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Last night. I'm sure it's all over the house, all over Manhattan, all over the planet. Heck, I'm sure even the council is talking about it, by the council water cooler. 'Hey, Death, did you see how Emmy made a fool of herself?' 'Yeah, Fate and I were just laughing about it over doughnuts.'"

"Death doesn't eat. Neither does Fate. But Time has been known to nibble."

Great, angel humor.

"Marcus didn't say anything?" I ask desperately.

"No, he just told me to check on you because Miku is recharging and Jay and Rio are watching the building."

"And Ameana, where is she?"

"I'm not sure. She and Marcus may have gone to meet the Sage."

"The what?"

"A Sage is—"

"Reese, normally I would want to know, but today, can we skip Angel 101, please?"

"Okay. Then tell me why you aren't picking up your phone? Marcus says he's tried you like 20 times."

I look up at him. Standing just a few feet away, he looks so confident and sure of everything. I wish that it was me.

"Emmy, what happened?"

He comes and sits next to me.

I sit up and face him. "I did something really bad?"

"How bad?"

The tears fall from my face. Tears I didn't even feel building up. Reese pulls me closer. I hold on to him and weep.

"I've seen a lot of stuff since I've been dead. And the things that seem really bad usually aren't."

"I kissed him."

"Oh."

"He pushed me away."

Reese looks off into the distance. "Did he say anything?"

"No, he just looked...." The tears start back up. Reese holds me even closer.

"It's okay, Emmy. It's okay," he says soothingly.

"Don't tell Ameana."

"You want me to keep that from her?"

"No, I think I should confess my crimes on my own. That's what the person I thought I was would do."

"Ameana isn't as... hard edge as you might think. She's just... she's been through a lot and it makes her focused, serious and absolutely no fun. But that doesn't mean she's cold and unforgiving. I mean she was chosen to be a guardian out of a hundred-thousand others."

"I didn't know there were that many."

"Yeah, it's a real zoo," he smiles.

"You think he hates me?"

"No, but you are acting like this is a normal situation and it's not. There's no way for it to be other than messy and sometimes heartbreaking," he explains.

"Tell me honestly, am I the most pathetic girl you've ever seen?" I can't stop myself from inquiring.

"Yes," he says stoically.

I playfully jab at his side.

"Okay, okay. There's someone else that I know who was actually more love sick and pathetic than you."

"Who?"

"Me."

"Yeah, right," I say incredulously.

"Emmy, when I was on Earth I lived for two things: Fishing and Katie-Anne Warner." Reese sighs. "She was the most beautiful girl in the entire state of Illinois. I believed in my heart that I was put on this Earth to be with her. So everything I did was centered on making that happen.

"The list of guys after her was never-ending. She didn't need to ask for anything because every guy was already waiting to serve; on our hands and knees, ready to serve her. My family tried to talk some sense into me, but I wouldn't hear of it. Katie-Anne was my soul mate, my one and only love. And I was going to win her heart if I had to fight Lucy herself.

"Then about three weeks into the year, a new kid came to our school. His name was Tyler Hogg. And there wasn't a day that went by when someone wasn't making fun of him for something. He was a super-smart kid with no coordination whatsoever.

"One of Katie-Anne's friends mentioned that Tyler never made a pass at Katie-Anne. She snorted, saying that she would never date him. But as time went on, she started thinking more and more about Tyler. Why hadn't he asked her out? Everyone else did. Even the nerds who knew they didn't have a chance. Was he too shy? Did he know he didn't stand a chance and think 'why bother?'

"The more she watched Tyler, the more obsessed she became by how indifferent he was to her beauty. He wasn't acting like a boy who was too afraid to approach her. He was acting like a boy who didn't know she existed. Tyler's dismissal of her actually kept the pretty princess up at night.

"Enraged, she finally asked him point blank, 'Why haven't you asked me out?' He knew she wasn't going to let him off the hook without giving her a real reason. So, reluctantly and apologetically, he said, 'You seem very... empty.'

"No one had ever said that to Katie-Anne. I mean, no one I knew spoke like that. Not only was she insulted, she was rejected, and by a nerd, no less.

"So, she got the football team to beat up Tyler every day on his way home from school. They would sit in front of the school just waiting for him.

"One day she spotted Tyler with a meek but sweet girl named Candice. She was a year ahead of us. Katie-Anne was furious to have been passed over for someone she considered far beneath her status.

"The next day was our field trip to the Museum of Natural History in Chicago. Most of the juniors and seniors ditched that day to go to the lake. Normally I wouldn't ditch, but Katie-Anne was going to be at the lake. I wanted to approach her again. I had asked her out 56 times in the past, but the 57th time's the charm, right?

"I even had a poem to recite to her. It was about how I knew she was going to date other guys but how I would still love her. I spent the afternoon memorizing it.

"We all headed to the lake. Most of the football team walked ahead with Katie-Anne. The others of us who were lower in her harem stayed in the back. All of a sudden Katie-Anne and the others stopped walking. I made my way up to her to see what was going on.

"Katie-Anne had stopped to watch Tyler walking across the street. Katie-Anne watched him for several minutes. She was singularly focused on him. It's like she had a ray beam pointed at his head.

"She looked out into the group of mostly guys and made an announcement: 'I will give a kiss to anyone who can get Tyler and bring him to the lake.'

"The crowd cheered. The guys went crazy. Katie-Anne was popular, but she wasn't known for being promiscuous. It was rare that she even held hands with a guy, let alone gave away a kiss.

"I caught a glimpse of her face as the guys charged ahead towards Tyler. It was a look that I had never seen on anyone's face. It was evil at its most beautiful and most wicked form. She didn't want to embarrass him. She wanted to destroy him.

"I stood still as the others ran past me. Only Katie-Anne and I remained. She looked at me and said, 'Reese, don't you want a kiss?' I looked at her and said, 'Not from you.'

"Everybody ran down to the lake. Tyler had been restrained and was being carried by some of the members of the football team. He shouted to be released. They laughed and dropped him in front of her.

"She looked down at the helpless boy, and it made complete sense to her. She looked out among the crowd. Everyone shouted for them to take off his clothes and throw him in the lake, but that wasn't what Katie-Anne had in mind. She made another announcement: 'I'll go to the dance with whoever gets baby Tyler to cry the loudest.' Everyone but me laughed because they thought she was kidding. But it turns out she was dead serious.

"She begged a few guys on the team. And they began kicking him all over his body. A few kids didn't want to take part so they left. A few others thought it was funny but didn't have the nerve to join in. And then there were the guys who were hitting Tyler. They were big and knew how to inflict pain.

"I screamed at Katie-Anne to tell the guys to stop. But she just laughed as Tyler was groaning on the floor. Then he stopped moving.

"They panicked, started swearing and freaking out. I shouted for them to help me get him to a hospital. They said it was too late. I pointed out that no one had a medical degree and that he may just have passed out. One of the guys bent down to hear his heart beat. He said he heard nothing. They decided to push his body out into the lake. I tried to stop them but they kept pushing me out of the way.

"Then, in a moment I relive every day without the help of collectors, I saw Tyler's chest move. It was slight and weak. But it moved. I know it did.

"That's when I plowed into the guys with every thing I had in me. They weren't expecting me to put as much force as I did into getting past them, so I was able to take a few of them down to the ground. The three that remained standing pushed Tyler's body into the lake.

"I was so horrified by the sight of Tyler's body floating out to the middle of the lake, I rushed the guys again. This time they were expecting it and the biggest guy, Jeff Moore, rammed my head into a tree. I heard my skull crack.

"As I was dying, I kept thinking if only I could get to Tyler. If only I could close my eyes and appear in the middle of the lake. I just asked Omnis that I be able to defy the laws of physics and transport myself to the middle of the lake and save him. That's all I wanted to do, save him.

"The last thing I saw before I died was Katie-Anne's face. And as it faded from my view, I thought about the 56 times she said 'no' to being with me. I smiled as I lay dying. To think I was lucky enough to have avoided evil 56 times."

"What happened to Tyler?" I ask.

"I don't know."

"Maybe someone came for him."

"Maybe." But we both know the odds were slim.

"I'm sorry you died so awfully."

"The twins beat all of us in that arena. They're glory hogs."

"Reese, why did you tell me?"

"Why did I tell you my Core?"

"Your what?"

"Oh, so now you want to sign up for Angel 101?"

"Please," I beg.

"It's the story of an angel's last few minutes on Earth as a human."

"So in your Core you cried out to be able to transfer yourself from one place to the other and that's how you got the power to Blink?"

"Yeah."

"Why did you tell me your Core?"

"I want you to know that just because you love someone doesn't mean they are worthy of being loved."

"You don't think Marcus is worthy of love?"

"He is, but so are you. And he hasn't given it to you, has he?"

"No." He puts his arms around me. I lean my head against him. We're both lost in our own thoughts.

"Reese, how does the poem go?"

"A lot has happened since my Core, Emmy. Now, I'm so far from the sap that memorized that poem, I can't even begin to remember how it went."

I turn to him and look deeply into his eyes. I never thought angels had ghosts but I see that they do.

"How does the poem go?" I push gently. He looks away from me for a full minute or so. Just when I think he's chosen not to tell me, he begins. As he speaks, I picture him pre-Guardian. A naïve kid committing a poem to memory to impress his love.

"I know I am but summer to your heart,

And not the full four seasons of the year.

And you must welcome from another part,

Such noble deeds as are not mine, my dear."

"That's the end," he says. But it's not.

There's more and he knows that.

"I don't remember the poet's name," he says. It's Edna St. Vincent Millay, but he knows that too.

Chapter Four

When I get to school Monday, I thought I'd have to hunt Ameana down, but as it turns out, she's standing by my locker waiting for me. Miku saw her first. I never told Miku what I did. I don't think Reese did either.

She turns to me and says, "Hey, I forget to tell Rio something, I'll be right back." I look at her. She read the panic in my face.

She hugs me. "She won't kill you. We need you. She might just maim you," she jokes. I go from panic to terror. "Emmy, I'm just kidding. Go, get it over with."

Miku disappears around the corner, and I head towards my locker. I never thought that I would pray for a Runner to interrupt me, but right now, they would be a welcome diversion. I look around, and wouldn't you know it, not a gun-toting Wall Street guy around anywhere.

"Reese said you wanted to see me," she says with perfect articulation.

"Yeah, I wanted to talk."

She looks around and motions for me to follow her. She takes me to an empty classroom.

"Mr. Walt won't be back for a while, he eats lunch in some café a few blocks away."

I look at her curiously.

"We had every teacher followed. Rio said they all have souls, but we just wanted to be extra careful."

"I guess that's smart."

"So, what is it you need?"

"I wanted to tell you what I did. I asked Reese not to tell you. I wanted to come to you myself."

"I'm listening."

"I kissed Marcus."

"I see."

"I'm so, so, sorry. I shouldn't have done it. It's just that I was so.... Look, I'm sorry. I just had to tell you."

"And now you have," she says plainly as she heads out the door. I stop her.

"Wait, that's it? You're not mad at me? You don't want to kill me or anything?"

"I'd have to get in line now, wouldn't I?"

"I'm so sorry."

"Let's not do this, okay?" She seems removed, like she is watching a movie.

"Please, yell at me. Do something. I totally stepped out of line. I had no right to do what I did. You should... be throwing me across the room or something."

"I can if you wish."

"Ameana, please."

She bites her lip and closes her eyes. She's trying to calm herself. I can tell. Only she really didn't get upset, so I don't understand why she would need calming down.

"I have to go, Emmy. Lunch is almost over. I don't want to be late for my next class."

I reach out for her and get a hold of her stylish jacket. "You don't care about class."

"No, I care about Marcus," she snaps.

"I know, I'm so—"

"—sorry. I got that. Can we go now?"

"Yes, I just wanted to tell you the truth," I say as she heads out the door. She stops dead in her tracks and whips her head to face me. Every single hair falls perfectly into place.

"What do you know about truth? You haven't told the truth since I met you. You lie to us about not having a secret even after Rio says you do. And now you hunt me down all weekend just so you can lie to me."

"I'm not lying. I kissed Marcus."

"I know you did. Did you think he wouldn't tell me? That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about you standing here telling me that you are sorry you did it. That's such bull. You have wanted him since the moment you saw him. Now you come and tell me about it? Why? So you can say 'Hey, I did a bad thing, but I apologized, so I'm a good person?'"

"That's not why I did it!"

"Then why? So I could absolve you?

"Well, I...."

"You want me to tell you it's okay that you kissed my boyfriend because I'm an angel and I forgive? Screw you."

I can't bring myself to look at her. Her voice trembles with anger.

"I can't leave you here alone. Let's go." With that, I follow her out of the class and into the hallway. We walk down to the cafeteria in silence, just the three of us: me, Ameana and my shame.

"Here, she's all yours," Ameana spits as she walks me over to where Miku and Jay are seated. She turns on her heel and storms out of the cafeteria. I sit down and put my head on the table. Jay says, "If you're gonna piss off an angel, it shouldn't be the one who can drop you fifty stories without ever touching you."

Miku chimes in, "Yeah, it should be a weak and ineffective angel like Jay." I can hear the smile in her voice. It's not helping.

Mercifully, the school day ends. I have no idea what I learned. Classes had become a series of long drawn-out sessions of Charlie Brown-like speeches. Anyway, none of it would matter if we didn't make any headway in finding Julian.

As I walk to my locker, I thought I would see Ameana again. But when I get to my locker there is someone waiting for me.

"Hey, Sara."

"Hey, I've been calling you all weekend."

"Yeah, I had my cell phone off."

"You finally get a phone and you keep it off all weekend?"

"Well, I was kind of busy."

"Busy doing what?"

Kissing other girls' boyfriends....

"I had to help my mom out with a few things," I lie.

"Well, I got your message, and I thought we could hang out tonight."

I am about to say no as a habit, but then I reconsider. I should give Ameana some space. Marcus is avoiding me, so I should make that easier for him by not being around.

"You know what? Let's do it. What time?"

"How about seven? We could go see the new Taylor Lautner movie. I heard he has his shirt off in like three scenes."

"I'm there."

"And I can tell you all about Jack."

Great, I get to hear about her new boyfriend. Then when it comes time for me to talk about my love life, I can change the topic onto more pleasant things, like war and famine.

At that moment I was going to back out, but looking at the excitement in her eyes, I knew I had to go with her. And it wouldn't kill me to be a better friend.

"Let's meet in front of the McDonald's on 42nd at seven, okay?" Sara says eagerly.

"Sure, sounds good."

"And you can tell me about Jay and the other guys you hang out with now."

I know she's thinking about one person in particular.

"The gorgeous one, Marcus. The new senior, hello?"

"Oh, him."

"Yeah, he was seeing a girl in his history class."

"Wait, what do you mean 'was'?"

"I saw them in the hallway having a huge argument. I think it's over now."

"When did you see them?"

"It was sometime after lunch. She really seemed mad."

"What did they say?"

"I had already been late for gym twice last week, so I couldn't stop and listen, but I heard her say something like, 'It's not sage.'"

"What does that mean?"

"Maybe I heard wrong. All I know is that they weren't sitting together in class."

"We don't have classes with seniors, how do you know?"

"Joy told me. She's in their history class."

"Oh, no."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just forgot I need to take care of something. I gotta go." I sprint down the hallway.

"Don't forget about tonight," she shouts.

"I won't, promise." I run as fast as I can to find Marcus.

I literally run into Jay first. "Hey, baby girl, slow down."

"Sorry." I'm out of breath. He gives me a moment. "What is it?"

"I have to find Marcus."

"This weekend with him wasn't enough?" I look at Jay, shocked.

"C'mon. We're a group of six angels with powers. And one of us can read guilt a country away," he says.

"Rio told you?"

"He said your wave changed suddenly. You were feeling an abnormal amount of guilt. And you and Marcus were alone after dinner... ."

"Oh."

"Not to mention the fact that Ameana is so livid she almost deboned Reese when he Blinked in and made a joke about all the girls lusting after Marcus."

"I have to find him. It's all my fault. I don't want them to break up."

"Really?"

"Not like this. He didn't do anything. I was the one who was out of line, not him. I don't want him to pay for what I did."

"He can handle hold his own against Ameana."

"Where is he?"

"He left."

"Did she go with him?"

"Yeah, I think so. I told Miku I'd take you home."

"You don't have to watch me. I'm gonna be around people. I'm going out with Sara."

"When?"

"Later today."

"That's later. Right now, I'm your escort home."

I look at him, pleading.

"You don't want to go home do you?" He knows me too well for my comfort.

"No."

"You want to go find Marcus?"

"I have to make sure they're okay."

"That's the only reason?"

"Yeah, what other reason could there be?"

He raises his eyebrows. I hate him for knowing me so well. "Okay, I'll take you to the house."

I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and say, "Thank you."

******************************

When we get to the house, everyone but Marcus and Ameana are there. I ask and they say that they just stepped out. I look at Jay. He shrugs. I tell them I'm gonna take a walk to the park near the house. I ask to do it alone, but they say no. I didn't think they'd let me, but I had to ask.

Jay is with me as we go down to the park. It was cold but not bitterly, so I could leave my scarf and hat in the house. I step on dead bark that the wind had ripped from the trees and thrown carelessly on the sidewalk. I keep my head down. I count the number of steps it takes to get to the park. Jay can tell that I don't want to talk. And really, what is there to say?

When we get to the entrance of the community park Jay takes my hand. "Are you sure you just want them to be okay, I mean as a couple?"

"Yes, I told you that. I don't want them to break up for this. It was my fault."

"Well, good, then you can stop worrying; it doesn't look like breaking up is on their agenda." I follow his gaze to the two figures, kissing in the center of the park. They are flawless in every way.

The tears running down my face are warm. Jay looks at me and says, "C'mon, the cold's making you cry. We should get you home."

I agree and take his hand and head home. Once there, I throw my stuff down and run into my room. The cold makes me cry long after I have left it.

A knock on my door wakes me. "Come in."

My mom comes in and puts the phone to my ear. I'm still out of it. "Who is it?" I ask.

"It's Sara. She says you're late to meet her."

Damn. Sara...movies...better friend....

I take the phone from my mom. "Hello?"

I look around my room. The alarm clock says 7:32 in bright illuminating red. I can't believe I overslept.

"I'm on my way."

"Never mind, just forget it," she says.

"Sara, no. I took a nap and I overslept that's all. I really want to go."

"I'm not gonna wait another half an hour for you. We made plans and you stood me up. I didn't go inside because I was sure you wouldn't do that to me, but I was wrong."

"I'll take a cab and be there in ten minutes. I'll pay for the movie too. And you don't have to wait outside. Just go to the café down the street and get some hot chocolate. I'll come find you."

"Forget it, I'm going home."

I try one last thing.

"C'mon, Sara, I've been dying to hear about Jack."

There was a pause. "Well...okay, but hurry up."

She hangs up. I knew that would do it. A girl can't resist the chance to talk about her new guy. I am gonna listen to every mushy detail from how they met to their last date. I will be a better friend. I owe her that.

I hop in a cab and head to Times Square. Once there, I enter the café and immediately smell burgers. It makes my stomach growl. I realize then that I haven't eaten anything all day.

"Emmy, over here," Sara says calling me over to her table in the corner. I wave at her and head over.

"I'm sorry I made you wait. I was knocked out." I take a seat across from her.

"It's okay. I called Jack and told him I was waiting around and he offered to keep me company. Otherwise I would have been waiting all by myself," she says, digging the knife in playfully.

"I promise you my firstborn if I'm ever late again."

"That's nice, but how about a really big tub of popcorn, extra butter?"

"You got it."

"Anyway, I'm glad we met up. Now you get to meet Jack."

"Really? Where is he?"

"He's in the restroom. I can't wait for you to meet him. He's so cute and funny."

"Great. Is he seeing the movie with us?"

"Yeah, there's one starting in an hour. Jack already got us all tickets. He's nice like that."

She is beaming. She's wearing mascara and a pretty shade of lipstick that I would love to borrow sometime. It's nice to see her like this. And so what if I have nothing to report in terms of a guy in my life? I'm okay watching her be the focus.

"Before he comes back, let me tell you a little about him," she insists.

"Okay, I'm ready to hear all about Mr. Wonderful."

"His name is Jack O'Neal and I think I'm in love with him."

"Really? I didn't know you two were that serious."

"He's a junior at Claremont high. We met when I was waiting for you to take the bus home." Her voice reached a fever pitch and I had to squeal right along with her.

"We sat together and talked about school and stuff. He had me laughing the whole way. Then, when it was my stop, he offered to walk me home."

"Seriously?"

"I told you, he's really nice like that."

"Okay, so he walked you home. Then what?"

A male voice answered my question. "Then I asked her out and she said yes. And that's why I'm the luckiest guy in the world," Jack says.

I look up and see a tall guy with red, curly hair and green eyes.

He waves at me. "Hey, I'm Jack."

"Jack, this is my friend Emmy."

We shake hands. Sara continues, "I was just telling her how we met."

"Did she tell you that I waited for days to get a chance to go up to her?"

"Wow, that's impressive," I say, smiling broadly at Sara.

"I should have gotten you a menu. The service here is kind of slow," Jack says.

"No, it's okay. I'll go get one. You and Emmy sit and talk."

She jumps up out of her seat and almost floats over to the counter.

"So, Jack, what is it about Sara that attracted you to her?"

"You."

"No seriously, why did you approach her?"

"Lucy said it was the only way to get to you."
A pool of ice forms in my stomach. I look in his eyes and the guy who Sara has fallen for is gone. He is still the same, physically, but his eyes are cold and hold no humor. His lips curl with cruelty and disdain. Before I have time to process what's happening, Sara comes back and sits next to the Runner. I can't take my eyes off of him. He puts his arm around my friend.

"The waitress is coming," she says.

"I was just telling Emmy how you've been dying for us to meet," he says with malice.

"Sara, it's getting late. Maybe I should call it a night. I'll take you home since I'm the one who made you stay out so late." I try to sound casual, but my voice cracks.

"What? No, we're seeing a movie. It's not that late, Mom," she mocks.

"No, but we should head to the movie theatre."

We get our coats. All the while Jack keeps his hand around Sara's waist. What she takes as a sign of affection, I know to be a threat. If I run, he's going to kill her. I can't allow that to happen.

We walk out of the café, and he takes us through the back alleys. When Sara complains, he says he hates crowds and this is a shortcut. She doesn't like it, but she doesn't want to appear disagreeable.

The whole time we're walking, I'm looking for Jay or Reese. Once Rio sees my onyx color wave, they would be the first ones to get to me.

A slew of questions swirl around my head. How could a Runner be so young? How long has he been watching Sara to get to me? Is he taking me to the Akons? Is he taking me to Lucy? What is she going to do to me? Will he let Sara go if I promise not to put up a fight? Where are the Guardians?

We stop two blocks later, behind a back alley with a huge dumpster. It reeks of trash and gutter water. A rat scurries across our path and disappears behind the dumpster. The wind picks up causing Sara to go cozy up closer to the Runner. I cringe when I see how comfortable she is with him.

"Stop right here." He stops walking.

"What are you talking about?" Sara is upset in addition to being confused.

He turns Sara's arm until it twists behind her. He holds her in place.

"Stop, Jack. What are you doing? This isn't funny, let go of me."

"Sara, it's gonna be okay. I promise, I won't let him hurt you," I reassure her.

She doesn't understand what's going on, but it hits her that whatever is happening isn't good. She panics and tries to fight him off.

"Move, and I'll break you arm."

"Jack, you're really hurting me."

He takes something out of his pocket that looks like a CD. He throws it at my feet. It's black and hovers a few feet above the ground in front of me. It grows to the size a large Frisbee. It continues to spin at an unbelievable speed. It sounds like a whip cutting through the air.

"Get on," he orders.

"What is it?" I ask.

"It's a Port. You step on it and it takes you straight to Lucy."

"Let her go first."

He takes out a knife and puts it by her throat. "I'm not gonna tell you again."

"Emmy, get on the stupid thing," Sara sobs.

"How can you do this to her? She's in love with you."

"You're the one who's gonna make me cut her throat."

He pierces her skin with the point of his blade. Drops of blood trickle down her pale throat.

"Please, stop. Please," she sobs frantically.

"Get on."

"Emmy, help me," Sara pleads.

I'm trembling. My legs feel like they've been filled with lead. My hands are blocks of ice. I can't take my eyes off Sara. Her face contorts in shock and desperation.

"Get on it, Emmy, please," she cries.

"You promise you'll let her go?"

"Just as soon as you step on the Port."

I go to put my foot up on the Port, when a figure swoops down and takes me into the air.

"No!" I scream.

"It's okay, I got you."

I look up and find Marcus' face looking fearlessly back at me.

Jack is livid and shouts at Marcus from the ground. "You bring her back here, or I'll cut this girl's freaking head off and leave it for the rats."

While he rants and raves, Miku and Rio sneak up on him from either side. Jack sees them and holds Sara as a shield in front of him. He carefully backs himself into the wall so no one will approach him from behind.

"Get any closer and she's dead. I swear." His eyes shift back and forth between the twins.

Jay and Reese are on the rooftop above him. Rio points to the center of his chest and beats on it twice. Marcus sees him and grits his teeth. Why doesn't Jay or Reese just take the Runner down? As if reading my mind, Marcus speaks to me.

"He's not a Runner. He's a Pawn. That means he has a soul. We can't take him."

"Then take me back down. I'll trade myself for her," I shout back at him.

"That can't happen," he says.

He addresses Jack. "Let's work this out, okay? Let Sara go and I will let you walk out of here with the same amount of limbs you came in with," Marcus offers.

"I'm not leaving here without the girl," Jack says.

"Not gonna happen," Marcus states plainly.

Jack looks at his situation and decides to up the ante. He stabs Sara in her side. She lets out a blood-curdling scream that fills the cold night air.

"No!" I scream, almost in unison with her.

Blood soaks through her jacket and spreads quickly. The dark red liquid drips carelessly on to the ground. I lunge toward her but Marcus' inhuman strength holds me back.

I pull, punch and claw at his grip, but it doesn't loosen. My body flails in every direction, hysterically. Every inch of me screams to be set free.

I'm several feet in the air, and if Marcus had let me go, I would most likely break something in the fall. But I couldn't care less. It's me Jack wants and if that's the only way to save Sara, I'm willing.

"Emmy, no," Marcus says.

"You can still help her, Emmy. Don't let her bleed to death. Come save your friend," the Pawn calls out to me. "You promised to help her."

"Let go of me," I scream and punch Marcus so hard the pain from my almost-healed hand flares up. There's a dull ache running up my arm. One of my shoes falls off and plunges to the ground. I twist and wriggle myself so hard my shoulder pops out of its socket. The pain is immense but it doesn't stop me from trying to break free.

"Emmy, no," Marcus barks as he effortlessly holds me to his chest.

"Let me go." My whole body trembles. It's no use. Marcus' hold on me is unyielding. Jay and Reese don't yet have an opening to attack the Pawn.

Sara has passed out, her body limp in Jack's hands. He holds two fingers against the side of her neck to take her pulse.

"She's still alive, Emmy. But I don't think she'll make it unless you help her. I thought you were her friend."

I look up to face the angel who holds me. There's no more screaming from me. My voice is nearly gone. I beg him softly as my tears spill over. "Please. Please. Please let me go." Concern furrows his brow; his eyes are pained as they look back at me. But his grip doesn't change.

"Oh, well. Guess you don't care about her after all," the Pawn says, faking concern for Sara.

He lets her drop, and she hits the ground face up. He holds the knife above her body. "It's your fault she's gonna die, Emmy. Remember that," he says as he plunges the knife into her chest.

I scream helplessly as I watch it happen. Jay and Reese finally have an opening to intercept him. They attack Jack just in time to stop him from striking her. Jay picks him up and throws him across the alley. Reese promptly Blinks him to what I hope is hell.

Finally, the steel arms of the First Guardian loosen around me, but not completely.

"Let me go!"

"Not while we're still in the air," Marcus says as he swoops down and places me safely on the ground.

I catapult over to Sara. She's lying face up, still and soundless. Rio, Jay, and Miku look on as I kneel down beside her.

"Call 911," I order them. They look at each other. It seems they're having a conversation I can't hear. "Call 911. Hurry!"

Jay says my name with care. "Emmy...."

I don't want him to talk to me. I don't want to hear what any of them have to say.

I just want them to get help.

"Miku, call someone for me, please?" I beg her. She takes the same tone as Jay.

"Emmy..."

"Please do something," I beg her.

"She can't, Emmy," Marcus says.

"Shut up! She's okay. She just needs some help. Please, somebody help!"

I shout out to anyone, everyone, in New York City. If the Guardians won't help, maybe someone else will.

Meanwhile, Rio follows a wave that is invisible to the rest of us. Alarmed, he calls out, "Akons in thirty."

That's when I remember the one person that can dispute the lifelessness in her face.

"Rio, what color is she? What is she feeling?" I ask. Just then Reese reappears without the Runner.

"Reese, take Emmy back to the house," Marcus orders.

"Akons in twenty seconds."

"What color is she?" I demand.

"Take her home. Now," Marcus orders Reese. He Blinks next to me and tries to pry me away from Sara's body.

"No. Leave me alone."

"Emmy, we can't fight them with you here, it's too dangerous. We have to go," Reese explains.

But I won't let go of her body. I clutch her close to me. Reese could have pulled me off, but he's afraid of pulling too hard and hurting me.

"Akons in fifteen."

Miku asks, "How many?"

"Too many."

"Rio, what is she feeling?" I rage at him. He finally replies.

"Nothing, she feels nothing."

I lean over her body. My hand strokes her face. She looks up at me. The girl who couldn't stop smiling, the girl who found love, lay broken on the ground.

I cry over her body. Wave upon wave of sadness envelops me. I talk to her. "I'm sorry I was late. I'm so sorry."

"Akons in ten seconds."

Jay calls out my name as if I can't hear Rio's countdown.

"Emmy...."

"I don't care."

Reese addresses Marcus, "I can't Blink more than two people."

"Akons in five seconds."

"Emmy, go," Marcus demands.

"I'm not leaving her," I yell back, never taking my eyes off of her.

I guess Marcus motioned to Jay because while I was holding Sara, a soft breeze blows by and the next thing I know, I'm in Reese's arms.

Before I can react, the alley blurs in front of me. Less than three seconds later, I am back at the house of the Guardians.

I jump down off of Reese's arms. "No, take me back. Right now."

"I can't do that."

"You're letting her die. She could be getting help right now."

"Rio said—"

"I don't care. Take me back."

"I'm sorry about your friend." He Blinks away.

"No. Reese, come back!" I beg to the spot here he stood a second ago. "Reese, come back," I cry and hurl the closest thing I can find where Reese once stood. "Reese!!!" I throw everything that isn't nailed down across the room.

I'm exhausted. My nose is running, my stomach is in painful knots. I don't care. I scream again but there is nothing left. My voice is gone. My throat is raw and there's nothing left to throw. I collapse against the wall. The waves claim me once again. I slide down the wall pitifully and onto the floor.

I say the words "I can't leave her" over and over again until they, like my promise to Sara, become meaningless.

*************************

I am watching a movie. It's a movie I don't want to see. A movie I have no interest in. I think it's real. I think it's my life. Angels are calling my name. They are asking me questions. I don't answer because it doesn't matter. Nothing does. They do things to me. They wrap a blanket around me. The Asian girl washes my face. She says that I will be okay. I don't answer. It doesn't matter. I want them to go away but I don't care enough to tell them. They can stay if they want. I'm not with them. I'm in a hole too dark for any light to shine through.

The movie goes on. Angels are guiding me somewhere—a church? There's a big picture of Sara. A woman in the movie I'm watching looks just like Sara's mom. She gets up on the podium. She talks and cries. Talks some more and cries again. She says something to me. The movie doesn't have sound. So her words don't reach me.

They move on to the next scene. It's a set that looks just like Sara's house. I find her room. I sit on her bed. Across from me, under the dresser, is a pink box with small engravings. I go over, grab it and sit on the floor. It has words on it I don't feel like making out. I open it up. There is a bunch of cards, pretty ones with flowers and words. The one on top has my name on it. It has pictures of balloons and cats. I open it. The cat purrs and says, "Happy birthday. You're perrrrrrrrfect the way you are."

Someone stabs me with something sharp. I cry out. The pain rips into my flesh. I cry out again. I can't breathe. Why am I being taken apart? Help me. Help me.

He comes in and finds me moaning on the floor. He kneels down besides me. I talk for the first time since the movie started. "It hurts." I beg him to make it stop. The angel holds me but can't help me. The agony wraps around my chest over and over again. It squeezes and tears savagely into my heart. I won't survive this.

I look down on the floor to watch the blood as it leaves my body. The floor is clean. Not a drop of blood anywhere. I don't understand.

I see the card I dropped on the floor when the pain first came. It all comes back to me. I was late to meet her. She called him to keep her company while she waited for me...she cried out for me to help her...I didn't...then...she...she... fell.

"Where is she?" I ask him. "She's gone," he says.

I was right. I won't survive this. I leave my body there on the floor with him. But I send the rest of me away. My mind, sprit, heart, and soul have been taken to a place so far away that they will never be found. A place so dark, even the light of angels won't shine through.

Chapter Five

I'd like to kill the Sage. I'd like to rip him apart and throw the rest of him into the ocean. There are a number of reasons why I can't. First off, I'm the First Guardian, and the Sage is the only one who can be my guide.

He has been for every First Guardian since Julian. So it's probably not a good idea to piss him off. He has been chosen by the council as the only human wise enough to share information with. Although he does not know where the Triplex is, he can help us find where to begin.

He gives both sides the clue and tells us what he feels we are to know. So he is not only wise but untouchable. Akons and Guardians are not permitted to harm him in anyway. And the city where the Triplex is hidden is where the Sage will be found. Another reason I can't kill him or even take a swing at him is that he's six years old.

We have been here for a few days. The first thing we did when we got to Earth was go see him. The sound of the crowd ringing in the New Year filled the street as the six of us made our way to a little fish store off Canal Street.

The Akons should be waiting for us as soon as we come out of the Sage's home. The council had forbidden either side to strike until both sides had been to see the Sage. But make no mistake about it, the second we come out of the door, they will show no mercy.

I was prepared for anything the Sage had to tell me. I knew this fight would be very dangerous and lives would be lost. I didn't know exactly what would be said, but I was certain finding the Triplex and destroying the map inside it would be extremely difficult. Lucy had been trying for centuries, and she was getting better each time.

The Sage lived with an elderly couple who owned a fish shop. We all arrived in front of the door exactly at midnight. An old lady came and opened the door for us. She led the way to a small narrow waiting area with plastic chairs. She told us to wait there. Moments later, she came back out and showed us into a dimly lit room with "Jeopardy" playing on the TV. A little Indian boy sat at the table playing an intense game of army men.

The board in front of him had two groups of army figurines, one in black and one in white. I had never seen that kind of kid's army game. The pieces were extremely detailed and life-like. Both sides had an equal amount of men. Each man had wings. None of the angel-men stood in the same pose. Each had their own confrontational stance. The Sage studied both sides carefully.

"Welcome, Marcus," he said without taking eyes off the board. "Sage," I said, not quite sure what I should do next. I motioned to Meana and started to introduce her.

"This is the second guard—"

"—Ameana Rachael Jones," he finished.

Of course he knew her name. He knew we would be coming. He knew who we were and why we were here. He is the one human being on Earth who can decipher the complex pattern that the council has woven. He saw the "whys" and "whens" that we didn't.

"Who is Copernicus?" he said without taking his eyes off the board game. We looked at each other perplexed. Is this some kind of code? Were we supposed to answer him? Just then Reese tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the screen. The Sage was answering a question from Alex Trebek. All of us turned to the TV screen and waited for the result. The contestant had said the same thing just after the Sage spoke.

"You were right. How often does that happen?" I asked.

"Often," he said simply. I got the feeling he was never wrong. The others seem to agree with me.

Rio whispered to me, "I don't see anything."

"You are looking for my wave?" the Sage asked.

"This is the first time I can not see the wave of someone who is alive. You are radiating nothing," Rio explained.

"I have learned to control my emotions. There is nothing to radiate, Rio."

We all looked at each other. Even though we knew he was bound to know all of us, it was still freaky to have him talk as if he had known us for years.

"I have known you for years," he said. We all looked at him in wonder.

"Yes, I can tell what all of you are thinking. It's a gift from the council for my centuries of service," said the Sage.

"Better than a gold watch, I guess," Jay said.

"Jayden, I have always enjoyed your humor. Since the day you died, you have been... the life of the party on the bridge." The Sage smiled. I didn't know he could make jokes. But then again, I had no idea he could read minds.

He looked at Miku and called her name. "Little one, you and your brother have suffered a great deal. I feared you would go the way of darkness. But, alas, you have chosen the path of light. That says a great deal about your heart."

"I would never Turn. I wouldn't hurt anyone without good cause," she said.

"Do you know who was the first Guardian to Turn?"

"No, we have heard fragments, but we do not know the whole story," I answered.

"His names was Unclis. It was the third cycle of the Triplex. He was a very powerful angel. His powers were speed like Jayden and control over elements, such as earth and water.

"Four months into the mission, he began having doubts as to which side he should be on. He had seen much hardship in his lifetime. And once on Earth as an angel, he began to think that humans were pitiful creatures who needed help and guidance. He thought humanity should get a fresh start.

"But in order to make that happen, he decided that the Triplex should go to Atourum so that the Earth would be burned and ravaged beyond repair. That way that could start again. Unclis didn't Turn overnight. He battled these internal questions for weeks. Finally, when he had a chance to destroy the Triplex and he didn't, he Turned.

"His soul became as black as the night sky. He could no longer get back into the light, or the bridge. He had switched sides. The First Guardian at the time did not notice Unclis' weird behavior because he was so busy looking for the Triplex. Had he done a better job, he would have seen the changes in Unclis before he Turned and switched sides."

"You must look out for your team, Marcus. The longer they are away from the light of Omnis, the easier it is to let doubt and bad influences corrupt their soul. It's up to you, Marcus, to apprise the situation and make sure that good is not only winning on Earth but in the hearts of your team."

"Of course. We are all faithful to the light. No one on my team will Turn."

He stood up and faced me. "Such a heavy burden, isn't it?"

"It's what has to be done," I said.

"Yes, that is very true. All the same, remember Lucy will try to Turn any one of you. She cannot force you to join her, but each encounter you have with evil leaves its scar. And some are more painful than others. Do not be easily swayed by darkness. It will call you. It will invite you in with the sweetest breath and promise that you will never want. You must resist."

He looks into each of our faces. "All of you must resist."

"Can you tell us if we are strong enough?" Miku asked.

"Can you tell me if you're strong enough?"

"Well, alright. Can you tell us who wins?" Reese asked. The Sage just looked at him blankly.

"I had to ask," Reese said sheepishly.

"I know, you can't help it," the Sage said.

"Where do we begin?" Ameana asked.

"So quick to start."

I looked at Meana. "Well, it is a matter of life and death, is it not?"

"Yes, it most certainly is. But you will find that the biggest battle is within."

"I'm sorry, what does that mean?" Ameana said, somewhat impatiently.

"You have always been closed. I was hoping death would open you up."

"Open me up to what?"

"Love."

"I am open to it. I found it," she said, not wanting to look at me.

It didn't matter, the Sage knew about us. He turned and looked at me.

"Yes, a Guardian couple...this should be interesting."

I could tell Ameana was growing leery of the little boy nosing around in her business. She shifted her weight, looked away for a moment and rolled her eyes slightly. I placed my hand on the small of her back, signaling her to be cool and let him finish.

"What is scuba diving?" he answered another of Alec Trebek's questions. He was right again. That could get to be annoying.

He turned the TV off, then turned his focus completely on me. "I will need to see you alone."

Jay objected. I knew he would. He was okay so long as it was all of us or none of us. He had grown up in a tight-knit family, and this was as close to family as he would get.

Truth be told, we are a family. All of us protected each other like family. It's what happens when you are told that the one next to you has to help you save the world. You bond really quickly. On the bridge, all of us had gotten to know everything about each other. We knew what each other's Cores were, what led us to choose the light and what we most feared about this mission.

Jay felt uncertain that he could protect all of us, and although I'm the first Guardian, he is the oldest. He is like a big brother. It feels weird to order him around. But luckily he is usually on top of things. The twins are the most powerful twin Guardians that have ever been chosen. Miku can take out a whole city block with a verse of song, and Rio makes it impossible for the Akons to surprise us.

Because they are twins, there is said to be a power that they have once they pull together. We don't know what kind of power it is. The last set of twin Guardians didn't find out what their twin power was until they were in the midst of battling the first Akon. They held hands and each focused on protecting the other. The sheer will of the twins' connection enabled them to cause an explosion that took out two hundred blocks of what is now Russia. The twins are hoping they won't have to combine their power, as they are not sure what the results will be.

Reese and Jay are best friends, although you'd never know it. They compete over everything. Who's the strongest, fastest, cutest, you name it. It gets on my nerves. But they love each other in that 'I'll kick your butt if you don't survive this mission' kind of way.

Meana and Miku are closer now than they were when we were first chosen. Miku has an infinite amount of patience. That comes in handy when dealing with Ameana. Miku could tell right away that Meana wasn't used to having girlfriends. She was cold, kept secrets and never smiled. And Meana never gave more information than what was needed.

Over time she and Miku became friends, especially when Reese and Jay would challenge them to anything boys versus girls. She is fearless, calculating and brilliant. It's a good thing she's on our side, that girl is a force of nature.

She isn't like any other girlfriend I've had, even aside from her being an angel. She never seems to need anything or anyone. Meana is the very essence of independence and competency. Her mind is amazing. Her ability to plan and execute ideas is unparalleled.

She's also the most striking girl you will ever lay eyes on. But I'm always stunned by how little she cares about her looks. Angels in general are beautiful. That is because of the lightness coming from our souls; it illumines things and people around us. But Meana was even beautiful on Earth.

In fact, it's her beauty she sees as her greatest flaw. I never thought that. For me her flaw is how good she is at building walls. So good, in fact, that she builds them without even realizing. She is careful not to be too vulnerable around anyone, including—and sometimes, especially—me.

We respect each other greatly. We're almost on the same wave length. Sometimes, though, it feels like she doesn't really like humans. She seems to barely tolerate them. Maybe some time on Earth will help her find the goodness in humanity. After all, she is risking her soul for them. She should get a chance to get to know them more.

When she lived on Earth she told me she was very selective about what she did with her time. She said she knew somehow that she didn't have long to be on Earth. But me, I never thought I was going to die at sixteen. Looking back I'm glad I didn't know.

The Sage looked at Jay and said, "I will return him to you in the same condition I found him in, Jayden. You can trust me."

I gave a sign that I was okay with being alone with the Sage. Jay and the others left the room and waited for me in the hallway.

"Marcus Jason Cane. You know you are the youngest First Guardian ever?"

"I've been told the others were a year or two older."

"Please have a seat."

I did as he instructed. He motioned for me to look at the board.

"You see, the white is your side. The black is Atourum."

"Who's wining?"

"I let it play out."

"You have any money riding on it?"

"I have as much need for money as you do paper and ink. So much has been lost for paper and ink," he says sadly. At that moment, I see the age in his eyes.

"Yes, I am quite old," he said. This reading my mind thing is something I can't get used to.

"Don't worry, I can block out your thoughts if you wish."

"No, it's fine. What do I need to do to find the Triplex?"

The old woman came in with a teapot and two teacups. She poured tea for the both of us. We said thank you. She left us alone again.

"The truth is, I don't like tea," the Sage said. "I'd rather drink whisky, but she says that's not good for me. I'm a Sage. I should be able to drink what I want."

I smiled. I didn't think he'd be funny.

"Thanks, I try to keep things light. You know, considering."

"Sage, what is the clue?"

He got up and went to the window.

"Akons."

"Yeah, they're waiting for us to come out. It should be fun."

"I didn't think I'd feel this way."

"What way?"

"Sad."

"We can take care of the Akons."

"Yes, you are very capable."

"Sage, I don't mean to rush you, but..."

"Yes, we must get on to the business at hand."

He came back to the table and took out a flat oval made of glass. It was about the size of a silver dollar. He placed it on the table. There were tiny specs of gold floating inside of it. He put it in my hands. I looked down at the flakes swimming around. There was no information on it anywhere.

"When you leave this room, it will show you what you need to know. The moment you find out the clue, the Akons, will find out as well. The clue will only appear if both sides are viewing it. I gave them the same Plate I gave you. As soon as you look into it, so will they."

"I just look inside?"

"That is the answer to most questions, Marcus."

"Anything else?" I wondered.

"You can ask me."

"What?"

"That question which you are certain I am not allowed to answer but desperately want to know."

"Will we find the Triplex?"

"Yes."

I was almost lightheaded with relief. So, I actually wouldn't end the world. Good, for a second there....

I did something I have not been able to do in a long while: I smiled.

Then I addressed the Sage. "So, we will be successful and the world will be saved. Good, thank you. That helps. A lot."

"I didn't say that you would be successful. Nor that you would save the world."

"What? You just said we find the Triplex."

"And you will."

"Then that means we save the world. That's how it goes."

"No. Not this time."

I try to stay calm. I hate this talking in riddles nonsense. It's getting to me. How can he say we find the Triplex and still say we don't save the world? That makes absolutely no sense.

"I know it doesn't, not right now."

"Is it that we don't find the Triplex in time?"

"You will find it in plenty of time."

"So, what is it? What causes the world to come to an end?"

"You."

This was beyond irritating. This kid was just talking nonsense. "I need to know more. Why would I stand in the way of the mission I have been sent here to complete?"

"I will say this and then you must go and start your journey. You will find the Triplex but you will betray them all."

"You're wrong. I would never Turn. I would never betray anyone."

"We will see. The information in your hands will be the beginning of your end."

"That's crap. I won't Turn. I'm stronger than that."

"In time, we shall see."

"You're wrong," I shouted and stood up so quickly the chair fell to the floor.

"Perhaps," he said calmly.

Then he reached for the remote. And before turning on the TV, he said, "What is Antarctica?"

Then he turned on the TV. Alex Trebek was addressing the contestants.

"The Adelie Penguin makes its home on this continent."

None of the players buzzed in, so Alex answered it for them. "What is Antarctica?"

I hate Jeopardy.

************************

When I got out into the hallway, they all turned to look at me. My team. My family. The ones that, according to the Sage, I would betray. Should I tell them? No, why mess with their heads? It wasn't going to happen. The Sage made a mistake. I'm not gonna put that on them. They have faith in me and I will not give them a reason to doubt me.

"What's the clue?" Meana asked.

"It's someone named Emerson Baxter. We have to find him."

"The clue has never been a name before," Reese remarks.

Miku responded, "He's right. Past cycles have always had a place or an object. I've never heard of any Guardians having to look for a person."

"Well, we're looking for one now," I snapped. They look at me, taken aback by my reaction.

"The clock has started. Let's go," I said in a softer tone.

I didn't want them to know how utterly pissed off I was. But that was all pointless 'cause the moment I walked out of Sage's room, Rio picked up on my mood. That's why he had been quiet. He knew I'd probably bite his head off given the color I was radiating.

As we headed out, Meana came up to me. "What's wrong?"

"Besides being in charge of saving the world, having twice as many rules as evil and half the help?" I said bitterly.

She was about to say something, but I called out Rio's name so that we didn't have to get into a conversation right now. Not that Mena was likely to get distracted in a battle. I just didn't feel like repeating what the Sage said, not now anyway.

"How many of them are out there?" I asked.

"All six; Mayhem, Chaos, Frenzy, Agony, War, and your favorite first, Akon, Rage," Rio said.

"Where?"

"Rooftop across the street."

"Let's not keep them waiting."

We walked through the front door. Rio walked out ahead of us with his shield out. Just as he said, the Akons were lined up on top of the building across the street.

Chaos had used his mind control powers to get about thirty or so people to leave the New Year's Eve celebration and stand in front of us with improvised weapons. They formed a small but very determined mob, carrying broken glass bottles, box cutters, and makeshift bats.

"Are they all Pawns?" Miku asked her brother.

"Yes, they all have souls, so try not to hurt them."

The Pawn at the front of the line shouted something and launched at us with a metal rod. Mena used her eyes to lift the rod up and over his head. She had taken all their weapons and floated them high in the air where they couldn't reach them.

From the rooftop, Chaos silently ordered them to attack us even without weapons. This was an even better plan because we could not hurt them, and the Akons knew that. The humans punched, clawed and pushed us. More than trying to protect ourselves, we mostly tried to block the blows. Not that they would have hurt us, but humans are so fragile compared to angels. They come apart fairly easily. If anyone of us hit them in the wrong place, they would seriously get hurt.

"I'll get Chaos," Miku says as she slipped past the mob and flew up to the roof where the Akon had stood a second ago. I ordered Jay to go and help her take him out. Until Miku got Chaos under control, the mob would continue. Ameana lifted several humans in the air and into a nearby dumpster. Reese Blinked behind them and knocked them out.

The biggest guy in the mob was focused solely on me. No doubt it's Chaos' doing. The human swung a makeshift bat at me. I ducked every time. I looked around for something to hit him with that wouldn't cause too much damage. There was nothing.

Finally he took a swing at me and it grazed my head. He was expecting blood and guts to come pouring out. When that didn't happen, the shock made him pause for a second. That was all I needed. I took the bat from him, cracked it in two and threw it to the ground. He lunged at me; I moved out of the way causing him to lose his balance and land on the floor.

I stood over him. I finally got a clear look into his eyes. I saw his fear. I reflected it back. I can't reflect at full force because it would kill him, but I reflected a glimpse of his nightmare back to him. He cried out and covered his face with his hands.

Meanwhile, Miku had started singing to Chaos. He held his ears as if they are being stabbed. Miku can't kill an Akon with her siren song. She can kill Runners, Pawns and humans (that is, if we were allowed to). But she can distract Akons by causing immense pain. And she did that very well. Chaos was on his knees, screaming.

While on the ground, Chaos picked up a rock and threw it at her. The rock was about the size of a fist. Had a human thrown it, it would have no impact. But Chaos had such strength, the rock looked more like a rocket as it came hurtling towards her. She wasn't able to duck in time. It hit her by her temple and she went down. The song she was singing halted with an eerie silence. Chaos seized his chance and attacked her.

Rio looked up just in time to see what was about to happen to his twin. Horror spread across his face as he realized he would not be there in time to save her. Chaos pounced on her. She made the most wounded cry I've ever heard. Chaos settled in for a final blow when a strong breeze whipped by him. He looked down on the ground; his victim had been taken away by the wind. Chaos turned around to find that the wind was really Jay, who had managed to glide in and rescue Miku. She laid in his arms.

"She's good," Jay shouted down to Rio. He knew full well that if he didn't let Rio know the status of his twin, Rio would fly up there. Lucky thing he didn't go up on the roof because at that very moment, Mayhem shot out poison daggers from each arm. The six daggers made their way towards Ameana. Normally she would be able to call the daggers away from her; she has complete control of moving objects. But she was dodging lightning bolts coming from the palm of Frenzy's hand. She had no idea what was coming.

Rio bolted towards her, placing his body in front the oncoming daggers. His shield blocked them from reaching her. All six of the daggers landed on Rio's chest. Ameana was safely behind him. The daggers stayed in Rio's chest then dropped to the ground without causing any damage whatsoever.

Seeing that Reese had escaped death, Agony focused in on him and tried to control his body. He began to twist Reese's leg. Reese called out as the pain went through his body. He focused enough to Blink away before Agony could break his leg.

Seeing that his fellow Akon needed help, War closed his fist and sprayed something out of his knuckles. I didn't know what it was until he aimed at Reese, who Blinked, and the liquid hit the ground. It melted right through. It actually ate through the concrete.

"Reese, it's acid, watch out."

As War was busy trying to spray Reese, I flew over and rammed him in to the wall. Mayhem continued to shoot daggers from his wrists. Reese Blinked behind him and attacked him. They both fell to the ground. Reese tried to pin down Mayhem before he was able to shoot out more blades. But Mayhem administered a powerful blow and got away.

Before Reese had time to recover, Mayhem launched six daggers straight at Reese. There was no time for anyone, including Jay, to do anything about it. I called out Meana's name and she was able to call the blades to a stop mere inches from her body.

The mob had been taken care of. Some were in the dumpster, knocked out. Some were laid out in the alley, bruised but alive. I flew up to the roof where Rage had been waiting for me. He stood in front of me and I knew it wasn't a good idea to take my eyes off of him. Sure enough, his eyes glazed over with a dark film and seconds later a ball of fire appeared heading straight for the Guardians down below.

"Look out," I bellowed to them. They looked up and saw the ball of fire coming straight for them. Rio stretched out his winged shield and tried to cover the team as much as possible. He fell back, his whole body engulfed in flames. Had his shield not held up, he would have been tar.

I pulled a telephone pole out from the ground like it was a toothpick. I charged at Rage and wrapped it around him. He set fire to the ground beneath me. I rolled to the ground before the fire could spread to me. Rage threw another wave of flames at me. I rolled quickly so I wouldn't be charred.

I leapt off the side of the building. He quickly dove after me. I knew he would. I flew around wildly to avoid his wrathful blaze. There were several near misses, but I had to lead him where I needed him to be.

I flew across the street near the fire hydrant. Rage quickly swooped down to scorch me, but I was quicker. I flew up and over to the fire hydrant. I bent the hydrant until it busted into a spring. I manipulated it so that the water gushed and hit Rage directly.

"You're a little hot under the collar. Thought you might like to cool off." The water would not destroy him, but it would take him a few minutes to get away and recharge. That meant a few minutes where I could get the drop on him. The water pushed him backward and into the side of the building, leaving a huge imprint.

He looked possessed with demonic rage. But he would still need a few moments for the blaze to come back. He ripped a traffic light out of the ground and swung it toward me. I moved just in time for it to miss me and hit several cars. The windows shattered. The cars crumbled. Every car alarm on the block went off.

I knew it was time to go. Once humans arrive, we can no longer fight. The council would never tolerate Guardians fighting out in the open. And even Akons have to be careful of exposure. Besides, our first priority was to go find this Emerson person, get the Triplex from him, and destroy it.

I got back on the rooftop and called my team. I whistled a sound they knew to mean retreat. Jay had fled earlier and come back with a car. We all piled in as Rio shielded us. As we drove off, Rage's fire was back in full force.

He threw a ball of flames at the back of our car. The car was on fire. Luckily it was the back of the car. The tires had blown out. The car spun in the middle of the street. The smell of rubber and smoke filled the air.

"It's gonna blow. Get out!" Jay shouted. We all scrambled out and flew upwards. Jay stayed in the car. He would never leave it to explode in a populated area. "There's no time, Jay," Miku says from up in the air.

"I got this," he said as he pressed hard on the gas and careened down the street.

We followed as Jay turned the car into a dead end street. The car plowed into the wall and exploded. "Jay," Miku yelled, as we saw the explosion from a block away. We jetted over to the crash. The car was burning. Everything in it was melting into a sticky paste. We all stared at the flames that had engulfed what was left of our friend.

"You called?" Jay said from behind us. We turned around and found him in perfect health, with a smirk on his face. "Did you see how daddy took that corner? Yeah, my game's tight, kid."

Ameana rolled her eyes. "You are so juvenile."

"I'm so glad you're okay," Miku said as she gave him a big hug.

"I could do that," Reese said.

Jay countered, "What? That was a last-minute, risking-my-life, James-Bond-type joint. Respect it."

"You did okay."

"Hate'n."

"Where is the house you got us?" I asked Jay.

"Upper west side."

"Alright, let's get another car and go there. We need to Google this Emerson Baxter. Whoever he is, his life is about to change."

Chapter Six

Once we got to the house, everyone went to work getting information we needed. Not just on Emerson, but on Julian as well. He knew the council better than anyone. I sent Reese and Jay to look into the last address we had for him. The twins had narrowed the list of people named Emerson Baxter in New York City down to three. They went to check out their addresses. If they found Akons nearby, they were to call and wait for back up.

Ameana and I would look in the Muse to figure out where to go next. The Muse is a red leather-bound book in which past Guardians have written. It tells of their encounters with previous Akons, Sages and Runners.

The most important part of the Muse is the list of Sellers and where to find them. A Seller is a low-level criminal who committed nonviolent crimes while human but who died as a result of a selfless act. Due to their past offenses, Sellers cannot go to the light. But their last act on Earth proved that their souls have the capacity for good. So they don't belong in the darkness, either.

Both Omnis and Atourum agreed to give Sellers eternal life until they do something so pure of heart or so evil that they go directly into the light or the darkness. Sellers rarely know what to do with the gift they've been granted. More often than not, Lucy gets the Sellers in the end.

"Here, I found one that may be able to help us," Ameana said as she walked over to me and sat down on the sofa. I should have been paying attention, but I was thinking about what the Sage had said. I repeated the words over and over in my mind. "You will betray them all." The thought that I could betray my team was still impossible for me to digest. But what was even harder to doubt was the Sage's track record: he was never wrong.

"Marcus," Ameana called out again. I didn't know how many times she had said my name. I guessed she had been trying to get my attention for some time.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing, just...thinking."

"You've never been good at lying."

"Isn't that a good thing for an angel?"

"It's a good thing for a guy. What is it you're thinking about?"

"Something the Sage said."

"What did he say?"

I told her everything. She listened calmly and didn't speak for a full minute after I was done. I wanted her to talk and let me know what she was thinking, but Ameana's not one to be rushed.

"I can't see you changing sides. You are not the type to Turn. You don't have an inner conflict, do you?"

"No. I know exactly what I'm here to do, and I'm more than willing to do it."

"Okay, maybe this Emerson person fights with you and prevents you from completing your task."

"I thought about that. But even that doesn't make sense. How strong can this Emerson guy be?"

"The Sage is never wrong. If you Turn, it will be because of circumstances beyond your control."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, like Lucy forcing you to."

"I don't think I Turn because of Lucy. The Sage would have said that."

"It has to be something, Marcus. The Sage is never wrong."

"So you think I'm gonna betray the team? You think that I am gonna just sit back and let Lucy destroy everything?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying."

"You can't have it both ways, Ameana. Either you believe the Sage or you believe me. Which is it?"

"Don't make this about us. This is about the mission. You have to stay clearheaded about this. If the Sage says it's gonna happen, then it will. We need to think of some kind of back up strategy for when you Turn."

"Now it's 'when' I Turn? So that's it? The Sage says it, and suddenly it's a fact? Suddenly you have no faith in me?"

"He is thousands of years old. He is held in high esteem by the council."

"I'm not talking to the council. I'm talking to you. Do you think I will Turn?"

"I think the Sage doesn't make mistakes."

"So the answer is yes."

"I'm not saying it's any easy thing for me to picture, but the Sage had to have said it for a reason."

"I don't care about the council or the Sage right now. I'm talking about you and me. Do you think that I am capable of betraying the group?"

"Look Marcus it's not that sim—"

"Yes or no. Do you think I am capable of betraying the team? Betraying you?"

"The Sage is never wrong," she said softly.

"Thanks for your vote of confidence."

"C'mon, Marcus. What do you want me to say?"

"You said enough."

"You're being unreasonable."

"I didn't think you'd dismiss what the Sage said. But I thought you'd at least put up a token of doubt on my behalf."

I got up and slammed the door on my way out.

I could have taken off into the air, but the way I was feeling, I didn't want to fly. I wanted my feet on the ground. I was tired of all things angel-related: the council, the Sage and, most of all, Julian. I was so frustrated with him. I never knew him when he was a Guardian. That was way before my time. But he got on my nerves just the same.

It's his fault that I'm down here. Why didn't he just let the girl figure it out for herself? Why did he insist on helping her? What was it about this girl that he had to save her and risk everything? How stupid can one guy be?

It makes no sense to put everything on the line for one girl. He was a Guardian. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut. You ask me, any guy who would put his life on the line for a girl he didn't know is an idiot. Sure, I could see helping her out while she was on Earth—but on the bridge? Didn't the rules mean anything to him? Argh.

This walking thing wasn't going to help. I took flight and headed north. I wanted to get out of New York. Yeah, like that's your problem, I scoffed at myself. But I couldn't think of anything else. So I just kept going until I reached New England. I hovered above the Green Mountains. Usually the silence and the breathtaking views helped me, but not this time.

Finally, I came down at the edge of a small town. According to the sign, it was called Barre. And according to the sign, it had a population of 9,291 people, none of whom I had ever met, but somehow I was supposed to save. That is, if I could get past the Akons, the Runners, the Pawns, oh, and the Sage.

Alright, the real reason I was sulking on the cliff had nothing to do with any of them. I knew we could handle the Akons, we could even figure a way around Lucy. We might not beat her, but I think we could figure a way to get the Triplex before her. The problem is the Sage.

It's not the Sage you're mad at, fool. It's her, I said out loud to no one. And it was true. Yeah, the Sage had pissed me off, but my girl saying she thinks I'm capable of Turning? That doesn't just piss me off, it really stings.

I mean what does a guy have to do to get his girl to have some faith in him? She didn't even question the Sage. She just started acting like I was the enemy.

I broke off a piece of the mountain and threw it down.

"Um, first we save the planet, then we destroy it. Didn't you get the email?" I turned around and Jay was standing over me.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Rio called and said you were...you might need to talk," Jay said tactfully.

"No, I'm fine."

"What did Ameana do?" Jay asked.

"Every problem I have doesn't have to do with her."

"Okay."

We were quiet for a second.

"What did Ameana do?" Jay asked again.

"Is it wrong to expect some kind of trust and faith in the person you're with?"

"No," Jay said, sensing that I would probably throw something at him if he didn't agree with me.

"I'm serious. What is going on with that girl?" I asked.

"Okay, you want to catch me up?" Jay asked.

I couldn't tell him what the Sage said. It wasn't going to happen, so why should I? Anyway this isn't about him. I took a deep breath to calm down. It didn't help.

"I told her that someone a long time ago had said something about me that was completely untrue. I wanted her to agree with me, but could she do that? No. She just took the other guy's word over mine. What the heck is that?"

"What did this person say?" Jay wondered.

"It doesn't matter. She should have been on my side. I have always taken hers."

"Ameana's greatest attribute is her ability to understand. Try and tap into that."

"She understands cruelty. But the other things—kindness, appreciation, faith—she has a problem with."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I'm not saying I'm Omnis. I know I'm flawed. But I have been nothing but trustworthy and faithful. When do I get that back?"

"Are you sure she has it in her to give back?"

I didn't answer. I didn't think Ameana would so readily accept the Sage's prediction. It made me uneasy, to say the least.

*************************

Jay went home ahead of me. I sat there for another hour or so. By the time I got back to the house, I was somewhat calmer. I wasn't resolved, but at least I wasn't throwing things. I told Jay to have everyone meet back at the house so we could have a meeting. The Akons wouldn't attack any of the Emersons until they were certain which one had the Triplex. To do that they have to get a Trimeter and measure which of the three Emersons had been tagged.

Whoever read the highest on the meter was the one that the council had chosen. The Akons wouldn't get a reading before sunrise. Most Sellers hide from them. So it would take time for them to hunt one down. Sellers were more apt to sell to Angels because we're less likely to kill them. Even though Sellers always come back, they hate having to start all over again. It means a new scam, new clients and going through adolescence all over again. So, for tonight, this Emerson person is safe.

As for me and Meana, I'd have to figure something out. We needed to talk, but I didn't want to do it tonight. If I had walked into the house, I knew I would be having round two with Ameana. So to avoid that, I flew and landed on the roof. That way, we could get straight to the meeting. I found Rio waiting there.

"Hey, thanks for sending Jay."

"Did it work?"

"I haven't destroyed anything in an hour so, yeah."

"Glad I could help."

He went downstairs and called everyone to come up and join us. Once everyone had gathered, Reese and Jay gave us the run down. They said the house that Julian had lived in was empty but, by the looks of it, he had been there recently.

The twins found the three Emersons. One lived in Brooklyn, one in the Bronx and one right here in Manhattan. "I think the Manhattan guy is the one we're looking for," Rio said.

"Why?" I asked.

"He radiates the normal waves for his age: insecurity, uncertainty, and innocence. But he also has a color that I rarely find in humans his age: olive."

"What does that mean?" Reese asked.

"It means a hidden courage. If this guy were under attack, I think he could handle it. I don't think the council would leave a clue to someone who didn't have at least a show of inner strength."

"Good point. You and Miku cover him. Jay, Reese, you guys cover the other two Emersons just in case. Ameana and I will go find a Seller. We need to find one that has a history of working with Akons."

"There's a guy in the Muse, Tony-Tone. I think he's supplied them. According to past Guardians, he's the go-to-guy for anything," Ameana informed us.

"We'll head out in a sec. The rest of you get going." Before I had even finished talking, they were airborne. Ameana and I remained on the roof.

"You're not going to tell them what the Sage said, are you?" she asked.

"Why should I? It's not true. Why would I even worry them about it?"

"They need to know."

"There's nothing to know."

"You can't leave them in the dark like this."

"They wouldn't believe what he had to say. They have faith in me and aren't so easily convinced of my betrayal."

"You're making this personal, and it's not."

"Is it ever personal with you?"

"This is not about us. I'm the second-in – command, and I think your holding out information from the team is in poor judgment."

"I'm sorry you don't like the way I'm handling things. But it's my decision, and I am not saying anything until I feel it is absolutely necessary."

"So, you're gonna wait to Turn and then tell them?"

"I AM NOT TURNING!" My wings spread across the night sky and moved wildly.

"Don't you flare your wings at me! I am not here to agree with you. I'm here to get a job done and you're getting in the way."

"You aren't the only one who has to make this mission happen. We all have to play our parts."

"Good. Why don't you try playing the role of a First Guardian and take care of his team?"

"I am done having this conversation."

"You have to tell them."

"Because you think it's true?"

"Because it's your duty."

"I will. But only when I feel they need to know, and not one second before."

"You're just afraid that they will lose faith in you."

"Well, if they're anything like my girlfriend, they never had any faith in me to begin with."

"Marcus—"

"Enough."

Without another word, Ameana took off into the night sky. I followed her. She was taking me to see a Seller that she thought the Akons might have gone to. She took us to a pawn shop on the Lower East Side. It was still dark out and had we not had the strength of angels, it would have been a bad idea for us to be out.

The dark alleys and suspect-looking humans make for a scene in some kind of street-crime drama. We landed in an empty alleyway. The wind whipped and battered the garbage on the street. It smelled. The rats had long taken ownership of the area.

We entered the pawn shop and found random items on display. They had everything from guitars to baby monitors. They were held in place by Samson string. Samson is the guy who had had all his hair cut off by a woman he loved and trusted, Delilah.

But what they don't tell you is that Delilah then sold his hair to a Seller after finding out that it was as strong as that of an angel's. Samson string could hold a car in place on the wall. But the most impressive thing about Samson string is that it could not be untied by any hands other than the ones that had tied it. You also never needed more than a few inches, so it was something Sellers often kept it in stock and made good money off of.

The guy behind the counter was heavyset, with a hairy chest, a half-open button-down Acapulco shirt and a gold chain. The chain is a holder, just like the one Jay wears. Except Jay's is platinum. I'm guessing the pawn shop gets robbed so often, he keeps the Holder around as protection. A Holder is a bubble-like prison. Once it is thrown onto the floor, it traps the person it's been thrown at by encasing them in a film that can not be pulled apart.

I'm sure many robbers have been held in place at this shop until the cops came. Then, when the cops show up, the Holder is removed and it seems as if the robber just stayed behind to get caught. The truth is they were held prisoner by the holder chain around the Seller's neck. No robber ever got the best of a Seller. These are men and women who have lived not one but many lives. And each time Sellers come back to Earth, they get better at stealing and cheating.

Many argue that Sellers should be sent to the darkness, but every once in a blue moon, a Seller sees the error of his or her ways and gets entrance into the light. Also, the act that the Seller committed on Earth to be granted eternal life is always an act of courage. I guess it's hard to send a guy to burn to ashes after he has saved a baby's life or done something equally heroic. The Seller looked at us and gave us his best car-salesman smile.

"Well, I'll be a Runner's last meal. The Guardian couple right here in my little old shop! Can you shed some light on some of the rumors that have been circulating? Is it true that you had something going with another Guardian before Marcus? I hear you and the mood ring guy had a thing way back when."

She walked up to him slowly. She whispered something in his ear. I don't know what she said, but Tony-Tone's face went bright red.

"You will never ask me anything like that again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I was just curious."

"We didn't come here to be questioned. We came to question you. And if you tell us what we want to know maybe we won't have to end your cycle right here," I say.

"I thought you guys would be nicer."

"Tony, I'm low on patience. So if I were you, I'd play it real carefully," I warned him.

"Look, I can't tell you anything. I'm a Seller and we Sellers have a code."

"To rip off as many people as you can?" Ameana asked.

"Well, yeah. But more than that, we have to keep our clients happy. That means whatever they purchase is kept confidential."

"You will tell us what we need to know," I threatened.

"Okay, but you should know that I hold my profession in higher regard. It hurts me to break my code."

"We'll pay you."

"What do you need to know?"

"Did the Akons come to see you?" I asked

"Yeah, half hour ago."

"What did the Akons get when they came here?" Ameana said.

"They brought two things; a vile of weeping oil and—"

"Weeping oil? What's that?" Ameana asked.

"It holds memories like a collector, but only of the times in your life you've cried. You put it into someone's drink, and after they drink it, you take the cup and fill it up with water. The remains of the oil will reveal the last tearful memory of the person who drank it. On us it wouldn't do anything, but on a human, it's like ingesting bleach. The body rejects it. Three or four rounds of weeping oil can kill a human," I informed her.

"It would only take three rounds. I sold them the good stuff. It comes from the best hospice in North America. I only provide the best. I am not just a Seller—I'm a Seller who cares."

"You care so much, you sneak into rooms of terminally ill people, wait for them to cry themselves to sleep and gather all their tears," I point out.

"Hey, I didn't give them an illness. You can take that up with the council. All I do is gather up a few of their tears. And, by the way, the process doesn't stop there. I have to pay a guy to mix it, pay a guy to strip the salt from it—a lot of work is done to make it what it ends up being."

"You poor man," Ameana said without any sympathy.

"Poor is right. You wouldn't believe the overhead."

"What did they need the weeping oil for?" I asked.

"Yeah, like they would tell me."

"Make a guess, Tony. Guess as if your life depended on it," Ameana suggested to him.

"I'm guessing they just need information about a human's past. And once they've found the memory that they are looking for, they'll dispose of the human. That is, if the weeping oil hasn't already done that."

I had a lot I wanted to discuss with Ameana. What in this Emerson person's past did the Akons want to know? Which of the three Emersons would they give the oil to? What could we do to get the same information without hurting a human? Now wasn't the time to talk. Tony should not know more than necessary. He could not be trusted. No Seller could, really.

"What is the other thing they brought?" I asked.

"You mean stole. That's why we need a union. It makes no sense to get the gift of eternal life if any Akon, Runner or Pawn can take anything from us! How are we supposed to make a living? It's always the same thing. We live here in peace, and every six-six-six, you and Akons come and take whatever you want. It's injustice, is what it is."

"You can save your speech for the union meeting, Tony. We just need to know what the other thing was they bought," I told him.

"You guys are supposed to be the good guys. Don't you care about the injustice and unfairness of life as a Seller?"

"No," Ameana said.

He looked her over. He admired her beauty and her body. That irked me. I wonder if it would have had I not been her boyfriend.

"Tony, you try really hard not to stare at her like she's a candy apple. And I'll try really hard not to split you open like one, deal?"

"Ah, yeah. Sorry about that. What was it you wanted to know again?"

"What was the other object they brought?" I said impatiently.

"They got a Trimeter. The only one I had."

"So, they can gauge who has and has not been tagged by the council?" Ameana asked.

"Yeah, it takes a few hours, but the council's mark should show around the area of the clue."

"Good. We'll let them take us to the right one and take it from there," I said.

Tony joined in the conversation.

"It's been so long since I've been a part of saving the world. It's been like ten or eleven cycles at least."

"You're not a part of anything. If you had not given them the oil and the meter they wouldn't have an idea of what they are looking for," I pointed out.

"Hey, they threatened to kill me. You have no idea what it's like in that damn womb. Nine months is a long time to wait. Not to mention living off mashed peas and banana."

"You don't care that the world could end?" I asked.

"Only the humans would worry about that. The rest of us know it's pretty much live and let die, you know?"

I rolled my eyes. Ameana and I headed for the door. Tony called out to us.

"Can I ask you guys just one question?"

"What?" I said curtly.

"You guys are the first Guardian couple. I'm thinking that's gotta be kinda cool, right? Like Bonnie and Clyde?"

"They fought for the other team," Ameana pointed out.

"Yeah, but they were a team. You know, one for all, all for one type stuff. Are you guys anything like that?"

"No, we're nothing like that," I said, looking pointedly at her. And for the first time today, she didn't argue with me.

Chapter Seven

It was the day after New Year's and we were certain that the Akons had singled out which Emerson they needed. Rio was right: it was the one with the olive wave. Emerson had hidden inner strength. The twins went to Emerson's school to keep a lookout in case the Akons sent Runners to get him. The other two Emerson's were being followed by Reese and Jay.

Ameana and I went looking for Julian. The last place he had lived in was Roswell, New Mexico. We flew there in hopes of finding him. I'm sure Julian is paranoid. No matter how many cycles he spends on Earth, he always remembers that three large, powerful beings are very unhappy with him.

We arrived at a small café with ugly green paint and scary-looking creatures on the wall. Everything had an alien theme to it, from the alien-head coffee mugs to the flying-saucer pancakes. We asked around and the girl behind the counter pointed to a small room in the back. We walked in and found a small group of people milling around a few booths.

Julian was the first vendor we ran into. "The next show starts in ten minutes," he said as he motioned to a row of black T-shirts that read, "We won't go peacefully." I rolled my eyes. Yeah, this guy is all kinds of nuts. I wonder if he'll be any use to use at all.

"Are you Julian?" Ameana asked.

"The one and only, honey."

"Don't call me honey."

Julian turns to me and says, "She a real firecracker, huh?"

"You have no idea."

She glares at me. Yeah, we're definitely gonna have another fight later. That's the thing about her; she puts everything on the backburner until the business at hand is taken care of.

"Tell us about your abduction, Julian," Ameana said.

Suddenly he ran out of the room knocking down everything in his path. We went after him. He was headed down the street. There was no way to fly and get him. Too many people were around. We ran and caught him, but not before he started throwing things in our path to stop us.

"I know who you are," he said, terrified.

"Julian, we are not here to hurt you," Ameana said.

"I think they—" Before Julian had a chance to finish, a ball of fire hit the wall next to him and set everything around it ablaze. Ameana yanked Julian down to the ground. I used my body to cover them both. Rage was on the rooftop above us; he threw another fireball that nearly roasted us all.

"Keep moving," I instructed her. She pulled Julian along with her effortlessly. I picked up a metal rod that lay on the ground and hurled it at Rage. I nearly hit him, but he dodged to the side in a fraction of a second and the rod flew past him.

I blocked Ameana and Julian so that Rage could not get a clear shot. He sent another fireball at me, and I flew around it. The blaze was so intense my wings felt like they were on fire, although I was a few feet away.

I picked up the same rod and launched it at him again. He was so focused on throwing fireballs at Ameana and Julian that he didn't clear out of the way in time. He howled as the rod ripped through his shoulder. Just then, Julian slipped out of Ameana's grip. She had put all of her effort into protecting him and didn't think that he would flee when she wasn't looking.

Now, out of Ameana's hands, Julian was an easy target for Rage. Ameana called out for him to duck, but he didn't do it in time. The ball of fire went right past his head. I flew over to where they were. I tackled Rage, and we both hit the ground. Just then I saw Ameana take out her cell.

"Julian, run," I said. As soon as I said that, he took off. Ameana came over to Rage and I. She lifted him up into the air and backed him into a plate-glass window.

"The twins just called. The Runners are coming for Emerson," Ameana said.

"Go."

"What about you?"

"I can take care of Rage. Go!"

The ball of fire landed right where Ameana stood. Had Reese not called and Blinked her over to him in that very moment, she would have been gone. I breathed a sigh of relief as I headed after Rage.

Julian had not gone far. Rage swooped down and snatched him seconds before I got to them. I was hot on their tail. We were moving so quickly, we looked like a quick white flash. Most people dismissed ever having seen it.

Rage had never been able to out-fly me. He knew I would catch up to the two of them in a matter of time. I wondered why he didn't just drop Julian. Then I realized that they didn't want him dead: they knew he would only come back. They just wanted him to prevent him from telling us anything that might be helpful. That meant he definitely knew something.

Right as I caught up, Rage threw down a fireball and set a building on fire. Instantly, people started to scream. I wasn't torn for a second. Julian could wait. He would have to. I had to make sure the humans were okay. I swooped down and entered the building. People were running out so quickly they were in danger of trampling each other.

I picked up an old lady who had fallen near the entrance. I carried her out and placed her safely on the side walk. I went to leave her, but she called out for me.

"Please don't leave me," she begged.

I asked her what her name was. She said it was Clara. I told her how pretty her eyes were. She took my hand. We waited for the ambulance. When we got to the hospital, she said I could go. I guess she knew that I had somewhere to be. Before I left she said, "You're an angel. Thank you." I smiled and walked around the corner.

I wasn't worried that Clara knew that I was an angel. She mistook me for a kind human with a good heart. In truth there are three (here I would add the Paras—making it four) kinds of angels on Earth. The least powerful angel is the Traveler. They are the go-betweens for the council. They travel back and forth from Earth to give news bulletins to the council so they stay current.

The second type of angel is the Ground Walker. They are the ones most talked about in books and movies. They are the stars of the angel world. They get to follow humans around and guide them into making good decisions. The misconception about Ground Walkers is that they actually have bodies. They don't. They are on Earth as pure spirit and travel from person to person. A Ground Walker will see a good soul who might need courage or strength and will go inside that person's body and help them help someone else.

The last kind of angel is us—Guardians—teenagers who died too soon and who have been chosen to ensure humanity won't meet a similar fate.

As I landed on the roof, I saw Rio there waiting for me. I knew they were worried. I was supposed to be back hours ago, but the fire had really held me up.

"Where you been?" he asked.

"Rage thought it would be fun to barbecue a building full of people."

"Everyone okay?"

"Bruised, but not broken. What's up? Why do you look so upset?"

"Just thinking...."

I knew what that meant. Someone had brought up his Core. He hated talking about the last moments of his life on Earth. Both of them did. Since we all know that, I guessed the Emerson guy had brought it up. I didn't think it was a good idea to press the issue, so I let it go.

"How's this Emerson guy?" I ask.

"He's fine, considering he isn't a 'he' at all."

"He's a girl? Are you sure?"

"I haven't been on Earth in a while, but I think I can still pick out a girl from a guy."

"What's she like?"

"She has purple eyes and a weak stomach."

"Purple eyes?"

"And absolutely no sense of fashion."

"Is that all?"

"No, she's pretty cool. I mean she cried a lot, but that's to be expected. All in all, I like her. And Miku's in love with her."

"Miku loves everyone. Tell me more about Emerson."

"She threatened to beat up Jay if he didn't get out of her way. I was right: she's got a little fight in her."

"Good. She's gonna need it."

We went down to the living room where Ameana, Jay, and Reese were already gathered.

"Where were you?" Ameana asked.

"At a barbecue."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, but Rage got to Julian."

Reese called out for Miku and the girl to come out of the bedroom. I picked up the Muse and started looking thought it. I had a feeling that Tony-Tone wasn't being completely honest with us. I would have to run that by Ameana and see what she thought.

Finally, Miku and the girl came out of the room. I had already set it in my mind that I wasn't going to like this person. She would somehow try and get in my way, and that meant that I had to be leery of her.

I focused on the Muse. Miku introduced me to the girl. "Marcus, this is Emerson Baxter. She's gonna help us save the world." I looked at her quickly, then went back to the Muse. She was too short. Her hair was a tangled mess. Her T-shirt had a cartoon pig on it and was ugly and ill-fitted.

I wanted her.

I wanted to touch her. My eyes wanted—needed—to see her again, to do nothing more than to spend the rest of forever getting to know her.

Angry at my visceral reaction, I forced every part of my body to stay put and focus on the Muse. I had to give her instructions, but I would not, could not, allow myself to look her again.

What the heck is going on? Why can't I focus? I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. No, still can't make out the words in front of me. There was a buzzing in my ear, a painful sound that came from looking away from her. I didn't ever want to look away from her.

I didn't talk to her, I talked at her. I never took my face away from the Muse. I told her that we needed to know everything about her and that she had to stay in crowds. The Akons could not attack her in crowds. She told me that they came after her already. That enraged me.

Then she said she wanted to go home. I wondered what her home was like. What kinds of things she liked. Was she the girly type with tons of teddy bears and scented writing paper? Or the rock 'n' roll poster type who had no problem breaking the rules? What was her favorite song? Where was she when she first heard it? Who was she with when she first heard it? Was she with friends? Family? A guy...? Stop it, Marcus. Stop it right now.

I told Reese to Blink her home. I dared to look in her direction just then. She was going to get into Reese's arms. I had to leave the room. For some reason I couldn't bear to see her in another guy's arms.

I told Ameana we needed to talk. We went into her room. But it's like the girl was still there. Her powers didn't diminish because she was no longer near. If anything, they seem to get stronger.

Once in the room, Ameana looked at me strangely.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Why?"

"You looked flushed. And why were you so rude to her?"

"Are we sure she's human?"

"Yeah, I asked Rio earlier and he said she has a soul."

"Maybe she's a Pawn."

"I don't think she'd do evil things for money. When I pointed the gun at her, she looked terrified. She's not used to being around them. I've never met a Pawn who wasn't familiar with weapons. And if she was working for Lucy, why would Lucy send people after her?"

"Yeah, that's true."

"What's going on? Why are you so unfocused?"

"I don't know. Rage took a lot out of me. He burned down a building and lots of people were hurt."

"I'm sorry. Did anyone die?"

"No, but it was...bad."

I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. I sat down in the chair by the window. I wasn't lying (not completely, anyway): the blaze was hard to watch. I wondered if there had been a way to stop Rage before he set the building on fire. Any time humans get hurt, it gets to us. For me, the guilt is worse. If I were a better leader, would any humans be harmed at all? I looked out the window, deep in thought about the humans who had been hurt in past missions.

Then I wondered about the girl. Something could happen to the girl. My chest tightened and my jaw clenched. I ran my hands through my hair again. Ameana always said that was my way of telling her that I needed time out from being in charge. I guess she was right, 'cause I really didn't want to lead anything at that moment.

Ameana came over to me and sat on my lap. She weighs almost nothing. She wrapped her hands around my neck. I lifted my head and looked into her face. After all this time we still have secrets the other has yet to discover. Looking in her eyes, I was certain there were things she hadn't told me. I was also aware of how much I enjoyed being in her embrace. She had a softness to her that she rarely lets anyone see.

"Hi," she said simply.

"Hey."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Work."

"Is that the only thing you can think about?"

"Can you suggest something else I could focus on?"

She leaned in closer until our lips were almost touching. She never kisses me first. She likes to test me to see if I can get close to her and not kiss her. I never pass the test. I cannot be that close to her and not touch her. I moved in and closed the gap.

Her lips are soft and giving. She leans in and kisses my ear and down my neck. I gently return the favor. I'm slightly more forceful in kissing her than she was in kissing me.

It had been so long since we got close. It felt great to hold her again. Her skin was flawless and warm. I hold her face in my hands. I kiss her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks. Then I tug gently at her lips. I make my way down her neck. I know it's about to happen, and I know she hates it, but I can't stop myself. I was about to make her Shine. A Shine is a hickey on an angel.

A hickey on a human is actually a broken blood vessel that appears after a love bite. Since angels don't have blood, what appears comes from the glow and pureness of our souls. It's silver and luminescent. Also, instead of appearing on our necks, for some reason, it appears in our hair.

Ameana seldom gives me one. She thinks it is unbefitting for a First Guardian to walk around with a streak of shining hair. But every now and then I would give her one. I don't think she minded, per se. Shining only lasted a day or two depending on how much work went into giving it.

I think her issue was the team making fun of her. Namely, Reese and Jay. They were almost always the first ones to notice. She would wear a hat or try to hide her hair so that the Shine was sort of hidden. But they always knew.

Sure enough, the moment I pulled away from her, a long strand of Ameana's hair started glowing. Within seconds her head was completely illuminated.

"I'm sorry, Mimi," I said ruefully.

"Yeah, you look really sorry," she laughed as I went in for another kiss.

Good, Marcus. This is good. Kissing Ameana and not thinking about the human. That's very good. Yeah, I'm not thinking about her at all....

Chapter Eight

It's a good thing angels don't sleep. I don't think I could have had I been able to. I couldn't get Emerson off my mind, which I found irritating and completely unproductive. Everyone in the house was either guarding her or recharging. But I couldn't stand still long enough to recharge. My mind was on overdrive, trying not to think about her.

When Ameana and I arrived at school the next morning, I wanted to lay eyes on the human so badly, it hurt. Before I could, I got a text from Reese about a possible lead down on Wall Street.

We had just arrived at the location when Rio called and told us to come back to Livingston Academy. He said Emerson was under attack.

When I busted into the classroom and saw her lying there, it killed me. I had never been hit with such a powerful wave of sorrow. Never in my life as a human or an angel, did I feel such utter despair. Then I turned and saw Agony, and I had a place I could channel all my rage. And I did. I had never used that much force on anyone. Agony begged and begged for me to just kill him, but I didn't. I had never reflected that long on someone. It wasn't necessary. At that point it was pure torture, and that was very unangel – like, to say the least.

We finished with him, and the others went to tend to Emerson. I told them I would stay behind to be sure there were no more Akons or Runners. The truth is, I couldn't take watching her being laid out and put on a stretcher.

I walked into the hospital room later. I looked everywhere but at her. I couldn't. The others asked how she was. I should have done the same, but instead I was angry. When I finally spoke, I reprimanded her for not following instructions. Then I walked out of the room and headed down the hall. Ameana followed me.

"Why are you such a jerk to her?"

"She had no right to endanger herself like that. She could have died."

Then I realized that was the real reason for my behavior, the real reason why I blasted the girl for not following orders.

I could have lost her....

************************

I told everyone to give her some space. Maybe this was all too much for her and she needed to take a moment. They all agreed.

Later that evening, Rio was in his room when he saw onyx, the color that meant that a human being's life was in danger. The human who was onyx was somewhere nearby, Rio informed us. That meant that he and I were going to get into another argument.

Whenever Rio's waves turn onyx, his first instinct is to help the person whose life is in danger. I cannot allow him to do that. The only person whose life we could save was Emerson. That's because her life is tied to humanity's existence.

But to go out and a take a soul from Death that had nothing to do with the battle is strictly prohibited. The person who was radiating onyx had to die if that is what Time, Fate and Death had decided. Were we to interfere in any way, the council would punish us.

"I think it's a woman. She's only three blocks away," Rio pleaded.

"I'm sorry."

"That's bull, Marcus. You saved that old lady from the fire."

"I saved her from a fire Rage set, to distract me. That has to do with our mission. Anyone who doesn't have to do with our mission—"

"—can just die, right?"

"Rio."

"That sucks, and you know it. How can we just sit here knowing that someone is being killed?"

"It's New York. Someone is always getting killed."

"That's real funny, Marcus. I wonder how funny it would be if your little girlfriend was the one about to be murdered."

"Ameana can take care of herself."

"I wasn't talking about her."

"I'm not doing this with you, Rio. I'm not in the mood."

"She's only three blocks away. We can save her."

"No, we can't."

"Fine, I'll do it myself."

"No one can save her. It's her time to die. You know that."

"She needs help. What good are we if we can't help them?"

"We are helping. In the way that Omnis told us to. We can't stop Death from doing its work."

"It's just one woman. So, I save one lousy woman. What's the big deal?'

"Let it go."

"She's dying."

He rushed past me and went up on the roof. I ran after him.

"You will not save her."

"Screw this. She needs me."

He prepared to fly off. I put my hand on his shoulder. He looked into my eyes. He knew I was serious. He knew that I could and would take him down.

Jay had heard us going at it. He came up to us.

"C'mon, Rio. Let's go, man," Jay said to him.

Rio wouldn't blink. He was dark and angry.

"C'mon, man, let's go," Jay said again. Rio looked at me one last time with so much anger that if emotions killed, I would have died again.

Jay tried to talk to Rio, but he wanted to be alone. He went in his room. I went for a walk. The rest of them were all in the living room waiting for what they knew would come next. Soon the onyx color wave would disappear and the person who feared for her life would be dead. Rio would throw something at the wall. He always did.

I didn't tell Rio, but a few moments after the onyx color had begun to fade, I went around and found the body three blocks away from our house. She was a nice looking lady in her forties. She had been shot in the chest near the ATM.

I saw the guy who did it. I threw a Holder at him. The bubble kept him in place while I called the cops. I knelt on the ground beside the woman. She was scared. Her blood mixed with the slush on the ground. She looked up at me with pure fear. I put her head in my lap and held her hand. I leaned in close and talked to her.

"Where you're going is so beautiful, you'll never cry again." She looked up at me. I think what I said helped. I hope it did.

Back at the house, an angry cry and the sound of breaking glass came from Rio's room. The onyx was gone. The woman was dead.

****************************

The rest of the week, Rio was irritable and hard to be around. I couldn't really blame him. He was only doing what he felt was right. I would have done the same. We know that somewhere on Earth someone dies every few minutes, but it's different when you can feel their fear and know that you could help.

Emerson came over to the house one afternoon to make peace. That annoyed the heck out of me. It was bad enough I had to wrestle myself to stay away from her and that my girlfriend was barely talking to me. What was the point of her coming over if she wasn't going to tell us her secret?

So, I'm still a jerk in Emerson eyes. But I thought I might try and mend things with Rio. That way I could at least try and get my friend back.

"I'm sorry about the onyx. You know, if it was up to me, I would have helped you save her."

"Yeah, right. You were just doing your job," he said bitterly.

I could have told him that I had gone to be with the lady before she died, but I don't think it would have helped. Besides, I didn't do it to get credit. It pained me that I had to watch her pass away.

"I'm doing my job, Rio," I said gently.

"Yeah, is that's why we haven't found Julian? Is that why Emmy's still keeping a secret and Ameana can't stand the sight of you? Because you are doing your job so well?"

"You know, I'm really tired of babysitting you. You knew when you were on the bridge that saving lives that are destined to die is not allowed. Now you get here and have a damn tantrum like a damn six-year-old. Grow up."

"Go to hell." That was the worst thing an angel could wish on you. He stormed out of the room, and I left the state. I went to the Green Mountains again. Miku came along shortly.

"I'm tired of being mad at you," she said.

"Is that even possible?"

"Yeah, it is. So say you're sorry for snapping at me."

"You know I am."

"Yeah, I do."

"You're a great Guardian. You've always done your share."

"Yeah, I'm a wonder," she said. I turned to look at her. She was so adorable. You would never guess that death was only a melody away from her lips.

"How's your brother?"

"He hates you."

"The line's long."

"Really long."

"How is she?"

"Which 'she' are you talking about?"

"C'mon, Pretty." She loved when I called her that. I had told her that the first thing I thought when I found out what her power was, was that she was pretty and deadly. I always called her that when I was trying to get something from her or cheer her up.

"If you mean Ameana, she's okay, considering."

"Considering what?"

She looked at me as if to say, "Don't be stupid."

"You have to go get it, Marcus."

"No, I love Ameana."

Miku wanted me to go get my heart from Ameana. Angels are basically made up of two parts: our hearts and our souls. The heart represents our physical life and the soul is our life now as angels. Since we could not give our souls away, we literally gave our hearts. Since we don't need a heart to stay alive anymore, we keep it encased in a shatterproof glass called the Rah.

Giving someone your Rah was the equivalent of a human marriage. When and if one angel wanted their heart back, they both needed to open the Rah together. That meant that both parties were okay about the change that was being made. If both parties didn't open it at once, the Rah would not open. This was Omnis' way of ensuring that both angels had talked things out and held no bitter feelings.

Ameana has my Rah. We had made the trip after we fell in love. It was the first time we were on Earth together. I am not going to tell her that she now has to travel with me to get it back. I will not break her heart.

"I can't ask her to do that, Miku."

"Well, you better do something."

"I love Ameana."

She was quiet. She always was when it came to the subject of love. I think in her mind, that's the reason why she died.

"Hey, I really am sorry I snapped at you. How do I make it up to you?"

"The next Runner I kill, I want to play with. I want full reign to maim, burn or let bleed out as I see fit, deal?"

"Deal."

That girl is one creepy little angel...

Chapter Nine

Miku suggested I invite Emerson to dinner. Maybe having a meal together would help to relax her and let her know she is among friends. After dinner, I drove her home.

Sitting there in the car, a part of me bitterly resented what she was doing to me. I know it's not her fault, but does she have to be so... alluring? Could she do something about the adorable way she looks up toward the sky when she's thinking? Or the way her eyes fill with wonder when we do something humans can't?

And what about the way her laughter sounds like a melody too sweet and complicated to be replicated by any known instrument? Surely she can do something to stop that. Argh!

I make myself count down from one hundred. That way I can focus on something else besides the spot between her earlobe and neck. It looked so soft. Her lips were slightly parted as she looked out the window. I wanted to part them further with mine.

I put my both hands on the steering wheel. I could not allow myself to let go until she was out of the car. I cracked the outer frame of the steering wheel because I was holding on too tight. Jay would kill me, but better Jay than Ameana.

Suddenly, she leaned in and kissed me. It was far better than I could even begin to explain to you. It's a good thing angels don't breathe. I would have stopped right then and there. Her lips are soft like clouds, and I would know.

I've fought Akons, Runners and Pawns. I've died a slow painful death on Earth. And nothing, nothing can compare to how hard it was for me to pull away from her lips. I don't think I could bring myself to do it twice in a lifetime. I pulled away. The look on my face shattered her. She ran from the car.

I called out her name but I stayed where I was. What would I do if she were in my arms weeping? There was no mistake about it: if I got out of the car and went to her, there would be nothing angel-like about the way I'd touch her.

***********************************

Here's the thing—when do I tell Meana? There is no question as to whether or not I tell her. I couldn't stand myself if I didn't. I owe her that. Besides, girls always know these things. I guess it's some type of woman's intuition. That's what I've always been told.

I have to be real careful about how to break the news to Meana. She could hurl me to the moon or send Emerson into orbit. Losing Julian was bad, but losing the only clue we had? That would be catastrophic.

A few hours later, Ameana came home. She barely nodded to me as she went off into her room. I knocked on the door and waited for her to answer.

"What?" she said.

"Can we talk?"

"I'm not in the mood, Marcus. Go fight with someone else."

"Please, Mimi. It's important."

"Fine."

I opened the door and came in. She was leaning by the window, looking out at the city.

"Did you decide to tell them yet?" she asked.

"No, it's not about that. It's about us. Well, me and the girl."

"Emerson?"

"Yeah, she kissed me."

"Okay."

"That's it?"

"Thanks for telling me."

"Don't do this, Ameana. Don't shut down on me. It was hard to come tell you this, but I did because I wanted to be honest with you."

"Honest? You want to be honest?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Excuse me?"

"When are you planning to grace me with this honesty?"

"I'm doing that now."

"No, you're covering your butt in case I find out about it."

"I didn't even think about that. I wanted to be honest."

"Then admit to me that you have wanted her since the day you saw her. Admit that saying her name out loud is hard for you because you want her so much it hurts. Admit that you kissed her back."

"She kissed me and I pulled away. I can tell her not to do it again. I can make sure she understands that you and I are together."

"Before you explain that to her, maybe you should try reminding yourself."

"I know we're together. I haven't done anything to betray that."

"Did you like the kiss?"

"What?"

"Don't screw with me. Marcus. I'll wrap you around a power line. Answer the question."

"No, I didn't like it."

"You know what hurts, Marcus? Not that you want her. Not that you think about her all the time. It's not even the fact that you let her kiss you. What hurts right now is the lie you just told me."

"Mimi...."

"Get out."

"I'm just trying to—"

She waved her hand and catapulted me out the window and onto the other side of the street. I hit walls and lamp posts along the way. Man, that hurt. But I didn't pull rank on her. She had a right to her anger. I had messed up badly. The worst thing is if I had a chance to kiss Emerson again, I would. And the only girl I've ever loved knows that.

*************************

The next day, Reese had gone over to Emerson to make sure I didn't completely wreck her self-esteem. Jay and Ameana had gone out together to hunt Runners. I got a text from Jay that read "Meana on way, pissed. Duck."

What does that mean? I didn't have to wait long to find out. I was sitting on the stairs feeling like a complete loser when something came flying towards my head at inhuman speed. I ducked just in time. It crashed and hit the wall behind me. It was a Splash, and Meana had thrown it at me from down the street.

"Whoa, what the...?"

"You lousy, no good bastard!" she shouted.

"What the heck was that?" I asked again.

"Read the Splash, Marcus. Read it."

I turned around to where the globe had hit the wall. The words that splashed on the wall had formed into a newspaper behind me. In the center was a picture of me and Emerson kissing. I walked in closer to read the article on the wall.

Guardian Couple Woes could ground 'Walkers'

By I. M. Trouble

Hello, my little winged ones. I have some troubling news to report to you. It seems that our beloved first Guardian couple may be headed the way of Brad and Jennifer. And who is the Angelina in all of this you ask? Well, it happens to be the human, Emerson Hope Baxter. That's right! As the picture shows above, the human has her claws—or should we say her lips—around our very own First Guardian.

Where is the devastatingly beautiful Ameana while the human tackles her man? Well, some say she has taken to bed, ill with heartache. Others say she couldn't care less about what the hottest, youngest First Guardian is doing because she is too busy with another guy. Who could this other angel be? Some speculate it's dark and sexy chocolate, Jayden. While still others insist it's none other than our favorite mood ring of hotness, Rio.

Given the state of the current situation, is it any wonder Ground Walkers are worried about their jobs? If the Guardians don't save the humans, who will the Ground Walkers inhabit to spread good on Earth?

Maybe he's saving the world one girl at a time. And as for the human males? Oh, who cares? Look at the lips on that girl. Nice, Marcus, very nice....

*******************************

I read it twice. I wanted to make sure that this wasn't some kind of nightmare, but it was all real. I had messed up and my mistake was plastered in front of the world. I turned to look at Meana but she was gone. I ran up to her room but she wasn't there. The only shred of good here was that I had told her the truth about the kiss having taken place before it hit the Splash.

And that was the only thing that stopped me from being a complete jerk in her eyes. But what do I know. Maybe there was so much damage done that it didn't matter that I told her before it came out. Maybe everything was beyond repair. I headed for the mountains again

Why was Ameana acting like that? I guess hearing about the kiss is different then being confronted with the picture. I knew how they got it. Traveler angels have amazing hearing. That's one of the things that you need to have to be chosen as one: hearing, speed and a talent for being really nosy.

They can't overhear everything, but if we are out in the open and a Ground Walker is nearby, there is a good chance that a Traveler is, too. GW angels always want the rest of us to know what they are up to. Some do it to strengthen our faith in humanity. Others do it so they can brag about what great angels they are.

Since we were chosen to battle for the Triplex, every Splash has been about us. I think it has made some of the GW angels jealous. Well, they can have the fame if they want it. I hated having everyone in my business. It wouldn't be that bad if they'd get it right once in a while, but they never do.

The way they got the picture is the way all Travelers get it: they snap their eye shut. It blinks a flash of light and takes a picture. It's like they have a camera in their eyes. When they go to the council, the council looks into their eyes and reviews all their shots. They are only supposed to be taking picture of things that are relevant to the council. But many make time to get a few "juicy" shots and spread them across a Splash.

The next day at school, I caught up with Meana in the hallway. She wanted nothing to do with me. I cornered her anyway.

"Five minutes."

"No."

"Okay, three."

"Go away."

"Okay, two minutes. If you don't like what I have to say, you can send me to the other side of the world."

I take her into the same class we were in the last time. I didn't think she'd let me touch even her shoulders, so holding her hand was out of the question. I looked into her eyes and hoped she'd give me a break and listen.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to hurt you. I should have pushed her away the second she came up to me. I love you and I don't want to lose you."

"No, you want her. You're just afraid to say it."

"If she's the one I want, then what am I doing here with you?" I pull in close and kiss her passionately. And thankfully she allows me.

When we got back to the house, Rio was there with a grave look on his face.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Emmy's onyx. We gotta go."

"Mimi, go secure her mother," I ordered.

"On it," she said as she ran up to the roof. The twins and I took off right behind her. Reese and Jay were already en route.

By the time the whole ordeal was over, Emmy had watched her friend get killed by a Pawn and there was nothing she could have done. So, as it stands now, both Emerson and the Triplex are out of our reach.

Chapter Ten

All our endeavors to get Emerson to come back to the land of the living have failed. She's completely shut down. Everyone has tried to figure out a way to get her to come back and be her old self again. Nothing has worked. Right now it feels like we are babysitting more than protecting a clue that could save the world.

I was on watch duty when Jay came up to me and asked if he should take a crack at trying to cheer up Emerson. I told him it was worth a try and he went up to her apartment. Her mom had been working less so that she could be there for her. Seeing her daughter lifeless was a great strain to Marla. She had bags around her eyes and had bitten her nails.

A few moments later, Jay comes downstairs with Emerson. She's wearing faded jeans and a thick coat. Her hair is a tangled mess. It reminds me of the first time we met. I really wish we didn't have to be here to do this to her. It's one thing to watch someone die, but to be told that you have to get over it is cruel. And that is exactly what we have told her.

She's been a zombie for three weeks now. I shouldn't have let her stay in that state for this long, but it broke my heart to know that she was suffering. Still, I cannot allow her to stay this way for more than another day or two. We are running out of time. She is the only thing we've got going for us, and I can't let her tune out the world. If she does, when she comes out of her depression there might not be a world to tune in to.

Jay sits her down on a bench across the street. I stand nearby to watch out for Akons. I give them enough distance that they can talk, but I am able to overhear them. Jay speaks to her with warmth and concern.

"Are you sure you want to be out here, Emmy?"

She nodded. That's what she almost always did now. Jay tried again.

"Hey, I know this stuff is hard, Emmy, trust me. But it gets better."

She just looks at him with deep sorrow. He puts his arms around her and zips up her coat protectively. He starts telling her his Core in hopes that it will help her come to terms with Sara's death.

"I know how hard it is, believe me," Jay said. As he continues to talk, I pick up on the sadness behind his voice. Jay rarely speaks about his Core. I listen intently.

"I lived on Adams and Crenshaw, the welcome mat to the hood. We didn't live like boys in the hood with gun shots every minute, but we weren't the Cosbys, either. It was my mom and dad, my sister, and I. My dad was a parking-lot attendant and my mom was a receptionist. We had lived in our neighborhood forever, it seemed.

"Everyone I knew had belonged to some kind of gang. My mother had the gang talk with me real early. She said, 'You join, you die. 'Cause I'll kill you.' That was her 'stay away from gangs' speech.

"Every time we could have done something wrong, she steered us back on the right path. She'd threaten to break our necks, our behinds and go upside our heads. I'm not even sure how she was planning to do the last one, but I was careful not to find out.

"But all in all, I was happy. My mom cooked better than anyone on the planet. I would wait until she turned her back and then sneak into the kitchen and pick at the food. She said that since I was spending all that time waiting to steal, I might as well learn how to cook. So, every day after school, I had to come home and chop, season—you name it.

"Later on I realized that it was just her way of keeping us off the street. She made sure we were in the kitchen or doing homework. There was no wiggle room on that. We got teased because we could never come out and play like every other kid. But you didn't argue with my mom. She was barely five feet, but she could take you over her head and be 'bout it. We were all afraid of her, including my father.

"One night we heard shots. That was not an everyday thing around my way, but it wasn't unheard of. A few minutes later we heard cop cars. A woman down the street was screaming. Later that week we found out that her son James had been shot. The gang he was running with heard he was trying to get out.

"That was the fourth son she lost to violence. The other three were victims of drive- bys: two died on the street and the other one died on the operating table. She had had five sons. She was now down to one. His name was Will. He was nine years old.

"A few days later he asked me to help him write a letter to his mom. That way when he got shot, she'd have something to remember him by.

"I decided to look after him from then on. I went over there every day. I helped him with his homework. I helped him make dinner with for his mom and we played video games.

"One day I came over to check on his homework and he said he didn't do it. I asked why, and he said he didn't know what the point was. His mother was never going to stop being sad all the time and nothing he did was going to bring his brothers back.

"I went over when Will was still at school and I told his mom that she was missing out. She got mad and threw me out, but I came back. I kept coming back until she had no choice but to hear me out. I told her that she had to come back for Will. She couldn't just drown in her sadness because she would lose the only reason she had left for living.

"Later that night, when my family and I were having dinner, Will and his mom came over. She put a loaf of potato bread on the table and said, 'My son said you taught him how to make this bread. He was so excited to show me how, I had to let him. He did a great job. I didn't know he was learning to cook. I was missing out. Thank you, Jayden.'

"A year later, the gang that his brothers had been a part of was looking for kids to be lookouts. They wanted them to stand on the corner and tell them when cops where coming. Everyone in Will's class was scared or excited, depending on what they had been raised to believe about gangs.

"It was a week until my 17th birthday and Will wanted to get me a gift. I told him it was okay and that I didn't want anything. He insisted on getting me something. I told him he could sketch me a car with rims and everything. He had a knack for drawing. But he wanted to impress me by buying me a real gift from the store.

"When the gang had come around scouting who had what it takes to be a good lookout, Will had asked them how much they would pay. He knew that being in gangs was wrong, but he didn't plan to be in one. He only wanted to work for them for a few days so that he could get enough money to get me a good gift.

"They picked three lookouts. Will didn't make it. He was bummed out about it, but he was determined to get the money for the gift. So, he went to the hangout spot and tried to get a job scouting. They paid him no mind. He had been in the local paper because of his brothers' deaths. They wanted someone low-profile.

"I went around his way and I couldn't find him. I asked some of his friend and they told me what he was up to. I went straight to the club on Jefferson where I knew I could find him. Just as I got there, some member of the rival gang drove by. I saw two guys pull out guns from the back seat of their cars. They were spaying bullets everywhere.

"I rushed in and tried to find Will. Everything was happing so fast. I saw the car making another turn about to strike again. I ran faster than my body could take me. I made it to the club's entrance.

"I ran inside, and there were bodies on the floor. I looked, but Will wasn't among them. I went to the back and didn't find him. Finally, I made my way to the bathroom and burst open the door.

"I felt the bullet rip into my chest. Will had shot me. He peed on himself. He had thought I was with the gang and was there to hurt him. He looked so shocked; I think he was in more pain than me.

"I was bleeding badly. But I wanted him to get as far away as he could from the scene of the crime. I took the gun, wiped it and threw it among the bodies. I had Will help me to the back alley. He was crying and saying how sorry he was.

"I knew I was dying. The pain didn't matter. The only thing I wanted was to run away with Will so that his life wasn't ruined by a mistake."

"But he wouldn't leave me. I tried to get him to go, but he just sat there. The cops came around. They picked him up and took me to the hospital. I was in and out of surgery. I faced one complication after another. When the case came to trial, they tried him as an adult. My doctor wouldn't let me go to court. The jury came back with a guilty verdict.

"His first day in prison, a fight broke out between two men. Will was caught in the middle and died of a fatal stab wound. An hour later, I was taken in to the operating room due to complications from my last surgery. I never made it out."

I didn't know the whole story. This is the first time I'm hearing the complete version of Jay's Core. I could see where he got the power to glide from. As he was dying, he wished he had run faster to get to Will and save him. Knowing Omnis, he gave Jay the power to "convince" people because he had already had a way with them. That's why he was able to get Will's mom to snap out of her depression.

"I know pain, Emmy. I know what it's like not to want to let anything in. But if you block out pain, you also block out the good stuff," Jay says.

"Can you take me home now?" she asks.

"Yeah, let's go." He is dejected and sad. He helps her up and walks her back into the building.

I want to tell Jay to cheer up. We'll figure out a way to get Emerson back to normal. But I think she isn't the only reason for the sadness in his eyes.

**************************************

Later, Jay is still a bit down. I figure out a good way to cheer him up. Not just him, the whole team. Since things with Emerson have been at a standstill, the team has been really down. So, I thought I'd raise their spirits. It does no good to fight for a world you aren't happy to be in. I have to reintroduce them to the joys that Earth had to offer. And I know just how to do it.

You may not know this but angels are adrenaline junkies. It's not easy for us to die or even risk our lives. Aside from Atourum's Akons and demons, very few things can kill us. It's almost impossible for a human to take us out. The only other danger stems from nature. And we are more than happy to test ourselves against it.

I don't understand why humans test nature. Almost everything on planet Earth is stronger than them. They can be taken out by fire, water, mudslides, and avalanches. But us, we have to go to extremes in order to feel challenged by anything on Earth. Knowing that we have a soft spot for action and adrenaline, Omnis has long since cautioned us against doing anything reckless while on Earth.

It's one thing to jump from building to building, but purposefully seeking out danger is highly discouraged. So, of course we all did it. If Omnis had told us that we would lose our souls if we did anything needlessly risky, most wouldn't. But him saying "be careful" is like waving a red flag at a very powerful bull.

The top two risky games we like to play are Runner Ball and Soul Diving. Runner Ball is just like soccer, but far more dangerous. While Soccer has eleven players on each side, Runner Ball has five.

Nothing on Earth can withstand the strength with which we kick the ball. The only thing that can is a Holder. But we need something inside it to weigh it down. So, we tie up a Runner into a ball and put him in a Holder. It encapsulates him and he can't get out. The Runner is the ball.

The goal is to drive the ball into the other team's goal, just like in regular soccer. Each time a player gets the Runner Ball past the other team's goalie, that is thirty three points. A game can last two hours and the teams will only score one or two goals. Just like Soccer, Runner Ball is a low scoring game. But unlike soccer, the ball can fight back.

Before the Runner is tied into a ball, he is given a Snap. A Snap is a gumball-looking treat that gives you powers for a few minutes. When a player kicks the ball hard enough in a certain spot, the ball will crack and the Runner will be set free. The Runner will then use whatever power he has been given by the Snap to defend himself.

The kind of Snap the Runner eats depends on the teams playing. Let's say there are two teams—Red and Blue. If the angels on the red team know that the Blue team is full of clumsy angels who suck at swooping and diving, they'll feed their Runner a Snap that makes the other team have to swoop a lot in order to catch him. If the Runner escapes, the Red team wins 300 points. That usually means they win the game.

But if the Blue team captures the Runner and delivers him to the opposing goalie, the Blue team would get 300 points. That is, if the Runner is still alive. If the Runner is delivered to the goalie dead, it doesn't count.

It's easy to take out a Runner. But to mess with him just enough and not kill him takes skill. Many angels who are new to the game have killed Runners. In the game of Runner Ball, rookies are called Reapers because they always killed Runners and cost their teammates the game.

Have you ever been hanging out with friends outside and you get a sudden chill? There is no wind in the air. It's just a slight stream of cool air that brushes up your arm. That's us kicking the ball. The best place to play in is Ireland. The lush open fields are ideal. The trick is to find a field where humans aren't around.

The other game is Soul Diving. It came about by accident. An angel named Tamera lost the only man she loved when he died and went to the darkness. She pleaded to go and join him but the council would not allow an angel to just go to the house of fire. Tamera called upon Atourum and pleaded her case. While Atourum could not force the Council to change its mind, he allowed a Port to lead directly to the house of fire.

He placed the Port at the bottom of the second highest mountain in the world. He knew that humans would very likely try and conquer the highest mountain, Mount Everest. He didn't want them to accidently fall in the Port. If that had happened, the council would punish him.

The council allowed Atourum to put a Port at the base of K2. But whoever chooses to fall into the Port has to jump straight down and not use their wings. Once they use their wings, they can still pull up and save themselves. It's kind of like a fail-safe.

Tamera was the first angel to dive right off K2. She didn't pull out her wings once. She descended into darkness and was never heard from again. Ever since then, K2, which is located in Nepal, has been known to angels as Tamera Falls.

In the beginning, angels only dove off Mount Everest. It was a rush, but it wasn't as scary and risky as we would have liked it to be. And Atourum was right: humans were everywhere. Well, at least their bodies were. Everest was littered with human bones. For us, seeing them was like being reminded of work.

So, we started diving off of K2. Then, as the centuries wore on, we began to dive closer and closer to the Port. That's where the risk is. We would go to the top of K2 and fall straight down. And we had to face the same fear that humans do.

If an angel falls off K2 and never once uses his wings to pull himself up, he goes straight to Atourum. No review. No council. So you have to be very certain of your skills in the air. We would dive two at a time and race to the bottom. The angel who pulls out his wings first is the loser.

There have been three angel deaths in Tamera Falls. One angel was so bent on winning that by the time he went to pull out his wings, he had already hit the Port. The other two died because they had a Collector while they drove. They thought it would add to the excitement if they disappeared and then reappeared during a fall.

That was stupid. If you miscalculate by a fraction of a second, you will die. And that is exactly what happened. When they came back from their Collectors they didn't get a chance to pull out their wings.

Many have argued that Atourum should close the Port, but every year when the Port issue comes to the council, Death votes it down. The theory is that if any angel wants darkness so badly that he would be willing to fall into it, then so be it.

All three types of angels go to Tamera Falls. Even Ground Walkers will come in human bodies. But they make it so that the human later has no memory of the fall. It's rare for Ground Walkers to come because it's hard to find a human who has enough courage and strength to endure that fall. Even with added protection from Ground Walkers, humans make horrible jumpers.

Tamera Falls was the only place where we could hang out with Para angels. They are the fourth and biggest group of angels. The name is short for Paradise. They live up in the light and rarely come down to Earth. They are perfect in everyway. They are what we will turn into when we find the map and save the world. That is our reward. We will stay in the light and never see the darkness again.

Para angels are calm and self-aware. They don't brag, like GWs do. They don't gossip like Travelers. They are the closest things to Omnis an angel can become. It's rare for them to go to Tamera Falls. But when they do, word gets out. Every angel who can, comes around to see them make the dive. They are flawless. They never pull their wings out until the last second. Never has a Para angel fallen into the Dark Port. They are too quick and too graceful.

So, after Meana and I go see the Sage, I'll take her out on a date. Then when we get back, we'll see if we can get everyone to Tamera Falls. They can have a little fun and kick back. We don't ever get to come down here unless we are taking a Rah with a loved one or saving the planet.

So, we should try and make the best of it. I know everyone is worried because we are not as far along as we would like to be. But staying at home and worrying won't help anything. So, later we will go off to Tamera Falls and see how our wings handle the dive. Then maybe we'll play some Runner Ball. Guardians vs. Travelers. Yeah, we'll kick their butts.

************************************

Now that I have made my decision to fight to stay in love with Mimi, I am active about making changes between us. I told her to come with me so that we could see the Sage then we can go out. She agreed to come with me. I could tell she was looking forward to it. It had been way too long since we did the couple thing. But first, we have to go see the Sage and hope he can help with finding Julian.

We knock and the same old lady answered the door. She walks us in just like last time. The boy was not watching TV this time. He was studying the army men. It was the same game board as before but there were a few differences. The black army had one soldier lying down.

"What happened to him?" I say.

"You don't remember killing Agony, Marcus?" he asks.

"Yeah, but...."

"Every thing that is happening in the battle will be reflected on this board."

"So you already know everything."

"Who can know everything? Sometimes the board surprises even me."

"Does your board show you what I should do about the Travelers who are making our jobs even harder by putting our every move in the Splash?"

"That is unfortunate, but do not be so hard on them. Travelers are necessary," he says.

"You're saying that Travelers are actually useful?" I ask bitterly.

"I take it you don't know your history, Marcus. What about you, Ameana?"

"There are four types of angels: Travelers, Ground Walkers, Guardians, and Paras."

"And what did they contribute to humanity?" the Sage asks.

"Travelers gave the Arts and Sciences to humanity," she says.

"And the Splash," I add.

"Not all of them are gossips like the stereotype would suggest. Most Travelers simply report information to the council. It is unfair to paint them all with the same brush. Had it not been for Travelers we would not have had Shakespeare, Van Gogh, Mozart, or Galileo."

"The Grounds Walkers have inhabited humans whose actions have brought about great change, such as the suffrage movement and the civil rights movements," Meana continues.

"Yes, Ground Walkers played a big role by using already powerfully courageous humans such as Harriet Tubman, Gandhi and Jean-Jacques Dessalines."

"Para angels did not give anything to humanity but rather helped them eliminate major, all-consuming evil, such as Nazis, dictators and warlords," my learned girlfriend says.

"Nazis and dictators are humans who were so evil they nearly rivaled Atourum. Their souls had become so dark, Atourum took them from them while they were still on Earth. So they were essentially soulless shells of human bodies. It's rare that Para angels come down to Earth because they have to remain pure. But with that kind of darkness, only the purity of a Para angel could help the council balance humanity."

"Then there's us, Guardians. We save the world all by ourselves. That seems a little unbalanced to me," I say.

"You can thank Julian for that. Guardians are capable of putting the whole world in danger, but they are capable of saving it as well. We are all pulling for you to be victorious."

"Yeah, I can tell by the latest issue of Splash. You guys really believe in us."

"Freedom of the press—what can you do?" he says.

"Well, not that we don't appreciate the history lesson, but we actually came because we need help finding Julian."

"You young people never want to do any work. It is your job to find him, Marcus, not mine."

"You don't give a damn what happens to the humans?" I ask.

"I'm not an Akon. Watch how you talk to me, Marcus."

Ameana puts her hand on top of mine to get me to take a beat and not overreact. It's a good thing. I want to jump out of my chair.

"There is no way the Akons can capture Julian without getting help from Runners. You just have to find the right Runner to question."

"So the only advice you can give us is to keep looking?"

"Yes. Now, you have one more question, do you not?"

"No," I say bitterly.

"Come now, boy. Ask your question and never let pride get in the way of obtaining knowledge."

"Have I conquered the name that was going to ruin me?"

"No."

"I don't have feelings for her anymore. I'm with Ameana, and we're happy."

"Yes, I dare say you are. What of it?"

"I have no feelings for the human."

"You also have no Triplex. Do you think that is just a coincidence?"

"You want me to get close to her so that she can tell me what I need to know? Even if it means that she will end up making me Turn?"

"You said you would never Turn, so what are you afraid of?"

"I don't have feelings for her like I do for Ameana, but that doesn't mean I have a right to go and screw with her just so she'll open up to me."

"You are not here to win 'nice guy of the year,' Marcus. You are the First Guardian. You will do whatever is needed."

"It's cruel to use her like that."

"I wonder which concerns you more: the way the human may begin to feel for you or the way you already feel for her?"

"I'm really tired of these games. What do I have to do to find the damn Triplex?"

"If you speak to me in that tone again, I will not make myself available to you any longer. And you will never swear in my presence again, Guardian. Do you understand?"

I just want break him in half. Lightning and thunder are coming from outside. There should not have been. It is a clear night.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm summoning the council. It seems you are unhappy with me as your Sage. Maybe they have been wrong to have chosen me. Maybe ten thousand years of being a Sage put up against your one year of being a Guardian doesn't match up. Clearly, you are wiser than I."

The thunder and lightning strike again. If the council comes, none of what happened matters. They will be highly pissed off at having been summoned. Keeping the world in balance is a huge undertaking and they don't have time to sort out arguments between the Sage and me. They had never come down to Earth, and I don't want to be the reason why they do so now.

"Look, I just don't understand why this human is so important," I say.

"You are thinking like a boy. You need to think like a Guardian. Look at the bigger picture and get it out of your head that you need to be nice. You don't need to be nice, Marcus. You need to be triumphant. Spending time with a human to let her open up to you is in no way evil."

"Even if she is falling for me?"

"Even then, it is considered necessary for the greater good. You don't have to marry her. Just talk to her."

I would love to throw him into traffic, but that would be wrong.

"And it wouldn't be the nice guy thing to do," he said, amused.

Well, at least he stopped summoning the council, I think.

"Yes, that would have been bad," he says.

Okay, so here is my list of things I can't stand: Travelers, the Splash and mind readers. I'm not sure which is at the top.

"Your list is short, young Marcus. Wait until you've been on Earth a little longer."

Yeah, mind readers are definitely at the top of my list—the very top.

*****************************

After our frustrating meeting with the Sage, Mimi and I head to a small city in the Arabian Peninsula, called Dubai. It is home to the tallest structure in the world. It's two thousand feet and looks like any other skyscraper, except it keeps going up so that the tip of it looks more like a needle than a building.

The ride was smooth and quiet. Once we reach downtown Dubai, we fly to the skyscraper. Mimi gets to the very top and jumps off of it. I follow her. We make several trips, jumping and flying. Finally, she sits near the ledge, a few feet away from the top.

"I've never been here before," she says.

"It's the calmest place I've been to. You think the humans feel comfort with height? Maybe that's why they keeping building things higher."

"Many of them have a real fear of heights."

"How is that possible?"

"I guess they spend too much time on the ground."

"Or we spend too little in the air."

"Could be."

"Thank you for taking me here."

"Well, I've got a whole night planned. This is just the beginning."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, and don't even think about trying to get any information out of me. My lips are sewn shut with Samson string."

"Are you sure I couldn't get it out of you?" she says as she leaned in.

I was gonna stay strong. Then I smell her perfume. It smells like lavender in the summer night. It mixes perfectly with her natural scent. She leans in even closer. Man, I can't keep a secret for nothing around this girl. I kiss her. I had to. For several minutes we just hold each other. We don't speak. We just look out onto the world we are supposed to be saving.

"Baby?" she says.

"Yeah?"

"Never mind"

"You want to know how I feel about Emerson."

"Yes."

"I have no feelings for her. You're the one I love, please believe that."

"I do. And I was wrong not to side with you about the Sage."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he isn't Omnis. He can be wrong. Sure, it's never happened, but there's a first time for everything." She embraces me and I feel like things are finally okay with us again.

One of the reasons I took my girl to Dubai was because they have a Snap shop I heard was really good. It's fun to try out a new power. Too bad it only lasts a short time. They have all different kinds. You can get a Fire Snap five, which means you will be able to shoot Fire from your mouth for the next five minutes. Or you could get a Fire Snap for ten minutes. The longest Snap is fifteen minutes.

Para angels invented Snaps so we could all see what it feels like to have other angels' powers. Akons can have Snaps, but nothing will happen. Their powers don't come from Omnis. They come from Atourum, so only he can give them more powers or take them away.

The thing about Snaps is they are fun to mess around with but should never be brought in during a battle because sometimes they are faulty. It would be dangerous to take a Fire Snap during a battle. You could open your mouth but instead of fire, you hiccup dry air.

To a buy a Snap, I won't use human money. It has no real value in our world. The currencies we use are our wings. Our wings have three layers. The first coat is the one that is easily replaced. It is made to withstand all types of flying conditions. Things like Snaps cost about two or three feathers off of our first coat. It's no big deal as our outer coats grow back quickly.

The second coat is closer to our souls, so it's more valuable. When we go to Sellers to purchase things most of the time their asking price starts with the second coat. Say I went to Tony-Tone to get weeping oil. Weeping oil costs five two-coats. That means five feathers taken from the second coating of my wings. But knowing Tony-Tone, he would probably ask for ten two-coats.

The third coat is the one that covers our soul. Since our souls are to us what the heart is to humans, angels rarely pay from their third coat.

The person we buy from doesn't literally pull out our feathers. They simply touch our wings and the agreed upon layer will fly away into the merchant's hands.

Fifty first-coat feathers equal one second-coat feather. And four second-coats equal one third coat. Third coats do not grow back like the first and second coats do. You give too much away from your third coat, and you will no longer be able to fly. And the light will no longer be in your reach.

A few angels have gotten addicted to Snaps and the power they hold. They begin to look for ways to extend the duration of time they have powers. In the black markets, Sellers sell Snaps that can last for days. But they cost five third-coats. And there is no guarantee that there won't be any side effects.

Some angels have stripped their third coats bare in an attempt to get more and more power. They become power junkies. Soon they have no more third coating and cannot fly back home. I knew all about junkies from my Earth life. Once they taste something they like, getting them to give it up is almost always a losing battle.

When an angel has given all of their third coating away, it is called being Grounded. If an angel is Grounded he will be reduced forever to a life on Earth. There are a number of angels who have had that happen. They request to be heard by Omnis. He rarely looks into matters of angels who have been Grounded. I think it makes him mad that we could trade in our wings for temporary power.

Sellers who operate Snap Shops have to be licensed by the council. There are rules they have to follow. The council gets to inspect all their flavors to make sure none of them are harmful. Also Sellers have to have a meter in the front of the shop to tell them if the person entering their shop has a soul. If they sell to Runners or Pawns, their shop will be closed down.

It's easy to know if you've hit upon a Snap Shop. There will be no lights on or people in the window, but the sign says "Open." Humans pass by them thinking the owners forgot to change the sign. Then way in the back of the store, there is a room filled with gumball machines and what looks like different types of candy.

I look around for the Snap Shop Jay had told me about. He said they had pretty good powers. I know Ameana has always wanted the power to Blink like Reese. Snap Shops are open twenty four hours a day. But after midnight, some kinds of Snaps are not allowed to be sold. Fire Snaps, Lightning Snaps and Brawn Snaps.

We knock on the door and the Seller opens up. We follow him to the back of the shop. Some Snaps come in the form of Tic Tacs. Some are bubble gum tape and others are rock candy. They have Snaps of all colors, shapes and texture.

"Hey, can we get eight Gum Snaps, please, two Ice, two Blinks and two No See."

A short while later the Seller comes back with a bag filed with the Bubble Gum Snaps we had ordered. He touched my top coat and my feathers flew right into his cash register. We walked out into the night.

"I'm so excited! I have been wanting to Blink for the longest time," Mimi says.

"We only got the five minute ones. Do you want me to go back and get the ten or fifteen?"

"No, five is perfect. Can we Blink first?"

"Okay, but save the Ice ones. I want to do that last."

She looked a little nervous about putting the white gumball in her mouth.

"I can't believe you are such a punk about this, Mimi. I have to tell Reese. You are afraid of a little old Blink Snap?"

"Oh, okay. It's on now."

"Wait, where do you plan to Blink to?" I ask.

She is a few feet away from me. She takes a few more steps back. She pops the gumball into her mouth and instantly disappeared.

"Meana?" I ask, looking down the street for her.

"Yes, baby?" she whispers softly in my ear. She had Blinked right on to my back. I was completely taken off guard. She laughs at being able to sneak up on me.

"You're supposed to use it to travel great distances. I'm like five feet away."

"I'm supposed to travel to what I want. And you're what I want."

"Alright, sexy, hang on to me." I pop my Blink Snap into my mouth. The two of us disappear. It looked like the street we had just left had suddenly gotten blurry. Seconds later we are standing in the middle of the Dubai Marina courtyard.

The city is alive with energy and lights. The trees are lit up and the fountain in front of us springs water out in a dazzling display of patterns. Mimi hops off of me and her eyes are immediately drawn in to the center of the fountain. It's circular with a myriad of different colored fish. The underwater lights reflect waves on my baby's face, making her already beautiful face that much more amazing.

"This is my favorite one so far," she says. Mimi loves fountains. She doesn't ever make a wish herself, but she loves watching people throw pennies in.

"Don't hate me for saying this—you are so beautiful."

"Don't hate me for saying this—I know." She bursts out laughing. She was never really one to brag about her looks. This was a big step for her.

"I think the Snap has faded out. I don't think we can Blink anymore," I say.

"Good, I want you to stand still while I do this."

She bites her lower lip. She moves in slowly. She tilts her head to the side and does something she has never done before: she kisses me. She didn't wait for me to test myself to see if I could resist kissing her. She just leaned in and sought my lips. No waiting game. No test. Just her. It was...nice.

I don't remember what made me stop kissing her. I'm sure it was something out of my control because I never would had stopped on my own. She looks up at me and a grin spreads across her face.

"What is it?" I ask.

"You're so pretty when you Shine."

"What? You—." I look at my reflection in the water and, sure enough, I am glowing so brightly, I looked like I could blind the whole city of Dubai.

"You are so gonna pay for that." I run after her playfully. She takes off immediately, laughing the whole way. When we get into the air, she dodges and swerves but I keep up with her. Then, out of nowhere, she disappears. I knew she had taken the No See Snap.

I find her hiding behind one of the skyscrapers. I knew it was her because the flag on the top looked like it had been wrapped around something. She's hiding under the flag twenty stories up.

"Gotcha!"

"You are such a cheater," I accuse.

"I would have beaten you anyway. I'm faster than you."

"You are not."

"Really?" Oh, so now she wanted to challenge me, huh?

"Okay, we'll race."

"Where to?"

"The other side of the country."

"You're on." No sooner have I said that then she takes off. I fly fast and steady on her heels. Then I get a small lead and I pop in my No See Snap and disappear. Then I wait for her to catch up and I trip her. She only loses her balance for a fraction of a second, but that is enough for me to maintain my lead.

"Cheater!" she shouts as she tries to catch me. We fly at top speed and are neck and neck most of the time. Just a few miles shy of our destination, she stops.

"What? What's wrong?" I ask, concerned.

"I think I hurt my leg back there."

I rush over to her. She sees me coming and pops an Ice Snap in her mouth and before I realize it's a trick, she blows a breath of ice around me. I am trapped in a block of ice.

"That is not angel-like behavior," I say.

"Don't let the wings fool you," she teases. I smash the ice and it falls harmlessly into the water below.

"I win," she screams.

"That's because you cheat."

"Yes, I do, but it works out for you."

"How does your cheating work out for me?"

"Well, you don't get to win but you get a consolation prize."

"What?"

"Me."

We kiss so intensely we lose focus on where we were flying. We start to fall, but we don't stop kissing. We just don't care. From the corner of my eye, I realize that we would soon hit the water below. Now one thing I know for sure about girls: angel or no angel, they hate their hair to be messed with.

Mimi had worn her hair in thick loose curls. She had put in a sparkling hair clip to hold part of her hair away from her face. I don't know how long it took to make her hair like that. But if it got ruined, I would hear about it. I pull myself away from her lips and pop in the last Snap. My breath became ice. I blew on the water below and the lake froze over.

We land safely, but it is hard to stand up.

"Wait a minute," she says as we slip on the ice and land on our butts.

"I'm just trying not to get your hair wet."

"It's better that I break a rib than get my hair wet. You are absolutely right." She smiles then blows at the bottom of our feet. A thin layer of ice forms on the bottom of our shoes.

I get up first and hold out my hand to pick her up. She reaches out and takes my hand. I lifted her up off the ice effortlessly.

"Thank you," she says.

"You're welcome."

Our kisses start out tender and sweet then grow more intense. We're wrapped into each other so deeply that we are unaware it's been more than five minutes and that the ice is melting. I don't think either one of us gave a damn. The ice melts quickly. We don't stop touching each other for a second. The ice caps could have melted and we would still be standing there kissing.

The ice gives way under us. The block of ice we are standing on starts going under from the weight of our bodies. We don't try to stop it. We hungrily search out each other's lips and find the taste we longed for. The more we kiss, the more we want. We sink slowly into the Indian Ocean.

*******************************

After the date, I drop Mimi off and fly over to Emerson's. I'm so glad it went well. Mimi deserved a fun night after everything I've done. And what I'm about to do.

I knock on the door. Her mother, Marla, opens up for me. She frowns and tells me Emmy is in her room.

I open the bedroom door slowly and, sure enough, she is in the corner of her room sitting below the windowsill. Her knees are hunched up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She doesn't bother to look up as I enter.

"Hey, how are you?"

She doesn't reply.

"Emerson, we need to talk."

She stays quiet.

"You are essential to the fate of this planet. You can't just shut down. I know it sucks what happened. And I'm sorry about Sara, but you have to try and come out of this hole. We need you. The world needs you."

She doesn't move and inch. I sigh and get down on the floor beside her.

"Emmy, I miss you."

She looks into my eyes. I see life where there hadn't been any before. She isn't fully with me, but she cares about what I am saying. It's the first sign of life she has shown since the funeral. It is hard for me to be so honest. The line between helping save the world and shattering Mimi's heart is thin.

"What?" she asks in a weak voice that cracks as she speaks.

"I miss you."

"Why?"

"Since I met you I have been unable to count in days. I can only count your eyes. How long until I see your eyes again? That's the only clock I have in my head."

"You are just using my feelings for you so I can help you save the world. Screw you. Screw the world," she says flatly.

"Emmy, it's all true. There were times when I was supposed to be out tracking Runners and I would come to your window instead and watch you sleep. I used to be outside your window, but that was too far away from you. I programmed a Port to lead right into this room."

"I brought a pack of No See Snaps. I took them one after the other so I could be invisible and spend the evening with you. I took them like an addict because the more I took, the longer I could be with you."

"You only care about me because of the stupid mission. You're watching me because it's your job," she says, not bothering to hide her indifference.

"My interest in you is a thousand times more than what it should be. How could you not know that I am in love with you? Everyone else does."

"I'm just a stupid human you have to pretend to be interested in. Get out." She puts her head down.

I wait to see if she would lift her head back up. She doesn't. I go towards the door. I'm nearly out of the room when I turn back and speak to her from the doorway.

"You blow on your ice cream before you eat it. When you watch horror movies and the scary parts come up, you close your cat's eyes along with yours. You have a photo album of the clothes you'd like to wear but don't think it's right to ask your mother for. You have a picture you took of me on your cell and don't think I know about. You look at it the same way you look at the clothes in your album—like you have no right to ask for it."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I want you back."

"You want to be with me?"

"Yes."

"What about her?"

"I'm not leaving her."

She looks confused. I come and sit beside her.

"I don't understand," she says.

"Emmy, I want you every day that I exist. I was tired of denying that. I saw how much it was hurting you too. But I made a promise to Ameana. My word is good. It is strong and will not be broken."

"So, what's the point, Marcus? What's the point of any of this?"

"I was gonna ask you to face the world because I love you. And you love me. But how can I ask you to do that when I can't be with you?"

She looks at me. She has no response. There was nothing she could have said that the two of us didn't already know. I take her hands. She had started crying. I wipe her tears away with my hand.

"I heard this guy say once that he thought if he said 'no' to doing drugs then the fight was over. But it turns out he had to say 'no' each and every day. I didn't get it until I met you. When I first fell for you, I said 'no' to it. Then the next day the feeling came back. Now every single day, I have to say 'no' to being with you."

"I try not to think about you...."

"Thinking about you caused me to fly into a wall once."

She laughs. Even she was surprised to hear it come out of her. She stops abruptly. I knew exactly what the problem was.

"Emmy, Sara won't be any more gone if you laugh. It's okay to continue living. That isn't disrespecting the dead. They just want us to be okay and move on."

Her eyes fill with tears.

"I didn't help her."

"You couldn't. But now you get to help lots of people."

"I can't save the world, Marcus. I'm not strong enough."

"The thing about saving the world is that it can be hard to care about it. You can't save the world, you don't know the world. So you have to focus and narrow it down to the people you do know—your mom, your uncle, your neighbors."

I hand her a tissue and speak directly to the tiny spark of light that was now in her eyes.

"Look in their faces and understand that they will no longer exist if you don't do this. Your mom won't be around for her next birthday. No bowling nights. No book clubs. Nothing. You have to fight for the people that you love. You. Have. To. Fight."

She blows her nose and throws the tissue in the trash next to her. She gets up. She doesn't ask for my help. I know she doesn't need it. She walks over to the mirror and studies herself, then turns to me.

"So, while you were invisible did you ever see me naked?"

I laugh.

"No comment."

"You suck," she says as she heads to the bathroom.

I call out to her before she leaves the room.

"Hey, I'm not telling you what I saw, but what I did see was...." I bite my lower lip. She smiles a devilishly sweet and sinful smile. I had never seen a girl pull off both sweet and sinful. That takes skill.

She laughs at the look on my face. She goes into the bathroom, and closes the door.

Through the door I hear the most beautiful sound in the world: she was singing in the shower. It's off-key and off-tempo, but it's the best version of "Staying Alive" I've ever heard.

Chapter Eleven

We have all been summoned by Emerson. Two days have passed and she is back to her old self, for the most part. The loss of her friend did not leave her unchanged. She has an edge to her that she didn't have before.

"I asked you all here so we could go over some things," she says like she is addressing a board of investors. Her voice was strong and steady. Whatever it is she wanted, she was certain she would get it. Or at the very least, put up a good fight.

"First, thank you all for helping me get through Sara's death. I know it set you guys off-track in terms of what you needed to do, and I really appreciate it."

"No prob. We got you, baby girl," Jay says.

"I know. But it really was hard and you guys could have like melted my brain or something to get me to talk, but you didn't, so thank you."
"We understand loss better than anyone, Emmy," Reese says simply.

"And on that note, here are my conditions for helping you guys find the Triplex."

"Conditions?" I say.

"Yeah, some things I need you guys to promise me before we can continue."

"We?" Rio and Miku say at the same time.

"Yes. My friend was killed by a Pawn sent out by Lucy. My family stands to lose their lives and I will not allow that. So, I am going to do everything I can in order to help you guys save the world."

"Okay, well let's—"

She cuts me off. "First, I have three conditions."

"What are they?" Jay says.

"One, I want to be told everything there is to know about angels and the world you guys live in. I want nothing left out. I should know everything from what kind of angels there are to what a Snap or whatever it's called is."

"Okay, that's something we can do," I say.

"Good. The next thing is that I want you guys to take me everywhere you go. If you guys are fighting, then I want to be right there helping. No more leaving me in English to diagram sentences while you guys fight for me and my family."

"No," I say flatly.

"Why not?"

"You'll get hurt or worse."

"You guys can protect me. I'll be fine."

"No."

"Marcus, just hear her out," Ameana says.

"There is nothing to hear out. I'm not risking her life so that she can have ringside seats to a battle."

"When you guys have to look after me at my house, you guys are a man or two short. Think about it. If I'm with you then everyone can help. Why should any of you have to babysit me? Wouldn't you rather I came along and hid somewhere instead of wasting precious manpower watching me at home?"

"She does have a point," Reese says.

"No, no way. That's not happening."

"We could put her in a Holder so that they couldn't get at her," Jay suggests.

"No," I say again.

"What's a Holder?" she asks. Reese tells her.

"So, it could protect me when you guys are fighting. That's perfect."

"There are ways around a Holder. At least for Lucy there is. The answer is no," I say once again.

"Marcus, I promise I won't do anything stupid. I'll just stay inside the bubble thing way off into the corner. I won't get hurt."

"No, and that's final!"

She walks up to me and looks deeply into my eyes. I look into hers and see it—the sadness that had overtaken her. She could just as easily slip back into the void she had just left. A wave of dread washes over me. I realize what I have to do, and don't like it at all. But it's the only way to keep her from being pulled under again.

"Please, Marcus," she begs.

A dull pain sits in my chest as I give in to what she wants.

"Okay."

She is so excited, she hugs me and wraps her hands tightly around me. "Thank you," she says over my shoulder.

"What's the third condition?" Reese asks after seeing Meana get tense as she watched us hug.

Emmy looks like she is uncertain, but she lets me go, takes a deep breath, and lets it out.

"I learned from Sara's death that anything can happen. There are no guarantees. So, you should go after what you want."

"Emmy, no" Rio warns her.

He is reading her wave. Whatever she is radiating is causing Rio to look both agitated and alarmed.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"I didn't want to do this behind anyone's back. I mean that would be worse, you know?" she pleads sincerely to the entire room.

"I want Marcus to take me on a date."

Nobody saw it coming. Before anyone of us could react, Ameana had thrown Emmy against the wall so hard that every painting on the wall fell down. Jay was on Ameana in a flash. He holds her back. We all run to Emmy, who had slid down the wall and onto the floor. She gasps and feels the back of her head with her fingers. When she holds her hand in front of her, there is blood.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"No!" she shoots back.

"Rio?" I call.

"She's in pain, but she'll live."

"Blink her to the ER. Ameana, roof. Now," I order.

Reese Blinks her out of the room. I dash up to the roof, Ameana right behind me. I am so enraged I wanted to hit something. My jaw clenches. My fists ball up and my wings flap furiously against the night air.

"Do you have any idea what you just did?" I rage.

"She had no right to ask you that."

"You can't go around trying to kill humans."

"But you can go around falling in love with them?"

"Turn around. Now."

She looks at me coldly and turns away so the back of her head is facing me. At the base of her skull is a thumb print pattern that glowed. It is called a Deck. Once it is pressed, the angel will be stripped of their wings and powers.

Every Angel has a Deck. But each type of angel has their own rules about who could and could not press their Desk. For Guardians, only three beings can strip an angel of her powers— Omnis, the council, and the First Guardian, me.

I put my hand at the center of the Deck. The glow started to fade from it. Ameana flinched. It hurt to be void of any amount of light. She wasn't in bad pain, but it was enough pain to make her hands shake. I held my thumb there until the light completely went out of her Deck. I look up. Her wings are gone.

************************************

I fly to hospital where Reese had Blinked Emmy. She is sitting on the bed with her eyes closed, holding an ice pack to the back of her head. The doctor had gone out to look in on another patient.

"How's your head?"

"Fine. Your girlfriend throws like a human," she jokes.

"She could have killed you. That wasn't very smart."

"I'm not really known for doing the smart thing. Why should today be any different?"

"Why did ask for me to take you out?"

"Do all angels ask questions they already know the answers to?"

"You're making this very hard."

"Making it hard? What, like it didn't come that way?"

"What's wrong with you? This is serious. I had to strip Ameana of her powers."

"She has no more powers?"

"Not until I give them back to her."

"Wow, I didn't know you could do that."

"I never thought I'd have to."

"I'm sorry. That must have been difficult."

"You think?" I snap.

"Hey, I didn't tell her to hit me."

"You asked me out in front of everyone."

"So I should have done it in private?"

"You shouldn't have done it at all."

"Because you'd say no?"

"Because I'm with someone else. We had this discussion 48 hours ago, remember?"

"Yeah, I think it went something like 'Hey, I love you. Now get away from me, I'm with Xena, Warrior Angel.'"

"Meana is a good angel."

"I can tell. There were three or so nails in the wall and she didn't impale me on any of them. She's a gem."

"This is very hard for her."

"How is it for you?"

I sigh, rub my neck roughly, and look down at the floor.

"I see," she says.

"You can't do that again. Ever."

"Piss off Ameana or ask you out?"

"Both."

"Don't I get a chance to convince you to choose me?"

"You couldn't."

"Why?"

"Because nothing you could say could get me to love you more than I already do."

"If you want me that bad why don't you fight to have me?" she shouts.

I don't answer. Angrily, she shakes her head.

"You said that I should fight for people I love. Well, I'm fighting for you," she roars.

"I can't be with you."

"Because of Ameana?"

"Because you will be the end of me."

"What?" she says, taken aback.

"The Sage is our guide. He has lived on Earth for thousands of years. He says that you will in some way destroy me and make me betray my team."

"I don't understand. Why would he say that? You would never betray anyone."

"I tried to bring that to his attention, but you'll find he's a little sure of himself. It can happen when you have never been wrong."

"Never?"

"Not once."

"He is this time. You wouldn't betray anyone, ever."

"How can you know that?"

"How can you not? You have issues, but none of them is lack of loyalty."

"Gee, thanks."

"So, being with me will lead to the end of you?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I don't know."

"Tell me."

"I. Don't. Know."

"You shouldn't be around me."

"Where did you want me to take you had we gone out? I'm guessing Spain, Paris or Florence maybe?"

"To the Park."

"That's it? The Park? Nothing more?

"I'd be with you. What more could there be?"

"It's late. I should take you home."

"Reese will take me." I was going to argue but she looks at me and I understand then that she is giving me what I asked for: Ameana. She wasn't going to fight for me anymore.

"I'll go get Reese." I open the door and as I head out.

"Goodnight, Emerson."

"Goodnight, Marcus."

I decided to walk home because I didn't feel like an angel. And I didn't feel pure or close to Omnis.

When I get home, I find Ameana standing out front. She was wearing a long trendy black jacket and scarf. I walk right past her and up the stairs. Once in the house, I walk past her room and go right to mine. I shut the door.

From the window I can see her standing out front. She turns around and sees me. We stare at each other silently. A few hours ago we leaped across oceans. Now, only a few yards apart, the distance seems too great to cross.

********************************

The house was quiet in the morning. Reese and Jay weren't having their usual banter. Miku and Rio weren't fighting to ride shotgun in the car. Ameana hadn't said a word to anyone. I left the house before them. I wasn't going to give them a chance to ask a bunch of questions. Although I honestly don't think they would have asked questions. Everyone pretty much let things be.

When I got to school I remembered that this weekend was Triweekend. Triweekend is a three-day celebration commemorating the birth of the council. It is the only holiday we have. Both sides are forbidden to attack each other for the next three days. It is supposed to be a time to reflect on the balance of good and evil. It is a time when we should be thanking Omnis for making up the council. Instead, we make it a party weekend. All weekend.

I see Jay and Reese in the hallway and call out to them.

"Hey, what you doing Triweekend?" I ask.

"Me and Reese are trying to figure out a good hiding spot for when Ameana finally loses it and somehow blows us all up," Jay says.

"Yeah, I'm thinking it might be best to stay out of the house completely until the end of World War III," Reese adds.

"Forget about that for now. I was thinking we'd play some Runner Ball," I say.

"Hell yeah! When?" Jay asks.

"Let's blow off the rest of the day."

"Emmy has class. We can't let her grades drop because of us," Reese says sensibly.

"Alright, as soon as class is over, we'll go look for a game," I say.

"I heard the Paras are coming down here this weekend," Jay says.

"No, way. They'd never come in a six-six-six year," I say.

"I broke a Splash and they said it might be happening."

"Since when did you start breaking Splashes?"

"You kidding? Some of the stuff they got in there is hilarious, man," Jay replies.

"Did you read the one about the angel with the edible wings? That was crazy!" Reese adds.

"None of that stuff is true. You guys know that."

"Yeah, that's why it's fun. You can't take that stuff seriously. Except for the one article that called me sexy, that's real talk."

"Whatever," Reese says, rolling his eyes.

"Look, we on for after school, right?" I ask.

"Yeah, are the girls coming?" Jay asks.

"Anybody who wants to can come," I say.

"When are you gonna fix things?" Reese asks.

"Look, man, I did everything I could. I told Emmy I was with Mimi and that I wasn't going to be with her. What else am I supposed to do? Ameana had no right to do what she did. I had to take her wings away."

"When are you gonna give them back to her?" Jay wonders.

"When she starts acting like an angel and not like a jealous school girl."

"So, you think she was the only one out of line?" Reese asks.

"No, Emmy was, too, but she doesn't have any powers for me to take away, now does she?"

"Whatever you do, do it fast. The tension in the house is deep. A man can't concentrate enough to get any cooking done," Jay jokes.

"Let's just go play ball, okay?"

"So rather than dealing with the many problems we have encountered, you'd rather go play Runner Ball like a juvenile delinquent?" Reese asks.

"Yeah."

"I'm in."

"I bet we could get in some Diving, too," Jay adds.

"Hell, yeah. Tell the others when you see them," I say, heading off to class.

I meet up with Rio in the lab. I ask him about playing Runner Ball after school.

"You really think that's gonna help your problems?" he asks.

"Why can't you just be cool and say yes?"

"I just think you need to figure some stuff out."

"What do you think I should do?"

"That's not for me to say."

"That's bull. You're standing there like you are the freaking Sage and you're judging me. If you are so much smarter than I am, tell me what to do."

"First off, you shouldn't be rolling Runners up in a ball and kicking them around like a damn school kid. Then maybe you can be a man about it and just tell Ameana that you want your Rah back."

"Why are you so concerned about my girlfriend?"

"Well, someone should be. Now that you've stripped her of her powers, what is she supposed to do if they attack her?"

"It's Triweekend. No one is going to attack anyone."

"You drove her to do that, Marcus. You drove her to attack Emmy. How could you just think she would be okay with being disrespected like that?"

"I wasn't the one who did it. I didn't have any idea what the third condition was going to be."

"You have to stop these games. It's hurting her. It's hurting both of them."

"Rio, is there something you'd like to tell me about you and Ameana?"

"Yeah, I'm her friend. Maybe you should try that sometime."

"Look, the guys want you to come and hang for Triweekend. You in or not?"

"No, thanks. I think I'd rather be a grown-up today. Try me tomorrow," he says as we walk down the hall.

Just then Miku and Emmy came around the corner.

"How do you feel?" I ask Emmy.

"Okay, thanks."

"You have to take her. I need to go recharge. I have been up all night. I need to go back in the car and get some quiet," Miku says. Her tone was unfriendly and cool.

"Yeah, no problem," I say.

She turns and walks down the hallway. Emmy calls out goodbye to Miku but she does not reply.

"She's a little mad at me," I say.

"Well, that's something we have in common. I think she's had it with me, too."

"She isn't upset with you. She's just ticked off because I took Ameana's wings away."

"Did you really have to do that?"

"I had to. She injured a human who was in no way attacking her."

"Okay, I didn't touch her, but I could understand her being mad."

"If you knew she was gonna be pissed, why did you do it?"

"Because you would have taken the same risk for me."

"Emmy look—"

"Wait. I'm not asking to be with you. I'm just saying that last night I thought I would take the chance, but now I wouldn't. It was wrong."

"Alright, let's just forget about it."

"So, when are you gonna fill me in on all things angel?"

"Miku hasn't been doing that?"

"Yeah, but I still have questions."

"Okay, what do you need to know?"

For the rest of the day, we would meet between classes so I could answer all her questions. She wanted to know about everything. She listened carefully and asked really good questions. I was impressed with how much information she had retained.

"So, that's the last question?" I ask.

"For now. If I think of anything else, I'll let you know," she says.

"We are taking off for Triweekend."

"The council's holiday is this weekend?"

"Yeah, supposedly the Paras are gonna be there."

"I thought they never come down here."

"They will for Triweekend. Or so the Splash said, but you can't really go by them."

"The Splash?"

Shoot. I forgot to tell her that part. And I know all too well why I did. I explained about the gossip paper and how to read it.

"That sounds so cool. Can I break one?"

"It's really just trash, Emmy. They never get anything right. As a matter of fact, they go out of their way to get things wrong."

"What's the big story now?"

"I didn't break any this week."

"Okay, let's go get one and break it."

"You have class."

"Why do I get the feeling you are trying to hide something from me?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you want to protect me?"

"Yes, I do."

"C'mon, Marcus. What's in the Splash?"

"Gossip and innuendo."

"Tell me. You said no more keeping things from me."

"The big story is us."

"The Guardians?"

"And you."

"Me?"

"Well, yeah. You're kind of big news."

"Cause I'm the clue?"

"The clue who kissed me."

"How did they know about that?"

"Traveler angels are sneaky. They eavesdrop on people all the time. Anyway, just forget about it, Emmy. Soon they'll move on to another story."

"Did Ameana see it?"

"Yeah."

"So, she hates me?"

"You kissed her boyfriend, you asked him out in front of everyone and she lost her wings for attacking you. I don't know if she hates you, but I wouldn't be expecting a hug from her anytime soon."

"You think I deserve all that's happened to me, huh?"

"I think you deserve to be happy. I'm sure there is a guy who can help make that happen. Have you ever thought about Henry? He's nice."

"What are you doing?"

"What? You don't like him? I had him checked out. He has a good heart and Rio says he likes you."

"So, just like that I'm supposed to replace what I feel for you with another guy?"

"I want you to be happy."

"You want this thing between us to go away so that I'm not hurting anymore."

"Is that wrong?"

"You can't get over me. What makes you think I can get over you?"

"Maybe you're stronger than me."

"Doubt it."

"You shouldn't be alone. You should be with someone. That way you'll be happy."

"You're with someone—are you happy?"

"Not at the moment."

"But you're sure that'll change soon?"

"Meana and I'll work things out. We have to."

"And if you don't?"

"We will."

"Is she talking to you?"

"No."

"You talking to her?"

"No."

"I'm gonna wait on the finding someone. 'Cause I don't think I could handle being as 'happy' as you and Ameana are."

"Look, we have to live with the situation the way it is. We all have to deal. But that doesn't mean that you can take shots at my relationship."

"I don't have to shoot at it Marcus, it's already dead."

"I am not leaving her."

"Yeah, I got that part. And I see how well that's working for you."

"Go to class."

She glares at me and goes inside. I lean on the wall and rub my temples to relive some of the pressure but it doesn't help; the pressure is all in my mind. Moments later Jay calls out my name.

"Marcus?"

"What's up?"

"Why do you look like death is coming for you again?"

"I'm not that lucky."

"Man, c'mon. Let it go. We gonna go play some Ball, do some Diving and take in the best concert in a century. It's all good man."

"Who's playing this year?"

"Marley. Marley is back, man."

"What? When?"

"I overheard a Traveler talking about it. He's back for Triweekend."

"We have to go see him."

"Go see who?" Emmy asks as she walks out of class. I didn't even realize the bell had rung.

"There's a Triweekend concert down in Jamaica and we're going."

"We're going to Jamaica?" she says, taking her voice two octaves higher than it needed to be.

"Yeah, Saturday night," Jay says.

"I have never been to Jamaica." She jumps up and down like she had won something.

"Well, we 'bout to get it poppin. I ain't missing this concert for nobody, son," Jay says.

"Who's performing?" Emmy asks.

"Marley," I say.

"Marley who?" We look at her like she was clueless for asking.

"You mean...?" She is so shocked she can't close her eyes.

"The very one."

"How?"

"Every Triweekend, the council sends Para angels to entertain us. This year it's Marley in Jamaica. The year before that was Selena," Jay says.

"And we get to go? Seriously?"

"You know I don't play when it comes to Reggae music. I would never make a joke about Marley."

"Where are the others?" she asks.

"I don't know if they're coming. But I told everyone about it. But for right now, I need to play some ball. Let's go," Jay says.

"They know where to meet us if they want to come along," I say. I hope in the back of my mind that the twins and Ameana would join us.

*******************************

The meeting spot is an hour outside of New York City. Once a week, you could walk into a state park and find the outline of wings on a ball. It could be spray painted or drawn by hand. Wherever you saw the picture is where all the angels would gather to go to the ball field. We took the train upstate. I thought that would give time to whoever wanted to come along but was undecided.

When we get to the park, there is a Native American guy in his early twenties sitting on a boulder that had the Runner Ball sign. He spoke as we approached.

"Wow, Guardians in the house? This is gonna be good."

"You Travel or inhabit?" Reese asks, not sure if he had wings behind him.

"Travel. I get the right news to the right people," he says proudly.

Then he studies Emmy.

"That the human?"

"Hi, I'm Emmy," she says as she extends her hand to him.

"I'm Apoleo. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too."

As we stand there, more and more angels came to the spot. Most of them are Travelers but there are a few Ground Walkers who come in the body of young athletes.

"You the one who gonna help save the world?" one of the angels asks Emmy. Everyone turns to hear her answer.

"I was thinking I'd do that later. I just came to play some ball," Emmy says.

Everyone starts to laugh.

"What?"

"Emmy, you can't play. If the ball were to hit you, it would actually kill you."

"I think we should take that risk," someone says.

I turn around and find Ameana standing a few feet away.

"Hey, girl. You playing with us?" Jay asks. He tries to defuse the situation by being light and casual.

"I was planning on watching. But I'm not sure if it's okay with Queen Emmy," she says sharply, turning to Emerson. Suddenly everyone was looking at us.

"I'd like it if you came along. It would give us a chance to talk," Emerson says.

"You're a second-rate, desperate human who thinks she can get away with taking what doesn't belong to her. What's there to talk about?"

"I wanted to say I'm sorry for what happened. I wasn't trying to...can we just move on and forget everything?"

"Forget everything? You must be on something."

"Ameana, give it a rest," Reese says.

"No. I think it's very ungracious to try and steal a girl's boyfriend when that girl came all the way down here to save your ass," she says.

The rest of the angels looking on all nod in agreement. It was like she was putting Emmy on trial. The jury was on Meana's side from the word go.

"I just wanted to tell him how I feel," Emmy says.

"We all know how you feel. You want him. But you're too weak to have him. He's a First Guardian. What use would he have for a girl that is so useless, she can't stop a simple little human from gutting her only friend?"

That last comment hurt, I can tell. Emmy turns away and bites her lip to keep from crying. Sara was a fresh wound for Emmy.

I walk up to Meana and take her off to the side.

"What is wrong with you?" I ask, disgusted.

"Me? What about her, Marcus? Why don't you ask her what is so wrong with her that she would try and break up two people who had to die to find each other?"

The crowd was eating it all up. Meana turns her attention to Emmy who was standing with Reese protectively by her side. Ameana speaks to Emmy in no uncertain terms.

"You touch him again and I will kill you. Ask about me."

She glares at me and walks out of the Park. Everyone in the crowd starts talking all at once. They were placing bets—not whether Ameana would kill Emmy, but how long and in what way.

I go over to Emmy.

"You okay?"

"No, I'm not."

"I'm sorry about that. She would never hurt you."

"Again you mean. I don't know if you remember, but she slammed me into a wall not too long ago," she spits at me.

"She wouldn't kill you. She's just pissed off."

"She's a raving lunatic."

"You can't just make a play for some girl's guy and except it to be drama-free. I didn't tell you to ask me out."

"So, you're the victim in all of this?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't say anything. You don't care what happens so long as you get to keep your precious word. You made a promise to her a long time ago and it doesn't even matter that you have changed your mind. You're just gonna stay with her out of guilt and some distorted sense of duty?"

"I don't know who you've gone out with, but I do not walk out on people."

"Well I do."

She turns on her heel and stomps out of the Park.

I turn to Jay and Reese. "Go get her."

It was already time to go to Ireland and play Runner Ball, but I knew that not one angel in crowd would budge. Travelers and Ground Walkers alike wanted to see how this would all play out.

"What the hell is everybody looking at?" I bark.

"The end of humanity," someone in the crowd says. Everyone else laughs.

A few minutes later they bring back a fuming Emerson.

"You can't make me come with you."

"You can come in peace or I can get Samson String, tie you up and put you over my shoulder like a load of laundry. It's up to you," I say.

"I hate you."

"Get in line."

"Maybe we should forget the game," Reese says.

"No, we are going. I need to kick something right now."

"Alright, Guardian rage!" someone shouts from the crowd. Everyone cheers and we all take off from the same spot. It's important that we all take off at once so we can form a plane-type shape so that when humans look up, that's what they would see.

I look over and Emerson is in Jay's arms. She is still fuming, at least underneath. Most of her is terrified about being several thousand feet in the sky without so much as a seatbelt.

We land a short time later in an open field. Normally it would just be a few dozen angels, but this is the start of Triweekend and everyone is there, including the Paras.

We saw them miles before we landed. There is an air of respectability that comes along with being a Para. They are so white, they almost glow. They have no skin to speak of and are almost ghost-like. Their eyes are hard to look into without being dazzled. They are the closest thing to Omnis, so they have a calming way about them. They all seem to move as one. They are so much of the same mind, in fact, that most of the time they don't even need to talk.

After landing, everyone goes to find their friends and figure out who is going to be on which team. Most of the angels are here to watch. The ones who come to play will be out on the field in a matter of minutes. Each side would choose a representative. It was almost always the home team, Ground Walkers, against the visiting team which, in this case, is us.

I run down to the field and gather my team. Had the Paras not been there I could not have left Emmy alone on the bleachers. But with the brilliant light of goodness coming from the Paras it would be very hard for Akons to attack, even if it weren't Triweekend. Also, a Pawn could not stand anywhere near a Para and not be noticed. Paras have a very keen sense of goodness, or lack thereof.

As I look up, the twins head our way.

"I'm glad we all made it," I say as we gather in a huddle.

"Not all of us," Miku says.

"Jay reminded me how much you suck at blocking so...," Rio says.

"I think we can take them."

"Hell, yeah. Their game is weak. They have some good Locators but they don't Trap very well. A Runner could dodge them easily," Jay says.

"They're gonna feed the Runner with Brawn Snaps," Reese says.

"How do you know that?" I ask.

"Whoever feeds the Runners only feeds them Snaps that they are sure they can conquer if they have to. Every one on the home team is a muscle head."

"Yeah, I'm getting overconfidence from everyone of them," Rio confirms.

"So, they think they're stronger," I say.

"Well, stronger than the rest of us. There's no way they can think they're stronger than you, so what they'll do is—"

"—Keep the strongest player on me," I finish.

"Yeah, and aside from Daver, the strongest is Wilson. He looks like the Hulk on extra steroids. That's who there'll send for you," Jay confirms.

"Alright, just play on their weakness. Jay, you take Daver. Miku, take Hudson. He has a problem underestimating girls," I say.

"You got it."

"Reese and Rio, you take the other two as a team. They're new players. They don't trust each other yet. We can use that."

The announcer blows his whistle and we're off and running. Right away Daver kicks the ball in hopes of finding the crack that will split it open. But the ball doesn't crack. It gets catapulted across the field, and we go after it.

Miku shoots the ball over to Jay who head-butts it to Rio. Rio kicks the ball right into the goalie, but Daver intersects. The ball goes flying in the other direction. Rio and Jay collide in the air trying to stop the ball with their chests. They crash to the ground but were able to stop the ball.

Jay gets up and kicks the ball over to me. I dive for it and manage to throw it back to Miku. Daver intercepts and kicks it toward our goalie. Reese tries to block the ball but misses it by a split second. The ball goes in. Travelers have thirty three points and we have zero. The crowd cheers for the Travelers, but some are booing. I guess a few people are on our side after all.

Among a series of fancy foot work, Jay and Daver stand out. They block the ball from reaching the other's goalie several times. There are a number of near misses. Hudson was watching Miku and he didn't think she was a match for him. But where Miku is small she is also very agile. She moves like lightning and was able to slide between his legs and send the ball soaring.

I leap into action as soon as the ball is within reach. I run with it as Daver and two others tried to steal the ball. I quickly dodge them and kick the ball toward the goalie. Hudson stops it with his whole body. Dust rises up in the air like a thick fog as his body careens into the ground.

His teammates kick the ball in the opposite direction. Daver gets control. He kicks it behind him in a dazzling display of footwork. The ball is headed towards the goal with no one there to intercept it. Suddenly Jay appears and blocks it with his chest. The referee blows the whistle and holds up a yellow card, signaling we are in violation of the rules.

The only rule in Runner Ball is that no powers or wings are to be used until the Runner has been set free. The referee charged Jay with a violation because he thought Jay had gotten there in time to stop the ball by gliding. I knew Jay would argue so I went over to stop him. It did no good to argue with the referee.

"I told you man I didn't glide," Jay shouts.

"I know what I saw, Guardian," the ref shouts back.

"If I did glide you wouldn't have been able to see me, you idiot."

"I saw you cheat."

"I didn't cheat." He and the ref had been getting closer together the more they talked and were now toe-to-toe.

"You glide, that's a penalty. You glide one more time and you're out of the game."

"Man, screw you."

"Walk away Guardian," he warns.

Rio and I come just in time. We tell him to be cool and let it go. He was angry but under control. The game resumed.

As soon as the whistle blows, Daver kicks the ball and the Runner is cracked free. The crowd was going crazy. Now the real action was starting.

It was just like we thought. The Runner had been given a Brawn Snap. He was beyond strong. Everyone that approached him he was able to throw across the field. I was eager to take him, but the other team guarded me closely so I couldn't help out my team.

The Runner dashes across the field. Jay and Rio catch him but he throws them off of him and onto the ground. The whole field shook. The crowd is on its feet and shouting . The sound is deafening.

I looked up and see my teammates in the air trying to subdue the Runner. I make a run for it, but Daver is on my tail. I fake a left into the air then made a quick right. Before he can catch me, I am at Jay's side. Daver and Hudson follow. They have the power to summon lightning and earthquakes.

We were under attack from heaven and earth. Jay glides behind Hudson to stop him from making the ground shake. Miku flies over to help. Rio had caught the Runner but was having difficulty staying on him because he was so strong.

Daver sends a bolt of lightning to injure the Runner so that even if we get him into the goalie, we would lose. But the bolt misses the Runner and goes straight to me. My body trembles and falls to the ground. The crowd gasps as I hit the floor. A time-out is called because I had not moved after the first three seconds of having been hit.

The ref comes over. He asks if I am able to go on. I look up and see Emmy standing next to him. How did she get on the field?

"I don't give a damn about your rules. He could have been killed," she shouts, highly pissed.

"You have to get off the field," the ref says.

"Make me."

I begin to move out of fear that she might start a fight with the poor ref.

"You see, he's moving. He's fine. Now go back up there and sit down," the ref says.

"No, I'm staying on the sidelines and if the other team pulls something like that again, they'll have to deal with me," she declares.

"Who are you?"

"Never mind that. Just don't mess with me." And with that, she goes to the sidelines.

The crowd is buzzing. Who was the girl on the field? She didn't act like a Ground Walker. Why didn't she have any wings? Had they been stripped? Some of them recognized her from the Splash. It only took seconds for word to spread that a human was defending me. Great. This is just great.

I get up. Jay shakes his head. The whistle blows and we only have two more minutes left to stop the Runner. While we were in time-out the Runner was frozen by the ref, who has the power to suspend movement.

Everyone on my team knew they had to let me get another crack at the Runner. They surround the other players and keep them busy. I aim for the Runner. He made the mistake of looking up and I am able to catch his eyes. I reflect a quick flash and the fear he feels paralyzes him for a few seconds. That was enough time for me to jump down on him and attack.

Hudson shoots another bolt of lightning. This time I am able to dodge it. I snatch the Runner before the bolt hits him. That kind of voltage would surely kill him. He tries to make a break for it, but I hold on to him.

Daver makes a last-ditch effort to snatch the Runner away, but Rio puts up his wings as shields. Daver can't get past. Time is running out for us to get the Runner into the goalie. A Traveler angel, called a Counter, hangs in the air like a clock. He starts upright. By the time he is upside down we have just 10 seconds left to make a play.

The Counter made his final move; he was now fully upside down. The crowd started counting: ten...nine...eight. I see Jay out of the corner of my eye. I throw the Runner to him. The Runner was weak but still moving; a reaper, who is a rookie, would have killed him. But Jay knows how to hold a human without killing him.

The crowd continues to count: five...four...three... Jay throws the Runner into the goalie. Daver hurls his whole body to try and stop the Runner from landing. The Runner was just slightly out of his reach. And as the crowd shouts two...one... the Runner is in the goalie, alive and well. The crowd cheers. Everyone stands up. We fly around the field, hollering like fools.

****************************

The feelings of joy and euphoria last all the way back home. We talk about every moment of the game over and over again. How close Jay had come to being ejected from the game. How the Brawn Snap had been a very lucky guess by our team.

But the subject that kept coming up was Emmy's stand-off with the ref. She doesn't want to talk about it. She says she hates Runner Ball and it was stupid for us to put ourselves in danger like that.

Everyone asks her why she was so concerned that something would have happened to me. They ask if she thought I was hurt that easily. She says she would have gotten up to defend who ever had been hit with the bolt of lightning. They don't really buy it. I think it was because she worked so hard to sound casual about the whole thing.

"I'll take you home," I say.

"No, Jay or Reese can do it," she says.

That hurts a little. But I know it is part of her trying to grant my wish. Still, it isn't easy to watch her choose other guys to take her home, even if they are my family.

When I land on the roof of the house, Miku is waiting for me.

"What's up?" I ask.

"When are you gonna give her her wings back?"

"When she deserves them."

"Is she being punished by the First Guardian or by her boyfriend?"

"Don't you care about Emmy?"

"Of course I do."

"Well, Meana almost killed her."

"Please, Marcus. If Ameana meant to kill Emmy, she would have been dead. That girl's aim is flawless. She was just mad."

"That doesn't give her the right to do what she did. She hurt someone, and she has to pay."

"When do you pay for the hurt you've caused?"

**********************************

We didn't see Ameana for the rest of the weekend. Rio wouldn't tell me what color she was radiating. He would only say that she wasn't in danger. If she wanted to act like a child and disappear for days, then fine. I wasn't going to spend my Triweekend looking for her.

The next day, we pick up Emmy and go Soul Diving. I explained all of the rules to her. She thought it sounded even worse than Runner Ball. She asked how we could be so stupid as to play with ours souls like that. The thing is, no one ever thinks that they are the one whose wings are gonna fail.

We take her to the top of Tamera Falls. We had to bring an oxygen tank for her. Rio had to stay wrapped around her most of the time because of the cold. As much as she claimed she hated Soul Diving, she couldn't help but look when one of us would take a leap. She looked from between the spaces of her fingers, but she looked.

She held her breath until the angels flew back up and were safely on the mountain. There were twenty-something of us, including three Paras. I tell Emmy to make sure she keeps her eyes open to see them dive.

"Why?" she asks.

"They are amazing. It's like they aren't even falling," I say.

"He's right, Em. When they dive, it's hot. Not as hot as what I can do, but it's still kind of nice." Jay says.

She took our advice and watched when the Paras flew. They don't go two at a time—all three go together. They don't care who wins or loses. They just dive because they like it. Competition means nothing to them. They consider that a baser instinct that only newer angels have.

They approach the edge and fall straight down in unison. It was so controlled, so graceful, that the others on the mountain start clapping. Minutes later, the Paras are back on the mountain. They look so put-together, like they had just gone for a walk down the street as opposed to jumping off the side of a mountain.

When it's our turn, Emmy has a fit. She says it's crazy and that we need to have our heads examined. She wouldn't stop carrying on about how dangerous it is. Finally, Jay promises that he would jump only once. But she says she can't bear to see what happens. He makes her close her eyes for real this time.

Then he and Daver stood next to each other. They were always going at it in some way: diving against each other, battling at Runner Ball, or trying to out-fly each other.

They jump. Emmy keeps her eyes closed. She keeps asking if it is over. Finally, Jay walks up to her.

"Girl, open your eyes," he says.

"Are you in one piece?" she asks.

"One fine piece."

"Did anyone die?"

"Nah," he says. She opens her eyes.

"Who won?"

"What's my name?" he boasts.

Just then, Reese comes up to us.

"Jay, this girl back here needs a reason to jump. Come show her your face," he jokes.

"Hate'n. Just hate'n."

"Can I jump?" Emmy asks.

"No," I say flatly.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't bring anything to scrape your body off the side of the mountain with," I say.

"I'm going," Miku says as she lines up against a Traveler girl. They jump and Miku comes up at least a minute before the Traveler.

"Wow, Miku. You did great," Emmy says.

"It's a gift," she says proudly.

"Are you talking to me again?" Emmy asks her friend.

"I never stopped talking to you, Emmy."

"C'mon. For a while there I was as welcome as the plague."

"You tried to steal my friend's boyfriend. How should I be?"

"Yeah, I get it. But she tried to kill me."

"Yeah, a little, I guess."

"I understand if you're too mad to be my friend anymore. But I miss you. I don't have anyone to help me talk Marcus out of fixing me up."

"Fix you up with who?"

"Henry."

"The guy who has a name for every one of his body parts?"

"Yeah." They both make a sound of displeasure and laugh. Apparently Henry was a bad idea in Miku's mind as well.

After the first few times, Emmy felt better about us diving and was able to watch with her eyes open. Although, she still let out a little yelp when we reached the edge and fell over.

By the end of the night she is cheering us on. Most of us won our rounds except for Rio, whose mind seems to be on something else. He comes up to me and says that he saw onyx. Someone was climbing the mountain and wouldn't make it.

"I could go get them," he says.

"No, just let it be."

"He's only a few seconds away."

"It's not about the distance."

"This is crap, Marcus. We can save him."

"So, every time, Rio? We have to have this discussion every time?"

"It's a matter of life and death and you don't even have the time to talk it over? What, too busy with your love life to do anything else?"

"I'm tired of having the same argument with you over and over again. This is ridiculous! You can't save a soul that was meant to die."

"You know what's ridiculous? You as a First Guardian," he says sarcastically as he jumps off the mountain.

"I'll go get him," Jay says and takes off.

"I'm so sick of this crap. I don't make the rules. Why can't he understand that?"

"Why can't he save just this one person?" Emmy asks.

"Because that is against the rules. And even if it wasn't, it would never be just one person. Rio has to save everyone. That's how he got here in the first damn place."

Just then I look up and realize that Miku has been standing there.

"I'm sorry. I just meant—"

"Whatever, Marcus. You're right. If my brother hadn't tried to save me, he would still be alive."

She takes off into the air.

Just then two angels land next us on the mountain. It was a guy with a girl in his arms— my girl.

"What are you doing here?" I ask her.

"This is Terrance. He's a Traveler and he was kind enough to give me a ride," she says pleasantly. Miku comes back at once when she realizes the angel on the Traveler's back is her friend.

"Mimi, I thought you were gonna meet me back at home," Miku says nervously. I turn and look at Emmy. I can tell she is scared but trying not to let it show. It can't be easy knowing that your life is in danger every second that a certain someone is around.

I had taken Ameana's wings and powers, but the girl was bad all by herself. She has had extensive training in self-defense. She has studied the human body and knows where to strike to inflict the most pain. And she has an air about her that says she is not to be toyed with.

"Meana, come on. Let's go get Snaps. I hear there's a good shop around here," Jay says.

"Maybe later. Hi, everyone," she says to the crowd. Everyone smiles politely but they were waiting for a show. Everyone knew about the showdown that had happened before between Meana and Emmy. Most just couldn't believe their luck: they were around for what they hoped would be round two.

They never would have let them actually fight. They are angels, after all. But I'm guessing they would let it go as far as they could before Omnis punished all of us. By then Emmy would be a wave of dust of the side of the mountain. And I couldn't allow that.

"Hello, Emmy," Meana says nicely.

"Hi," she says in barely a whisper.

"Look, I didn't come to pick a fight or anything. I'm cool. I just came to dive," she says as she walks toward the edge of the mountain. I follow her.

"You can't jump—you have no wings."

"Well I guess you better give them back to me then," she says, daring me not to.

"I will not be forced into giving you what you have yet to earn."

"Well, I'll just have to leap and hope a net appears."

Then without wings or power of any kind, Ameana jumps off the side of the mountain. The crowd gasps loudly. I was already halfway down the mountain after her. I cut through the air with every ounce of power I have.

She was falling steadily a few feet below me. She looks like a bird after the hunter first shoots it down. In a matter of seconds she would land straight on the Port.

I will my wings to stay to my side. I don't care if I hit the Port. I would rather go faster than she and get there before she does. That way I could break her fall. The Port can only take one person at a time. I either save her or go instead of her. I could not, and would not, lose her.

Just when we are about even, I realize that that was as close to saving her as I was gonna get. We could be even but I would never pass her. The others dove in after us, but there is nothing they can do to help. The only one who can save her is me. But I'm not close enough.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the bird was no longer falling. She had tricked the hunter. She was taking flight. Ameana had sprouted wings and was pulling up. I am stunned. I am seconds from the Port when I come back to my senses and pull my wings out.

I fly up with such fury, I change the wind pattern on the mountain. It starts blowing out of control. I land on top and there stands Ameana, her wings gone.

"Guess my Snap is used up. Oh, well," she says simply.

"Get off the mountain," I say to everyone but Ameana. Everyone looks at each other.

"GET. OFF. NOW!!!" My voice causes the mountain to shake. Rocks fall off the side. Rio takes Emmy and everyone flies away immediately. It was just me and my second-in-command.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask.

"Did you think I was just gonna die for you? Did you think I wouldn't have a backup?"

"Back up? You call a Snap a backup? What if it was faulty?" I blare.

"Well, then, that would be perfect because then you could rescue me. I know you have a weakness for weaklings."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop wanting her."

"How do I do that?"

"You were supposed to choose me."

"I did! I choose you. What more can I do to make you understand that? You're the one I just risked my life for. You're the one I gave my Rah to."

"I know how you feel about her. Don't make me out to be crazy."

"You jumped off the mountain with no damn wings. What do you call it, huh? What the hell do you call this?"

"A promise that's been broken."

"What did I promise you?"

"It's what I promised myself. I said I'd never love anyone. Ever. But I broke that promise for you. And now...I can't even remember why."

"Get this straight: you are my second and you will not be this reckless again. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"You do anything that puts this team at risk again and I'll strip you of your wings permanently and leave you on earth. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

I walk over to the edge of the mountain.

"Will you take me home?" she asks.

"You found your way here. So find your own way back." I fly off the mountain, leaving her there.

I never would have left my girlfriend alone on the top of a mountain with no way to get back home. But right now she is my second in command, not the girl I love.

And I suspect the guy who left her on the mountain wasn't the guy she loved. He was just her boss and he had given orders. The only thing Ameana and I had in common at that moment was that both of us were in love with people we no longer liked.

Chapter Twelve

The next morning, I was going to cancel going to the concert. But I realized Jay would have killed me. So I let them go to the concert and I stay behind to go see Tony-Tone.

The moment Tony spots me, he takes off. I pull out my cell as I take off after him. The fact that he's running means he's done something; suddenly, having our only clue partying in a crowd a country away feels like a very bad idea.

"Rio, get Jay to take Emmy home. The rest of you get back here. Tony's up to something. Hurry!"

I hurl myself at Tony, we crash down to the ground. I strike him hard in his chest. He gasps.

"Okay, okay. This guy came in. He said he was a GW but there is a small chance he might have been a Runner working for Akon. I was gonna turn him down but he offered me three third-coats. That's a lot of money."

"I will put my hand through you and pull out that waste of space called you heart right now if you don't tell me what you sold."

"Let's not get violent. There's a good chance I did nothing wrong," he says desperately.

"He paid you three third-coats and he doesn't even have wings! Where did you think he got them from?"

"Hey, like the humans say—don't ask, don't tell."

I pick him up off the floor with one hand and slam him into the nearby tree. I hold him there and reflect a quick flash.

"Please, no."

"Talk, rat."

"I sold him something I got from the market."

Hun's market is run by seamy Sellers who are always on the run from the council. They sell items that have been outlawed by both Omnis and the council. The founder of the Market was Hun Moorland. Hun was a ruthless terrorist with a background in chemistry and biology.

Hun was killed when the bomb he was making to blow up a building in the heart of downtown Tokyo accidentally went off in his face. Hun had made a deal with Atourum: in exchange for not burning for all eternity, he would invent things to help Atourum wage war against good.

He invented a number of things for Atourum. Among them, Quips, which are bullets filled with a liquid substance that attacks an angel's soul.

The other invention Hun is known for is the Zan. Zans are boxes that keep a soul alive without needing a body. Hun invented the Zan and gave it to Atourum, who then used it to store the darkest of souls before re-releasing them on humanity.

Hun's most famous invention is called the Peel. It is a black-powdered substance that peels away the face and soul of an angel and impresses them on someone else. Think of it as identify theft for angels. The Peel lasts a few hours and then the soul will be returned to the angel from whom it was taken.

A few cycles ago, a demon used a Peel and took the appearance of a Traveler. The demon got as far as the gates of the council. Soon, Paras came with word from Omnis that there was a darkness in the light. The demon was punished and Atourum was made to destroy Hun.

Many have theorized that Atourum never got rid of Hun. The conspiracy nuts think that he's still on Earth. They go so far as to say he's still inventing things for his master. Everyone claims to have seen Hun at some point. Hun sighting are as common among angels as Elvis sightings are among humans.

"What did you sell from the Market?" I ask, fully intending to carry out my threat.

"Okay, but don't get mad."

I ram my hand into his chest. He gasps as the pressure I am putting through his chest becomes more than he can handle.

"I sold him a Peel."

I pick him up from the ground and throw him across the street.

"You sold a Peel to a Runner?" I ask.

"He paid me extra not to say anything. He may or may not be a Runner. And anyway, it was Human Peel. The Runner can only pretend to be another human being, not an angel."

"Why would an Akon send a Runner to impersonate a human?"

"I don't know. What can a human get Emmy to do that an Akon or Runner can't?"

"Trust," I say as it hits me right then. The Runner is going to Peel into someone Emmy trusts and take her to the Akons.

Once I land on the roof back at the house, Jay comes running up to meet me. His face is dark with rage, which is not a common thing to see on Jay. It alarms me instantly. Ameana comes up behind him.

"Where's Emmy?" I ask.

"She's fine," he spits out.

"What's up? What's going on?" Miku asks.

He looks at me like he wants to rip my throat out.

"Jay, what's up?" I put my hands on his shoulders. He shrugs them off.

"Back off me," he says.

"Jay what's up?"

He speaks in a cold and unforgiving voice.

"I want a yes or a no answer to this question. And don't you lie to me, Marcus. Did the Sage see you Turn and this mission failing?"

"What?" the twins bark at the same time.

"Answer the question, Marcus."

"No, Marcus would have told us if the Sage had said that," Miku says with certainty.

"Marcus?" Rio asks.

They are all looking at me. Jay is frozen in anger and disgust.

"Listen guys—"

"Did the Sage say that to you?" Jay asks accusingly.

"Jay, calm down," Ameana says.

"Answer me," he shouts, ignoring everyone else.

"Yes."

Their reactions ranged from anger to hopelessness.

"How could you not tell us?" Jay asks.

"I was going to when the time was right."

"And when was that, Marcus? When New York was littered with bodies?"

"I was planning on telling you."

"How dare you keep that from us," Miku shouts.

"You knew this whole time? I knew you had a secret but I thought it was... How could you not tell us?" Rio says dumfounded.

"It's not a big deal. We'll figure it out."

"We? Man, bump that. You decide to hold out on us and now you sayin' 'we' like we're all a team?"

"We are a team."

"No, we ain't. If we were, I wouldn't have to hear this crap from a bunch of Travelers. It's all over the damn Splash. Had I not overheard it, we never would have known."

"I was gonna tell you."

"That's a damn lie. You weren't gonna tell us nothing."

"Just because the Sage thinks it can happen, doesn't mean it will. You guys know me. I would never Turn; I would never betray my team."

"The Sage is never wrong; we're screwed," Miku says, almost to herself.

"You've known about this the whole time?" Rio asks.

"What else did he say?" Miku demands.

"He said that Emmy will somehow bring about the end of me."

"Perfect. That's freakin' perfect!" Jay's words are full of venom and sarcasm.

"Just because the Sage says it doesn't make it a fact. Jay, it's not true."

Ameana speaks in a calm voice. "Look, I don't agree with what Marcus did. But he has a right to make that decision. He's our leader and we have to follow him."

"Follow this," Jay says crudely as he takes off into the air.

We all leap into the air after him, except Ameana. We were calling out his name and arguing loudly back and forth. We didn't even realize Reese had Blinked onto the roof.

"Did you hear what I said?" Reese blares like a mad man. We all turn to face him. He repeats what we didn't hear the first time. He says two words that change everything:

"Emmy's gone."

Chapter Thirteen

"Emmy, just stop defending him," Reese said to me. Only an hour ago, Jay had dragged me out of the Marley concert and back to the Guardians' home.

When we arrived, I convinced Jay to break a Splash so I could read it, just for fun. It was a big mistake.

There in bold print was the Sage's warning that Marcus would betray his team and that I would somehow be the end of him.

All at once they started to lose it. They felt angry and blindsided, that is, everyone but Ameana. I had a feeling she already knew about it.

When Marcus comes home, he's going to be greeted by a mob of very pissed-off Angels. I wanted to be there for him, but Reese Blinked me away.

"Reese, calm down. There's no way Marcus is Turning. And I'm sure the reason he didn't say anything is because he didn't want you to worry. It must have been so hard for him to have to hide it from you guys."

And for the first time since I met him, Reese yelled at me.

"Hard for him? You're actually worried about him?"

"Reese I—"

"No. I have always been on your side, but this is ridiculous. People are going to die and all you can think about is putting more energy into a guy that doesn't want you, it's pathetic."

I ran. Fast. I heard him call my name, but I didn't stop.

I went upstairs to my apartment and locked the door.

When I got to my room, he was standing there.

"Go away," I snapped.

"Just wanted to let you know that it's just me watching you tonight."

"Fine."

"Fine." He went towards the door.

"You really think I'm pathetic?"

"Emmy, if the Sage is right—which he always is—billions of people will die."

"Why do you keep saying people will die, over and over like I don't know?"

"We want you to understand what's at stake."

"I know, and I'm doing my best not to freak out, run down the street naked yelling, The end is here!"

"Naked, huh?"

"Reese."

"Sorry, just had a mental image. I'm an angel, I'm not dead."

"Yeah, how exactly does that work?"

"End of the world and that's what you want to know about—angels and sex?"

"Yeah," I said jokingly. He didn't return my smile. The current situation weighed heavily on him. He sat down on my bed and lowered his head. I went over to him.

"Why don't you go back to the house and sort this out?"

"I can't leave you alone."

"I'm gonna babysit my neighbor's son, Ben. Nothing's gonna happened to me."

"No, I can't leave you alone."

"Marcus won't care. He's too busy with Ameana."

"Now that was a whole 10 seconds."

"What?"

"You didn't mention his name for ten seconds. That was kind of nice."

"What does that mean?"

"That means there are other guys in the world and they deserve a chance with you."

He moved in close and kissed me, parting my lips with his tongue. His kiss was tender but firm. It was so unexpected I couldn't even think. A few seconds passed, but it seemed like our kiss was in slow motion.

He pulled away when he was done. My mouth was still open from shock. Reese kissed me. I didn't really know what to do with that. He was Reese, my friend. But that kiss was nice. It tingled down my spine. What does that mean?

"Em? Are you in there?" Reese asked.

"Yeah," was all I could manage to say.

"I should have asked before I.... Are you mad?"

"No...."

"I've watched you pine for Marcus and it's kind of been killing me."

"Oh."

"I just wanted you to know that there are other angels, angels who have been wanting, waiting, to kiss you."

"Reese...."

Before I could think of what else to say, he Blinked away.

I sighed. This is getting way too complicated. Luckily for me, I had to babysit Ben tonight, so at least I had something to distract me.

I knocked on the door and his Mom opened up for me. As she rushed out, she thanked me and said Ben was in his room. I locked the door behind her and went looking for him. I saw his sweet face down the hall by his room.

"Hey, where's my hug?" I ask him.

He ran toward me with a big smile. As we hugged, he took out a Taser and shocked me. I hit the floor hard. The last thing I saw was my favorite four-year-old transforming into a grown man.

Chapter Fourteen

I wake up on a cold floor. My teeth won't stop chattering. I open my eyes and everything is blurry. I then shut and try opening them once again. My vision clears up. I'm in a large room with windows high above the floor. Rats scurry across the floor. I'm scared of rats. But I have a feeling they're the least of my problems.

I sit up and groan. My head feels heavy. I cough repeatedly. The windows are all broken. It's a loft-type space. I get up and to go to the windows to get a better idea of where I am. After taking a few steps, something pulls me back. I look down. My right leg has been tied to a pole with Samson string.

For the next few minutes I try like hell to untie it. I know all about Samson String and how only the person who tied it can untie it. I don't care. It's cold. I'm scared and desperate and will try anything. It's hopeless. Every time I untie it, the string reties itself, even more knotted than before.

I look in my coat pocket. My cell phone, keys and money are gone. I zip up my coat and blow into my hands to stay warm. Looking around it's hard to see what else is in the room because the lighting is so poor. If I call out whoever took me will know that I'm up and they will come in. But I don't know what else to do. The cold is unbearable.

"Help me! Somebody please, help me," I shout at the top of my lungs. I get nothing. I walk as far as I can toward the windows and call out again. Nothing. I sit back down, close my eyes and try to calm myself. There has to be a way out of here. I just need to remain calm.

There's a door behind me. I can only go halfway to it before the string stops me. Even if I could reach the door, it looks locked. I call out for help again, but there is still nothing. My toes and the tips of my fingers are numb.

I'm trying to think logically and not panic. And judging by the size of the rat that just ran in front of me, panicking would be fairly easy to do. I make a sound to scare it away but it looks at me as if to say, "Who are you kidding?" They know I'm scared. Be calm, Emmy. They'll find you.

I try to think back and understand what happened. I saw Ben turn into a Runner before I blacked out. I don't know how the Runner was able to do that. I know Ben could be not evil. But did the Runner kill Ben in order to become him? What happened to the rest of Ben's family?

I refuse to consider that they're dead. I won't think like that until I know for sure. I think about his little face asking to stay up and watch one more cartoon. I remember the cute, shocked look on his face when I sneak up on him during hide and go seek. His mouth makes a perfect "O" shape and his eyes are as wide as oceans. I push back the dread inside me. I can't fall apart now. Ben is fine, he has to be.

What about my mom? How long did she stay outside waiting for me? Did she come back upstairs to find me? Did the Ben Runner hurt her? Did another Runner come and attack her outside the building? No, Reese would have seen it. Reese.... Okay, now is so not the time to be thinking about the kiss.

Where did the Runner take me? All I remember is falling and waking up here. Why hadn't they killed me yet? Triweekend. They weren't allowed to attack me until it was over. So, that means I have only hours to live. What I wouldn't give for a watch. They could just have the Runner kill me. But then they wouldn't get the information out of me.

It would be easier for me to tell them the clue they were looking for if I knew what it was. I doubt they'll take my word for it. What if this isn't where the Akons are? What if the Runner took me to Lucy? Then that would make this the house of fire, right? But this can't be Lucy's house—it's freaking cold.

I try to untie the string one more time. It is useless. "Aargh!" I slam my foot into the pole out of frustration. Had I been an angel the pole would have bent in half. But since I'm only human, the only damage done is to my foot. I howl as the pain makes its way across the bottom of my foot. Damn, that hurt.

"Are you okay?" someone says in the near darkness.

Startled, I jump.

"Who said that?" I ask.

"I'm over here, to your left, by the corner," the voice says.

"Who are you?"

"A guy who made way too many mistakes. Who are you?"

"My name is Emmy. Where are we?"

"Somewhere in the fashion district, I think. I can hear trucks backing up and the guys talking about fabric shipments. That's the best guess I got."

"Can you help me out?"

"I'm tied, too."

"Who brought you here?"

"Akons, you?"

"A Runner pretended to be a boy I know and attacked me. Next thing I know, I'm here."

"How's your foot?"

"Not too bad, but I'm freezing."

"Do you have a coat on?"

"Yeah, but it's not helping"

"Here, take this." He throws something at me that lands just out of my reach.

"Can you get it?"

"Wait let me see." I reach out as far as I can and am able to pull it closer to me. It's a heavy knitted sweater.

"Don't you need this?" I ask.

"I'm warm enough. Don't worry about me," he says.

"Why are you here?"

"I told Lucy I would give her my soul if she gave me riches, but at the last minute I chickened out. She had a Runner bring me here."

"You almost sold your soul?"

"I've done a lot worse. But I'm not a bad person. I mean, not completely."

"I'm not a good person. I mean, not completely."

"Did you go back on the deal to give your soul, too?"

"No, they want me to give them information that I don't have. At least I don't think I do."

"I don't get it."

"It's complicated. But it's gonna work out. Soon, the Guardians are gonna come and save us."

"Us?"

"Yeah, you and me."

"Guardians don't save people like me."

"Well, these Guardians will. We just have to hold on. How long have you been here?"

"Long enough," he says.

"Have you seen anyone?" I ask.

"The Akon leader, Rage. He tied me here and said he'd kill me when he had more time on his hands. He said he didn't want it to be quick."

"We'll be out of here soon. Don't worry."

"Did you put the sweater on?"

"Yeah, I put it on under my coat. It helps a lot. Thank you."

"Wow, I have not heard that in a long time."

"Thank you?"

"Yeah. I haven't done anything to get one of those."

"Well, you have now."

"You're welcome."

"Can I give you a piece of advice?"

"Sure."

"Don't bother screaming, it does no good."

"Why?"

"The windows have a sound Holder over them"

"What's that?"

"It's just like a regular Holder but it doesn't hold in a person, it holds their voices. It's basically a way of soundproofing."

"Great."

"Sorry."

"What do you think they'll do to us?"

"They've already had a crack at me."

"Are you hurt?"

"A few burns."

"They burned you?"

"Rage is not a very nice guy. I guess you don't get to be head of the Akons by being nice."

"I'm so sorry."

"I have done some really bad things in my life. Maybe it's what I deserve. But you strike me as innocent. How did you get here?"

"The universe hates me."

"Yeah, me too. But I struck the first blow."

I study the layout of the room we're in. There isn't a lot to see in such dim light, but I look anyway. Above us is a smooth ceiling. If this were TV there would be some kind of hatch or something. But of course there is none. And the windows are useless.

I turn and looked towards the door. There is simply no way to get to it. Unless I had wings and somehow flew over to it. But then if I had wings, none of this would have been a problem.

"You okay, Emmy?"

"Yeah."

"You were so quiet I wanted to make sure you still had some of that hope in your voice. It's easy to lose and nearly impossible to get back."

"I'm trying."

"How do you know the Guardians?"

"We just kind of crossed paths. But they will be coming for us."

"All of them?"

"Except for one, I kind of pissed her off."

"How?"

"I kissed her boyfriend."

"Impressive."

"I told you, I'm not completely good."

"Yes, you did," he says with a little laugh.

"Tell me the truth: are you in a lot of pain?"

"You really care what happens to someone you don't even know?"

"You care what happens to me, don't you?"

"I'm really starting to."

"See, you're not completely bad."

Just then the door opens and a big guy with wings and dark hair appears. He closes the door behind him.

"Who are you?" I ask.

He doesn't say anything. He kneels down in front me. He has a strong chin, steel-gray eyes and a hard stare. In his right hand, he holds out a cup filled with green liquid inside. In his left hand is a bottle of water.

"Drink this," he orders, shoving the cup in front of me.

"Leave her alone, Rage," the prisoner says from the corner.

Without taking his eyes off of me, Rage shoots a small bolt of fire out of his arms and straight at the prisoner. Shocked, he is barely able to get out of the way.

"My leg is on fire."

"Help him! He's on fire," I yell.

"I don't give a damn about what he's on."

I take off my coat and throw it over to him. "Use it, hurry," I say. He sounds like he's in agony.

"Drink this," Rage says again.

I'm livid. How dare he play around with people like that? He had thrown just enough fire to burn the prisoner but not kill him. He's like a cat playing with a mouse it doesn't feel like killing yet.

"Drink this," he says again.

"No."

He slaps me with the back of his hand. My face jerks to the side. It's like being hit by a train. The pain is blinding. Rage's face is swimming in front of my head. I can't steady the image. I taste blood as it runs from my nose down to my mouth. There's another stream of blood going down my lower lip.

"Do not mistake me for a Guardian, human. It is not my job to keep you alive. My job is the express opposite. Drink it."

"What is it?" I ask, my words slurring.

He snatches me by the neck and holds me to the pole with one hand.

"Does this look like a damn Q&A?" Rage asks.

Tears fall down the side of my face. He is going to kill me. My supply of air has been completely cut off. My face is hot and I'm certain it's turning blue. He lets go of me. I gasp for air.

"Leave her alone. She didn't do anything to you," the man moans on my behalf from the corner. The fire had been put out by the coat. The air is filled with the smell of ash and flesh. Rage pays the prisoner no mind. He speaks directly to me.

"This is Weeping oil. If you drink it, it might kill you. If you don't drink it, I will kill you."

He presses the cup to my mouth and holds my head in place. He forces the vile liquid down my throat.

"Drink all of it," he demands. I have no choice, I gulp down the mixture.

My body rejects it immediately. It's like I tried to drink bleach, but worse. It burns as it makes its way down. Once it lands in my stomach, I feel like someone is stir-frying my insides. I scream so loud the inside of my skull feels like it's going to cave in.

I convulse and fall over to my left side. My body shakes violently on the floor. My eyes roll to the back of my skull. I'm being burned from the inside. My mouth foams. My tongue wants to escape my body. I am lying on the floor making sounds that mean nothing because it is too hard to think. My brain is sizzling on the stove. It's a searing, slow torture.

I think I hear the prisoner talk, but I am too gone to make out what he says. I don't care. I'm being cooked. Someone help me. Please, please, please. Help me. Rage stands above me. He pours water from the bottle into the cup. He looks down at me with evil in his eyes. He smiles as he talks down at me.

"You better hope you have the memory I need in here. If not, I'll be back. And trust me, it won't be as pleasant as it was just now." He walks away and slams the door shut. The prisoner crawls as close to me as he can

"Emmy?" he calls out.

I can't answer. The pain won't allow me to do anything. My head remains on the floor. I can only moan as the blood drips down the side of my mouth. The prisoner takes a handkerchief and flings it to me. He wants me to wipe the blood from my face, but I can't move.

"Everything is going to be okay. Weeping oil is almost impossible for humans to digest, but you look like the kind of girl who can beat the odds. It's okay. You're gonna be okay."

I continue moaning. He throws my coat and it lands softly on me. Huge holes have been burned into it. But it doesn't matter. The cold, the rats and my fear are all second to being cooked from the inside.

Both my body and I hope that if more pain comes, it comes quick enough to knock us out completely. There can't be anymore pain than what we just experienced, can there? How is that humanly possible? But that's just it—these aren't humans. They are demons and angels, and they are better at everything.

That means they are far better at inflicting pain than any human. Akons, especially; they are as evil as Guardians are good. They learned to torture from Lucy. If Rage comes back, he will inflict even worse pain.

I drift off to sleep once the pain was reduced to mere agony. Darkness came and stayed. It was a welcome relief.

Some time later, I open my eyes. The sky is just as dark as it was when I had drifted off to sleep. My head is throbbing and blood is caked all over my face. The pain is now a dull ache. The prisoner speaks to me from a few feet away.

"Who's Marcus?"

"Why?"

"You kept calling for him."

"Oh. He's a friend."

"Is he the reason you're not, as you said, a 'completely' good person?"

"He's reason enough."

"So, who's Reese and what was wrong with the kiss?"

"What?"

"You just kept saying. 'Reese, about the kiss...' over and over again. I'm guessing this guy kissed you and you didn't like it. Am I right?"

No, I liked it a lot...

"How long was I sleeping?" I ask, not about to discuss Reese with him.

"Not long."

"Rage is coming back soon."

"They won't feed you another dose of oil for another hour or so. If they do it too soon, they could kill you before they get what they want."

"How do you know so much about it?"

"I have a lot of friends who are Sellers. They sell Weeping oil. I know more on the subject than most."

"What happens if they come back?"

"They will come back."

"How do you know?"

"Weeping oil rips a reflection of your memories and puts it into the cup you drank from. The very last time you cried, it will show that very memory. But teenagers, especially teenage girls, tend to cry a lot. How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Everything is life or death at your age. I'm sure you have cried a lot. So the Weeping oil has a lot of memories it has to take from you."

"How many can it take at one time?"

"Don't think of it that way. It's one long movie of you crying. It will start with the last time you cried and then the time before that. Then when it can no longer go back, Rage is going give you an even more potent dose"

"Why would it need to be more potent?"

"You don't cry the same tears when you fail a test as you do if your mother dies. The tears for your mother are much stronger than the ones for a failed exam. The stronger the tears, the more potent the dose needed to retrieve it. I doubt they're going to find what they are looking for in the first batch. It's usually a weak batch."

"That was weak? It nearly killed me."

"That's what I'm afraid of; you may not survive it this time."

"Maybe I can throw it back up."

"It won't work. Once it gets in your system, it will track down your vital organs and attack them with fire. Or at least what feels like fire."

I wanted to hear more, but I drifted off again.

******************************

"Get the hell up," Rage barks at me. I look up from the floor as he kicks me.

"Get off me, you lunatic," I say as scramble to sit up.

"None of the memories you gave us are useful."

"What the hell do you want from me?"

"What I don't want is a bunch of crappy girl memories about some guy who doesn't like you. I got four damn hours of boo-hoo 'Why doesn't he want me?' That's crap all girls feel and it's useless to me," he shouts.

"Well, that's not my problem."

"You are so wrong about that. You better hope this dose of oil is potent enough to give me what I need. If I have to come in here again, you won't have to worry about the oil—I'll kill you myself."

"Stop being a punk about it and just do it. Do you know how many times I've had my life in danger since you people came to Earth? The reason why none of you cowards ever make good on your threats is because you need me. So, kill me and shut up or get out of my face."

"You've been so entertaining. But now let me entertain you. Tell me, how do you feel about torture scenes?"

He shoves a cup up to my mouth and pours its contents down my throat.

"Screw you," I yell as I spit the green liquid out of my mouth and onto the floor.

He strikes me harder than the last time. I feel blood on the inside of my mouth.

"Do the other Akons know you punch like a five-year-old girl?"

He hits me again. The prisoner gasps as my face hits the floor. I spit a mouthful of blood.

"Drink."

I can't get up. He picks my face off the floor and shoves the liquid fire down my throat again.

The prisoner was right: this dose is stronger. It's the difference between frying in a pan and roasting in open flames. I scream until my voice gives out.

I cry until the tears all dry up. There was nothing to be done. I pray death would want me and come quickly. I bang myself against the floor begging for pain I could understand.

"Emmy, stop. You are going to knock yourself unconscious."

I keep doing it. Hurting myself is the only way to escape the torture of the oil. I need human pain.

"If you lose consciousness, you'll die. The dose is too strong to risk giving into it. If you close your eyes, you might not wake up."

I got a flash of my mom's face just then. I stop trying to hurt myself.

"That's it. Breathe, Emmy, breathe."

I keep my eyes open and focus on the buildings outside, outside where people are having dinner and watching TV. Outside where normal girls are on the phone with their friends and planning dates with their boyfriends.

I have a sudden flash of him....

Marcus, if I die today, I'll pray to become a Seller so I can keep dying until I come back into arms that are yours.

************************

The door opens again. My heart races. The blood drains out of my face.

"I thought I'd bring my friends to meet the human," Rage says casually as he enters with the rest of the Akons.

"Go to hell," I snap.

"You're right. She's got a kick to her," the tallest one says.

"You see that? Frenzy likes you," Rage announces.

"I find you electrifying," Frenzy says as he raises his hands. A small stream of electric currents bounces back and forth between his hands. The Akon standing next to Frenzy has bright red hair and freckles. It's hard to see him as a bad guy—that is, until he speaks.

"Hey, let me take a stab at getting to know you inside out." Without warning, he points his hand toward me and three of the sharpest daggers I have ever seen come straight for me. I duck, but not in time. One of the daggers goes right through my shoulder. I cry out more from shock than pain.

"Hey, man, we need her alive and awake. Don't make me tell you again," Rage barks.

"Mayhem was just making sure she felt welcomed," Frenzy says in defense of his friend.

"If you want to play, play with the other one. He has yet to give up his soul," Rage orders.

Two Akons had yet to speak. One of them looks very much like Agony but is slightly taller. "How come everyone got to introduce themselves but me?" he asks.

"Oh, this is Chaos," Rage says.

"You killed my brother, Agony. You remember?" he asks me.

"Dark hair, tall, pathetic loser? Yeah, I remember."

Chaos sets me on fire. Literally right then and there, my skin starts to melt. Not like the oil. It didn't feel like it was burning. But it was. I had been set on fire. I jump up and go crazy.

"Fire! Fire!"

They laugh. Rage says something to Chaos and suddenly the fire stops. There were no flames or even smoke.

"How?" I say, completely confused. Rage explains.

"Chaos and Agony are the body and mind of our group. Agony controls the body and Chaos controls your mind."

"You have Marcus' power?" I ask.

"Please, like that no-talent hack could come close to me. All he can do is reflect a fear that you have. Me, I get in there, baby," he says, crudely pointing to his temple.

"Marcus has a million more skills than you and when he comes to get me, I'll have him give you a demonstration."

"Why don't I give you one instead," the last Akon says. He has blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He holds out both hands and takes aim at the wall next to me. I move and stay low to the ground. He shots out some type of spray.

"That's all you do, shoot out water? What's the worst you can do, make my hair frizzy?" I snap.

Then I look again at where he had just sprayed. The liquid had eaten right through the wall.

"Acid?"

"Maybe you won't think it's so harmless when I aim it into your freaky eyeballs."

"War doesn't take kindly to remarks about his powers. He's very sensitive," Rage says.

"What do you want? I'm not drinking any more oil so you can kiss my—"

"She has a mouth on her," Frenzy says.

"I could fix her right up," Chaos offers. Apparently he is still bitter about the slaying of his brother. He is out for blood, more so than the others.

"We don't need you to drink anymore. We got what we needed from the oil."

"You're lying," I shout.

"No, we got exactly what we needed. It's a memory of you and your mother sitting at the kitchen table a few years ago. She told you something and it changed your life. It made your tears reflect red in the cup. That's not a girly kind of cry. Whatever she said changed your life forever. What did your mother tell you?"

"None of your damn business"

"I see why Marcus likes her. He's always had a thing for hard-headed girls. Look at Ameana. That little kitten has claws," Mayhem says without the use of a dagger this time.

"What did your mother tell you?" Rage asks again.

"Not to talk to strangers."

He turns to Frenzy and says, "Fry her."

I flinched and say, "Okay, Okay. My mom told me my grandparents died."

"Nice try but the thing with your grandparents happened before that. Don't lie to me again."

"C'mon, let me just make her think she's drowning or something. That is much faster. She'll talk. Trust me," Chaos offers.

"Shut up," Rage shouts as he walks up to me.

"You know what I like about you?"

"My smile?"

"No—guts, you have lots of guts. Maybe I should have Mayhem shoot six daggers into you so I can see just how much guts you have."

"C'mon, guys, just leave the kid alone," the prisoner shouts from the corner.

Rage looks at him and thinks for a second. A cold smile spreads across his face.

"He was very nice to stand up for you. I hope you do the same for him." Rage goes over and picks up the prisoner by the collar.

"I'm gonna squeeze him like an orange until juice comes out. When I'm done, I'll leave him alive enough to let the boys have fun."

"Let him go, you bastard!"

"What did your mother tell you that changed your life?" He presses down on the man's windpipe until his eyes bulge out of their sockets.

"You're killing him. Stop it. Stop it!" Flashbacks of Sara swirl in my head. Oh no, please. I can't take it again.

The prisoner was turning blue. He was dying as his feet dangled in the air.

"Okay, okay. I'll tell you, just let him go."

"Talk first."

"She told me that my dad raped her. And that's how she got pregnant with me. Now please let him go."

He drops the man carelessly to the floor.

"Your dad was a rapist?"

"Yes," I say, unable to look him in the eye. He looks at the other Akons.

"That's it. That's the clue. It's her dad. We have to find him."

"He's not moving, Rage. You killed him," I accuse.

They all laugh as if I had just told the funniest joke. Then Rage turns to the body on the floor and speaks to him.

"Hey, are you dead?"

"Nope, I'm good," the prisoner says as he jumps up, unties himself and walks over to the Akons.

I'm more stunned than I've ever been in my life.

"I told you: self-sacrificing humans are all alike. Strong as steel but threaten to hurt someone and they become play dough," Rage boasts.

I look at the man who had cared for me while I was being tortured.

"Oh, you guys have not met," Rage says. He motions to the man and says, "Introduce yourself to the human."

The man takes a step forward, extends his hand and says,

"Hi, I'm Tony-Tone. Nice to meet you."

Chapter Fifteen

Marcus had told me about Sellers. He had mentioned Tony in particular. He had told me that Tony was not to be trusted, but I had never met him until now.

For some reason Tony can't bring himself to look at me. He was looking every other direction. That might be because of the sheer hatred I'm beaming towards him.

"Now would be the ideal time to kill you, but we're gonna double check to see if our suspicion is right. If it turns out that clue is with your father, we won't need you anymore. Then we can come back and let Chaos get the first crack at you," Rage says.

"Thanks, boss. Looking forward to it," Chaos says with a sneer.

"The Guardians are coming to get me. And when they do, I'm gonna make sure you get the express to hell," I say to all of them. They just laugh and head out the door.

Now it's just me in the room. As much as I hate Tony, being here alone isn't the most comforting feeling. I wish I knew Morse code or something. Do angels know that code? What does it matter? I have been here for hours and no one has come.

Okay, let's look at the bright side here. There has to be one, right? Well, I didn't have to drink any more Weeping oil. That's only because they think I gave them what they want. What in the world had led them to believe that? I held out on telling the Guardians because it hurts to admit that my whole existence is a mistake. But if I thought it were a lead, I would have told them.

"Where the hell are you guys?" I shout in frustration.

Just then, the door opens up.

If they feed me Weeping oil again, I will die.

The figure that enters the room was the last person I thought I'd see again.

"You have to be quiet," he says.

"Screw you, Tony. Did you come here to make sure I was still tied down like an animal?"

"I knew you'd still be tied down because I'm the one who tied you."

"I freakin' hate you, you evil bastard. I was worried about you."

"I know."

"Just kill me, or whatever you are here to do, and get out."

He bends down within my reach. I rain blow after blow on top of him. He tries to fight me off, but I'm too pissed to be stopped.

"Die, Seller trash." He never hit me back. All he did was block the blows.

"Alright, I get it. You want me dead, but can I do this first?"

"Do what?" I look down and he is untying me.

"Why?" I ask, stunned.

"I told you, I'm not a completely bad guy."

"You helped them tie me up and torture me. You think you're still in the gray area? Are you freakin' kidding me?"

"Look, I could have left you tied up."

"I could have beat you senseless."

"The point is, you're free now."

"Why did you free me? And don't give me that crap about not being a total jerk, because you are."

"When you thought I was in trouble like you, you were willing to help."

"So?"

"Well, I've never had anyone go out of their way for me. Plus, Marcus has had plenty of chances to kill me but he hasn't. So, I thought I'd do him a favor and help you out."

"You're doing this because of Marcus?"

"I'm doing it because I don't think you would have revealed your secret if just your life depended on it. You only did it to save me. You put my life ahead of yours. That was nice."

"Had I known you were a traitor I would have told them to roast you and let me dance on your ashes."

"You have a dark side to you, you know that?"

"I'm not an angel. I can have as dark a side as I damn well please."

"I can see why he likes you. You've got a little fire in you."

"I had a lot of fire in me moments ago, and it's all because you helped them."

"I didn't tell them to use the Weeping oil. That was an executive decision."

"Rage?"

"And Lucy."

"So, you and all your friends just sit around thinking of ways to hurt people?"

"I had nothing to do with that."

"Why am I even standing here talking to you? Which way do I go once I leave here?"

"You can't leave. They have a meter at the door. It will tell them if a human has entered or exited. The only one who can come and go is me. I know the code to turn it off."

"Then get moving," I say as I head towards the door. He takes my arm. I pull it away from him.

"You touch me and I'll make you beg Lucy to end it for you right here and now."

"I'll help you, but you have to let me go first."

"You could be setting me up again."

"For what? You already gave them what they needed."

"Thanks to you."

"I did not torture you."

"Who sold them the Weeping oil, Tony?"

"Oh."

"Yeah, you're a swell guy"

"They have something I need. They said if I helped they'd give it to me."

"What?"

"Never mind. It can only be found in the Hun Market. It costs a lot of money and they were gonna get it for me."

"So, it's something to do evil."

"You do-gooders are so judgmental."

"Shut up and help me get out."

"Okay, no need to shout. You know, on TV the guy who rescues the girl gets a kiss."

"The guy isn't usually the one who put the girl in danger in the first place. Now move."

He leads the way, puts a key in the door and opens it. I see a series of dark hallways. We stay low and run down the first corridor to the left. At the end of the hall is a room where the Akons had gathered. Their voices fill the hallway. Tony mouths soundlessly that we need to keep moving. But I move towards the sound. This way I can find out how much they know or how much they think they know.

Tony keeps waving "no" and tries to steer me towards the exit. I won't go. I have to find out as much as I can. This is my chance to really be of help in this mission. I come as close as I can to the door without touching it.

I hear Frenzy speak from behind the door.

"I'm telling you, this is what we've been looking for."

"So, let's kill her, then go find her father," Chaos adds excitedly.

"We have to make sure. After we get the father, then we kill her. Lucy won't like us jumping ahead of ourselves," the leader, Rage says.

"I'm sure enough for all of us. The council gave us this guy's daughter as a starting point. Now we have to find him," Chaos replies.

"He's right. We need to wait on the girl." I think that was Mayhem speaking, but I'm not sure.

"Where's Tony?" Rage asks.

"He went to get some food."

"I forget that bastard's human. They're so weak. They need to eat several times a day. How pathetic," Chaos says.

"Weren't you like that?" Rage asks.

"I always choose job over food. Any opportunity to see the look on the victim's faces as they cry out and ask you to spare their worthless lives. That was the only fuel I needed."

"That why you weigh ten pounds," Frenzy says.

"Oh, you wanna go? Anytime man."

"Enough. Tony should have been back. Go check on the girl."

"Tony would never help her. That guy is only two cycles away from being owned by Lucy. There's no way he'll make it into the light."

"Chaos, shut up and go find him. And if he is anywhere other than in the front door guarding the human, take him out," Rage orders.

I hear Chaos making his way towards the door. Tony drags me down the hall and into a stairwell. We run as fast as we can. We hear feet running behind us. They're shouting to each other to catch us before we get to the exit. We go down two flights of stairs and down the hallway. Hand in hand, Tony and I head for the exit at top speed.

At the exit is an alarm code of some kind. Tony goes up to it and punches in a few numbers. Nothing happens. The door remains shut.

"What's the problem?"

"I can't remember the code to get out."

"What? C'mon."

"Shh. I need to focus. Stop rushing me."

"They're coming."

The footsteps get louder.

"Tony, hurry!"

"I got it." He keys in the numbers, the alarm flashes green and the lock springs open. We never get a chance to open the door because at that exact moment Rage sends a ball of flames hurtling down the hallway towards us.

We hit the floor as the blaze blasts the door wide open. Flames are everywhere. Tony drags me up off the floor. I get up just in time to see Rage's next attack. The ball of flames is too close to us: we won't duck in time.

We brace ourselves as it bears down on us. Suddenly every thing goes black. I hear voices, so I think I'm still alive. How is that possible? I think back to the last time I felt this kind of darkness: it's Rio. He's shielding Tony and me from the ball for flames. I am right: when the darkness lifts, Rio hovers above me.

Marcus had attacked Rage while Rio protected Tony and I.

"We gotta go," Rio says. Tony and I follow him out of the gaping hole that had once been a door. As we get outside, I look up and see Mayhem and Frenzy flying above us. They don't get in the way of us trying to escape because they're too busy attacking the other Guardians.

From the roof, Frenzy aims at Miku and shoots a bolt of lightning from each hand. The lightning rocks her body. She shakes uncontrollably. Her eyes are wild and her hands clench. Seeing this, Ameana looks for a way to help her friend. She finds the perfect opportunity when Mayhem shoots daggers at Reese, who has just Blinked in.

Ameana redirects the daggers so that they by pass Reese, go around her and head right for Frenzy's chest. He sees the daggers coming and has to stop electrocuting Miku in order to take cover.

No longer held up by jolts of electricity, Miku drops to the ground. She isn't moving. Panicked, Ameana goes over to check on her. War sees Ameana is distracted and blasts a dose of acid directly at her. Reese Blinks in from behind and attacks War causing him to misfire. Jay helps Marcus take on Rage and Chaos. Rio leads us around the corner away from the fight.

"Stay here. I'll get Reese to Blink you home," he says.

"No," I shout after him. He doesn't hear me. He has already taken off.

"We have to go help them."

"I'm just a human. There is nothing I can do."

"Fine, Tony. You stay here and be the coward they all think you are."

"Wait!" he says.

"What?"

"I learned some information about the Triplex from the Akons that might help you. I was gonna sell it to Marcus for a small fee but...."

"What is it?"

"According to the Akons, Lucy said that each member of the council has a say in where the Triplex is placed on Earth. Even though the council is not made up of humans, they each have traits that are specific to them."

"So they can be bad or good?"

"No, that's not what I mean. Take the first member to the council, Death. It acts independently of Omnis, but it cannot oppose the other two members. That means if Death wants to take a man's life, it can only do so with the permission of Time and Fate."

"So the Triplex has to be somewhere that can be affected by Time, Fate and Death?"

"Exactly. All three of them have to agree on the hiding place."

"So the Triplex is going to be somewhere all three can agree on. But that doesn't really help, Tony. Fate, Time and Death exist in everything."

"No, Emmy. Think. Where can there be no death?"

"Where there was no life."

"Exactly. How can something die if it never lived?"

"So Death would want the Triplex in a place where death can occur, like a hospital or a nursing home?"

"Yes. Next comes Time."

"How can we narrow down where on Earth Time would hide the Triplex? Time is everywhere."

"Yes, but everything doesn't require the same amount from it. Flowers need weeks to grow. Trees need hundreds of years. But still they all require some aspect of time in order to come about. The thing which you are looking for will require a portion of time."

"We're looking for something that needed a set amount of time in order to exist, like a plant?"

"Yes. And lastly, we have Fate. The trick with Fate is to try not to argue with it. It has already seen which moves you will make and how to counteract. Its only purpose is balance. Fate will petition to have the object put where both good and evil are likely to be found. Fate will want to give each side a fair chance of entering."

"So the Triplex wouldn't be in a holy place like a church?"

"Nor will it be in a casino or a politician's office. That's it. That's all the info I know."

"The Akons could kill you for helping me. This is very brave of you."

"If I were really brave, I'd run back there and help you."

"You can still come with me. I'll protect you."

"I'm sure you would. When you were fighting with me earlier, I notice you have a great right hook."

"I'll tell them what you told me as soon as I have a chance." I smile and rush off. Things are even more chaotic. Marcus picks up War and hurls him at Chaos. The two crash into an empty store front, flattening it completely. They flee the scene with Marcus furiously on their tail.

Marcus catches up to them. War screams and begs to die because of what he sees reflected in Marcus' eyes. Marcus holds him there longer. War begs again to have his life taken; before his wish can be granted, Chaos attacks Marcus from behind.

"Emmy, look out."

I didn't even see it coming. I whip my head around in time to see the daggers make their way to me. The person who warned me was Jay. I wanted to thank him but there would be no time. Fear has me frozen in place. I close my eyes. Please, don't let this hurt too much.

I open my eyes. I'm sitting on the floor, a block away from all the action. Nothing has happened. There is no blood. No sharp unrelenting pain. I'm in the arms of an angel. I smile gratefully when I see who it is.

"Are you sorry it's not him who saved you?"

"No, I'm glad it's you, Reese." I hold him tightly and wrap my arms around him.

"I'm into saving pretty girls," he says pulling me back to look into my face.

I thought I saw him wince, but I must have been mistaken because now he's grinning like a kid. A tingle goes down my spine. I move in closer and kiss him with slow, building passion. He kisses me back with intense longing. His hair starts to glow. It's like a beam of light was shining on his head. I pull away suddenly. Why is his hair illuminated? Is it some kind of angel alarm? I had seen Ameana's hair glow before but this was even brighter. What did it mean? I was about to ask him when I see Rage in the air, sending a fireball straight at us.

"Reese, Blink. Blink now."

I close my eyes and open them again. I am in the same spot. I can't take my eyes off the fire coming for us. In that moment a soft wind blows past me and lifts me up off the ground.

I look up and Jay has snatched me out of the way just in time. He puts me down on the ground and goes back to fight Rage. Ameana joins in and redirects the latest fireball back at Rage. He ducks and the ball hits Chaos.

Chaos doesn't move in time and the flames catch his arms and spread. Frenzy helps him put them out and then launches a bolt of electricity at Ameana. Miku sings softly to Frenzy, causing him to misdirect the bolt and send it into the building behind me. Every single window shatters into millions of pieces, all of which are headed for me. Marcus swoops in and grabs me just as the rain of glass falls.

As Marcus takes off into the air with me, War attacks him. The acid War spews latches onto Marcus' wings, burning and eating away at them. He howls in pain and loosens his grip on me. I slip out of his hands and down to the ground below. I don't even have time to scream as the wind whips around me. It's a twenty-story drop, and I'm falling fast.

Marcus ignores the searing pain in his wings and dives down to catch me. Just as we make contact, War attacks him again causing him lose his balance. He drops me again. The fall is inevitable now. I'm going to hit the ground.

But just when I think I'm dead and it's all over, someone catches me. I'm only a few feet from the ground. Relief washes over me. I look up into Marcus' face. It's not him. He isn't the one that stopped my fall, it's War.

"Let's go have a little talk," he says as he throws me to the ground. I cry out as my body hits the ground. I hadn't been high enough for the fall to be life-threatening, but I feel something snap. I roll over and over until I hit a row of trash cans.

I try to get up but a sharp pain in my rib cage wouldn't allow me to. I know what I broke—a rib. That is the only thing that makes sense. My side is in so much pain I can barely see straight. It hurts to breathe, but I need to get up before War comes back.

"Where are you going? We haven't had our talk," he says a few feet away from me. I look up in the air and Marcus is trying to fly down to me. But Rage is keeping him busy by trying to torch him.

"Your boyfriend is busy. This is between us," War says venomously.

I use the side of the trash can to pull myself up. It hurts so bad I'm gasping just from standing upright. Digging around furiously in the trash can, I find a broken mirror. I pull out the longest piece I can find and hold it like a knife.

War sees my weapon and laughs.
"You're the funniest human I've encountered. I'll tell you what. I like you. I won't spray you. I'll just dismember you. How does that sound?"

"Don't be a punk. You want me, come get me," I bark.

I'm holding the weapon so hard it cuts into the palm of my hand. Blood travels down to my wrist. It swirls around my arm and falls drop by drop onto the ground. I can't feel the pain of the cut. I can't even feel my side aching anymore. I'm just pissed off now, and I'm tired of being tortured and pushed around.

"You come near me and I'll kill you." My voice trembles with a mixture of fear and rage. But it's mostly rage. I know he will tear me apart, but damned if I'll let him do it without a fight.

He lunges at me and I attack him with the mirror. I slash and cut through the air. I make contact with his body several times. He tries to stop me by reaching for my hand, but I am too quick. The whole thing is more annoying to him than hurtful. The only injury I've caused is mostly to myself. The glass cuts deeper and deeper into my hand. The slashes that I have made on War are all but scrape on his steel-like body.

"I'm done playing." He lunges at me again. I don't move out of the way in time. I go flying backwards and hit the ground. The weapon slips out of my hand. Pain spreads down my body. War is on top of me. He wraps his hands around my throat and squeezes.

"I'm trying to kill you quickly. Keep struggling and I will make it slow. And trust me—you don't want that."

I kick and scream trying to get him off me. I am finally able to reach the piece of broken mirror that I dropped. I take it and plunge it into his shoulder blade.

"You bitch," he shouts.

I use this momentary distraction to crawl away from him. He pulls out the glass from his shoulder like it's a toothpick. He looks at me with murder in his eyes. Everything about him is looming and sinister. He charges toward me like an enraged bull. I can't get away fast enough. He picks me up and throws me into the trash cans.

My head hits the sidewalk. It feels like my brain is being shaken inside my skull. I land on the side with the broken rib. I am crying so hard from the pain that I can't hear anything else going on. War comes towards me again. I close my eyes. I don't want his face to be that last thing I see before I die.

He takes my hand and hovers over me. I totally lose it and yell so loud it comes out like a shrill.

"Get away from me. Get away from me!" I punch, kick and scream, all with my eyes closed.

He gathers my hands inside his to stop me from attacking him.

"Emmy, stop it. It's me." I open my eyes and Marcus' face is looking back at me. I glance over his shoulder and see War flying away. There isn't one Akon to be found anywhere. The street is eerily quiet. The Akons had wisely decided to flee.

I look back at Marcus and burst into tears. He takes me into his chest and wraps his arms around me.

"It's over."

"They tortured me."

"I know."

"I tried to fight them but they're so strong...."

"I know, Em. It's over." Marcus kisses me on my forehead. He holds me patiently and lets me cry. It's minutes before I stop shaking. Finally, I grow quiet. He looks into my face. He's stricken by sadness and grief.

"What's wrong?" I ask. He touches the bruises and cuts on my face. His touch is light and charged with longing and regret.

"Can I ask you to do something I have no right to ask for?"

"Yes."

"Can I hold you a little longer?"

"Yes."

He holds me tighter. We lie there on the ground. But that's okay. All the places that are bruised and broken in my body don't hurt anymore. Or maybe they do and I just don't care. Because for the next few moments, I get to be with him. For the next few moments, no one is keeping us apart.

From the corner of my eye, I see Ameana looking in on us from a building nearby. Half of her body is hidden, but I can see her face clearly. I can't imagine what she's feeling but I think her heart is breaking. I'm sure she'll be coming over to us. I should make him let me go. But I can't.

Just a few more minutes with him, please.

She doesn't come over. She stands there taking in the situation. Marcus can't stop looking at me. I can't stop looking at Ameana, who can't stop looking at Marcus.

"We should go," I tell him softly. He nods reluctantly and helps me up. Just then I flash back to the last guy who saved my life a few moments ago.

"We have to go find Reese. I think something's wrong with him."

"What is it?" Marcus says fully alert and ready to attack.

"He Blinked in time to save me from Mayhem's daggers, but then his hair started glowing."

"His hair was glowing?"

"Yeah. Oh, no. What does that mean? Is he in danger?"

"That's not what makes an angel's hair glow." He's upset or maybe even suspicious, but I don't know why.

"Oh, what does it mean then, because he was almost illuminated."

"What were you and Reese doing when his hair was Shining?"

"Talking."

"Don't lie to me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't believe Reese would do this to me."

"You're losing me here."

"Reese kissed you."

"How did you... ?"

"It's what makes our hair glow."

"So, he's okay?"

"Not when I'm done with him. Why would he kiss you? He knows that you and I are...."

"What are we, Marcus? We have nothing between us."

"What?"

"You told me to find someone else. You said you weren't going to leave Ameana. So don't get mad at Reese for wanting to be with me."

"You can't be with him."

"Why?"

"Because I—you and I—"

"All we have at the end of the day are feelings you won't commit to. Oh, and a crazy girlfriend. Not to mention a kid who warned you about me. What am I suppose to do, Marcus? How long can I pine for you?"

"You think this is easy for me? How could you let him kiss you?"

"He didn't kiss me, I kissed him."

"You kissed him?" he says, sounding hurt and betrayed.

"Don't you dare give me that wounded look. You have a girlfriend and you're mad at me for having a love interest?"

"Oh, so now Reese is a love interest?"

"You are not an option for me. You have told me that in every single way possible. You're the one who's walking away from us, so don't you go blaming Reese. You made the choice to stay with her, and I'm making a choice too."

"You're choosing Reese? Is it really that easy for you to give yourself away?"

I slap him, hard. I would have punched him but my hands are too sore to make a fist. He looks at me as if the slap hurt. There is no way I can actually inflict pain on him. At least not the physical kind.

"I don't freaking believe this crap. You hit me for Reese? Is he really that important to you?"

"You have no right to talk to me the way you just did. You have no idea what I have been through in the past few hours."

"You? I wanted to kill the whole council. I just wanted to go up there and take them all out because they wouldn't let us strike until the holiday was over. Do you know what it was like to think that Rage made some Runner hurt you, or worse, kill you? What would I do then? How am I supposed to function without you?" he shouts.

"You better learn to deal, Marcus, because that's what you told me to do the night you chose Ameana."

I'm livid and resent being made to feel badly for acting like the single girl I am. He looks directly at me and speaks softer now; he's deeply hurt.

"How could you kiss him?"

"How could you kiss her?"

"Aargh!" He kicks the trash can so hard it goes flying down the street and gets embedded into wall.

"I need to talk to Reese," he says as he marches ahead of me.

"What? No. You leave him alone."

"He warns me to stay away from you. They all do. Then all of sudden, he wants you? He can't keep his hands off of you?"

"You don't own me or Reese. You can't tell us what to do."

"Maybe not you, but I can damn sure tell him what to do."

"This has nothing to do with the mission. Leave him alone. I told you, I think he's hurt."

"His hair Shining doesn't mean he's hurt."

"It's not just that. When Rage threw the fireball at us, I told Reese to Blink and he didn't."

Just then Jay Glides over to us.

I run over to him. I'm grateful to be talking to someone who's rational right now.

"Jay, Reese is hurt."

"He's not hurt, he's dead."

*********************************

We find out that when Reese had saved me from Mayhem, he wasn't able to Blink quickly enough. He was stabbed by one of Mayhem's daggers. The twins told me that the moment Reese died, the Para angels were the first to know. A funeral for an angel is called a Passing. Before we even inspected Reese's body to be sure he was dead, almost every Para knew a Passing would be taking place. They would all attend.

I didn't understand why Reese had never said he was hurt. I think back to our conversation. He never once mentioned that he had been attacked. Miku said he probably didn't say anything because he knew we didn't have time to save him.

Marcus picks up Reese's body with care. He tried to be strong. He cradles Reese in his arms. He says it is his job was to take the body to Nepal for the funeral. Jay comes up to him and says he would be the one to carry his friend. No one argues. Jay takes Reese and flies into the air.

Marcus tells us what is going to happen. He and Jay would take the body to the Himalayas and wait for the Paras to come. Once everyone came on the mountains, Jay would give the body to a Para.

She would then travel down to the deepest point of Earth and give Reese's soul to Atourum. His body would break apart on the journey; only Reese's soul would remain. When she gets as close to the house of fire as an angel can, she will hand off Reese's soul. There, it will die among the flames.

Marcus says we don't have to go with them. We pay no attention to him; we all go. That's what family does. Marcus takes off into the air behind Jay. Ameana follows after him. Rio picks me up and the twins and I take to the air. It was the first time I had a flight where I didn't concentrate on not looking down. I could only look at my fallen friend. We fly wordlessly toward the Himalayas in South Asia. I don't know how long it took because time doesn't seem to matter anymore.

Jay lands on the highest peak of the widespread mountain range. He sits on the edge of the peak but won't lay Reese's body down on the ground. We all land silently beside him. We spread out but remain close. We want Jay to have a moment alone. He doesn't say anything, lost deep in thought.

I remember the guy who joined me at the lunch table on my first day back at school after finding out about the Triplex. Jay fit in so well. He was easygoing, charming and hopeful. That guy seems so far from the Jay I see right now. He holds Reese and looks out onto the vast mountain range. His face is more serious and sorrowful than I've ever seen it.

I'm freezing and the height is making me lightheaded. I hate being human at that moment because I don't want to concentrate on my weaknesses. I want to focus on Reese. I'm going to miss him. He tried to tell me that he had feelings for me, but I never picked up on it. How could I have been so blind? But try as I may to focus on Reese, my teeth won't stop chattering. Damn it.

Rio feels me radiating whatever color means "I'm freezing." He comes over silently and spreads his wings around me. I am instantly warmer as he shields the wind from me. We all sit on the mountain. We don't know how long it will take the Paras to come. No one wants to ask because no one wants to break the silence. We all feel like we're intruding on Jay's grief.

As the only human, I'm the only one who shows tears. But I know they all feel the devastating loss of one of their own. As the sun sinks into the horizon, all you can see is our silhouette.

The first Para that comes dances gracefully out of the sky and lands effortlessly a few mountains away from us. He looks like a star descending. It was beautiful and painful because we all knew what they were there for. But why had he not come close to us? I began to understand within the next few moments.

Paras descend from the sky in groups of twos and threes to start. But soon they were in groups as large as 40 or 50. They all spread out along the mountain range. There are so many of them that they take up the length of the Himalayas. It looks like a line of lights swirling down the mountain range. But they aren't lights. They are angels who have all come to say good bye.

Ground Walkers and Travelers arrive after all the Paras have taken a spot along the mountain range. They come in large groups as well. But unlike the Paras, the GW and Travelers fly to the peak we are on. They hover in front of Jay as he holds Reese's body.

Each one of them gracefully summons a feather from their third coats. The feathers fly away from them and hover a few inches above the ground in front of Jay. After hundreds of feathers have been thrown to the ground, Jay places Reese's body on the pile of floating feathers. The feathers carry Reese's body gently to the middle of the mountain range.

A Para begins to sing. It is like Miku's melody because it is haunting. But there is no darkness in it. It is heartbreakingly beautiful; it is impossible not to weep. It isn't in English. I think it is Arabic. I can't be sure. I don't know how her voice reaches everyone. It's as if she has a built-in microphone.

I think a different Para from each range is singing. I remember being told that they are often in tune with each other. As Reese's body hovers in the air on a bed of feathers, I look into his face. He looks peaceful and calm. I remember the boy who learned the poem. He wanted to so much to say it to the girl he loved. He had been denied that, twice.

Out of the sky I see the prettiest angel I have ever seen, a Para angel who could actually rival Ameana in beauty. She has long locks of hair that seems almost translucent. Her face is smooth and bright. Her eyes sparkle and her wings are the largest I've ever seen. They are almost twice as wide as the others. I am so mesmerized by her, Rio can't help but watch me. He whispers in my ear to satisfy my curiosity.

"Her name is Rahell. She's the oldest Taker. A Taker is a Para angel whose job it is to take an angel to Atourum when they die in battle," Rio explains.

Beside Rahell was a male Para. He carried a small boy, the same boy who was in Jamaica. I'm guessing he's the Sage, from what Reese told me of him not too long ago. The little boy is brought up to Reese's floating body.

"He's ready, Jayden," the Sage says. I didn't understand what he was talking about.

Rio helps me out again. "The feathers that Reese's body floats on is called the Reef. It will only carry him away when everyone who loves him has accepted his death. Otherwise the Reef will stay where it is. Sometimes a loved one can't let go so the Reef just stays there, hovering with the body in midair. If a body stays on the Reef too long, Atourum will come up and claim the soul he's won in battle. It's horrible to watch. It's best to let the Reef go with the Taker. She will personally guide it down all the way to the gates fire."

The Para set the Sage down on the ground in front of Jay. The Reef remains hovering in the middle of the mountain range a few yards beyond our grasp. The Sage looks sadly into Jay's eyes. Jay looks back, pleadingly.

"Jayden, it is time. You must."

The weight of sorrow causes Jay to bow his head and hunch his shoulders. The Sage waits patiently. A few moments later, the Reef starts to move. The Taker, Rahell, follows alongside Reese's body as it sails across the air. Every mountain peak that the Taker and Reese's body fly by, the angels bow their heads. It looks like a wave of white light on the surface of the ocean as the sun strikes it.

The Taker carries the Reef further and further away from us. Soon, all we can see is two specks moving in the air; when they are almost out of our sight, the Taker starts to descend. She is headed to the house of fire with my friend. I cry quietly beside the twins.

After a moment, the angels start taking off from the mountain. They leave as they came: gracefully and respectfully. Soon there is no one left but us. We sit for hours on the edge of the mountain where we last saw our friend.

Chapter Sixteen

Now we are in the car headed back to New York City. It's only a few minutes after sunrise. Marcus insisted that I be taken to the ER to get checked out.

The doctor said that I had fractured a rib and needed stitches for my hand. He gave me aspirin and told me to get some rest. On the way home, Rio told me that they searched my building and found Ben. He had been given something to make him sleep.

We pull up to my building. My body feels so heavy. The walk to my door looks miles long. I guess I'm more drained than I thought. Marcus walks me to the front door. He tells me not to trust a single soul. He even had Rio scan my mother before he let me go up to my apartment.

"You sure you want to go to school?" Marcus asks.

"Yeah, I don't want to be home alone."

"Okay, one of us will pick you up in a few hours."

"Is Jay coming to school?"

"He may not want to, but we all need to hear what you have to say."

"Oh." He's on autopilot right now. He can't look me in the eye. He is trying to hide the sadness that's there.

"What is it?"

"I didn't want to say it in front of everyone. I mean not the part about me anyway."

"I don't have time for this. Are you going to tell us or not?"

He's tired and frustrated in addition to sad. I don't want to add to that, so I go along with it.

"Yeah, okay, I will. Later today." He turns to go away.

"Marcus," I call out. He turns back. Ameana looks on from the car window.

"I'm sorry about Reese."

He can't bring himself to say anything. He nods quickly and walks back to the car. The twins get out of the back seat. They would be watching me for the next few hours.

I walk in and the apartment is silent. It feels so good to be back home. The heat is on so the apartment is warm and toasty. After I check on my mom, I head into my room. Right away I flash back to just hours ago when Reese was in here.

I've watched you pine for Marcus and it's kind of been killing me.

Oh.

I just wanted you to know that there are other angels. Angels who have been wanting to kiss you.

*******************************

Later, back at the house, we all sit in the living room. I don't want it to be like this. I don't feel like being exposed to all of them, but I am all out of time. So I take a deep breath and tell them about what Tony told me and how I was a product of a rape. They all listen silently. When I'm done, I apologize for taking so long to tell them.

"Rio, Miku hit the net. We need to find her dad," Marcus instructs.

"Why?" I ask.

"He's the key Emmy. We have to find him and tear his life apart until we find what we're looking for."

"He's not important. I've never even met him before."

"That doesn't matter. He's the evil in the equation. Why didn't you tell us before?" Rio asks.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know I was supposed to split myself open for you guys to explore. And in case you all forgot, I was busy being tortured."

"He just means that this is a very important clue to where we can locate the Triplex," Miku says, defending her brother.

"We know it couldn't have been easy for you. But your father raped your mom. That has nothing to do with who you are," Ameana says.

"That has everything to do with it," I snap.

"Let's get back to what Tony said. If he's right about the council, what places do we know the Triplex won't be in?" Marcus asks in his official voice.

"That takes out buildings where politics are conducted; they're usually a dwelling for evil," Miku says.

"That also takes out bars, clubs and law firms. They usually have a high level of evil as well," Rio adds.

"That also rules out mosques, temples or any place of worship. Those are filled with hope and goodness. Lucy would not have access to the Triplex there," Marcus says.

"What does that leave us with?" Ameana asks.

"Schools, hospitals, libraries..." Marcus answers.

"The twins can research police records around the time your mom was attacked," Jay says.

"How?"

"We know a few sites we can hack into," they say together as they disappear down the hallway and into Miku's room.

"They know how to do that?"

"They were able to do that before they were angels. Now they're even better at it," Jay says.

"You guys won't find him. I looked for him once."

"Why?" Jay asks.

"I wanted to get back at him for what he did to my mom. I didn't even have a plan. It didn't matter because I couldn't find him, and neither will the twins."

"They won't look into his life; they'll look into your mom's life. Sometimes to find evil, you have to focus on its victims," Marcus adds.

"I don't want to see him."

"You don't have to. This can be just us. One of us will stay with you," Ameana says.

"He hurt my mom and I don't see why he gets to walk around scot-free. I hate him."

"Jay said you were going with him to the mission. Go ahead. We'll get started on your father's background in the meantime," Marcus offers.

"Yeah, let me get my jacket. Be right back." He Glides off and goes into his room.

"Thank you for sharing that with us. We know it was hard, but it really did help. Now we have a lead. And we may have a lead on Julian," Marcus volunteers.

"We were going to check it out ourselves but then the Akons took you. So, as soon as we get a lead on your father, we'll split up, find Julian and get your father," Marcus says.

"Can you stop calling him that?"

"What do you want me to call him?"

"I don't care. Just stop calling him that."

"When we find X, and Julian, we should know everything," Ameana adds.

"I'm gonna check on Jay," I say heading down the hall toward his room. How long did it take to get a jacket? This guy could go around the world in eight seconds. What could be taking him so long walk a few feet?

"Hey, Jay, what's the hold—"

I find him in Reese's room. The room is filled with fishing magazines and books of poems. There's a drawing of a family by his bed. It's two grown-ups and two girls. I close the door and walk over to the frame where Jay is standing. I look on with him.

"Was this his family?" I ask.

"Yeah, we don't get to take photos with us, so we get someone to draw them the way we remember them. It's as close to them as we can get. He loved this picture. He could look at it for hours. I knew he'd be daydreaming about the last fishing trip they took. That was Reese's favorite collector."

"I remember. He kept disappearing that night I came to dinner. I was having mini heart attacks." I start laughing as I recall how odd it was the first time I saw them eat collectors.

"Why were you worried?"

"I kept thinking you guys were going to disappear and never come back. But I was so relieved because no matter how long he was gone, he always came back."

"Not this time," he says sadly.

"You know what you need, a party."

Normally I would never even suggest such a thing. But I think it would go a long way in cheering Jay up.

"What are we celebrating?"

"This Saturday is February first. I'll be sixteen."

"You only get one of those. Trust me," he says.

"So we're gonna throw a party. It can be a happy birthday kind of thing but also a good bye to Reese. Not that the funeral wasn't nice, but you know Reese would rather be surrounded by girls. "

A broad smile spreads across his face. Miku learns of our plans a few minutes later. She goes to work planning it along with Jay. By the time I leave the house, the small party has become a huge bash. I was afraid of that.

********************************

There are kids at this party that I have never even seen before. But to Jay and Miku's credit, they managed to get in a few kids that I could talk to. Much to my surprise, I'm having a pretty okay time.

That is, until I hear some girls talking about what a great couple Marcus and Ameana make. Why does hearing that make me so profoundly sad? Why can't I turn off these feelings?

I go into Jay's room to get my coat and take a walk. Once inside I see the piles of coats spread out on the bed. Sticking out of a dark thick leather jacket is small bottle of unopened vodka. Jay knew that someone would bring alcohol, and Marcus made him convince everyone that they would not drink at all tonight. So whoever it is that brought this won't even try to drink it or even offer it to anyone.

I take a deep breath and turn to leave when I make the mistake of looking out the window again. Damn it. I slump down on the bed. The great feeling I had is gone. I turn over on my side, and facing me like a beacon of temptation is the bottle of vodka that Jay had forgotten to throw out. I take it and hold it up to the light. I crack open the seal. The smell is awful and overpowering. I'm drinking to forget. I can't imagine how people drink this crap for pleasure. Well, enough thinking. Let's hope this works.

After a few gulps, things start looking kind of funny. Like nothing is really balanced. I walk back into the party. "Hey, guess what?" I shout at the top of my lungs.

"What?" The crowd shouts.

"It's my birthday!" I dance and spin around with no sense of control. The kids start cheering and laughing. I shout at them to be quiet and I make another announcement.

"I am gonna save you all." They look at me with confusion. I start pointing to individual students and telling them that I am going to save them. When someone in the crowd asks me what I was saving them from, I said a guy named Art. He wanted to cook them with fire. But I would stop that from happening. They all play along with my bizarre proclamation.

"How are you gonna save us?" someone from the crowd yells.

"I'm gonna save you with this." I hold up a long powerful sword like the one from Lord of the Rings. Only what I thought was a powerful sword turns out to be a carrot stick from the veggie platter Miku had ordered. Everyone laughs at me. I keep screaming at them over and over again to shut up.

The angels come for me, but I pull away and get on top of the table in the living room. Among the crowd stands Marcus and his love.

"Everyone make room for the great Marcus and Mimi. They are so in love, they kiss all the time like this." I kiss and make out with the air, then burst out laughing. No one else thinks it is funny.

"Emmy, stop it," Marcus scolds from below.

"Shut up. You can't me tell anything." Wait that wasn't what I wanted to say. There was something wrong with that last sentence. Why are all my words are slurred? And why are things in slow motion?

"Hey, do you guys know what they are? They're Guardians."

"Everyone out. Now." The students all rush for the exit.

"Get down," he orders me.

While I am not looking, Rio comes from behind and pulls me off the table.

"Get off me. It's my birthday.

Everyone has gone home. The twins are on clean-up duty. Jay looks in his room to make sure he didn't miss any other bottles of alcohol. It's just me and the couple. Oh, joy!

I get low to the ground. That's the only way the spinning will stop. Marcus comes down to the floor where I am. He whispers something in my ear softly.

"You don't have to work so hard to let me know that you are hurting. I know, Em. I know."

Tears now fall without hesitation. He holds me steadily and patiently.

"That's it?" Ameana says incredulously.

"Everything is fine now," Rio says.

"Like hell," Ameana snaps.

"Mimi, calm down," Miku says gently.

"I don't believe this."

"C'mon, Meana.. The past few days have been really hard on her."

"And Marcus makes it all better, is that it?"

"This isn't about us, Mimi."

"No, it's about what's best for this team. And the best thing is to focus on Julian and find out everything we can about his last cycle with Femi. We don't even need Emmy anymore."

"We don't know that she isn't a part of this anymore. We can't exclude her."

"No, Marcus, you can't exclude her. Every time I turn around you're holding her. And then you make me out to be the jealous girlfriend. I'm getting really sick of it."

"She just found out everything in life she believed to be true has all been a lie. Can you understand that?"

"Yes, I can understand that very well. I used to think that I mattered to you more than anything in the world, but now I have to constantly reevaluate that thought."

"I can't do this tonight. I'm gonna take her home."

"Why does it have to be you?"

"I don't care who it is. I don't have time for this petty crap. I just want someone to get her cleaned up and take her home."

"I'll do it."

"Why you?"

"What's the matter, Marcus—you don't trust her with me?"

"I didn't say that."

"Good, because I have to trust her with you all the time; it would be good to get a little of that trust back. Give her to me. I'll take her home."

There is silence. A moment later, I feel myself being picked up and lifted off the ground. I don't need to open my eyes to see who is holding me. I would know Ameana's scent anywhere. It smells like what a perfect sunrise would smell like. It's the scent of wrath, power and impossible beauty. It's alluring and impossible to duplicate. I tried at many perfume stores. Even her scent is one of a kind. Why had they let her take me home? She'll "accidently" drop me into the Hudson River.

I think I passed out because everything went black. I'm not sure for how long. At least I didn't throw up. Now that's something to be proud of. I look around and I'm not sure where I am. As the haze begins to clear up, I can make out dark sky and cold metal beneath me. Ameana hovers above me.

"Ameana, where are we?"

"The Golden Gate Bridge."

Panic is not the right word, but it's the only thing that comes to mind. She took me to San Francisco to throw me off the bridge. I'm gonna die. My heart pounds inside my chest. At any moment now it is going to jump out of my body.

"Calm down, I'm not going to push you," she says. I try to take the panic away from my voice.

"Then why are we here?"

"Look down."

"I'm not scared of you Ameana," I lie.

"Yeah, I got that impression. Maybe you should rethink that."

"Screw you. Get me off of here."

"I see you've sobered up."

"Get me down," I yell from somewhere in me that is too pissed off now to be scared.

"I brought you here to talk."

"Ever hear of Starbucks?"

"I was actually feeling bad for you. I thought, this girl has some family issues. And let's just say I'm more than a little familiar with family troubles. In fact, I think one of the major requirements to being chosen as a Guardian is that you have a messed up home life. But you can ask Marcus about that. Wait, you can't because he has yet to tell you anything about his Core."

"What's your point?"

"The point is, I felt bad. I could relate and I gave you some slack. But now I see that you and I have nothing in common. For one thing you are the most selfish person I have ever met. And you don't know my mother but she owned the rights to selfish. But you've even outdone her."

"I gave him up. What else do you want?"

"He wasn't yours to give."

"Are we done here? 'Cause you're acting like a lunatic, and I'd like to go home."

She waves her hand carelessly and lifts me off the pillar of the bridge. I am now in midair, just like her. But unlike her, I don't have any wings. Terror washes over me. My face is frozen with fear. I stand perfectly still as if that will convince gravity not to take me down, should she decide to let me go.

"Watch how you speak to me, human. I'm trying really hard not to kill you. Help me, won't you?"

"What do you want?"

"I want you to come to terms with the truth."

"What truth?"

"You're a liar, Emerson Baxter. You act and talk like you're in love with Marcus. That can't possibly be the case. Because if the most powerful human on Earth had told me that I would bring Marcus to the end of his life and the failure of his only mission, I would do anything to make sure that didn't happen."

"I gave him up."

"Gave him up? Every time I turn around he's rescuing you, holding you, comforting you...."

She's right. I had not been the distant, unobtrusive girl that I said I was going to be. I had been in their love life, and even in their kiss. I wasn't out of the picture. I was the picture.

I remain silent. She drops me and I quickly fall several feet. I scream all the way down. I'm going to hit water. I can't swim. Even if I could, I'd still die. Oh, no. My mom will never stop crying.

I am halted in the air just as abruptly. Ameana flies down to my level.

"I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention."

"I hate you."

"Yes, well there's something we have in common after all."

"Don't drop me again, okay? If you want to get rid of me, then do, it but stop toying with me." I am hardly able to get the words out.

"All this time I have been talking to you, I have done so as Marcus' girlfriend. I love him and I want him to be protected. But now I am talking to you as the Second-in-Command. Don't mix up the two. As his girlfriend, I want you to back off and get a life."

"As the second Guardian, what do you want?"

"To succeed on this mission. Nothing else can matter besides that. I would even give up Marcus if that's what the mission called for. I will do any and everything to ensure we are successful. And if you get in the way of that, I can circumvent Marcus by calling in the council and presenting my case to them."

"You'd betray him like that?"

"I would even take myself out if that is what needs to happen."

"I love him."

"Than start acting like it and do what's best for him. Let him go."

"I can't."

"You will, or I will destroy you."

She comes even closer and wipes the tears that are running down my face. She holds my face gently in the palm of her hand.

"Your courage is in your tears. Every time you cry, you lose a little bit more of it. That's why you're so breakable. Not because you're human, because you're always shedding courage from your eyes."

I look away from her while keeping my face in her hand.

"Emmy, look at me." I do as I am told.

"Cry for Marcus and the love you will never have with him. But then be done with it. Shed no more courage. You'll need all of it to save the other humans."

The thing that gets to me isn't what she just said, it's the thought that I am destroying Marcus by wanting him. I can't allow that. So here, on the Golden Gate Bridge, I cry my last tears and say good bye to the thought of Marcus and Emmy, good bye to the love that really never stood a chance.

Chapter Seventeen

I wake up at home in the safety of my bed. I have come to three conclusions. One, drinking is the stupidest thing ever invented. My head is pounding. Every single sound in my apartment is amplified a billion times over.

But the one cliché about drinking that isn't happening to me is memory loss. I unfortunately remember every embarrassing moment of my party.

Now I am moving like I'm one hundred and ten years old; every movement somehow reminds my head that it should be pounding, and so it does. I brush my teeth and that pisses off my head and makes it hurt even worse.

The second thing I know is that I have to recommit myself to forgetting Marcus. I mean it this time. Ameana's tactics were less than angel-like, but she was right. I come out of my room with faded jeans and a messy ponytail. I don't have the strength to pull my hair back and make it nice. Did I mention that drinking sucks? Okay, just checking.

My mom is on the phone when I walk into the kitchen. She says good bye to whomever she was talking to and hangs up.

"Hey, birthday girl."

"That was yesterday."

"Well I'm your mom; I can extend the celebration if I want. How was the party?"

"Good."

"What is it about teenagers refusing to give up more information? Miku called and said you may not be feeling well."

"Yeah, I ate something that made me throw up. It was fun."

"You ate something or you drank something?"

"What?"

"I came into your room last night and I smelled alcohol and vomit. I'm not an idiot Emerson."

"Well...."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm sorry. It was just one time."

"So what? You're only 16 years old. Who else was drinking?"

"No one."

"So, you got the alcohol on your own?"

"Yeah, no one gave it to me."

"I told you I don't want anymore lies."

"I'm not lying. I went and got it myself."

"From where?"

"I had some guy get it for me at the store."

"What guy?"

"Some guy. I don't know his name."

"I don't believe this. What is going on with you? Is it Marcus and his friends? Are they driving you to break the rules?"

"No, I just wanted to try it."

"You know better than that."

"Mom, please stop shouting. My head hurts."

"Well, maybe that will teach you about under-age drinking, but just in case you did not get the message I will help you. You are grounded for two months."

"What—two months? But I said I was sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Emmy. I'm sorry that I trusted you to make the right choice and that you let me down."

"I just did it that one time because I was stressed out. I needed to blow off steam."

"You can blow off all the steam you want for the next two months in your room. You will not go anywhere. You will not use the phone and you are not allowed company."

"That's not fair. You have no idea what I'm going through."

"Then tell me, Emmy. What is happening with you?"

"Forget it," I snap and head off into my room. She calls after me.

"Get back here, now." I reluctantly turn back.

"Do not walk away from me. I never said our conversation was over."

"What else is there?"

"Sit down." I do as I'm told and take a seat at the kitchen table.

"Why were you drinking?"

"I just wanted to try it, I guess."

"Who else had drinks?"

"I was the only one. I told you that."

"We've talked about drinking. We've talked about drugs and we've talked about sex."

"Mom—"

"No. You and I have talked about every uncomfortable subject there is. I did that so you would know that you can turn to me. I'm worried about you, Emmy. I love you and I want to know that you're okay."

The look on her face is one of deep sadness. She thinks that she's losing me to the angels and that I will somehow end up like a bad after-school special.

"Marcus and Ameana being together was hard for me to deal with. Then yesterday I saw them kissing and I made a stupid mistake. They didn't tell me to drink. They tried to stop me but I didn't listen."

"That's all this is about? Your crush on Marcus?"

"It's not a crush. I love him."

"Okay, this is only about loving Marcus? Nothing else?"

I think about telling her that it hurts to be unwanted. She'd say that she loves me and wants me. But that wouldn't help. She didn't want me before she had me. It wasn't like she planned to have a baby and poured over fertility books to figure out the best time to have me. Her life was on the right path until I came.

"Nothing, Mom. I just need to come to terms with not being chosen, that's all."

"Well, drinking isn't a way to come to terms with anything."

"I know."

"If you ever drink again, when you get out from being grounded, you'll be so old you'll need a nurse to help you get around. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Oh, and there is no TV or radio.

"But—. Okay, fine," I mumble bitterly.

"I left your present in the living room. After you open it, come and give it to me."

"Why?"

"You'll see," she says mysteriously.

I walk into the living room and on the coffee table is a gift the size of a shoe box. It is wrapped in dark blue paper with confetti printed on it. I tear it open.

"Oh, no," I moan in misery. It's the new iPod I had wanted. I never mentioned it to her. But I'm sure she must have seen the look on my face when the commercial would come on. It holds five thousand more CDs than the one I have now. It plays movies, videos and has like a billion games. I'm in hell. How could I not use it knowing it was right here in my own house? Why is my mother doing this me? Maybe she and the council have gotten together to torture me.

"Bring it over here, miss," she calls out. I walk back into the kitchen and think maybe I can salvage things and get her to let me use my present.

"Mom, this is so nice. Please, please, let me have it."

"Hand it over." She extends her hand.

"You already brought it, Mom, what's the use of keeping it from me. Please?"

"Now." I hand the box over to her and go back to my room.

By the time I get to school I am inconsolable. Rio sees me in the hallway and says something about the dangerous waves of females. Whatever. I am in no mood.

Everyone is talking about the party just like I thought they would. Now every other kid that sees me in the hall asks me to "save them." It's humiliating.

"I'm surprised you're here, Em," Jay says.

"Why?"

"The way you pissed off Meana last night? I thought that was a wrap for you. I was waiting for the call to ID your body," Jay jokes.

Marcus clenches his Jaw. He hates any kind of joke where I end up getting hurt. Especially because his girl had thrown me into the wall once already.

"I'm fine. No need to ID anything."

"So, Meana just took you home last night? She didn't play dodge those knives with you or anything?"

"No."

"Wow, Meana, good for you," Jay mocks. I don't want them to know about the bridge. It has nothing to do with them. It's just between Ameana and me.

"Look, you guys, I'm sorry about last night. I was...out of line. You guys went to a lot of trouble, and I ruined the party."

"It's okay, but next time you're on clean-up duty," Rio says.

"There won't be a next time. I'm grounded."

"Why?"

"My mom found out I was drinking when she came to my room last night and found my clothes reeking of alcohol so, I'm out for the count."

"For how long?"

"Two months."

"That's not gonna work. We have to leave the country and we can't let you stay here by yourself," Marcus says.

"Where are you guys going?"

"I'll tell everyone the plan back at the house."

"I can take you home and when the coast is clear, the rest of us will come to you," Miku says.

"Okay, but first I need to talk to Ameana," I say casually. She looks up at me, surprised by my request. They all look a little taken aback.

"Sure, that classroom is empty. You guys go talk in there and we'll stay here."

"What is it?" she asks.

"I didn't tell anyone about last night because I think that you were right. I do need to let him go. Not because I couldn't have him, but because the Sage thinks it's what's best for him."

"You think you could actually take him from me?"

"I didn't ask you here to talk about Marcus. I don't know what your Core is. I don't know what horrors happened in your life. And I don't care. The next time you put my life in danger on purpose again, you better have the balls to kill me right then and there. Because if you don't, I will come after you."

"And what will you do?"

"Whatever I have to. I don't care if I have to get Omnis himself to come down. I will. Because angel or no angel, I will not be bullied."

"You think you can threaten me?

"I'm not afraid to go to the house of fire."

"Good, 'cause I'm not afraid to send you there."

*********************************

My mom was not joking about my punishment. When I get home, she had taken my stereo, TV, and something far more valuable—my books.

"Oh, c'mon," I moan in frustration. Aargh! I should have hidden a few books where she wouldn't think to look. Damn it. My mom had learned years ago that I was more than okay with missing out on TV. I could even suffer without my radio for a day or two. But my heart was in my books. She took all the good ones. The ones I read repeatedly and have all but memorized. All my favorite authors had been taken hostage.

I look around the shelves in my room to survey the damage. It's worse than I thought. She had taken all things Shakespeare, Hawthorne and Faulkner. Then just as I am recovering from the great wrong that has been committed against me, I spot a gaping hole where there was once a huge collection. I go over to the bookcase across from my bed.

"She took Harry Potter? The woman is ruthless."

"Emmy, I'm off," she calls out to me.

"You're telling me."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

"Come say good bye."

I drag myself off the bed and out to the front door where she stands.

"Okay, bye," I say. She smiles at my doomed expression.

"The Harry Potter thing really hurt, huh?"

"You couldn't leave me even one?"

"No."

"Because you hate me and want me to suffer."

"Yes, that's it. It's not because I love you and want you to make better choices. Nope, that's not it at all." Sarcasm. Great.

She smiles sadly and kisses me on the forehead.

"I'll be back before you get up. And remember to take the pills the doctor gave you for your wrist."

"Yeah, yeah I will." She turns to go then looks back at me.

"I love you, piglet. I'm only doing what's best for you." She leaves and closes the door behind her.

A few minutes later the angels come up to see me.

"You've changed since you've been in the big house Em," Jay jokes.

"Ha, Ha. Just sit down and make sure you leave everything the way you found it. I don't want her knowing I had people over."

"Mommy got you on lock, huh?" Ameana jokes. Suddenly everyone thinks they're so damn funny.

"Can we just get on with the business at hand?"

Marcus takes the hint and starts the meeting.

"We intercepted a Runner high on the food chain and found out where the Akons are keeping Julian," he says in his "all business" tone.

"Where?"

"In a small village in Togo, West Africa."

"They are keeping him there because of the amount of evil that surrounds the area. The humans there are in the midst of a civil war. It's bloody and absolutely without point. That means the Akons will have the advantage because, unlike them, we can not kill the humans should they get in our way"

"And they will," Miku says, almost to herself.

"Absolutely. It does not matter that we aren't interested in their war. They will aim to kill any and all of us if they get the chance."

"How did the Akons get the locals to let them stash Julian there?"

"Money."

"Other Angels have tried to cross that area. It's a no-fly zone. They have to walk right into the midst of everything," Rio adds.

"How many Angels have tried to get through?" I ask.

"Over the years, hundreds."

"How many made it?"

"None."

Chapter Eighteen

A little while later, we land in Togo, West Africa, on the rain forest floor. The ground is muddy and reeks of decay. I hear buzzing and hissing from different animals around me. The humidity wraps itself around me like a cloak.

Vines swing across from tree to tree. Various creepy crawly things use them as a kind of bridge to get from one tree to the next. The plants lower on the ground start shaking near my foot. I pray that nothing jumps out with more legs than me. I think I feel something crawl on me, but I hope I'm wrong.

"Human, do not move." I stay frozen as a beautiful African man appears out of nowhere and swiftly swats something off my back. A black animal goes flying off of me. I jump even though I know the creature is already gone.

"What the hell was that?" I ask him.

"A scorpion."

"Aargh!"

"Not the killing kind. Only paralysis would have occurred," he says.

"Good to know."

He smiles at me. His skin is darker than Ameana's. It's absolutely stunning. His teeth are bright and his eyes are shades darker than the forest floor. His body is lean and seems to stretch up like the branches around us. His accent is a mixture of French and some kind of African language. What ever it is, it sounds like music. Everything he says has a melody to it.

"Marcus, it is good to see you." He extends his hand.

"Ebo, thank you for meeting us." Marcus takes his hand and introduces the rest of us.

"Um, I hate to be the human in all of this but could we go where things aren't out to take bites out of us?"

"We can not be seen out in the open. Even in Togo, it is best to use discretion," Ebo informs me.

"But I thought they were used to seeing angels."

"At a passing glance. There are stories told by village elders. But again it is not wise to be out in the open."

"Who is involved in this civil war?" Jay asks.

"The Tobins and the Mylars."

"Why?"

"Lots of guns and very little sense."

"Were you able to get us a car?" Marcus asks.

"Follow me," Ebo says taking the lead.

As we walk through the forest, I take Miku's hand. I figure she won't make fun of me if I should scream and carry on. I tell her that I will literally watch her back, and she says she will do the same.

About ten minutes later we see light making its way through the forest. We are at the edge. Every part of me wants to run and keep running until I am as far away as possible from all things swamp-like. But I keep my cool and act aloof, as if getting to the edge of the forest is no big deal.

A few yards away is a beat-up rust-colored Jeep with no doors. It looks like it's been in a battle and lost. As we get closer, I think that maybe it's not as broken down as I first thought. But once we are standing in front of it, I can see my first assessment was right: the thing is a death trap.

"It's not pretty but it will get you where you need to go," Ebo says.

"Can I take a look under her?" Jay asks.

Ebo agrees and the two of them go to the front of the Jeep, open up the hood and talk car talk. I know nothing about cars, but I think doors are a good thing to have. Why didn't the maker of the Jeep think of that?

They come back to us moments later. Jay addresses his leader.

"She's rough, but she'll do."

"Do you have the other things I asked for?" Marcus inquires. Ebo goes to the back of the Jeep and takes out a black duffel bag. He unzips it and shows Marcus a remote control of some kind. It only has one button.

"What is that?" I ask Miku.

"It's a Stopper."

"What does it do?"

"Remember how Agony was able to control your body?"

"Vividly."

"This controls the synaptic nerves in your brain. The little currents that tell your body to move get their order from that part of your brain. When you press the red button, it tells your brain to tell the other parts of your body to stop moving."

"So you're frozen in place?"

"Yeah, it's cool. You can't move a muscle for a full fifteen seconds."

"Yeah, cool," I say without enthusiasm. It's hard for me to appreciate the technology, given what I went through with Agony.

"My Seller only had one, so it'll have to do," Ebo says.

"Not a problem. We'll make it work. What about the Para lights?"

"I was able to get three. They had an overstock and I got them pretty cheap."

He shows Marcus a small flashlight. It looks like the kind that goes on the end of the key chain.

"How does that differ from a regular flash light?" I ask Miku.

"It takes away your eyesight completely."

"For how long?"

"It depends. Most Para lights can take you out for twenty to thirty seconds."

"Why don't any of the Para weapons inflict permanent damage?"

"Paras would never invent something that could not be undone. That is the major difference between them and Hun. Hun made up inventions that hurt humanity, but Paras invent things that slow evil down."

"That's crazy. We should be able to attack them with guns and stuff like they do us."

"Then what is the difference between us and them?" she asks me with kind eyes.

I can't think of what to say. It doesn't matter because Ebo is on to the next item.

"I have two holders. You did not ask for them, but they may come to be of help."

"Jay has a holder but we could use a few more. Thank you."

"I have put in something that may help with the human."

"You can call me Emmy."

"Emmy. I will remember next time. I have brought you blankets, a first aid kit and water."

"Thank you," I say to the handsome man in front of me.

"Certainly" he replies.

"What is troubling you?" Rio asks Ebo.

"Yes, I have heard of your powers. What color is my wave Rio?"

"Blue. Filled with worry."

"What is it, Ebo?" Marcus asks.

"I fear that your journey may not be a smooth one. Julian is being held deep in the village. There is no way to get to him without encountering the natives."

"We will be careful," Marcus assures him.

"Also, there is a Trimeter at the edge of the cave where Julian is being held. It is attached to explosives that require complicated rewiring. The moment it detects that you are Angels, it will go off. You may have just seconds, depending on how they have set the timer."

"The Twins can reprogram it to give us more time. Anything else?" Marcus asks.

"My Seller informs me that the Akons have Quip guns and Soul Chasers."

"I've heard about Soul Chasers. It's a ball controlled by the owner. It's supposed to be thrown to the ground like a Splash. Then a funnel of wind rises out of it. It pulls the nearest soul toward its center. Then it strips it away, killing the soul in a matter of minutes," Ameana says.

"There is a release button that deactivates it, but you would need to get to the center of it and release it before it sucks you in completely," Ebo adds.

"I thought Chasers were just a rumor," Rio says.

"The only person who could have come up with such a device is Hun," Jay tells us.

"Hun's supposed to be dead," Marcus says.

"And you're supposed to be six feet underground right now. You know things are never as they are supposed to be, Marcus," Ebo cautions.

"Hun is alive?" Ameana asks.

"I have not seen him with my own eyes, but for someone who is dead, he gets a lot of work done."

"How many Soul Chasers?"

"At least two."

"What does it do to humans?" I ask.

"It would harm you as well but it would take longer for you to die. But we angels are pure soul, so it will kill us in a matter of moments," Ebo replies.

"The sun is setting," the twins say.

"Yes, you should be on your way. Take the Jeep straight down then make a left turn, go ten miles and then make another left. You will arrive in Totsivi. There, you will see the light coming from a cave. Julian is in there. And be carful. The Akons must know you are here by now."

"Thanks. How much do we owe you?" Marcus asks.

"It has been taken care of."

"By who?"

"The Sage. He must really like you."

"Yeah, we're best friends," Marcus says dripping with sarcasm.

"Jayden, I wanted to say how sorry I am about Reese. The Passing was beautiful."

"Thanks," Jay mutters.

I can tell he isn't ready to talk about Reese with strangers. He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground.

"Thank you for everything, Ebo," Ameana says as she shakes Ebo's hand.

"You are as captivating as I was warned you would be," he says to her.

Ameana is clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. She flashes Ebo a smile and goes to put the duffel bag back in the Jeep.

Ebo turns to Marcus. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass her."

"No, you're right, she is stunning."

"For some that matters a great deal. And for others they require...more."

"What do you mean?"

"Forget I said anything. I have broken a few Splashes...forgive me." He is embarrassed to admit it. He can't look me or Marcus in the eye.

"It's cool. Thanks for all your help."

Marcus is brief and official where as before he had been courteous and grateful. Even in West Africa he couldn't get away from the gossip. I wonder what bothers him more—that they think he and I have something together or that we don't?

****************************************

We all pile into the Jeep and take off down a red dirt road. Jay is driving. Marcus sits shotgun. The rest of us get in the back. Miku is the smallest one so she sits partially on our laps. It's a tight fit. The sun is just about faded from the sky. Togo is a beautiful country.

As we make our way to the city of Lome, we see a number of African women dressed in colorful print dresses. They have jugs on their heads. They carry them with skill and grace. Some of them have their kids with them, others have partners they share the load with. Seeing them make their way across the land, it looks more like a dance than a daily chore.

The road is rocky and difficult to drive on. Jay doesn't seem the least bit put off. I lean forward and ask him how he's doing. He tells me he needs complete concentration in order to "get to know" the car. The boy is not well.

I had never thought about going to West Africa before, but now it's on my "must go again" list. There is something so calming and earthy about it. The trees spread out in the air as if they are praising the sky. There are more stars above us now than I've seen in all my years of living in the city. No wonder it was chosen as the starting point for humanity.

We pass by a fork in the road and Jay takes a left. By the time we make the second turn, the sun has set completely and darkness covers us. We enter Totsivi. A row of hills surrounds the dilapidated village. There are broken down tables lined up side by side in what used to be the street market. Nothing is moving anywhere except our car. Jay slows down. Marcus tells him to keep going.

A man comes out of one of the huts with a Bazooka. Jay sees it before the rest of us. He brakes and turns the car around.

"Hold on," Jay says as he fights to keep the car under control. The man fires the rocket directly at us. Rio spreads his wings so that they cover us. The rocket goes over us and lands at what we now realize are his targets; a group of men on the other side of the street who each have the letter "M" carved on their faces.

They take cover and duck into one of the huts, but it is too late. They are blown up as are the surrounding huts they took shelter in.

"Keep going," Marcus shouts over the roar of the screaming and burning taking place. Jay turns the car and goes back the direction we were headed in originally. The man who had fired the Bazooka is now joined by more members of his team. They also have a scar on their face. It's the letter "T," but the top of the letter is slightly off balance, like a scale.

Before the new members have time to join in the opposing group fires back, sending something oval and dark into the air. It misses its mark and falls inches away from our car. Ameana waves her hand, causing the object to go flying in the other direction. Seconds later it blows up and takes a few more huts with it.

The Mylar man throws another grenade but this time his aim is deadly accurate. One of the Tobins jumps into our car in hopes of avoiding the attack. Jay tries to push him off. He knows the men aiming at their target wouldn't care if we were harmed in the process. Sure enough, they launch a rocket and it heads straight for us.

Rio goes to cover us but Marcus yells that he won't be able to cover us all. He calls out for us to jump out of the car. Is he crazy? Before I can make myself consider the question, Jay stomps on the brake and jumps. Marcus and Ameana leap out and roll to the ground. The twins jump and take me along. We all hit the ground just as our car blows up, taking the unwanted rider with it.

Then the shots ring out. I can't tell from where. It has to be in the hills because if the shots were coming from somewhere close, we would have been able to spot the shooters. Rio tries to cover us. Marcus was right: he can't take us all under his wings. Marcus removes himself from Rio's protection so that the rest of us can all fit.

"No, get in here," I yell at him. He pays no attention to me and goes over to one of the torn down huts.

"They think we helped the guy who attacked them with the Bazooka," Rio shouts.

"We had nothing to do with it," I protest.

"They don't care. Now move!" Jay instructs as he guides us to a hut that is barely standing. My heart is racing and I'm sure everyone can hear it beating. There is yet another explosion and it takes out the hut we're heading for, consuming it with flames.

Marcus rips a large block of cement from one of the homes. Ameana waves her hand and guides it in the air. She makes it land in front of us to keep us covered. Jay Glides over to get Marcus who is now out in the open.

The parties start shooting Quips at each other. Marcus orders us to stay down. Ameana reminds him that we are pressed for time. Marcus surveys the area and orders Jay to take me into a hut that Rio says is empty. I want to stay and help, but now isn't the time to argue.

Jay Glides me into the hut. I quickly look out the window and see Ameana disarming both sides by taking their weapons and floating them away. But for every member she disarms, two more start shooting from somewhere in the hills.

Rio enters the hut and shields me with his wings.

"I'm fine. You need to help the others."

"Miku is going to sing. Cover your ears," he orders.

Miku sings her funeral song. The members of both sides are wailing and crying. I'm feeling more sorrow than I ever did in my life. I'm only tearing up, but had I not been shielded by Rio, I would be screaming in pain like the others outside.

As soon as Miku stops singing, Rio lets me up. He covers us as we try leave. He tells me to stay low to the ground. As we crawl out of the hut, I see Ameana and two little boys curled up in the corner behind a huge bin of water.

The little boys are frightened and crying. Ameana speaks to them. I can't understand what she's saying. I didn't know she knew how to speak the language. She gently wipes their faces and somehow gets them to stop crying.

"Who are they?" I yell over to her.

"They're from a neighboring village. They came here on a dare. We have to get them out."

"Rio, help them."

"Get back in the hut and I'll be back for you," he says. I crawl back into the hut as the Quips fly over head. Rio races to Ameana and the boys. He tries to take them but they won't go with him. They stay stubbornly by Ameana's side. They couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old.

Ameana tells Rio that she'll take them out of the village herself. He tells her it's safer if they go with him. But she insists that she be the one to see them to safety. Rio agrees. He runs out into the middle of the village to cause a diversion. The Quips hit him from every angle. Ameana makes a run for it with the boys. A man with a Quip gun sneaks up behind her.

"Ameana, watch out!" She turns in time to see him coming for her. She waves her hand and sends him flying across the village. The boys cheer.

I am so engrossed with what is going on I don't hear the footsteps coming towards me. By the time I look up, it's too late. A man appears in the hut and strikes me in the head with the butt of his gun. Everything goes black.

************************************

"Emmy, Emmy, wake up." I feel someone shaking me. I wish they would stop so I could go back to sleep. I moan and turn to the side. I just want five more minutes. Why won't they let me sleep?

Someone shakes me again.

"What?"

"Open your eyes," I do as I'm told and find a group of angels looking down at me. Then it all comes back to me.

"Where are the boys?" I ask Ameana

"I had Jay glide them home. They should be okay. Thanks for the heads up," she says. It's not easy for her to say anything nice to me.

"No problem."

I try to get up. My head is throbbing. I groan.

"Yeah, that guy got you good, but we took care of him."

"Ebo was right. They've been given Quip guns by the Akons."

Just then we hear the roar of motorcycles. The angels help me up and we go look out the window. Rage and the other Akons are headed right for us.

Rage raises his hand to fire. Ameana sends him off his motorcycle and into a nearby table. He crashes and topples everything around him. The Guardians tell me to stay put as they race outside.

Jay Glides over to where Rage has fallen and tackles him. Frenzy comes to the aid of his fellow Akon by throwing bolts of electricity at Jay. Jay's whole body shakes uncontrollably as the volts pass through him. Marcus goes over to help.

Pissed off, Mayhem throws his daggers at him. Ameana redirects them back to Mayhem, who moves just in time to miss getting killed by his own weapons.

The Guardians are doing a good job fending off the Akons, but Rage has got the better of Marcus. He has thrown what looks like a small whirlpool of wind to the ground. Marcus is powerless as it pulls light from his center.

As the light gets drained from his body, his wings get darker and darker. He is turning a sickly gray color. He stands paralyzed in front of the whirlwind. It's a Soul Chaser. He's gonna die.

I run out of the hut and tackle Rage from behind. He isn't expecting it and I temporarily send him off balance. The stream of wind that is sucking Marcus' soul dry starts to die down because Rage is not there to control it.

But Rage isn't down for long. He gets up and punches me in face with the fury of Atourum. I fall back, momentarily blinded by the sheer force of the hit. The small distraction I caused helps Marcus pull away from the Soul Chaser. When Rage turns to strike me again, Marcus grabs him and plows him into a nearby hut, causing it to split in half.

I can't fully make out what is going on because my left eye is quickly swelling shut. It throbs and pulses like a heartbeat. With my one good eye, I see the duffel bag that was in the car. I can't reach it so I call out for Ameana who is closer. She sends the bag floating over to me. I grab the Stopper and point it at Rage. He was about to crack Marcus' head into the tree stump. I press the button and Rage is instantly frozen in place.

Meanwhile, Jay has trapped Frenzy underneath one of the tables. Chaos has Miku under his control and forces her to attack her brother with a discarded dagger. Rio shields himself. Ameana comes to the rescue by picking up a piece of sharp jagged metal and plunging it right into Chaos' back. He yells out in pain as it lands between his shoulder blades. He yanks it out and goes to attack Ameana.

Jay grabs a Para light a few feet from him and shines it on Chaos, causing him to go blind temporarily. Ameana is able to get away.

Just then Rage is unfrozen. I go to press the Stopper again but Mayhem kicks it out of my hand. It flies off and lands several feet away. Rage gets on his bike and takes off. Seeing this, Jay says we need to get to the Cave before Rage gets there and moves Julian.

"I saw a car back there near the entrance. Let's go," Marcus says as the Akons take off following their leader.

Marcus leads us to the back of one of the huts where a small car awaits. It looks to be about a hundred years old.

"We can make it work. Get in," Jay says confidently.

We all pile into the car. Jay closes his eyes. It's like he's negotiating with the car. Or sweet-talking it like he does the girls at school. Whatever he's doing, it works. The car slowly comes to life. Jay then turns it off and tries again. The car roars.

"Yes, that's what I'm talkin' about," he says as we race down the road.

The Akons have a big lead on us. The fact that the angels can't fly in this area is frustrating. Had they been able to take to the air it would speed things up. The car is already going eighty, but that isn't fast enough. Jay says he doesn't want to push it by making it go any faster; it might stop altogether.

Marcus takes a quick glance at me. He flinches at the sight of my left eye which is now completely shut. I turn away because I don't want him to worry and anyway, it's not his problem. I should have gone for the Stopper first. That way I wouldn't even have had to tackle Rage. But I did the first thing that came to my mind because I couldn't let him suffer.

There is a light coming from down the road. The car slows down until it sputters and dies. It can go no further.

"We can run the rest of the way," Marcus says.

We get out of the car and head towards the cave.

"Meana and Jay will take Rage and Chaos. I'll take Mayhem and Frenzy."

"How can I help?"

"By staying out of the way," Marcus answers.

"No, I can help. I have a Stopper. I'll watch and when it's best, I'll zap him."

"Alright, just stay out of the way until then. And if they come close to you, use the Para light to blind them. When they start shooting, you take cover no matter what is going on with one of us," Marcus says pointedly. I take that to mean he didn't appreciate me risking my life to save him.

We see the cave Ebo had spoken of. It is glowing brightly from within. Around the cave are miles of wildly growing trees and brushes.

Rage shoots at us from on top of a nearby tree. We duck and take cover. Ameana picks up all the bikes and starts dropping them on their respective owners. Jay is able to flash the Para light and blind Rage long enough to get him to stop shooting. Marcus takes off after Mayhem who has just thrown a dagger inches away from my face.

He instructs the twins not to worry about us and to focus on reprogramming the timer at the base of the Cave. They take one more look at the battle situation and reluctantly go towards the cave.

"I can see him! I see Julian" I shout to the team as I head over to the opening.

"No," Rio says as we are about to enter.

"What is it?" his sister asks.

"A Soul Chaser. I can hear the wind swirling. Stay behind me." He takes out his shield and Miku gets behind him.

"It's too strong. We won't be able to go in. It'll pull my wings right off. We need to be able to turn it off at the base."

I run over to them. "I'll go. The Chaser won't cause me as much damage." They look at each other not sure they should allow me to do in. Marcus overhears our conversation as he and Rage throw blows at each other.

"No!" he shouts to the Twins.

This is stupid. It's my planet too.

"I'm going," I say and head into the cave.

"Emmy, it's too strong for you," Marcus roars as Rage throws a fireball at him. He is so focused on me he barely has time to move. If not for Ameana, navigating the fireball away from him, he would have been set ablaze.

"I'm the only one that can come close to it without dying. I'm going."

"Jay will Glide over and do it," he shouts. He is trying to get to me but Rage is on his tail and won't let up. He keeps having to dodge fireball after fireball.

I look to Jay just as Mayhem stabs him in the leg. I start to call out his name but before I get the words out the twins are at Jay's side.

Frenzy hurls a bolt of lightning straight for Ameana.

"You are really getting on my nerves, you freak," she yells.

It's the first time I've seen her lose control in the line of duty. She pulls a tree out of the ground and drops it on Frenzy. He moves away just in time. It falls on the ground, shaking everything around us.

Seeing that Ameana has managed to almost get the better of Frenzy, Rage launches a fireball at her. Unlike the other times, she doesn't see it coming. Both Marcus and I call her name at the same time. She looks up just as it lands on her.

I think my heart has stopped. I look over expecting to see Ameana up in flames. But there is nothing there. A few yards away Jay holds Ameana protectively in his arms. Marcus calls for Rio to shield him as he makes his way over to Ameana.

"Are you okay?" he asks to her.

"Fine. Thanks, Jay," she says breathlessly.

"Ain't nothing." He puts her down. Marcus pulls her close.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks again.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"I thought you were—"

"No way."

"It's time, let's go," Rage yells at his team. All of them get on their bikes and take off.

They didn't think they could defeat us. They just wanted to slow us down so that we would get caught up in the blast. The others are thinking the same thing, too.

"It was all just to delay us," Jay says.

"I should have known," Marcus says bitterly.

"Focus, guys. We need to get to Julian," Ameana says.

"We can't go in. The Chaser is too strong. And, according to this, we only have two minutes until the whole damn cave blows up" Rio replies.

"Can't you rewire it?" Marcus asks.

"Not enough time," the twins reply.

"I can do it," I insist.

"No, it'll pull you in," Marcus counters. There's no time to argue. I take a deep breath and run into the cave.

"Emmy!" Marcus calls after me.

The whirlwind is more like a hurricane. It's louder and more vicious than the one back at the village. It is pulling me in. I grab hold of the cave wall as the wind lifts me off my feet. I am now completely sideways. It's like I'm holding on to the wings of an airplane. It's sucking the air from my lungs. Breathing becomes almost impossible.

I have to get close enough to press the release without getting sucked in. I hear Marcus' voice but with the rush of the wind whirling around me, it sounds like a whisper. I think he is coming into the Cave after me. I can't tell. I am too focused on getting to the center of the Chaser to look behind me. Even if I could, the pressure would snap my neck in half.

The only way this will work is if I let go of the side of the cave. Then I can try and reach the release before it sucks me in completely. I let go, but for some reason I don't get sucked into the center of the Chaser. Something is holding me back. I feel Marcus' hand around my foot.

"Let me go. I can reach it," I shout.

"No, it'll kill you."

"We only have one minute," the twins shout to us. "We can get out of here or save Julian, but we can't do both."

"I can get to him," I shout to Marcus.

Marcus refuses to let go of me. I kick him as hard as I can and I feel his hand slip away. Normally I wouldn't be able to get free of Marcus' hold but the Chaser has weakened him greatly.

"Thirty seconds," the twins shout behind me.

I see a blurry figure beyond the Soul Chaser. He lies motionless on the floor.

As soon as I get close enough, the wind claims me and drags me to the center. My body is being sucked in.

My limbs feel like they are being ripped from their sockets.

"Twenty seconds," the twins call out.

I force myself to stay focused on the center of the Chaser and pay no attention to the agony traveling down my body.

"Ten seconds."

I try in vain to steady my fingers. The wind is too strong. I can't get a strong enough grip to press the button at the center of the Chaser.

"Five seconds."

"Emmy, no!" Marcus roars in pain.

I grab on to the side of the ball and press down as hard as I can.

It is too late. The wind of the Soul Chaser is replaced by a blast of blinding white heat. I can feel my body cut through the air. The blast grips me and tosses me like a weightless paper bag.

The white heat travels everywhere making every part of me burn; from the inside of my eyelids to my toenails.

Finally, I land somewhere, hard. Rocks and debris land on top of me, entombing me. I'm not sure what did it—the blast itself, the rocks that land on top of me, or the fire dancing across my body—but darkness soon follows.

********************************

Someone is calling out my name. I can't tell who is speaking, but I know it's more than one voice. I try to open my eyes but the light hurts, so I keep them shut.

"C'mon, read her wave."

"I did. She's alive."

"Then why isn't she moving?"

"Because a bomb just exploded in her face. Back off, man."

"Read her wave again, Rio. Are you sure she's alive?"

"Yes. But just because she's alive doesn't mean she's okay."

My head feels like it's made of stone. The burning sensation has lessened but not gone away.

Given the strength I put into moving my body, you would think that I could get up. But no, it seems I have barely budged.

"Emmy, can you hear me?"

Come on, open your eyes, even if it hurts. They are so worried about you.

"Emmy, can you hear me? Emmy?"

Finally I convince my eyes to brave the harsh light. The first thing I see is a pair of deeply concerned eyes.

"Are you okay?" Miku asks near panic.

"Yeah," I manage to say.

She hugs me tightly.

"I'm so glad you're alive! If you were dead, I was going to kill you," Miku says, filled with relief.

We actually made it out okay! Everyone lets out a sigh of relief—well, almost everyone.

"What the hell is your problem?" Marcus fires at me.

"Stop yelling."

"You could have been killed, do you understand that? We can't let anything happen to you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. The mission wouldn't survive," I say flippantly.

"No, not the mission—me. I won't survive if something happens to you. Why the hell are you torturing me?" He spits out with unrelenting rage.

From the corner of my eyes, I see Ameana's body stiffen. But Marcus is too upset to care at the moment.

"If Rio didn't get to you in time to shield you, do you know what would have happened?"

"Julian is our only lead. We couldn't let him die. Wait, is he okay?" I ask as the twins help me into a sitting position.

"He's fine," Ameana says, motioning toward the man on the ground a few feet away.

Marcus has yet to take his wrath-filled eyes off of me.

"I told you not to go in that Cave. You will do as I say or so help me Omnis, you will stay inside a Holder for the rest of your life!"

Marcus and I are now staring at each other like gun slingers in a showdown. Rio wisely intervenes by questioning Julian.

"Look, we have just gone through a great deal of trouble to find you. So tell us, what do you know about the Triplex?"

Julian looks at Rio calmly.

"I know this: so long as the human girl is involved, you will not get one single clue from me."

Chapter Nineteen

Marcus moves with inhuman speed, picks Julian up off the floor, and smashes him into a tree. He holds Julian by the throat and looks at him with what I can only describe as wrath.

"Do not test me."

Julian looks back at Marcus, unfazed.

"Tell me what you know," Marcus rages again.

When Julian speaks his voice is strained and barely audible because Marcus is pressing on his windpipe.

"Can't talk," he says.

Marcus reluctantly loosens his grip. Julian gets away and straightens himself up.

"Let's do this at the house. We shouldn't be out on the road like this," Miku suggests.

The flight back home is tense, to say the least. For one thing, Marcus makes Julian fly with him. And it seems that at any moment, Julian will be dropped to his death.

Once we get back to New York, the team flies straight to their home on the Upper West Side.

Once we land, Marcus throws Julian onto the floor of the roof and barks at him to talk.

"I am grateful that you got me out of that cave. But I will not help so long as Emerson is a part of this," Julian says.

"What is your problem? I risked my life for you!" I remind him.

"Yeah, and something that should have been done by a Guardian. What's the matter, Marcus, too scared to face a Chaser so you send in a fifteen-year-old human?"

"I'm sixteen."

"It is wrong to involve her. You will get her killed," he says, ignoring me.

"Her name was the only clue given to find the location of the Triplex. We didn't involve her, the council did," Rio informs him.

"Yeah, that sounds like something those bastards would do."

"I don't like it either but we have no choice," Marcus adds.

"Like hell you don't. Put her in a Holder and keep her away from all this."

"Why are you so interested in what happens to me?"

"Emmy, you could be seriously hurt."

"I've already been seriously hurt."

He barks his order at Marcus. "You were out of line to involve her. Emmy, go home."

"No."

"Go home, right now."

"Just because you're the original First Guardian, doesn't mean you can tell me what to do."

"I can tell you what to do because you're my daughter."

I don't know what happened. I heard the words and by the time they had make sense, I already have my hands wrapped around his neck. The attack was so sudden that even the angels couldn't stop me from getting to Julian.

They stand there for a moment in shock that I had attacked him. By the time they came back to their senses, I have already launched my fourth or fifth blow on him. He doesn't fight back. He just tries to block me. The angels pull me off of him, kicking and screaming. I yell at him so loud I'm sure all of New York City heard me. I don't care. He raped my mom. The original First Guardian raped my mother.

"Let me go," I shout at the twins.

"You have to promise you won't attack him again," Rio says.

"I won't, I'll just kill him."

"Emerson, calm down," Jay says, looking into my eyes. He is about to convince me to remain calm.

"No," Marcus says to him.

"Why?" he asks his leader.

"She's entitled to her rage. We can't take that from her."

"So, just let her beat him up?" Rio asks.

"Let her go," Marcus instructs.

They do as they are told.

I spit my words to Julian with venom. "You hurt her. She was a good person who never did anything to anyone and you destroyed her life. You come near me or my mother again and I will kill you."

Julian doesn't say anything. His silence enrages me even further.

A wave of disgust passes through me. Or what I thought was disgust. It turns out it's nausea. I throw up everywhere. Everything I ate today is purged from me. Marcus holds my hair out of my face. Rio goes downstairs to get something.

Finally I have nothing left to throw up. Rio comes back; Marcus takes the water and towel from him. He wets the towel and wipes my face.

"It's okay. Everything is going to be okay. He can't hurt her now," Marcus says.

"Maybe he'll try to hurt her again. What's to stop him?"

"Me."

I burst into tears. He holds me. I mumble in his ear, "Get me out of here, please. I can't stay here." Moments later I am in his arms. He looks into my eyes and gently pulls my head to his chest and we fly away—away from Julian, away from the worst day of my life.

Marcus lands us on a mountain range that overlooks a stretch of trees.

He puts me down. I look around and nothing looks familiar.

"Where are we?"

"We're on the Green Mountains, upstate."

I look around again; everything is clear and beautiful.

"I come here when I need to think," he says softly.

I can't bring myself to answer. I don't want to carry on a conversation. I want the last few days not to have happened.

It's like Marcus could read my mind because he says, "You can't undo it, Emmy. No matter how much you want to. And I'm truly sorry for that."

I turn to tell him what I have never admitted to another living human being.

"Marcus, I'm a mistake. If I had never been born, her life would have been so much better."

"That is not true. You're the only good thing that came out of her experience."

"You know what the worst part is?"

"What?"

"There is a part of me, a small stupid, crazy part of me, that has always wanted to know my father."

"That's understandable. It's something you were denied in your life, and you have every right to fantasize about that."

"My whole life is just one big mistake," I cry. He comes closer and puts his arm around me. I pull away from his embrace.

"Please don't comfort me."

"Why?"

"I'm not yours to comfort."

He is about to argue but then thinks better of it and flies away. I want to call him back. But I can't. He's not mine. The only thing that's truly mine is this bottomless despair.

***********************************

The next morning, I wake up and look at the clock next to the bed.

I throw on some clothes and head outside. The twins are at my front door.

"What are you guys doing here?"

"Your wave was that of a girl who was on a mission," Rio.

"I'm really sorry he did that to your mom. One day I'll tell you our Core; you'll see that we're not unfamiliar with pain," Miku offers.

"The only one who'll feel pain is Julian if he doesn't answer my questions."

I march out of the apartment and the twins follow.

Once we get to the house, I march up the stairs. It's a good thing no one in the house sleeps because I would have woken them all. I call out for Julian. Everyone comes running out. Julian comes in from Rio's room.

"You think you can just sleep in this house and be protected after what you did?"

"Emmy, let him explain," Marcus says.

"Explain what? He was horny so he thought he'd have a nice human girl?

"Give me a chance—," Julian starts to say.

"Shut up. You hurt my mother, and the angels are the only thing keeping me from ripping you limb from limb."

"I never wanted to tell you this way. I didn't want to tell you at all. I wanted your life to be free from...me."

"How could you do that to her? How could you do that to any woman? You were an angel, how could you break her like that?"

"She's right." I look up to see who had spoken on my behalf. It was Ameana, of all people.

"Julian, what you did was repulsive and you should be punished. First Guardian or not," she continues.

He looks around the room. Everyone looks at him. Marcus and Ameana look grave. The twins look sad and Jay is disgusted.

"You need to tell us what's going on. Why did you do that to her mother or to anyone? Was it a Peel? Was someone pretending to be you?" Marcus asks.

"No, it was me."

"Why'd you do it?"

"Why do you remember everything that the council said you would have no memory of?" Jay adds.

"And why did you pretend that you believed in that alien mess?" Ameana asks.

"We said we'd let you sleep and tell us tomorrow. It's tomorrow. Start talking," Marcus orders.

"Alright, take a seat," Julian says to me.

"No."

"Please."

"Emmy, have a seat. It's cool." Jay takes me over to the sofa and sits beside me. He holds my hand and whispers to me, "Be cool, baby girl. If he says anything to piss you off, I'll take him down."

"Promise?"

"Hell yeah," he says with a wicked smile. He holds my hands.

The others sit down as well. Most of them sit by me. I think they're worried that I'll strike Julian again. I can't promise I won't, but I need my questions answered. So I sit still and let the contemptuous rapist talk.

"When Atourum called the council to tell them that I had broken the rules, the council convened. Then they handed down their ruling. That part is very well known. But what the council kept quiet was that Omnis had given me a chance to say good bye to my team. On my way to say goodbye, I saw Femi at the entrance to the councils' gate. She was being escorted by a Para angel. The council wanted to see the soul that had caused all of this to come about.

"I told the Para that I would take Femi there myself. As I flew back over to the meeting, the thought that I was never gonna see her again weighed heavily on me. Femi was also worried. She was sure she'd be punished. I told her that Omnis wouldn't give up on a soul easily. And sure enough, Omnis fought to have Femi stay in the light. He let me take her back. That gave me a chance to say a real good bye to her.

"But I couldn't do it. I couldn't let her go. I loved her. So instead of taking her back to the light, I took her over the side and down to Earth with me."

"You took a soul from Omnis?" Marcus asks, shocked.

"I was in love."

"Go on," Jay says.

"We were hunted by both demons and Paras."

"What did you do?" Rio asks.

"We hid out in the Hun Market. We laid low and tried to go unnoticed. But that only lasted a few days."

"I take it they found you," Ameana says.

"Yes, on our way to what is now Gaza."

"Why were you going there?"

"That's where the Hun market had shifted to. We were hoping to find some kind of creation that might be able to help us."

"Any luck?"

"We never made it there. Three Para angels came and got us. They took us back up to Omnis. When we were standing in his presence, the glow was unbearable. We needed the Paras to stand between us and Omnis to absorb the light coming from him.

"The Paras translated what he was saying. Omnis said he was very disappointed in me. He said he knew what I had been thinking when I asked to take Femi into the light. He let me do it as a test. He left me alone with Femi to see if I could follow his orders.

"He said that had I taken her into the light like he had instructed, he would have pardoned me and sent me into the light as well. But since I had disobeyed him, for the second time, his patience had run out.

"I told him that I loved her and that what I had done, I did for love. He understood it was hard for me, but they were his orders and they were to be followed nonetheless. I had proven to be unworthy of the light. So, he was sending me back to Earth.

"Omnis said that I had to learn not only how to obey him, but how to love. He said that had I really loved Femi, I would have let her go into the light because it was what was best for her. He called my love faulty and said I needed to learn what true love was. So he sent Femi down to Earth with me. I couldn't understand why he did that. But I was beyond happy. I would spend all of forever with the girl I had come to love more than anything."

"What happened when the two of you came to Earth?"

"The cruelest fate awaited us."

"She died while you were on Earth?" Jay asks.

"You didn't love her anymore?" Rio joins in.

"Worse. Omnis let Femi come to Earth but stripped her of her memories so she would never remember that she had loved me or that I had loved her."

"I went to the Sage for some answers. She was expecting me."

"She? The Sage was a girl?" Ameana inquires.

"It was over a thousand cycles ago, and yes, at the time it was a girl. She said that Omnis had convinced the council that while I should keep my memory, Femi's should be taken away. That way while I don't remember the bridge, I'll remember how much I love her. And if I can go one cycle and never see her, even though my love for her continues to grow, then I would have learned my lesson."

"All you had to do is stay away from the woman you love for one cycle. That's easy" Marcus says.

"Is it?" Julian asks pointedly.

"Go on," he snaps at Julian.

"I was unable to tear myself away from her. Every cycle that came, I'd find her. That would in turn keep her away from the light."

"How did you find her?"

"She is always known to me. Like a dog would know if its master walked into the room."

"Why don't you just move away?"

"I did, many times. Once I actually lived my whole life and never sought her out. But by the end of that cycle I was craving her more and more. I needed to be with her. To hold her hand, to kiss her."

"So, you found the nearest girl and raped her?" I bark at him.

"Emmy," Jay pleads with me. I pay him no mind and continue to shout at Julian.

"You rape my mother because you missed your girlfriend."

He tries to defend his evil actions. "I hadn't been with anyone in years. I followed her on her way home. She was so beautiful. She had this smile and her eyes sparkled..."

"Screw you and you're sparkling-eyes B.S. You were horny and you attacked her."

"Why would I attack her? She's the only woman I've ever loved."

"What?"

"Omnis changes her face and her circumstances every cycle, but yes, Femi is your mother."

Chapter Twenty

I look at him like there are bugs coming out of his face. I can't wrap my head around it. I know what he said. I mean, I understand the words, but I'm more confused than I have ever been in my life. I have chills all over. Julian looks at me with deep regret. Marcus breaks the silence.

"Julian, are you sure?"

"Yes. I would know Femi anywhere. That's part of the punishment: I will always know her but she will never know me."

"We were told you were the one who lost your memory, not Femi," Miku says.

"The council said that so Atourum wouldn't hunt me down for taking a soul away from her."

"But they came after you anyway."

"Only because they know you want to question me. They don't think I can actually help."

"Can you?" Marcus asks.

"Yes."

"Has everybody here lost their freaking minds?" I shout.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you like this but I wanted you to know that I didn't hurt your mom."

"You took everything away from her."

"We loved each other. I told you I would never hurt her."

"You kidnapped her, you get her memory taken from her, and stop you her from going in to the light for thousands of years. How can you say you didn't hurt her?"

"I took her because I loved her."

"You took her because you're a selfish bastard who couldn't think about anyone but himself."

"What we did that afternoon was about love, Emmy."

"She didn't even know you."

"I don't believe that. Somewhere in her heart she knew it was me. She didn't fight me. She knew we had a connection."

"She didn't connect to you; she connected to whatever weapon you used."

"I didn't use a weapon."

"So, you tear apart a teenager with your bare hands. Good job."

"She didn't fight. She knew me."

"How is that possible?" Ameana asks.

"I don't know but it felt like she wanted to be close to me. It felt like she wanted to be with me."

"You think she flashed back to your history together?" Jay asks.

"I've heard of Sellers who can recall things from past cycles even when they're kids. Emmy, she wasn't afraid. We made love."

"Then why did she file charges?"

"Maybe she forgot after I left."

"Why didn't you help her? Why did you leave if you already messed up by being with her? Why didn't you stay?"

"The longer I stay with her the harder it is to let her live her life. Every cycle it gets harder and harder to stay away. If I had been with her after that day, in the next cycle, I would not even be able to resist at all."

"You act like its okay, but it's not. You stopped her from being happy. She could have been in the light right now instead of living paycheck to paycheck with a child conceived through rape."

"I told you so you'd know that wasn't the case. I thought this would make you feel better. My biggest fear after finding out that Femi was pregnant was that you'd grow up to feel unwanted. Now you know the truth: you were a product of love, Emmy."

"Love?" I shake my head in disgust. Warm tears stream down my face. I get up slowly and head towards the door.

"Emmy, I know you're mad, but try and understand." He gets up and walks towards me.

"The only thing I could count on was my relationship with my mom. But now I don't know who she is. Everything in my life is a lie. You have ruined my mom's life and now mine. I hate you."

"I can understand that, Piglet."

"You have no right to call me that!"

"Yeah, I guess I'm not going to make father of the year. But I'm also not going to allow you to risk your life by being a part of this mission."

"I don't know you. You can't tell me what to do!"

"No, but I can tell the Guardians this," he says as he look every one of them in the eyes.

"I have helped every single cycle find the Triplex. Without me, they would have been lost. You agree to keep Emmy out of this and I will practically put the Triplex in your hand."

"You're lying," Jay says.

"Ask Rio," he says, looking at the human mood ring.

"He's not," Rio confirms.

"We can't keep her out of this. She's already a part. The Council has seen to that," Ameana says.

"Send her away to stay with her uncle upstate. If you need to question her, you can get her on the phone. Or go up to see her. She does not need to be in harms way, Marcus."

"It doesn't matter where she is—the Akons will find her," Miku says.

"Well, the Akons aren't the only ones who pose a threat now, are they? You think I don't break Splashes? You were told to stay away from Emmy by the Sage."

"So this isn't about her safety, is it? You just don't want me around her?"

"I know what it means to be a Guardian. I know that every thing you love gets destroyed. So I would appreciate it if you would stay away from my daughter."

"We're not together," Marcus insists.

"Good, then you won't have a problem letting her go."

"She won't be protected."

"You're a smart guy, I'm sure you can find away to protect her away from the action."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," I shout.

"Marcus, you know I'm right," Julian says with a steely conviction in his voice.

Marcus looks at me. His eyes begin to fill with regret. I walk up to him.

"No, don't listen to him," I plead.

"So, how about it, Marcus? Do you want to find the Triplex or not?" Julian asks.

Epilogue

It's Valentine's Day and I planned to hang out with my mom but she got called into work. So, it's just me and Ms. Charlotte. The two of us are protesting "V" Day by watching the most unromantic movies we can find. Halfway though Friday the Thirteenth, there's a knock on the door.

"Who is it?"

"Jay."

My heart races and my hands go cold. It's been a few days since Julian gave Marcus an ultimatum. He said he needed to talk things over with the team and would let me know what he decided. I guess this is it.

I walk over and open the door. He stands there looking beyond sexy with shades and a heart-shaped box.

"These are for you."

"Is this the Guardian's way of saying, 'Get lost, we found Julian, we don't need you?" I say as I move aside and let him in.

"Nothing's been decided yet."

"Well, I know Ameana would love for me to be gone. But what about the twins?"

"They love you, Em. But they are very focused on the mission."

"And you?"

"C'mon, baby girl. You know how I do: I'm faithful to the end. But that Triplex has to be found. Nothing can get in the way of that."

"I'm screwed," I sigh.

I open the box of chocolate and shove three pieces into my mouth almost all at once.

"Chew, Emmy."

"Don't start with me. I'm trying to deal here," I say plopping down of the sofa. He sits beside me.

"It's been hard, huh?"

I shove another piece of chocolate into my mouth. I slide down on to the sofa until the top half of my body is on Jay's lap. He gently strokes my hair. It reminds me of Reese. He had held me this way after I had kissed Marcus in the car. We sat right here and he told me his Core. I miss him.

"How is it?"

"I'm eating too fast to tell. Where are the others?"

"You mean Marcus?"

"Yeah."

"He and Ameana are going out tonight."

"Is there a new lead?"

"No."

"Oh, it's a Valentine thing?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's no big deal," I lie.

A short while later, Jay is gone and so is a whole pound of chocolate. Don't judge me. I really needed it. I head into my room and get under the covers. I don't know who I'm fooling.

There is no way I can sleep. I love Jay very much, but I wish he hadn't told me about Marcus' evening plans. I wish I had never asked. But I couldn't help it. I wanted to know.

Now I feel bad. And the thing about feeling bad is that once you get started, it's hard to stop. Soon I start to think about what a wonderful time Marcus is having with her. And that if he says I have to sit out the rest of the mission, I won't have any contact with him at all.

Even as I am putting on my sneakers and heading out the door to spy on them, I tell myself it's a bad idea. I tell myself that whatever I find when I get to the Guardian's home will upset me. It doesn't matter. I have to go.

I fly out the door and see Rio standing there waiting for me. His flaming hair makes his eyes sparkle.

"C'mon, I'll give you a ride," he says.

"You're not gonna talk me out of it?"

"Could I?"

"No."

"Then, no." We get into Jay's favorite car, Siren.

Once we are on our way, Rio turns to me.

"Can I ask you a question?" he says.

"No, I don't know why I'm going over to the house and no, I have no idea what I'm going to say to him."

"This isn't about that."

"Okay, what is it?"

"Where did Ameana take you the night of your birthday after you two left the house?"

"We didn't go anywhere," I say, knowing that it's pointless.

"No need to lie to a guy who knows what you feel before you do."

"Alright. She took me to the Golden Gate Bridge."

"Why?"

"To tell me to stay away from Marcus."

"And look how well that worked."

"This is all so easy for you. You know what everyone is thinking already. Me, I have to work without waves. I have to figure out how I feel on my own."

"You know what you're feeling, Em. Desperation isn't a hard emotion to identify, waves or no waves."

"You think I'm desperate?"

"Yes."

"Then I must be."

"I didn't know, I'm sorry."

"Sorry about what?"

"Sorry, I hurt you so deeply just now."

"Whatever, I'm fine."

"No, you're not. And I should be more understanding."

"Are angels supposed to be understanding?"

"Ideally."

"Oh."

"Did she hurt you?"

"Ameana? No. She just tried to scare me."

"Did it work?"

"Yes and no."

"Usually she can be very persuasive."

"Has she ever persuaded you to do anything?"

"Yes."

"I'm sure she didn't persuade you to do anything that you wouldn't have done anyway because it was the right thing."

"Angels don't always do the right thing."

"Then what separates you guys from us?"

"Expectations."

"Whose?"

"Omnis'."

"What does he expect of you?'

"Everything."

"Are you able to deliver?"

"Mostly."

"I can't imagine you failing at anything."

"Actually, I fail at most things. You're just not paying attention."

"I shouldn't be doing this, huh?" I ask him.

"No."

"I can turn around."

"You won't."

"No, I won't."

Rio stays in the car and I run out to the house. As I walk up the stairs I see him. He's helping Ameana with her coat. She doesn't notice that I'm there. She hugs him tightly. She's facing away from me while Marcus and I lock eyes.

Without speaking out loud, I tell him everything with one sincere, pleading glance.

Marcus, choose me. Choose the path that is perilous and leads to certain annihilation because it's also the path that leads to me. They can't understand that we are powerless to stop what we have for each other. But we know. We know that if we don't bend to the will of this love, it will break us.

He looks back at me and I read the answer in his eyes.

Go away, Emmy. Please, go away.

I cover my mouth with my hand. I run out of the house and onto the sidewalk. I try to get my body to stop shaking but I can't. My body doesn't take commands from me anymore. It doesn't trust me. My heart gave itself over to my crazy, outlandish desires, and now it's broken. I'm broken. I can't imagine being whole again after this kind of rejection.

Someone help me. Please.

"You are not the only one who needs help," a boy who's about five or six years old says to me. I'm paralyzed with heartbreak and don't understand what he's talking about.

"I'm talking about Rio. Look over there," he says. I turn and follow his gaze. Sure enough, Rio is in the car doubled over in pain.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Your pain is too much for him. You are only feeling one emotion right now and it is so deep and so all-consuming, it radiates beyond what the Guardian can handle. In short, Emmy, you're killing him."

"What do I do?"

"I could tell you to stop hurting but it would be pointless, not to mention rude."

Who the hell is this kid?

"I'm the Sage, my dear."

"You're the Sage? Then help him."

"He needs you to feel something else or get as far away from him as you can. Let us take a walk," he says.

I follow him down the block. I keep looking back at Rio and I think the distance is helping.

"How is your father?" he asks.

"I don't have one."

"Ah, youth. So full rage and righteous indication."

"I don't care if you are a thousand years old and all-knowing. Stay out of this!"

"You're like Marcus: full of fire."

"I don't want to hear about Marcus. I hate him."

"I think Rio would beg to differ. As would Ameana and the rest of them, for that matter."

"Yeah, well. That was before. Now I just want him to go back where he came from and leave me the hell alone."

"Wish it were that easy."

"It is. I hate him. And I will stay as far away from him as I can."

"You've tried that many times before, have you not?"

"Yeah, but this time it's different."

"We shall see."

"Why did you make that stupid prediction about my being the end of him? You messed everything up."

"Well, I suppose I could have lied to him and told him that everything would go as he had planned."

"Why didn't you?"

"Emerson Hope, who exactly do you think I am? Do you think that I was chosen simply by luck? I have handled cycle after cycle of Guardians. I arm them with information that will enable them to fight the evil that threatens your very existence. I'm not here to help you with your love life."

"I can't stop wanting him, needing him. But he could care less."

"Cruel, is it not, ignoring how one feels?"

"It hurts so bad. I can't take it."

"I suspect Ameana is right: you are stronger than you know."

"I'm not. I can't take this. Marcus, Julian, the Triplex. I just want it all to stop."

I sob and the waves hit me over and over again. I need a tissue but I don't have one.

He takes out a small new pack of tissues. They're the brand I like.

"I know, Emmy. That is why I got them," he says. I study him for the first time. His power amazes me.

"Thank you, I try," he says.

"You can really read minds and tell the future."

"Yes."

"I'm really going to end his life, little ol' me?"

"Look what you did to Rio."

"I didn't mean to."

"Your intent is not in question. You have a good heart."

"It doesn't change anything, does it?"

"Not in the least."

**********************************

The Sage went to check on Rio and told me to take some time to think about what he said. I told him I couldn't be alone, but he assured me that I would not be attacked tonight. So, thanks to the Sage this is the first time I've actually been alone in months.

I head to the public library on Forty Second Street and Fifth Ave. I spend a few hours reading my favorite passages from various books. Then I head home.

My eyes are fixed on the floor because I feel like a complete loser. I'm a few yards away when I spot someone standing in the front of my building. I can't really make the guy out, but I think it's the janitor's son, Eric. He's nice enough, but I'm in no mood to talk. I put my head down and hope that my demeanor will tell him to skip the pleasant banter.

"Hi" he says.

I look up. It's not Eric. It's Marcus. He stands in front of me with his hands in his pockets and his tie loosened around his neck. He has been running his hands through his hair. His eyes are wild, deeply penetrating. I'm feeling too many things all at once. But the one feeling that prevails is that of being drained.

"I don't have it in me to go another round with you. Please let me go home," I say to him.

"I need to say this to you. When I'm done, you can go home and never talk to me again if you want, okay?"

I don't answer I just shrug slightly and wait for him to say his piece.

"I broke things off with Ameana."

"What, why?"

He pauses then speaks again, with painful honesty.

"When the Sage told me that you would be the end of me, I thought the answer was simple: I just stay away from you. But that hasn't helped because my every waking thought is of you. And since I don't sleep, my every thought is of you."

"And when I saw you tonight outside the house, I was so angry. I was angry because I didn't feel true happiness until I saw you standing there. It was only then that I realized I had spent my day praying that you would come see me."

"You rejected me."

"I tried to. Omnis knows I tried. But I don't care anymore. You can be the end of me. So long as I get to hold you, none of it matters."

"Marcus, you can't die for me."

He walks up to me. We're inches apart.

"When I heard the twins' Core, I thought no death could ever be worse. But I was wrong."

"Wrong how?"

"There is a worse death, Emmy. There's the death that comes when I watch you walk away from me. The death that comes when I can't hold you and tell you that I love more than anyone should ever love."

"But the Sage said—"

"I don't give a damn what he said. Not being with you is killing me. I can't do it anymore. Please, don't make me."

He strokes my cheek with the palm of his hand.

"I'm scared," I confess.

He leans in to kiss me. And even though it's what I want with every fiber of my being, I pull away. He looks into my eyes sadly.

"It's too late, isn't it?"

Before I can answer him, the twins and Jay fly down to us. We know something is wrong because they fly down with no concern for who is or isn't around.

"What is it?" Marcus asks his team.

"It's Rio, he saw Onyx," Miku says on her brother's behalf. Marcus turns to Rio with frustration.

"Look, I can't deal with this right now—"

"'It was a bus filled with kids, twenty seven of them," Rio says gravely.

"Aw, man. I'm sorry. When did they die?"

"They didn't. I saved them. I saved them all."

And before it could sink in what Rio had done, lightning cracks above. Clouds gather in the once clear night sky and turn a macabre shade of crimson.

A plane above us has been halted in midflight. The man walking his dog a block away is on pause, as is the dog. Across the street, a lady stands at the kitchen window near a running faucet. Both she and the running water have been rendered motionless. Aside from us, every living thing is frozen.

Rio bows his head before his leader.

"I'm sorry," Rio says.

His apology is drowned out by the earth-shattering sound of three cloaked figures parting the bloody sky as they descend wrathfully upon us...

The End

To continue the series with The Fallout now, click here to visit the author's website: www.lolastvil.com

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##    
Rest for the Wicked  
Claire Wiche Chronicles  
Book One  
By Cate Dean

##

##

Chapter One

Claire Wiche guided her unhappy customer through her shop, one arm around the woman's hunched shoulders.

"You know I don't do love spells, Mildred."

"But I know if he could see me, really see me, he'd fall desperately in—"

"Would it be real, if he's under an enchantment?"

Mildred pouted, not a pretty sight on an eighty-year-old woman. "What happened to the customer is always right?"

Biting her lip on a smile, Claire walked her through the open door.

"Never been my policy. And I have good reasons for that." She rubbed the old woman's arm. "You go on home now. I'll phone you when my new shipment of crystals shows up."

Leaning against the narrow porch post, Claire watched her toddle down the sidewalk, sunlight bouncing off the thin silver poodle curls. The morning gloom had burned off early, and it looked like the start of another beautiful day.

She crossed her arms, cold despite the sweater she slipped on earlier. It took longer to warm up lately, a fact she did her best to ignore.

"Are you cold again, Claire? It's got to be at least 80 in the store."

Unless, of course, a well-meaning friend shoved it in her face.

She turned around, forced a smile. "Is it, Annie? I must have forgotten to turn it down this morning."

"How could you not notice? The candles are sweating." Annie Sullivan—the lively, no-holds-barred friend Claire never expected to have in her life—stepped across the small porch that ran along the front of the shop, her almost six foot height topping Claire by a good ten inches. She caught one hand before Claire could shove them in her pockets. "You're like ice. Again." She looked down at Claire, concern in her warm brown eyes. "And you're avoiding. Again."

With a sigh, Claire squeezed her hand before easing out of it. The warmth in Annie's fingers made her skin tingle, yearn.

"Time to turn that heat down before the candles become a puddle."

Annie followed her back inside, hovering while she adjusted the thermostat to a more reasonable temperature. She would need a heavier sweater.

"Come on," Annie said, hands on her hips. "Give."

Shaking her head, Claire smiled, a real smile this time. "Would I'm just cold and tired do it for you?"

"Hardly." Annie stood in front of the counter, looking like a golden Amazon ready for battle. "But it'll have to until I can get you drunk and pry the truth out of you."

Laughter burst out of Claire. "I'd like to see that."

"Yeah, so would I. If you actually touched the stuff." She gave Claire a wicked smile. "I could always slip you a mickey."

"You could—if I wasn't able to smell it from across the room."

"Slapped down again. Hey—what if we just tried—"

"Not again. Never again." Claire still felt the residual agony from her one failed attempt at social drinking.

"How do you do that?" Those warm brown eyes narrowed as they studied her. "How do you always know what I'm going to say?"

Claire reached up and patted her cheek. "I'm a witch, sweetheart. It's what I do."

"Wait." She grabbed Claire's hand, pushed her sleeve up to reveal the bandage that peeked out. "Is that another tattoo? What is it this time?"

Claire flushed. The second reason she put on a sweater this morning.

"A triquetra."

"More protection? Jeez, Claire, the pentacle on your hip isn't enough?"

"There is no such thing as too much protection." She pulled free and walked around the counter. "And the subject is closed."

"Okay, I can take a hint. I'll drop in sometime tomorrow, see if you need any help during the festival madness."

"That will be most appreciated."

Annie strode to the door, her long legs taking her through the small shop in a few paces. She paused in the doorway. "Hey, Claire—I'm worried, and I poke when I'm worried. I'll leave it alone for now. But if you don't get better, I'll do more than poke."

"Annie." She stuck her head back in. "Don't you even think about taking on Mildred's love spell."

Color rushed into her cheeks.

"I wasn't—"

"I mean it. Last time you nearly had your victim falling in love with her cat."

"Never gonna let me live that one down, are you?"

Claire smiled. "Not if it keeps you from trying again."

Annie cursed under her breath and stalked out.

Chuckling, Claire made a mental note to put feelers out. Annie had more than enough power, and just enough knowledge to make her dangerous.

Without warning the pain stabbed her; a blade of ice in her gut.

Bracing her hands on the counter, she fought to breathe, fought to keep herself upright. Shaking so hard her rings clattered against the granite countertop, she gained enough control to lower herself to the chair that she recently added, out of necessity.

"God above—" She pressed both arms against her stomach, prayed for a slow morning. If she believed God would actually listen to her, after all this time, she'd ask the single question that haunted her.

Is this how it feels to be dying?

*

Eric watched, helpless, as the beautiful creature tortured his sister Katelyn.

Not a woman, not anymore—but she may have been human once. She had looked human, and harmless, as she stood on the porch when Eric opened the door to her this morning. But now power coiled around her, dark and ugly. Power she'd hidden under a smile, and the name of a mutual friend who had recommended his clinic. That power held him against the wall with invisible chains, locked his voice in his throat. He tried to scream as she dragged the knife across Katelyn's bare stomach.

"She will feel that, and not know why." The creature trailed one hand across the shallow wound, studying the blood that tipped her fingers. "You are so delicate, so easily broken. Why would she choose such a life, when immortality is hers?"

Katelyn no longer tugged at the ropes that tied her down to their heavy farmhouse table. She stared up at the creature bent over her, the bright light of the chandelier washing out her pale skin, and moaned deep in her throat every time those narrow hands touched her. Wearing only her faded jeans, she looked fragile, defenseless.

Fight her, Kate—damn it, you have to fight her until I can free—

"You would do best to save your strength, Eric. I have an important task for you."

He would kill himself before he agreed to any bloody deed she had for him.

Katelyn recoiled, gasping as the tip of the blade moved up her torso, stopping just below her ribcage. Eric fought against the invisible restraints, his heart pounding so hard he could barely hear the silken voice over it.

"Your life, your soul, will help me crack open a door. Soon I will be able to return home in triumph, with the most coveted prize in my grasp. Sweet Katelyn—I will owe you all that I become." The creature leaned in and pressed her lips to Katelyn's cheek. "Thank you. Now I will send her a message she will not soon forget. Close your eyes, my innocent girl, and there will be no more pain."

Eric's scream echoed in his head as the creature shoved the knife into Katelyn.

She arched off the table, then collapsed, blood spilling down her skin, pooling on the scarred wood. Eric slumped against the wall. He didn't care what the devil did to him now. He had just watched her kill the only important part of his life, his only family. Now he wanted her to end him, before the pain kicked in. Before he started to feel again.

She glided over to him, a beautiful, deadly predator.

"Now, my darling Eric." He tried to jerk away from the hand caressing him. She simply smiled, and the restraints tightened until he fought to breathe. After an endless minute they loosened, just enough for him to take in a ragged breath. "I will not tolerate defiance. Do we have an understanding?"

"I won't—obey you, bitch." He sucked in another breath, bracing himself for the final blow. "So just kill me."

"Ah, Eric. Your bravado is refreshing. Most of your kind simply cower, or grovel. I do abhor the groveling."

She sounded like someone out of an old novel. He searched for the term—then forgot everything when she kissed him.

Heat scorched him. He gasped against her lips, agony following the trail of fire straight to the center of him.

"There." She whispered into his mouth, her hand on his chest, the touch like a branding iron.

He moaned, and she took it in, her lips claiming him. When she finally tore away, he felt like part of him had been torn away with her. Struggling to catch his breath, he lowered his head, and saw the amulet in her palm. A stylized goat's head, the gold edged with black, like it had been—burned. Just looking at it had dread and unnamable terror slithering through him. Then her hand dropped out of sight, and he forgot what he was thinking, and why sweat slicked every inch of him.

The woman smiled at him, and dark lust squeezed his gut. "You will find her, Eric, and bring her to me. Hurt her if you must—and you most likely will need to, in order to subdue her. But I want her alive."

"Whatever you want. I am yours . . ."

"Natasha. You can call me Natasha. Now watch, darling Eric, and remember."

He stared into the dark green eyes, watched in wonder as her image shimmered, and another face laid over hers, an opaque mask. Her green eyes became a silvery blue. The mask expanded, and color bled out of her black hair, replaced by a rich brown. It grew, long and waving, until it reached her waist. He followed the progress of the shimmering mask, the part of his mind not trapped by her screaming in horror. Her touch silenced it.

Looking up, he met the soft, silver blue eyes, the sculpted face framed by masses of hair that seemed to engulf her delicate figure.

"Find me, Eric. It is time for me to go home."

Fingers slid over his face, burning the image of her into his mind. He sank into the waiting darkness, followed by a single word. A name.

Claire.

Chapter Two

Eric walked into joyful chaos.

Some kind of festival filled the streets, hampering him. He wanted to snarl at every body that stepped in his way. The part of him that needed to find her kept his rage in check.

Asking proved useless; he kept getting sent in the wrong direction. His frustration built, faster, hotter, until he knew he had to get away from the crowds before he lashed out.

He pushed past a group of witches. Dressed in cheap velvet robes and pointy black hats, they looked like a convention of cut-rate spell casters. It almost made him smile.

And then he saw her. His body froze, his heart pounding so hard he expected it to burst apart against his ribs.

She stood outside a small store across the street, arms crossed, a smile on her face as she talked to a young couple.

Claire.

Just her name made Eric itch for the knife strapped to his calf. He didn't remember where he got it; he only knew it would hurt her, kill her. And that was all he wanted. For Katelyn. He hoped that he would die in the process, because to live with the agony clenching his gut would be unbearable.

Yes, he would make sure her death cost his life.

His gaze moved past her, to the lettering on the store window. The Wiche's Broom: catering to the dabbler and the devout.

God protect me—

He didn't expect her to flaunt her power, to make her living on the pain of innocent people.

"Not for long. I promise you, bitch, it won't be for long."

"What was that, young man?" He jumped at the harsh voice that came from somewhere near his elbow. An ancient woman stared up at him, her dark brown eyes narrowed. "Who would you be swearing at?"

"Not you, ma'am." He flashed her a smile. "You caught me. I came to see an old girlfriend, hoping she'd be miserable without me. Turns out I was wrong."

"You don't need to worry that handsome head." Spindly fingers clutched his arm. He wanted to jerk away, to cross the street and bury his knife in the murdering bitch. "You just head over to The Wiche's Broom, and Claire will set you up with a nice love spell. Your girl won't stand a chance." She winked at him, and it took every ounce of control he had not to recoil. "Don't tell her I sent you. She likes to think she brings in business on her own."

The woman finally let him go, and made her way to the bakery two doors down, screeching at anyone who got in her path. Eric lifted one hand and brushed hair off his forehead. He was sweating, his hand shaking, his control slipping.

He didn't remember how he got to Santa Luna, this insignificant beach town. He found himself gripping a key, soaked in sweat and standing in the middle of a strange hotel room. Now all he wanted to do was kill the woman who smiled, who breathed, who lived when Katelyn was dead.

She waved to the couple and turned away from the street, stepping back into her store. Now. He could take her now—

A laughing group of teenage girls ran in front of him and straight into the store. Rage blinded him—until a car horn jerked him around. He stood in the street, and people stared at him. Lowering his head, he moved to the sidewalk, kept going until he was safely around the corner. He leaned against the stucco wall of a gallery, clenched his shaking hands.

He couldn't draw attention to himself. He had to kill her quietly, get it over with before she—

Agony burst through his head, nearly doubled him. Clutching the wall, he inched himself up.

"Hey, man—you okay?" Strong hands grabbed his arm. He blinked his eyes clear, met the concerned gaze of a sixty-something hippie. "Thought you were gonna do a face plant right here."

"Let me go."

The man retreated from Eric's raw fury. Eric felt the darkness that coiled in him, around him, fought to rein it in. That dark fury was meant for only one person.

"Hey." The man raised his hands in the universal I'm-not-going-to-hurt-you gesture. "Just trying to be the good Samaritan, man."

"Then tell me where I can find the nearest bar."

The hippie raised his eyebrows, but he kept from commenting on Eric's condition.

"Cross the street. Hotel restaurant's got just what you need. Hey." Eric turned on him, fists clenched. "Take care, man."

He let out his breath, and some of the rage went with it.

"Thank you. Sorry about—sorry. Bad day."

"I hear you. Get a good drunk on, sleep it off. Tomorrow you'll be a new man."

Nodding at Eric, he walked around the corner.

Eric sagged against the wall, pushed sweat-damp hair off his forehead with shaking fingers. The back of his t-shirt was soaked through, clammy against his suddenly cold skin.

Exhausted, he had no strength to fight the grief that reared up to replace the rage, clawing at his heart. By tomorrow he wanted this to be done.

By tomorrow, he planned to be dead.

Chapter Three

"And who told you I do love spells?"

Claire studied the chattering girls, hands on her hips in mock disapproval. The chatter died down, some of them looking at each other, some at the floor. One girl shuffled her foot against the hardwood floor before finally working up the courage to speak.

"Ms. Macey."

"Mildred?" That ancient sneak. Claire wondered how many other people she handed that whopper to today. She knew she would be finding out—one at a time, all day long. "I want you to listen, girls. Love spells are for lonely, desperate people. You want the boy of your dreams to notice you, am I right?"

They all nodded, their eyes wide. A couple smiled, realizing she included Mildred in that description. Claire tapped her lips with one finger to hide her own smile.

"Now, I may not be able to offer a love spell, but I can give you each something that will make you shine. Come on over and let me show you my latest acquisition." Claire led them over to the jewelry counter, pointed out the chunky heart pendants. "Pick the one that jumps out at you—that's important. And on special, for the next five minutes—one free to a customer."

The squealing should have shattered her front window. Smiling, she stepped back and let them crowd around the display, their voices dancing through the air. Claire wanted to preserve the moment, so she could take it out and relive it from time to time. Her own teen years had been rough—which made gifting the pendants to these girls all the sweeter. It would make a memory they could carry, along with the heart.

Annie stepped into the shop, and Claire mouthed the words "love spell" over the lowered heads. Guilt flared across her friend's face; Claire made a mental note to watch her over the next couple of days. Annie had a soft spot for the lovelorn.

She met Claire at the front counter, radiating sunshine in her yellow sundress, short blonde curls framing her face. "How's business?"

"Insane. I keep telling myself every year that I will get ready for this months in advance. It hasn't happened yet." She leaned on the counter, grateful for the break. "Is it crazy out there?"

"I've been groped, propositioned, and whistled at more times than I can count in just the last block. I think I also got a marriage proposal, but the proposer was so drunk I couldn't understand a word of it." A smile lit up her face. "Best day of the year so far."

Laughing, Claire shook her head. "Whatever did I do before I met you?"

"Lived a life of pain and boredom." Her smile faded. "And that cut too close to the truth. I'm sorry, honey—I'm drunk on energy. You know I don't mean—" She turned to the door as the bell jingled, and sucked in her breath. "Oh, hurt me. Hunk alert."

Fussing at her hair, Annie sauntered toward the man standing just inside the doorway. Claire could see the appeal—tall, lean but well-muscled, with eyes that looked like striated jade. The black shirt and jeans simply accentuated his assets. Curling brown hair brushed his cheek as he smiled down at Annie, topping her almost six feet by a good three inches. Then he glanced over at Claire.

Light radiated from him, shimmered around him. A light Claire knew he let only her see. A light she had seen once before. Anger swept through her, and she moved toward him. The anger spiked when she saw the silver that winked at his ear, through his wild, curling hair. A hamsa—an ancient protection symbol. That confirmed her suspicion—and her need to get him out. Now. She would be damned if she let one of his kind manipulate her again—

The vision smacked her, so sudden she couldn't defend herself against it.

Sun and sand filled her mind, wind whipping around a stooped figure as he fought his way through the sandstorm, blood staining his chest, what had been his life torn from him—

Claire jerked herself out of the vision, gripped the counter. Those gold-laced eyes studied her, every inch of him unaffected. Then he closed his eyes for a moment, and the pain, the grief she felt in the vision flared across his face.

The moment passed, and his attention returned to Annie, who chatted and laughed, not aware of the light, the power that surrounded him. Claire pushed off the counter, determined to get him out before Annie attached herself to him. She would find out later just what the hell a Jinn was doing in her town.

"Annie." Her friend stared up at the Jinn, mesmerized. "Annie."

Jerking around, she looked dazed. "What—" The bell over the door rang, and Annie swung toward the sound, frowning at the empty doorway. "Where did he—what was I just—Claire?"

"It's all right, Annie." Claire moved to the front window, and spotted him, opening the driver's door of a sleek black Jaguar parked across the street from her shop. He met her gaze, then slid in and slammed the car door.

Annie was staring at Claire when she turned away from the window. "I was—just talking to someone, right? I know I was talking to—a man—"

"Help me pretty up these pendants." Rolling up the sleeves of her blouse, Claire moved around the counter, pulling out the fancy moon and stars paper, along with a handful of jewelry boxes. "Come on—I don't want to keep my best customers waiting."

The giggles made her smile—and distracted Annie. They wrapped each pendant, adding a waterfall of curling ribbon. Claire presented the gift to its new owner with a flourish. After the last of them left the shop, Annie asked the question Claire had been waiting on.

"Who the hell was that man?"

"Did he tell you his name?" Claire cleaned up the wrapping mess, using it as a way to stall.

"I don't remember a single word. Just the way he looked at—you." Her head snapped around, brown eyes narrowed. "He talked to me, but he wanted to be talking to you." She rubbed her forehead. "Why can't I remember what he looks like? I barely remember talking to him—"

"Don't worry, Annie." Claire touched her shoulder, and did what she hated most. She manipulated Annie's memory. "Go on—enjoy the rest of the festival. I'll meet you tonight over at Billie's."

Annie's eyes glazed over—then she smiled, her bouncy self again.

"Okey dokey. Sit down for a while, Claire. You look wiped. I'll see you tonight!"

Claire waited until the door closed, then sank to the chair, her head pounding. What she did took more out of her than it should have, and the sudden, debilitating pain scared her.

She could cover, for a while. With some crystal healing, energy smoothies from the juice bar down the street, more sleep. But part of her knew, had known for a while, that her time here was ending.

Claire pushed herself up and reached for the amethyst sitting next to her computer. The moment her fingers closed over the smooth oval stone, heat radiated up her arm. The headache eased, enough for her to think about going out. She decided to have one of those energy shakes now; it would keep her going until after she met up with Annie at Billie's Pub.

Slipping the amethyst in the front pocket of her pants, she made a mental note to start wearing her amethyst pendant. It would help boost her energy a bit, if nothing else. She pulled open the shop door—and ran straight into the Jinn.

*

Eric slammed down his fifth shot of whiskey. His throat burned, his stomach felt raw, and the grief still tore at him. So he ordered another shot and dug down for the rage.

It came to the surface easier now, with all the whiskey running through his system. But it didn't, it couldn't, shut down that last image of Katelyn—

"Hi, Billie. One of the usual, por favor." Eric lifted his head at the voice, met the eyes of the tall, perky blonde standing next to him. And pain bored through his skull. "Whoa—I've got you. Easy now, handsome. Just hang on to me if you need to."

Her touch ignited fire in his veins. Eric yanked out of her grip and stumbled away from her. She radiated life. And her light seared through the darkness clutching his soul like a flaming torch.

He shoved his way past the people staring at him. Cold air slapped him as he hit the sidewalk. It didn't quench the fire. And the source followed him.

"Are you okay?" Her gentle hands burned when they touched him. The part of his mind not screaming to kill her understood why. She was goodness, purity. All he had inside him was the hate, the rage, the grief that forced him to move forward. "Sit down, right here's fine. Nice, solid sidewalk."

"Please—" The word scraped up his raw throat. "Get back—before I hurt you."

Surprise flared in her eyes.

"Why would a hunk like you resort to violence when all you'd have to do is smile?"

Something choked him. Laughter. He never thought he'd laugh again. Then he doubled over when agony exploded in his head.

She caught him, eased him to the ground, touched his forehead. "You're ice cold. I'm getting you to the hospital."

Eric grabbed her wrist when she started to tap out numbers on her phone. "Can't help."

To his relief she lowered the phone, tucked it into her purse. "I'm not just leaving you here. Where are you staying?"

"Don't—" He fumbled the room key out of his pocket.

She raised one eyebrow as she read the name of the hotel.

"Well, Mr. VIP. I think you can afford a taxi if you're staying there. Let's get you home." With a strength that surprised him she helped him stand, then whistled for one of the taxis trolling for passengers. She helped him into the back seat, gave the driver his location. "The Ritz-Carlton," she said, then turned back to Eric. "Okay, you just sit back and enjoy the ride. What's your name, handsome?"

Swallowing, he looked at her, took in the striking face, the short yellow dress that showed off every curve, the life that poured out of her.

"Eric."

"Hi, Eric." Her smile pushed back some of the darkness. "I'm Annie." She leaned in, brushed sweat soaked hair off his forehead. "You take care of yourself."

She shut the door and watched him as the driver pulled away. Once they were out of sight Eric clutched his head with both hands, forced a scream down his throat when the voice clawed into his mind.

You failed.

*

The Jinn grabbed Claire before she could escape, trapping her wrists in both hands. Then he let out a low hiss and recoiled, shaking the hand that touched her tattoo.

"Gods—what are you doing with that kind of protection? Who in the name of all that is holy did you piss off?"

"None of your damn business. Jinn." Claire yanked out of his grasp and backed across the shop. "What the hell are you doing in my town?"

One dark eyebrow lifted. He rubbed his hand, then closed the door behind him, flicking the lock. Claire's heart jumped.

"I came for the festival. Witch." A smile flashed across his face, carried with it the charm his kind was known to possess in abundance. Claire refused to let it work on her. "Your shop intrigued me, so I decided to take a look. You do not believe a word of this."

"Bingo."

"I can prove the truth of it." Using his left hand, he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, held it up. Claire recognized it immediately; the flyer sent out announcing the Annual Summer Solstice Festival. "I saw this at a New Age shop up the coast. It has been many years since I joined a Solstice celebration." Grief flashed in those gold-laced green eyes before he averted his gaze. Grief she understood. "I decided it was time."

"Who have you lost?" Claire wanted to take the question back when he flinched. "I'm sorry—now I'm being rude and belligerent. Let me see your hand." He looked at her, surprise breaking through the sorrow. "I know I hurt you. And no, it wasn't intentional. The tattoo is new, and honestly, I didn't think it had the energy to do any harm."

He moved to her, laid his right hand in her palm. Claire sucked in her breath.

"Heaven above." A burn scorched the center of his palm, in the shape of her triquetra. "I am so sorry. Come and sit. I have something that will help."

She led him to the chair behind her counter, watched him sink to it, pain in every move. Guilt had her slipping the amethyst out of her pocket, the stone already warm. She laid it in his left hand and closed his fingers over it. With a sigh, he nodded his thanks, tightened his grip on the crystal.

Light speared through his fingers. Claire stepped back, watched what she had never seen before—a Jinn revealing his true form. It was the only way he could heal himself, and it startled her that he believed he would be safe with her.

The outline of his hunched figure blurred, smoke curling around him, through him. A cyclone of sand and wind burst from him, surrounded him. Inside that cyclone she saw him, the soul many claimed he didn't have burning like a flame through sand and smoke. His hands flowed together, the amethyst glowing in their grasp, beating out the rhythm of his heart. He threw his head back and the glow burst free, shooting up to the ceiling. Claire let out a cry and covered her eyes.

Between one breath and the next, he changed from smoke wraith to human, but Claire would never forget what she saw. Or that he gave her such trust.

"Do you have—some water?" His sand rough voice jerked her back to the moment.

"Of course." She ran to the back room, pulled several bottles out of the small fridge, and the other half of her sandwich from lunch. She dumped everything on the counter, afraid to touch him. He still looked—insubstantial. "There's a roast beef sandwich, if you're interested. Best you'll ever taste."

"Guaranteed?" He smiled, reaching for the bottle closest to him. He twisted the cap off and drained it in one long swallow. "Ah, better." His deep voice smoothed out. He uncapped the second bottle, then reached for the sandwich. "Most of the witches I meet are vegan, or at least vegetarian."

"I've tried. Repeatedly." She smiled, leaning against the counter. "The beef keeps calling me back. I believe I lasted six months the last try. And swore never to put myself through that torture again."

He unwrapped the sandwich, took a good bite, and closed his eyes.

"You didn't lie. This is heaven in a bun. I am Marcus."

He held out his hand. His right hand. Claire took it after a long moment, noticed that his palm was unmarked.

"Claire Wiche. No T. E at the end."

"Ah—that explains the spelling on your window. Family name?"

Claire ignored the familiar twist of grief. "Something like that. Why are you really here, Marcus?"

He took another bite, then carefully set the remains of the sandwich in its wrapper. As if he would have to leave after he told her.

"I did not know until I saw you, Claire, but I came here for you."

She pushed off the counter and put it between her and Marcus.

"Who the hell are you?"

He crossed his arms, still seated. "You know this already. And if you did not before, my healing told you all you needed."

She let out her breath, forced herself to relax. "All right—let me reword it. Why me?"

"That I wish I knew." Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose. He still looked shaky. And Claire couldn't take advantage of that, much as she wanted to right now. "I will tell you this—I am not leaving until I do know."

"As long as you find somewhere besides my shop to do your staying, I'm fine with that."

His laughter filled the air, rough and warm. Like the smoke and sand he came from—

Stop it. She knew about their legendary allure, and she was being sucked in anyway. The average person wouldn't stand a chance.

Claire unlocked her door and opened it. "Time for you to go." He frowned at her. "I was just on my way out for something to eat when you detained me. I still have the rest of the afternoon to get through before I meet a friend of mine for drinks."

"The lovely blonde?" He stood, using the counter. "She simply radiates life."

She got in his face, careful to keep her tattoo from touching him. "Stay away from her."

Marcus raised both hands in surrender.

"That is my plan, little witch." Claire raised her eyebrows, and Marcus smiled. "There is nothing more beautiful than an angry woman. Enjoy your evening, Claire."

He stepped around her, then moved outside and closed the door before she could think of a smart remark. Leaning against the door, she let out her breath, suddenly exhausted. She decided to close early and go home. She could call Annie from there and beg off tonight.

The way she felt, she would barely make it the two blocks home. And that scared her more than anything else she'd witnessed today.

Chapter Four

Eric came back to her store as the sun set in the ocean behind him. He wanted, needed for this to be over.

The store was dark, the closed sign mocking him. He swallowed the rage, his head pounding from the effort.

"I am disappointed in you, darling." He froze as the voice wrapped around him. Long, cold fingers slid down his bare forearm, twined with his in a gesture that had dark need churning in his gut. "But there is a small way you can make it up to me."

"If you're here," he said, his voice raw, "why do you need me? Why don't you just take her now?"

"Perceptive questions, my darling Eric. From such a handsome devil of a man." Natasha smiled at him, dark green eyes chilling him more than her touch. "I need her on neutral ground. Here she has the power of—friends." The word came out like a slur. "And she will know me, once we do meet. I would have her vulnerable, her power weakened, or she may be the one doing harm. And we can't be having that, can we?"

That dark need surged through him. "I will do whatever you ask, Natasha."

"Of course you will." She slid long fingers down his cheek, leaving a trail of ice and pain. "And she will wait, for tomorrow. Tonight there is time for a bit of harmless mischief. So many ways to play with these humans, who think they have the power of gods. Come; I will need your help with this."

She led him down the street to another store, the green velvet dress she wore sliding over every lush curve. Lust drowned the pain of her touch.

The display in the window screamed New Age, in a way that was tacky and overblown. This store was closed as well, but she laid her free hand on the knob, and it twisted open.

Eric followed her inside, assaulted by the smell of too much incense, too many scented candles, and the stench of patchouli weaving through all of it. She flicked her hand, and the door closed behind him.

Heart pounding, he let her pull him along, stopping in front of a wall of candles.

"Ah—this will be fun." The glee in her voice twisted his stomach. She let go of his hand, took two of the decorative hairpins from the display on the counter next to her. Handing one of them to him, she picked up the first candle, turned it over. A few quick strokes and she had a symbol carved into the pink wax. "Look at it. Memorize it." He obeyed, the loops and lines burning into his mind. "Now, help me mark the candles. All of them. Then, my darling Eric, we are going to go play."

*

Annie was reaching for her phone when Dust in the Wind rolled out of her open purse.

"Claire? Where are you? I was about to call out the cavalry—"

"I'm sorry, Annie." Her voice sounded—old. "I had a difficult customer right before closing. Do you mind going it alone tonight?"

"You don't want me to come over?"

"No." The denial came too fast. "A rock would be better company right now. Have a good time. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Claire hung up before Annie could get in another word. With a sigh, Annie dropped the phone back in her purse, then signaled the waitress. She needed another beer. Then she needed to think twice before she barged over to Claire's and demanded the truth from her. Knowing Claire, she would shut Annie down with an "I'm tired" line and gently maneuver her out the door.

She had always been a pro at avoiding.

"Damn it, Claire, I'm not going to let you—"

"We meet again."

Annie jumped, then slowly turned on the high stool. And looked into the most spectacular pair of green eyes.

"Hey—I don't know . . ." Her voice faded as she stared into his eyes, watched them change from green to gold when he smiled. Her heart started doing somersaults when he sat down next to her and took her hand. "Hi."

"Hello, Annie." His deep voice had a rough edge to it, like he smoked a little too much. Or a lot too much. She didn't care—she just wanted him to keep talking. "Do you remember me?"

"I—" If she said the wrong thing, gave the wrong answer, he might leave— "Do I have to?"

His laugh curled around her. "We can become reacquainted. You're not meeting anyone here?"

"Not anymore. A friend," she added, to keep him from thinking she had a date. Or worse, that she'd been stood up. "She had a long day."

"The festival." He nodded, his gaze on her. "It can be taxing, so many people in such a small place. You were kind to let her rest without guilt." He looked away, and it felt like she had been snapped out of a trance. "Will you walk with me?"

Annie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

"Sure." Oh great, Annie—scintillating conversation. She better step up her game, or he would think she was a drooling idiot. "The beach is quiet this time of night."

"Come, then." He settled one hand at her waist as she slid off the stool, and guided her through the shimmying crowd to the door. "I don't believe I had the chance to introduce myself when we met earlier." He led her out the door, then stopped under one of the Art Nouveau streetlamps. The soft light set off shimmering strands of gold in his dark hair, drew shadows under his high cheekbones. He tilted her chin up and smiled. "I am Marcus."

"Hi." Her throat felt as dry as a desert. The same desert gold she saw swirling in his eyes— Annie blinked, and warm, jade green eyes studied her, concern in their depths. "Sorry—did you just—never mind." She took his hand and moved to the crosswalk. "The beach is waiting."

*

Claire bolted awake, her left wrist hot and throbbing.

She fumbled for the switch on her bedside lamp, cursing when she almost knocked it over. Finally turning the lamp on, she checked her wrist, afraid that the newly healed tattoo may have become infected. It looked fine, but it hurt, just like it did when—

"Jinn—" She snatched her phone off the bedside table and speed dialed Annie's number. "Come on, pick up, Annie, don't be—"

"Claire?"

Relief swamped her. Annie sounded normal.

"Where are you?"

"Walking on the beach. Billie's was packed. I had to get out of there—why are you calling me?"

Claire wanted to ask, wanted to warn her off—

"Bad dream. I just wanted to make sure you were—" A masculine laugh froze her voice in her throat.

"I'm fine. I'm here with a new—stop it, she won't mind. Sorry, honey, what were you saying?"

"Who—" Claire had to take a drink of the cold tea on her bedside table before her throat would unlock enough for her to speak. "Who is your new friend?"

"His name is Marcus. He said you met earlier, at the—"

Annie was cut off, and Claire gripped her phone, waiting to hear the deep, sand rough voice.

"I will not harm her, witch."

"Get the hell away from her. Now, Jinn. Drop the phone and walk away or I will—"

"Hex me? Nothing you can do will be worse than what I have already brought on myself. I wanted to see that she was safe. There is a threat here, a threat to you, and Annie is part of you."

Claire's heart skipped. She trusted him, though she knew she shouldn't. His concern for Annie tightened her throat.

"Thank you for checking on her. But she has already opened herself to your considerable—charm. I don't want her to become attached, only to be hurt when you leave."

Amusement edged his deep voice.

"She may be young, and impetuous, but she seems too sensible to become that attached. I will do as you ask, because I understand your love of her. She may not cooperate."

Claire closed her eyes, shaking with relief. "Rude always turns her off."

She could almost see the smile cross his face.

"That I can do. Take some rest, Claire. Good night."

The connection broke. Dropping the phone on her bed, Claire curled around her throbbing wrist, and wished she still had farsight. Instead, she would have to take him at his word, and believe that her trust was not misplaced.

*

"She can't be serious." Annie took a deep breath. It didn't help. She was still furious. "I am not going to just leave you here because she had a bad dream. I'm a big girl, last I—"

"And she is worried for you." Marcus tipped her chin up. "She cares, and that is a gift not to be lightly pushed aside."

"Oh, God—where did you come from?"

She closed the distance between them and captured his lips. Heat flowed through her at the contact. Her body melted into him. His arms closed around her, strong and gentle, and she twisted both hands into the front of his shirt to keep herself from becoming a puddle on the sand.

Then between one breath and the next, he changed.

Those arms yanked her forward. Annie gasped against his lips, started to pull away. Then he somehow grew several more arms, because his hands were everywhere. The gentleman disappeared, replaced by the slimy octopus. Rage built, and when she couldn't escape the multi-hand grip, when that grip slipped under her dress and found bare skin she bit the closest body part. Which happened to be his tongue.

He let her go and retreated, one hand pressed against his mouth.

"What the hell was that?" Annie spit out blood, felt her rage coil. She only had to snap out her hands and he'd be hunched in agony over his favorite appendage. It took every ounce of control to keep her hands clenched at her sides. "Never mind. I don't want to hear another word come out of that lying mouth. And if you don't get lost in, oh, the next two seconds, I'm calling the cops."

He carefully wiped at his mouth, looked down at the blood staining his fingers. Those mesmerizing eyes met hers, pure green and full to the brim with contrite charm.

"Annie—"

She unclenched one hand, and the sand in front of him exploded into a geyser. When she could see him again he stood several feet away, his shirt torn open to the waist, blood on his chest.

"I said get lost. Now."

With an archaic bow, he turned and moved to the boardwalk, a sudden wind whipping his hair around his shoulders. That wind brushed across her cheek, smelling of sand and sun. He climbed the stairs and lost himself in the shadows of the trees lining the path.

Annie took a shaky breath, let go of her rage, and dropped to the sand. Blinking, she clutched her head, every inch pounding like she'd had far too much to drink. Only she didn't remember drinking that much. She closed her eyes, holding her head up, and tried to figure out how she got to the beach.

*

Claire knew who stood on her doorstep before she touched the latch.

Leaning her forehead against the cool wood, she tightened the belt on her robe, prayed for patience, and opened the door.

"Hello, Mar—heaven above, what did you do to yourself?" She crouched beside his hunched figure, carefully lifted his chin. Blood stained his face, his chest. Buttons hung from the ragged placket of his shirt. "Can you stand?"

"I believe so."

"Give me your hand."

He obeyed, and Claire helped him up. He made it to the door, stumbling as he stepped over the raised threshold. Claire tightened her grip on him, led him to the chair in her small foyer. She brushed the curling hair off his cheek, startled by the sweat coating his skin.

"Your Annie hates me," he said. "Is that sufficient for you?"

"Marcus . . ." Guilt scored her. She crossed her arms, noticed that her tattoo no longer hurt. "Tell me."

He did, in eye-opening detail. By the time he finished his voice was scratched raw.

"I presume I made the correct move."

"Oh, yes. She despises players—especially when they change their play midstream."

Marcus pushed sweat soaked hair off his forehead.

"I have been forced to heal myself twice in one day. I no longer have—" Swallowing, he stared past her.

Claire had never met a Jinn who showed any vulnerability—never mind admitting it.

"What happened to you?"

He closed his eyes, silent for so long she didn't expect him to answer her. He did, finally, his voice heavy.

"I was—cast out, when my wife died in my place."

Heaven help me. She wanted nothing to do with this, with him. But she had been the cause, the reason for his suffering. Twice now.

"Marcus, look at me." After a long moment he did, his eyes dark with grief. "When did this happen?"

"I hid myself away, Claire. I found the deepest, coldest cave, and buried myself in it. The cold leached my power, just as I had hoped. But it kept me alive as well. I meant to die in that cave—I should have, hidden away from the sun, unable to touch the sand. When I returned to the world, more than three hundred years had passed."

"That explains a few things. How long ago?"

"Three months now. I had to leave—the home, the life I once knew no longer exists."

His hands shook, fists clenched until his knuckles pressed against skin. Claire covered his hands with her own, jerked when heat flared up her arms.

"You're still—"

"Tapped in, to my power. It takes time for me to let go. A result of my self-imposed imprisonment. The reason healing is difficult for me." She moved her hands, not wanting to drain him further—and Marcus caught her fingers, studying her. "I am not the only one carrying such a burden."

Claire pulled her hands out of his grasp and backed out of reach.

"It's nothing." When he raised an eyebrow, she sighed. "An old illness. No one can do anything for me, so I don't talk about it."

"Yet people have noticed."

"If by people you mean Annie—yes. I don't want to worry her, but I don't want her to think it's worse than it actually is. Can I get you something?" The other eyebrow went up. "It's my fault you ended up accosting my best friend—"

"Claire." She met his eyes. "She won't remember. I gave her that much before I left her."

"Thank you." Relief flooded her. "You know it may not stick. She has a good bit of power. It's raw, but she can control it if she focuses."

"She showed me." He described what she had done. Claire shook her head, not surprised. "Your Annie has quite the temper."

"You simply pushed her hottest button. Stay here—I'll get you some water. And something for that headache."

A smile touched his mouth. "I will not ask how you know. And thank you for your hospitality."

"This is all conditional, Jinn."

"And what would that be?"

"Stay away from Annie."

Marcus closed his eyes. When he looked at her again, his eyes were a hazy green, brushed over with regret.

"If it means staying away from you, I can't make that promise."

"Damn it—"

"I am still trying to understand what led me here, Claire. The only clear answer I get is you. So, no, I will not stay away from Annie. I will, however, keep from engaging her in any way. Is that satisfactory?"

Oh, yes—here was the Jinn she remembered. Stubborn and charming at the same time. A lethal combination, for most women. Claire was not most women. But even she couldn't fight straight up stubborn; not when it came in a six foot plus package wrapped in power, however diminished.

"I'm not getting rid of you, am I?"

"Claire." Marcus stood, laid both hands on her shoulders. She tensed, but he simply looked down at her, no manipulation. "I will not let another person come to harm. Not when I can prevent it. And there is something coming at you, something I can't yet see clearly. Until I can, you are staying in my line of sight."

With a sigh, she eased out of his grasp.

"Fine. But you're going to be doing it from a distance—or not all," she added when he opened his mouth to protest. "That's my final offer."

"Acceptable."

"Good." She crossed her arms, a smile tugging at her lips. "Because it's the only one you get. Are you okay to get home? I'm assuming you have a place to stay here."

"Yes, to both questions. Thank you for your concern, witch." Before she had the chance to avoid it, Marcus kissed her forehead. He left an imprint of heat behind, reminding her just how chilled she felt. He must have felt it as well—he frowned down at her, laid one hand against her cheek. "You need to turn up the heat, or that chill may turn on you."

"Good night, Jinn."

He smiled at her petulant tone. "And a good night to you, Claire."

She closed the door behind him, flipped the deadbolt, and clutched the latch when another explosion of pain ripped through her.

Her legs buckled and she lost her grip on the latch, crumpling to the floor. A fist pounding on the door above her intensified the agony.

"Claire! Let me in—damn it, you already locked the door. Claire—"

"I'm—okay." She managed to make her voice sound close to normal. "Go away, Marcus."

"Claire." His sand rough voice slipped through the crack between door and sill, right next to her. "Next time I will not walk away."

She waited until she heard his footsteps fade, then doubled over, riding out the knife-sharp pain.

When she could breathe without wanting to throw up from the effort, she pulled herself up, and inched along the wall until she reached the comfort of her bed.

Chapter Five

Annie stomped into the shop just moments after Claire unlocked the door.

"I hope your night ended better than mine." She plopped her oversized leather purse on the floor next to her, slumped against the counter, poked at the crystals Claire had been sorting. "Because mine sucked. The worst part is, I don't remember why."

Thank you, Marcus. Claire patted her hand, then gently lifted it off the crystals that Annie absently arranged in a heart.

"Maybe it's better that you didn't, if it ended on such a sour note."

"Yeah." She stared at the counter. "It would have been fun, except you bailed on me."

"I'm sorry for that, Annie. I just wasn't feeling up to more crowds; not after spending the day in the shop surrounded by them. I'll make it up on Sunday night, I promise. I'll buy."

That perked her up. "All night?"

Claire smiled. "You got it. So, no classes today?"

Annie shrugged, fiddling with the crystals again.

"Melissa figured no one would want to take a full yoga class during the festival. Her highness didn't even want to listen to my idea for demos, or yoga snacks—"

"Which I thought was a fun way to bring people in."

Annie smiled.

"Thanks. So did I—until she shot it down. I need to find another studio, before I end up incarcerated for strangling her."

Laughing, Claire gave up on sorting the crystals and came around the counter to give Annie a hug.

"I have some friends I can call. The studio won't be in walking distance, but they would be happy to have such a skilled instructor."

"Are you kidding me? That would be fantastic!"

Annie started to dance around the shop, her tiered skirt flaring out as she whirled past. Her enthusiasm was infectious—several customers who came in smiled at her, and one girl joined in, her laughter ringing in the air.

Claire leaned against the counter and simply enjoyed. She lived for days like this—when sheer happiness outshined everything else, and the air sparkled with it.

Annie danced back to Claire, grabbed her hands and swung her around. Laughing, Claire held on. They both collapsed against the counter, smiling at each other. Then Claire straightened, adjusted her sweater, brushed her hair over her shoulders and approached her customers.

"Good morning. How can I help you?"

The woman smiled. "You can give me some of what she's having."

Annie draped one arm around Claire's shoulders.

"It's elixir of best friend ever. I think she's got some over on the shelf with the oils."

The woman clasped Claire's hand. "Your shop is the reason I come to the festival every year. I love the feel of it, and my husband mocks me for it, but I believe there is real magic here. And I get to take some of it home with me."

Claire felt heat rush into her cheeks.

"Thank you. I've seen you in here before—can I ask your name?"

"Regina." She squeezed Claire's hand, then let go. "Now I'm going to buy myself some magic—for me and my daughter."

She herded the little dancer with her to the back of the shop, laughing at the excited voice.

"That's why you're successful, best friend ever." Annie kissed her cheek. "Uh-oh."

Claire followed her line of sight—and her smile froze on her face when she spotted Mildred in the doorway, waving a flyer that gave her a free tarot reading.

"Heaven help me. Stop laughing, Annie, or I'll make you do her reading."

With a sigh, she moved forward, bracing herself for a long appointment and an earful of gossip.

*

Eric stood on the sidewalk, in front of her store, thwarted for the second day in a row by the crowds swirling around him.

She was so close, just on the other side of the glass. Laughing, talking, breathing, when she was supposed to be dead.

His head pounded as he watched her, rage burning through him like acid. She wrapped one arm around an old woman's shoulders, led her away from him, out of sight. His gut twisted, and before he could stop himself, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The scent of lavender froze him. Katelyn wore the scent—he grew up with it permanently in his nostrils, and every girl he dated always told him he smelled so pretty for a jock—

Grief threatened to double him. He reached out to grab a wall, a counter, anything to steady him. Strong fingers caught his outstretched hand.

"Hello, handsome. We meet again." His head whipped around at the voice, and he looked into warm brown eyes. Their owner almost matched him for height, and looked familiar. She smiled as he struggled to make the connection. "Billie's Pub, yesterday. You look better than you did then, when I—"

"Put me in a cab. I remember." This time her touch, her light soothed instead of burned. In retaliation, the rage coiling through him snapped out. She jerked away, staring at him as she shook out her hand. "I'm—sorry. I have to go."

He nearly ran over the young family walking into the store in his rush to be free of it. Free of her.

"Eric!" She followed him outside, touched him again. He wanted to warn her, hurt her, keep her away from him before he did something he could never take back— "I know you're not okay, so don't lie. But is there anything I can do?"

"Stay away from me. Please, Annie—just stay the hell away."

She let go of him, took the light with her.

"Fine." Crossing her arms, she stood her ground. "Just tell me why." She didn't even flinch when he swore. "Not the answer I was looking for."

He almost smiled. Her humor made him feel; not the grinding hate, or the bursts of rage, but an echo of what he remembered from his life. Before he lost everything.

"I can't give you that answer. Just stay clear of me. For your own—" Pain stabbed him. He clenched his fists, rode it out. He knew the pain was a warning, that he shouldn't even be talking to her. "Goodbye, Annie."

"Eric." He paused, his back to her. "Whatever it is that's hurting you, I hope you find your way past it."

Swallowing, he kept walking. And let her words fill him, for just a minute, before the rage claimed him again.

*

"You can do this," Annie said to herself, her fingers shaking as she pushed her hair back. "You can do this."

Opening the notebook, she skimmed the love spell she'd composed that morning—and ignored the guilt scratching at her conscience for lying outright to Claire.

She had learned so much more since that first unfortunate—incident. And she had been practicing. Another little detail she failed to mention after Claire's last lecture on the dangers of using magic when she wasn't ready.

She adjusted the cloak on her shoulders and checked everything on the makeshift altar. One pink candle, bought at Claire's competitor—another scratch at her guilt. A small bowl, holding the herbs for her love powder. A bottle of rose oil, also bought at the competitor. A lighter for the candle, and the photo Mildred had given her: a charming man who looked like he was in his late sixties. A bit young for Mildred, but at least they were born in the same part of the century.

She carved his name into the side of the candle with her athame, and set it in the center of the cloth, next to his photo. Mildred's photo sat on the other side of the candle. Mixing the herbs, she rubbed them on the candle, then anointed it with the oil. She also rubbed both the powder and oil on his photo, then Mildred's, to create a connection.

Feeling a little silly, she picked up Mildred's photo, lit the candle, and held the photo up in front of her, Mildred's face looking down at her intended target.

Taking a deep breath, she started the spell.

"As this candle burns, so does your love for me,

As this wax melts, so does your heart for me,

By the power of three times three,

As I will, so mote it be!"

After the third time through the table began to shake.

"Uh-oh—" Annie let out a scream as the candle flame shot up and spread across the ceiling. "Oh God!"

She stumbled backward—and fell when she tripped over the stool she'd set behind her just in case. Crawling toward the hall, she tried to call up a counter spell. The fire merely cackled at her and kept coming.

"Where the hell is the extinguisher?" Smoke swirled around her. She coughed, using the velvet of her cloak to keep from breathing in more of it. The same cloak hindered every movement, tangling around her arms, her legs, a living creature bent on stopping her. "Come on—"

She could no longer see through the smoke, her lungs on fire, her eyes blinded by tears. Flattening herself against the floor, she focused on moving. She refused to die here, to let a stupid love spell kill her in the one place she felt safe—

"ANNIE!"

Claire burst through the smoke like an avenging angel.

Grabbing Annie, she dragged her in the opposite direction. Right past the fire extinguisher.

"Claire—"

"Stay here."

Huddled next to the corner of the door, breathing in the small amount of fresh air seeping in through the uneven bottom, Annie watched Claire as she stood up, both arms raised. The smoke seemed to recoil, and when she started to chant under her breath, the fire whirled away from her.

She closed her hands into fists and the fire screamed, fleeing across the ceiling, followed by the smoke. Claire moved with them, hair flying around her as she raised a wind from nothing. That wind whipped her skirt around her legs, then surrounded the smoke, tore it into dark, writhing shreds until it let out a dying gasp and faded. Then she turned on the fire.

The wind disappeared, left only Claire. Small, defenseless, she stood inches from the burning column, trapped in the far corner of the living room. She spoke a single word.

"Leave." The fire bulged. Annie screamed as the fire swallowed Claire—then cut herself off when the fire wrapped around Claire, like it hit an invisible shield. "You were not summoned. Now leave before I vanquish you."

The fire screamed at her. And Annie watched, her mouth dropping open, as it folded in on itself until it finally disappeared.

Claire lowered her head, swaying. With a shaky breath, she pushed hair out of her face and headed for Annie.

"Claire—"

"Hush. Let me check you out." Hands brushed over her, one settling at her throat. "How bad?" Annie coughed, her eyes tearing up. "Okay, then. Arm around me; we'll get you over to the sofa."

Claire half-dragged her across her small living room, lowered her to the sofa, and disappeared into the kitchen. Blinking through her tears, Annie scanned the living room. It looked like nothing had happened. No smoke damage, no scorch marks. Claire returned with a glass of water, handed it to her. "Drink."

Annie obeyed. It felt like heaven as it slipped down her throat, soothing every raw inch. It also gave her a chance to stall, to try and sort out the thoughts flying around her mind. She knew Claire was powerful, but seeing it, seeing her in action— Annie wasn't sure she could ever look at her friend the same again.

Finishing the last of the water, she took more time to stall, carefully set it on the floor next to her, and finally met the waiting gaze. Relief left her lightheaded. It was still Claire standing in front of her, exhausted and probably pissed off, but it was Claire.

"Claire, I'm—"

She held up one hand, cut Annie off.

"Not yet—I'm still far too angry." Pulling her tangled hair back, Claire twisted it into a messy knot, then moved to the table. She studied Annie's altar, picked up her notebook to read the spell. "A love spell. You created this havoc out of a simple love spell?"

"I didn't—"

"Mean to do anything wrong." With a sigh, Claire closed the notebook and set it down. "You never do, Annie. But you don't understand your power. Worse, you don't respect it. You raised an elemental."

Horror flashed through her. "An—I—how could I—holy shit, Claire."

Annie lowered her head, shaking so badly she thought she was going to throw up.

"Crude, but well said. Look at me, Annie." One hand pressed to her stomach, Annie obeyed. Claire stood in the middle of the living room, her face white and exhausted. "You tried to cast a love spell, but instead you opened the door for a fire elemental. If I hadn't been on my way here and felt the elemental slip through—damn it, Annie, you could have killed everyone in your building."

Tears tightened her throat, blurred her eyes. Annie tried to blink them back—she hated crying in front of anyone, but especially Claire, since it always tore her apart emotionally. But she couldn't stop them, knowing how close she came to disaster.

"I'm sorry—" The tears broke across her voice.

"Oh, Annie." Claire lowered herself to the floor, her hands shaking against the hardwood. "I almost lost the battle. And if I had—"

Annie tumbled off the sofa and crawled over to her, panic overriding her tears.

"You didn't—Claire, you beat it." She closed her eyes, the tears stinging again when Claire wrapped one arm around her waist. "I'm so sorry—"

"Hush." Claire pulled her in, and Annie dropped her head to Claire's shoulder. "Cry it out, sweetheart. Just let go, Annie."

She did, and Claire held her, rocked her, whispered comfort while she fell apart.

*

"It's time for you to either take your power seriously, or put it away for good." Claire handed Annie a cup of green tea, doctored with a good bit of chamomile. She sat down on the sofa, watched Annie sip the tea, then make a face. "I know you don't like chamomile, but drink it anyway. It will help."

"I screwed up big time."

Claire sighed, rubbing Annie's back.

"You did what you shouldn't have been able to do; not with that simple spell. I'll backtrack through it, see what I can find. But I want you to finish that tea, then go to bed."

"I want to help—"

"Not this time, sweetheart. Just your presence will interfere with what I plan on doing." Claire brushed hair off Annie's forehead, checking her temperature at the same time. She felt a little feverish, but not more than Claire would expect after such an expenditure of energy. Never mind being trapped by a fire elemental. "Finished?"

"Yeah—yech." She took the water Claire handed her, drained the glass. "Thanks. Will you stay with me? Just for a little while?"

Claire heard the fear under her quiet plea, and knew she had learned her lesson. It almost cost too much. "Of course."

Claire sat with Annie until she fell asleep. After closing the bedroom door, she moved back into the living room. It stank of power.

"How did you do this, Annie?"

She touched everything on the small altar. Annie's energy wrapped around the small jeweled athame Claire had given her for Christmas, the bowl of herbs, the bottle of oil, the photos of Mildred and her beloved. Claire smiled and shook her head. The woman had chutzpah—her love spell was for the seventeen-year-old son of her next door neighbor.

She set down the photo, frowned at the charring around its edges, touched the inscribed pink candle—and jerked her hand away, her fingers burning from contact.

"What the—" Using the edge of her sweater, she tilted the candle, and spotted the mark on the bottom. The mark of a particularly nasty demon. And she understood how a simple spell went horribly wrong.

Claire used her sweater to wrap the candle, then found a canvas tote bag in Annie's tiny front closet to hold it until morning.

She set it by the sofa, close to hand, and drained the last of her strength laying a ward over the bag to trap any residual mischief inside. Her head pounding, she made herself a cup of tea, pulled the blanket off the back of Annie's sofa, and settled in. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Six

With the offending candle neutralized and carefully wrapped in one of her altar cloths, Claire left her shop half an hour before opening and marched over to the only other shop in town where Annie could have bought it.

She halted in front of The Witch's Way, took a deep, steadying breath, forced down her temper, and knocked on the door.

Madame Serena—whose real name was Agatha Mosheim—glared at her through the glass, her bulky frame draped in a purple robe that matched her turban. When Claire calmly met the glare, she unlocked the door and jerked it open. Anger snapped in her brown eyes.

"I thought I told you I no longer wanted you in my store."

"I wouldn't be here, Agatha, if it weren't important." The woman flinched at her name, then crossed her arms. "Please." After a long, uncomfortable silence, Agatha waved her in, locking the door behind her. Claire followed her to the velvet draped reading table. "You sold this candle to a friend of mine." Claire removed the wrapped candle from the tote bag, careful not to touch the bottom. She laid it on the table, unwrapped it, and turned the bottom toward Agatha. "Can you tell me how that mark ended up on a love candle?"

Her nostrils flaring, Agatha bent over and looked at the candle—and all the color drained out of her face.

"What the—I did not mark that candle." She stumbled back, one hand clutching the pendant around her neck. "I swear to you, Claire. I may enhance my readings, but I don't mess with dem—with them. Period. Please get that tainted thing out of my store."

Claire flinched, then rewrapped the candle and slipped it into her tote.

"Did you see anyone, sense anyone, who may have done this? I narrowly prevented what could have been a fatal spell because of this mark."

"There have been so many people in here, with the festival—I didn't see anything suspicious."

"We need to check the rest of them."

"Goddess protect us—yes. I shudder to think that I may have sold one to an unsuspecting—what is it?" Claire halted feet from the candle display. She could smell the marks from here, the stench of sulfur and hate. "Claire?"

"You'll find a mark on all of them. Please put them in a bag for me, Agatha. I will pay you for them and get rid of them myself. Don't touch the lower half of the candle."

White-faced, her fingers shaking, Agatha did as she requested.

"This is my entire stock. Goddess, I can't believe someone came in my store with such evil intent."

"I have extras I can give you, so you aren't caught short."

Surprise crossed Agatha's face. "Thank you—I appreciate that. Do you—did you recognize the mark on the candles?"

Claire paused at the door, looked over at Agatha, dread clawing her.

"Yes, I did. And I will not speak its name. If you look up the symbol, take the same precaution. A door has already been cracked, and even the name itself has power to widen that crack. Thank you, Agatha. I will have the replacement candles sent over."

Claire shut the door behind her, then leaned against the nearest wall, trembling so badly the candles clunked against each other.

Who could have done this? And did they know her, recognize her behind the walls she spent decades building?

Shoving the despair, the dread into the back of her mind, she headed to her shop. She would melt down the candles, use every protection ritual she could think of, then destroy the wax. No one would touch the evil they held. Not again.

*

Eric watched her walk down the street and fought to control the fury roaring through him. She only had hours left to live, and he needed to be patient. Under cover of darkness, after the festival was over, he would take her. And she would die, slow, agonizing, with Katelyn's name on her lips.

He headed back to the beach, the sound of the ocean calming him. Lowering himself to a bench on the boardwalk, he watched the waves curling in, let the smell of the ocean, the cool breeze soothe his battered soul. Here he felt almost normal again, his mind, his heart letting go of revenge, anger, bitterness. Here he could unclench without the rage consuming him.

Closing his eyes, he let thoughts of Katelyn fill his mind. Days spent horseback riding or splashing in the lake outside the small California city where they grew up. Her smile flashing every time she beat him at a challenge, her quiet voice proud when she told her friends about—

He jerked awake, clutched the bench as he tried to find his balance. It took a long moment before he felt the presence behind him. Turning his head, he looked into narrowed green eyes. The man leaned against one of the trees that lined the twisting path behind the boardwalk, dressed in black, arms crossed. He didn't look away when Eric met his eyes—instead he raised one eyebrow and smiled.

Dread swept through Eric, hot and chilling. He whipped his head around, knowing the man as an enemy, an obstacle that would have to be broken, if necessary. When he turned back, the man was gone.

Heart thudding in his chest, Eric stood, headed to the street to find a cab. There would be no more solace for him here. He felt the rage building again. He let it in, knowing he would need the strength, the resolve, to do what needed doing.

*

Annie poked her head inside the door, looking embarrassed, ashamed and hopeful all at the same time.

Claire smiled at her before returning her attention to the young couple wanting a set of matching bracelets.

"Yes, the rose quartz is for love, but looking at you two, I'm thinking you don't need any enhancements. The bracelets will simply strengthen what you already feel for each other." Claire carried them from the display case over to the counter, the giggling couple following behind her. "Yes, I do have honey dust, in answer to your question." They stared at her, awe in their eyes. "It's in the back, next to the Kama Sutra."

She hid a smile behind her hand when they both blushed and all but ran to the back of the shop.

"Stop waiting for permission to enter, Annie. You never need that."

Head bowed, Annie stepped inside. Claire met her halfway and wrapped both arms around her. With a shaky breath, Annie sagged against her.

"I'm so sorry—God, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"The candle you bought at The Witch's Way." Annie flinched, and pulled away, nodding at Claire's statement. "It was marked." Annie gasped, clutching Claire's arms. "And when I confronted Agatha this morning, we discovered that every candle in her shop had been marked as well. I already destroyed them—but that doesn't change the chilling fact that there is someone in town who knows just how dangerous that mark is."

Claire eased herself out of Annie's grip, rubbed her face, suddenly exhausted. Annie caught her around the waist.

"How little sleep did you get last night?"

"None. And stop, Annie, right now. I don't want you blaming yourself. It should have been a harmless love spell—which I told you not to do. But that mark enhanced your power, twisted it. Did you know Mildred's latest target is a seventeen-year-old boy?"

Annie blinked.

"The photo she gave me was a man in his sixties—"

"Which was layered on top of the real photo. The one on your altar had the edges burned away."

Annie cursed under her breath.

"That conniving little—"

"Which is one of the reasons I never deal with her beyond the occasional reading. She has a touch of the power, enough to fool someone not looking for it." The couple walked out of the back room, the girl clutching a tin of honey dust in her hands, grinning up at her boyfriend. "And here are my young lovers. Don't go anywhere, Annie—I still want to talk to you."

Claire rang them up and hustled them out of the shop, trying not to look like she was doing just that. When she turned around Annie retreated.

"Claire—"

"Sit down. We are just going to talk." She gestured to her reading table, waited for Annie to move, then followed her. Once they sat she reached across the table, took Annie's hand. "It's decision time, Annie. Take your power seriously or let it go. For good."

Her friend stared down at the table.

"I'm afraid of it, Claire. But the way it makes me feel when I use it—I don't think I can give that up." She let out her breath and met Claire's eyes. "I don't want to give it up."

"Then we start working. Together. No more late night spells on your own." She tightened her grip as Annie cringed, then Claire let go and held out both hands. Swallowing, Annie took them. "And no more love spells. Ever. I will give a customer whatever they want to enhance themselves, but I don't fool with emotions."

"Okay." Annie tightened her fingers around Claire's and leaned forward. "Now it's my turn. What the hell are you hiding from me?"

Claire tried to jerk away. Annie just held on, the concern in her eyes weighting Claire's heart.

"I'm sick. And I don't think I'm shaking this one off."

"I know you're sick—you've done a great job hiding it from everyone else, but I know you too well. Tell me what's really going on."

"Annie—" Claire closed her eyes, wanting to trust. And knowing, if she did, she would lose everything. "I—"

The bell over the door rang, and Claire tugged at her hands. Annie leaned in, whispered to her. "We're not finished."

She let go. Claire stood, tucked her hands in the front pockets of her pants so the customers couldn't see them shaking, and went over to greet them.

*

Eight o'clock finally showed itself. Claire had never been so happy to close the shop. She was just about to flip the lock when someone knocked on the window.

A man stood there, the evening breeze ruffling his dark blonde hair, looking apologetic and hopeful. With a smile, Claire opened the door and waved him in. She clutched the latch as a shock of pain jolted her when he walked past. It faded, left her shaken. Closing the door, she managed a smile as she turned around.

"You caught me just in time," she said. "I was just about to lock up."

"Sorry for the last minute sale. But I saw a necklace in here the other day, and I know my sister will love it."

Anger snapped at her through the pleasant words. Another jolt of pain followed behind it—and she realized the source was him. She covered her reaction, led him over to the jewelry counter, put it between them.

"Let me guess—you're in town for the festival, and leaving tomorrow?"

"Something like that." He bent over, pointed. "That's it. Can you wrap it for me?"

"A lovely choice." Claire unlocked the case, took out the rope of lapis and silver. "Any particular color?"

"What?"

She looked up, caught him staring at her, that same anger in his eyes. Though she was ready for the pain this time, it still made her stomach clutch.

"Is there a color she favors—for the wrap." Her voice sounded breathless. He didn't seem to notice.

"Oh—blue will be okay."

"Right." Claire stepped behind the counter. "I will just be a minute with this."

"Take your time."

She moved as quickly as she could without being conspicuous, her hands shaking. He kept shifting, his anger at odds with the pleasant manner, and she could not get a clear vision of it. The pain leached at her power, left her feeling oddly defenseless—

Then, like a switch turning on, she saw it.

He was spelled.

The darkness of it surrounded him, pulsing, feeding on his anger. He wasn't the source—simply the unfortunate messenger.

Claire reached in past her pain, hoping she could stop him with her depleted power. Stop him without hurting him—

His head snapped around—and he rushed her, long legs propelling him over the counter and into her.

They slammed against the wall. Claire let out a sharp cry and punched one fist up. It glanced off his jaw. Pain exploded in her hand. He grabbed her around the waist, lifted her off her feet and tossed her at the front window. If the glass had not been so thick she would have gone straight through it.

Instead it cracked on impact and she slid to the floor, her right shoulder on fire. He stood over her, trapping her against the wall.

"She's dead because of you." Rage poured off him, but his voice sounded detached, as if someone were saying the words for him. Heaven help her—it was a control spell. And a powerful one. "Now it's your turn to die."

Light flashed off the edge of a knife. Claire smelled the iron in it—and understood why she didn't see the spell right away. If that blade touched her— He slashed at her arm. She gathered everything she had and flung a barrier up. The knife bounced off it and he let out a furious scream.

Pain ate at her, weakened the barrier. She scrambled to her feet and ran through the shop. He tackled her when she reached the back room. They slid across the wood floor, crashing into the back door.

Claire recovered first. Pushing him off her, she crawled toward the umbrella stand. She didn't want to hurt him, but she realized she had no choice. Using her left hand she pulled out the bat she kept tucked in among the umbrellas—and swung it up when she felt him behind her.

The bat caught his hand and the knife flew, landing out of his reach. Snarling, he yanked the bat out of her grip.

"This works just fine."

The bat came at her before she could stop it and cracked against her right thigh. Claire screamed, her bone breaking under the vicious blow. He muffled her scream with one hand, then hauled her up and cradled her against his chest.

"Hush. We'll finish this somewhere more private. I'm not supposed to kill you." His eyes cleared for a moment—but not long enough. His grip tightened on her, and he lifted her off her feet, opening the back door. "I already know where home is." He walked quickly, his gaze skating around him every few steps.

She closed her eyes, swallowed a scream as her broken leg shifted. There had to be a way to get through the spell, to the man trapped inside it. She would have to find that way, find the strength to get through, or she was going to die, slowly, and in agonizing pain.

Chapter Seven

Annie kept glancing at the front door of Billie's every time it opened, expecting Claire to appear. She knew Claire was keeping the store open later, but she should have been here by now—

A hand touched her shoulder and she spun, losing her balance.

Strong fingers caught her outflung arm, pulled her up. Gold-edged green eyes captured her attention.

"Where is Claire, Annie?"

"How—do I know you?" Anger simmered, along with another emotion that made her want to punch him in the groin. And her memory burst through the haze. "It was you—son of a bitch!"

He grabbed both wrists.

"We can deal with my lack of manners later. Where is Claire?"

"She should be here—we always meet Sunday nights after work for a drink."

"What time?" He shook her when she didn't answer right away. "What time were you to meet her?"

"She was going to close at eight—"

"Stay here. If I don't return with her in fifteen minutes, phone the police. Annie."

Dread shot through her.

"I will—go!"

She watched him move to the door, dark hair flying around his shoulders. A sudden snap of wind burst over her, left behind the smell of desert and heat. He scared her in a way she didn't understand. But the thought of Claire in danger scared her more—and she understood now that he had power, power that could save her.

If he got there in time.

*

Claire's captor used her key to open the door.

She clutched his shoulder with her right hand, waited until he closed the door, until his attention was divided. And elbowed him in the gut.

He grunted, his breath shooting out. Claire took advantage and jerked out of his loosened grip, dropping to the floor. She let out a harsh gasp, rolled away from him, toward the cabinet that held her tools. Her hand closed over the latch just as he recovered.

With a furious shout he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her across the floor. Pain roared through her leg, across her scalp. One hand clamped over her mouth, smothered her scream.

"The more you fight, bitch, the longer I take." The vicious edge in his voice stilled her. "I just want to know one thing—why Katelyn?"

His grief blasted her, laid hairline cracks in the wall of power surrounding him.

"I can't tell you what I don't know."

"Wrong answer." His fingers closed around her throat, incredibly strong, and started to squeeze. She clawed at his hand, his arm. He let her go, and she dropped to the floor, gasping for breath. His figure loomed over her in the darkness. "There was no reason for her to die."

Claire closed her eyes, tears sliding back into her hair. Nausea twisted her stomach, her leg on fire, her shoulder almost as bad.

His ragged breath washed over her. She braced herself for more violence—it radiated from him, so strong he shook with it. Forming a desperate and probably fatal plan, Claire inched her left hand across the floor until she felt the heat from him on her skin.

Swallowing, she gathered the shards of her power and slapped her hand on his leg. He shouted as a shock of heat slammed into him.

Claire rolled when he jerked away. She found the wall, tried to sit, her right arm numb. The pain in her leg made her want to throw up, and sweat slipped down her face with the effort.

Before she could get herself upright he was on her.

Both hands closed around her throat. Claire lashed out, dragged her nails down his cheek. He reared back, his face bloody. His weight shifted off her and she freed herself, crawled across the floor. He came after her. Kicking out at him with her good leg, she crabbed backward. He caught her ankle, yanked her toward him.

"No—"

"You're going to die—even if it kills me. I want it to kill me." She clawed the back of his hand. He slapped her so hard her head bounced off the wood floor. "Tell me why it had to be Katelyn and I'll end you fast."

"I don't—" She bit back a cry when he grabbed a handful of hair and jerked her up. "Please—give me a minute. I can't think."

He propped her against the wall. Her heart skipped when he pulled a second knife out of his coat pocket. A switchblade. He flipped it open, angling the thin blade until it bit into the skin at the base of her throat. Blood slid down her chest.

"Minute's up. You killed her with a single thrust." The knife moved, fast, stopping an inch from her ribcage. "I'll give you the same gift. If you tell me why."

The grief in his voice tore at her. Claire took in a shallow breath, all too aware of the blade, and took a chance.

"I did not kill her."

His hand shook, fury pouring off him. Claire expected the knife to stab in. But something stayed his hand. She might have a chance, if she could reach the part of him that hesitated.

"Liar." The tip pressed into her. Claire grabbed his wrist, agony robbing her breath. "She said you'd lie, to save yourself. I'm not supposed to kill you—she wants you alive . . ." His hand shook. "I can't let you live—she wants you alive—"

He let out an anguished scream and gripped the knife with both hands.

The front door burst open.

A tall blur slammed into her attacker. They slid across the floor, struggling for the knife. The new intruder punched her attacker, yanked the blade out of his grip and moved to Claire's side.

"Hold still."

"Marcus—" She arched away from his hand, pain blinding her. He leaned over her, careful not to make contact.

"I am going to see to your guest. Don't go anywhere."

Claire forced her muscles to unclench—not an easy task, when every one felt like it was on fire. She spread her good hand on the cool wood of the floor, let it seep in. It didn't ease the fire, but it did give her something to focus on.

She felt Marcus crouch beside her, and knew what was coming. "I have to—"

"Do it. Just—ignore the screaming."

He moved fast, scooping her up. She managed to stay conscious, a raw cry escaping when he tightened his grip.

"I am sorry, sweet. Nearly there. Nearly there now." He settled her to the bed and sat beside her. "I can only do this one way, Claire. It is going to hurt you, and I am sorry for that."

Leaning over, he folded himself around her. Wind snatched at her hair, bringing heat—and bone-cracking agony. She couldn't take enough breath in to scream, couldn't open her eyes, couldn't move. Panic shot through her—then hands reached in to connect, to soothe, to draw out. She tried to protect herself from him, but the pain burrowed too deep, and he touched her, the part she buried behind time and wards, to reach it.

The heat changed, and beyond it she felt his suffering, his sacrifice as he healed her.

She reached for him—and found that she could, the pain no longer debilitating.

"Marcus," she whispered. Fingers caught her wrist before she could touch him.

"Almost—there."

"Enough. Marcus—stop."

Shuddering against her, he let go.

The wind died, taking the heat with it. Marcus rolled off the bed. Gathering herself, Claire crawled to the edge, found him huddled on the rug, shock white and shaking.

"No, Claire." His sand raw voice halted her mid-reach. "I need—time."

"I can give you that." She slid off the bed, flinching when her knees made contact with the rug. Every nerve jumped, over sensitized. "How about some water to go with it?"

"Appreciated."

Using the bed, she pulled herself up, put weight on her right leg with care, numb and tingling at the same time. Halfway down the hall, she remembered who waited in her living room. Pausing, she took in a pain free breath, stepped into his sight.

He surged forward, fighting against the heavy curtain ties Marcus used to lash him to the pillar near her front door. Rage smacked her, along with the spell that still held him.

"Don't go near him, Claire."

She turned, found Marcus hanging on to the corner of the hallway wall.

"What are you doing? Stubborn Jinn." She led him to the sofa—on the opposite side of the room from her uninvited guest—and sat with him, her legs shaking.

"He must be freed."

With a sigh, Claire looked up at Marcus. Just the thought of yanking that dark spell out of the man exhausted her.

"Water first. Then we'll figure out how to pull it out of him with as little damage as possible."

"Does Annie know about you?"

Claire's heart stilled, then jerked painfully in her chest.

"No—and I'd like to keep it that way."

Pushing herself up, she waited until her right leg felt stable, then shuffled toward the kitchen. For the second time her front door burst open.

"Claire!" Annie rushed in, sidestepping when she saw the man tied up in the foyer. Eyes wide, she searched the still dark house. When she found Claire, she ran to her. "Are you—God, you look like hell."

"Thank you, Annie." She kept moving toward the kitchen—and her leg decided it was done for the day.

"I've got you." Annie caught her around the waist, picked her up, settled her back on the sofa next to Marcus. "Now stay put—both of you. You look like you've gone to war, and I'm not sure who won."

She sailed out of the room.

"Your Annie does know how to take charge."

Claire tried not to smile, since it hurt. Who was she kidding? Breathing hurt.

"It comes in handy when I've just been smacked down." Carefully, she leaned back, her nerves still on high alert. "Any ideas on our current problem?"

"I have one," Annie said. She set a tray loaded with leftovers from the fridge and several bottles of water on the coffee table, then sat next to it, handing them each a bottle before she started opening containers and piling food on two plates. "You're talking about possessed boy, am I right? I met him the other day, at Billie's."

Claire almost jumped off the sofa. "When? Did he—"

"The first day of the festival, and he didn't do a thing. He was so drunk I had to pour him into a cab. I could tell he was hurting over something. Gut hurting. He was at your store, too. God—yesterday. I forgot, with everything else going on." This time Claire stood. Annie waved her off, kept calmly loading food on a plate. "Sit down, before I have to pick you up off the floor. He just showed up, looked like someone punched him in the gut, and ran out. I went after him."

"Did he—"

"Not a thing. Except put me off when I tried to help him." She handed them each a plate, then started her own. "Anyway, here's my idea, because now I can help him. You siphon off my power."

"Absolutely—"

"—not." Marcus finished Claire's protest. "You have no idea what you are offering—"

"I'm not talking to you," Annie said. "Ever."

"Annie." Claire took her hand. "You can't be part of this."

"Here's a question: how are you going to exorcise whatever nasty he's got crawling in his soul when you can't even stand up on your own?"

Marcus touched Claire's shoulder. "She has a point."

Annie glared at him. "I wasn't talking to—"

"Get used to talking to him, Annie." Claire let out a sigh, then scrubbed at her face. "As much as I don't like the idea, he's part of this. And I really don't like it, but so are you."

*

They ended up tying him to Claire's bed—and all of them had their share of bruises for the effort. He fought like a madman, lunging at Claire every chance he got, until Marcus cursed in a language Claire had not heard for longer than she cared to count, and punched the man.

Looking down at him now, Claire could see the shadow of the spell surrounding him. It coated him like tar, thick and ugly. She didn't know if they had the strength left to remove it. And she did not want to use Annie to do so.

It seemed, at this point, she had no choice.

"Annie." She turned to her friend. "Pull up two chairs, and take off your jewelry."

Claire sat in the first chair, took off her bloodstained sweater, gripped her amethyst pendant in one hand, then held out her other to Annie. Fingers linked, they stared at each other.

"I can't—" Claire took a shaky breath. "I don't want you to do this."

"You think I don't know that?" Annie tightened her grip. "I'm a screw up when it comes to my own spells, but I know I have enough in here to help you help him. He's in pain, isn't he?"

"More than even he realizes. But he'll feel it, once the barrier is gone. You ready?"

Swallowing, Annie nodded. Claire squeezed her hand, then focused on her pendant, let the heat from it flow through her. Annie's hand jerked when the heat touched her, then slid in, past the flimsy defense her mind had thrown up. I have to give her better protection. She put it on her mental list and kept inching forward.

Annie tensed, gasping when Claire's power found her center. With a hoarse cry she yanked free. Claire reeled, pain tearing through her at the sudden severing.

"I've got you, now." Marcus caught her before she toppled to the floor, brushed sweat soaked hair off her cheek. "You are more drained than you let on, witch. Give this task to me—"

"I'm the one he tried to kill—"

"Which means he will be most resistant to you."

"Damn." Claire met his eyes, her own exhaustion mirrored in the jade green depths. "You don't have much more left yourself."

"Ah, but I am more skilled at taking the power of others." His smile lightened the exhaustion. "Sit this one out, Claire. You can tend to him while we try and break the spell."

Nodding, she made her way around the bed, sat next to the unconscious man. Marcus lowered himself to the chair, ignored Annie's snap of temper and took her hands. She opened her mouth—then slumped forward, her face shock pale.

Claire pushed off the bed. "Annie—"

"She is fine," Marcus said. He eased her to the floor, cradled her cheek for a moment, then took her hand, resting his free hand on the man's leg. "Dark magic—gods." He lowered his head, his hand shaking. "This is an ugly spell. Stand away from him, Claire—this is going to be quick and dirty, and I don't know if I can contain it before it finally dies."

She slid along the wall, watching the shadow that lay over the man flinch away from the deep gold light surrounding Marcus' fingers. Then the shadow attacked.

"Marcus!"

"Stay back—" His voice cut off as the shadow spun up and engulfed him.

Claire leapt forward, grabbing his hand just as it slipped free of Annie's fingers. Agony clawed her. Fighting it, she laid her hand over Annie's and opened herself.

Power swept through her, chasing the darkness. It burst free, coiling around the shadow like a gold rope. A high-pitched scream split the air. Fury drove into her. She doubled, the pain of it an icy knife in her gut. Shaking, she kept the link intact, the side of the bed holding her up as she watched Marcus wrangle in the shadow.

It fought, clawed, shrieked—but inch by agonizing inch it shrank away from the coils of gold until they circled it in a net of power. He closed his fist, and the net became a solid ball. A final scream tore out of the shadow before it pulled into itself and winked out.

Marcus collapsed, cradling his right hand. Easing Annie's power back to the source, Claire crawled over to him.

"Let me see."

"There is nothing—gods—"

Claire cupped her hand around his, pried his fingers open.

"Oh, Marcus." Every inch of skin on his palm was scorched black. "Look at me."

After a long moment, he obeyed. She searched his eyes for the gold that would tell her he still had power. It had been swallowed by the green, and the green was layered with shadows.

"I had to—draw in more than I planned." Pain scoured his low voice. "You will not even try, Claire. I can neutralize what remains of the spell."

"Your hand—"

"Will wait. He is coming around." Marcus pulled away, using the bed to help him stand. "Welcome back."

"Where—" Clear blue eyes blinked up at Marcus, the rage that was in them gone. "Who the hell—God, my head is killing me."

"It should," Claire said, easing herself up. She moved past Marcus, ignoring his warning growl, and sat next to her attacker. Sweat streaked his dark blonde hair, plastered it to his forehead. Every injury from their brief, desperate battle had been healed. "You've been under a spell for days. A nasty spell." She laid one hand on his bound wrist. "It is the reason you are tied to my bed."

"A—what?" He stared at them like they had just rolled off the crazy truck. "I've been sick. My sister—" Grief darkened his eyes, clawed through his voice. "My sister died recently, and—" He closed his eyes. "I don't remember much of it. Except you." He looked up at Claire, an echo of the rage crossing his face. The wrist under her hand jerked against the rope. "I was looking for you."

"And you found me." She closed her hand over his, felt him let go. "What is your name?"

"Eric. Eric Malone."

"Welcome to my home, Eric. I'm Claire—and I'm afraid you've fallen down the rabbit hole."

*

Annie cornered Claire in the kitchen, furious that she would even think of feeding the man who nearly killed her.

"He had no say, Annie." Claire calmly put together a tray of cheese, fruit and crackers, but Annie saw how her fingers shook. "And we have a chance to find out who did this to him before they can trap another victim."

"You need to sit down." Annie nudged her aside, finished loading the tray. "I'd be happier if you took something and checked out for a couple of days."

"Look that bad, do I?"

Annie gripped the counter, her own exhaustion shredding her already frayed patience.

"You almost died, Claire. If I hadn't run into that lying bastard out there, you would have. No question. And don't you dare contradict me." She let out a ragged breath and hauled Claire into her arms. "Don't you dare."

"Annie."

Claire wrapped both arms around her, her touch soothing, calming Annie even though she wanted to stay mad. Resting her cheek against Claire's hair, she simply held on. Claire felt so fragile, so delicate—even that iron core of power that always awed Annie felt cracked. And all the worry she'd kept to herself the past few months tumbled out.

"I'm not leaving tonight until you tell me what's wrong with you—no." She gripped Claire's arms when she tried to pull away. "You've dodged and avoided long enough. You know what it is and you're going to spill—after we take care of your would-be assassin and the asshole."

"Annie—" Claire sputtered, then burst out laughing. It felt damn good to hear that. "You have to stop. Eric had no control, and Marcus—"

"Played me—"

"Because I asked him to." She looked Annie straight in the eye, no flinching. "I didn't want you anywhere near him, not with you so susceptible to his—charm."

Annie let her go, crossed her arms.

"Okay—what is he?"

Surprise flared in Claire's eyes, just long enough for Annie to catch it. And that scared her as much as what Claire was hiding from her. The woman never revealed her emotions unless she wanted someone to see them.

"He is a man I prefer you steer clear of, Annie. I don't want you hurt when he drifts off to the next town. He seems to be the type that doesn't stick, to a place or a person."

"For such a low opinion, you sure trust him." This time Claire was flustered. "And he did something, was part of breaking that spell. I saw his hand."

"He was—"

"A conduit," Marcus said. He stood in the doorway, that dark hair a wild tangle of curls brushing his wide shoulders— Stop it. Just stop it. "Claire needed my help, just as she needed yours, Annie."

"I didn't say I was talking to you, ass—"

"Enough." Claire picked up the tray, pausing in the doorway next to Marcus. "Come to a truce or don't talk to each other. I don't care which, but do it now. Eric needs our help, and I don't want you two sniping in front of him."

She strode out of sight, leaving Annie alone with Marcus. Crossing her arms, she glared at him.

"You make the apology sweet, pal, and I'll think about not chopping your hair off while you sleep."

Marcus brushed one hand through his hair, clearly unsettled. "I can never change what happened between us, Annie. But I can offer amends, if you will give me the chance to make them."

His words deflated her anger. How could she smack out at him when he was so humble? He took all the fun out of tormenting him.

"Yeah, we can work it out later." She stepped up to him, almost at his eye level with her three inch heels. "Marcus? You so much as blink wrong at Claire and I'll cut you into tiny pieces."

Chapter Eight

Eric leaned his head back on the sofa cushion. It throbbed, even when he blinked, and moving just made him want to throw up.

Claire came in with a tray of food. After setting it on the coffee table, she moved to him, lowered herself to the sofa. The light movement of the cushion had him swallowing the bile in his throat.

"Don't try and remember, Eric. It's hurting you. I believe it was her intention that you not survive after you—completed your task."

"Who the hell are you?" He lifted his head, ignoring the vicious throb that resulted. "I didn't agree to do any—" He cut himself off and grabbed his head, pain slicing through it. "God—"

"Hold still." Gentle fingers slid into his hair, and warmth radiated from them. He could almost see it, breaking through his pain, smoothing away the ragged edges. When she freed him he finally took his first easy breath. "Better?"

"Much—thank you. Now I'm going to ask you again: who the hell are you?"

She smiled. It lit the unusual silver blue eyes, calmed his anger.

"Even if you haven't admitted it to yourself yet, Eric, your mind already knows. I am a witch."

"Right." He wanted to run, panic building in his chest. "So where's your broom?"

"In my shop, with my cauldron and my crystal ball." Amusement wove through her voice. "You don't remember that, either, do you? Being in my shop—"

"The Wiche's Broom." His head still throbbed, but nothing like before. "Your last name? That or you're a lousy speller."

Her laughter washed over him.

"My name. I like you, Eric, and if you let me, I can help you." She laid her hand on his chest, and his panic eased. "You are safe here. I promise you."

The panic accelerated again when a man and another woman walked out of the kitchen. Shock jolted him as he recognized the woman. Annie, the gorgeous blonde from—he couldn't remember the where, just her. The man with her was tall, angry. And familiar.

Claire touched his hand, brought his attention back to her. "Who did this to you?"

"I don't—" Images scraped at the edge of his mind. Ugly images. He stood and backed across the room, away from her influence. Claire followed, one hand held out. He knew if she touched him again he'd remember—everything. "Stay back—I don't want to hurt—God—"

"Eric—" She caught him when his knees buckled. He tried to recoil—instead his body convulsed. "I've got you, Eric. You're safe here. Whoever did this to you can't touch—"

With a pained gasp she let him go. The man leapt forward, halting when she shook her head. She sank to the floor, her face shock white against the rich red-laced brown hair.

"She—" Eric cleared his throat, tried again. "She wants you, alive. I'm the one who needed you dead. She made me believe you killed my sister. Katelyn."

Her name tasted like ash on his tongue—and with the taste came the memory.

"Eric." Claire rubbed her hand down his arm, soothing, seeking. "Tell me."

"Katelyn—God damn her—" He had to drag the words out. "She burned Katelyn."

"Was she sacrificed?" He closed his eyes. "Eric!" Claire grabbed his shoulders, forced his focus. "Was your sister—"

"With a knife—because of you."

Claire jerked at the accusation. Swallowing, she nodded, looking at the floor.

"Thank you, Eric. No, Marcus." She raised one hand to the man, knowing, somehow, without looking, that he was about to protest. "He's told us enough. I have a good idea who she is." Lifting her head, she looked at Eric, fear darkening her eyes. "If you would indulge me, one more question. Does she have black hair and green eyes?"

"The woman who—" He couldn't say it again. Would never say it again. "Beautiful, but cold. And yes, to both."

Claire let out her breath, part of her spirit shrinking as he watched her. He wasn't the only one who noticed—Annie knelt beside her, one hand pushing back the waving curtain of hair that hid her face.

"Claire—honey, who is it?"

She lifted her head—and Eric wanted to erase the grief, the guilt in her eyes. She had no reason, no matter who the woman was to her—

"She is my cousin, Natasha."

*

"You absolutely will not go up there." Annie all but shouted the order as she followed Claire into her bedroom. Claire fisted her hands to keep from covering her ears. That movement hurt almost as much as the sound of Annie's voice bouncing around the inside her head. "I met Natasha, remember? That thankfully short visit was more than enough to figure out she's mean, dangerous, and crazy to boot."

"And when she realizes her scheme didn't work, she will go after someone else." With a sigh, Claire turned to face Annie. "I've been expecting some kind of confrontation for years. Natasha took an instant dislike to me the first time we met."

"I thought you kept away from family—that you didn't want to be reminded of your parents."

Claire managed not to flinch when the lie came back at her. "I do—but the publicity about the shop opening somehow made the paper up in San Francisco, and Natasha saw it. Our family name isn't the most common around, and I'm sure the fact that it was a Wicca shop intrigued her."

"She came here?"

"Walked right into the shop. Disliked me on sight, hated me by the time she left. She thought she was the only one in the family to inherit power, and she hated the fact that she wasn't anymore." Claire ran one hand through her hair. "She tends to take her hate for me out on other people, knowing that would hurt me more than if her spite were aimed at me."

"She's done more than jump on the crazy train, Claire. She's driving it—straight at you."

"And using those other people to lure me into its path. I know I'll be walking into a trap." Claire rubbed her right eye, the ache behind it constant now. "Something is wrong with her, something more serious than her grudge against me. She has only hurt before; this time she killed." The thought that she may have been the reason tore at her. "I can't allow her to harm anyone else."

"If you go up there now," they both turned at Marcus' quiet, raw voice, "the next one harmed will be you."

"See?" Annie gestured to him. "I'm not the only one who thinks what you're doing is monumentally stupid. And I'm agreeing with him. That should tell you how serious I am about you not going."

Claire sat on the bed before her legs decided to fail her. How could she convince them there was no choice? And how to do it without revealing her real fear—the need to know why Natasha performed a ritual sacrifice. Eric had the answer, buried under his grief and pain, but she refused to cause him more when she could simply find out for—
"—listening to me? Claire." She looked up at Annie—and clutched the side of the bed when the room took a slow, sickening turn. Strong hands caught her, lowered her to the bed. "Hand me that blanket, Marcus, then go get some water. Stop fighting me, honey. It's time to let someone else take care of you for a change."

Claire nodded, immediately regretting it.

"Annie," she whispered. Her friend leaned over. "Can that be tea instead of water? I'm—cold."

One hand covered her forehead.

"God, you're like ice. Why didn't you say anything?"

"You were busy scolding me."

"Funny to the bitter end." She tucked the thick, soft crocheted blanket around Claire. "Stay put—I'll have your new best friend start the hot water."

"Annie." She paused in the doorway. "Marcus—"

"Is a necessary evil for the moment. I get it. I won't kill him in his sleep—not until we get this sorted out."

"Appreciate that."

Annie moved back to the bed, bent over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Claire swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.

"Please get some rest. I can't lose you, Claire." The tears she fought thickened Annie's voice. "I'll be back in a few."

"Thank you."

She watched Annie leave, then waited an agonizing minute before she sat, shedding the blanket. It took another minute for her head to stop spinning. She stood, using the wall to help her over to the closet, and almost went headfirst into her dresser when she reached for the closest pair of shoes. She managed to slip into them without further incident, and used the triumph to propel her to the other end of the closet for her coat.

"Planning a trip, sweet?"

Jaw clenched, she turned around. Marcus stood in the doorway, a mug in his left hand. She could smell the sweetness of her herbal and fruit blend across the room.

"I have to stop her, Marcus."

"Agreed." He set the mug on her bedside table, strode across the bedroom. Claire backed away, moving toward the back door that led to the alley, and the freedom of her car. Marcus got there first—and once he took her arm, she knew she was going nowhere. "We make a plan that does not end in your violent death, then you go stop her."

"Why does everyone keep assuming I'll die? I can take her—"

"Of course you can." Marcus guided her to the bed, then sat her down and handed her the mug. "Drink. Annie's orders," he said when she hesitated.

She sipped the tea. The honey-sweetened liquid hit her tongue, its warmth seeping through her.

"How is your hand?"

Marcus had bandaged his right hand at some point. Now it rested against his leg, long fingers curled over his palm. He managed to block his pain from her, but she knew how much it must be hurting him.

"It will heal. Drink your tea."

She obeyed, every taste spreading the heat. It felt so good to be warm again—she'd all but forgotten how good—

Marcus caught the mug when it slipped out of her hand.

"You—drugged me."

"She drugged you. With something she called Vicodin." Gently, Marcus lowered her to the bed, tucked the blanket around her. "To keep you from doing just what you were doing when I came in. Going after this cousin half-cocked."

She had no ready lie. And lying had always been one of her lesser talents. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the call of sleep, the blessed warmth.

"Marcus."

"Right here, Claire."

"Tell Annie—we're having words."

"I will warn her." She heard the smile in his voice. "Rest now, Claire."

His low voice followed her into the darkness.

Chapter Nine

Claire slapped the bag on the shop counter, needing to take her temper out on something.

Annie snuck out during the night, leaving Claire with a sleeping draught hangover and a serious case of mad. Now another day was almost gone, and she was still here. Natasha was still free.

She gathered everything she thought she might need. Talking never worked with her cousin.

Pounding on the door whirled her around. Marcus stepped to the window and simply waited. Cursing, she stomped over to the door and flipped open the deadbolt.

"Lock it behind you."

She headed to the back room, relieved that someone had removed the knife Eric left behind. Her power was already shaky. She dug out her personal bottles—the potions she created for herself and kept replenished, hoping she would never have to use them. That old habit gave her a ready supply now.

Marcus waited for her by the front counter.

"You are leaving."

"I told you I would." She stashed the bottles in a padded picnic case, zipped it up, and tucked it in her bag. "I should have done this years ago. She's always been off, but she never killed anyone." The temper leached out, left behind what she had been avoiding: her own guilt. "Heaven above, Marcus—she killed someone this time."

"Claire." He moved around the counter. "You are not to blame for this."

"I can tell myself that from now until, oh, forever. It won't make me feel any better. I'm going, so save your breath."

"If she is powerful enough to control a man with Eric's moral strength, you are no match for her in your present condition."

Claire braced her hands on the counter and looked up at him.

"Which would be—what?"

"A woman who nearly lost her life to a dark spell."

She let out a sigh, started packing again.

"I have other means, especially when it comes to Natasha. I've dealt with her enough to know her weak spots. I can't wait, Marcus—I will not have another life on my soul."

Marcus laid one hand over hers.

"This life is not yours to claim. Please take a moment, Claire, think on this. There has been no retaliation—"

"Yet." She extricated her hand, shoved the last batch of crystals in her bag, and grabbed the double handle. "I'm not going to take the chance that she—"

The phone rang, startling her. She let go of the bag and picked it up off the base, using her open hours greeting, since technically it was open hours.

"Thank you for calling The Wiche's Broom, how can I help you?"

"Hello, cousin." A chill swept through her. She gripped the phone, her hand shaking. "You should be here. It seems Eric has failed me. So I found another plaything—just to pass the time until you get here. I'll let her say hello."

An agonizing scream pierced her. Claire sagged against the wall, her heart pounding.

"No," she whispered. "Please, God—no—"

"Claire—" Marcus caught her elbow when she started to buckle.

"Come to me, cousin, and she will live. Disappoint me, and—you know how my temper gets the best of me."

"Please, let her go, Natasha."

"You have until morning. Say goodbye to my cousin, sweet girl."

Another scream pierced her. It cut off abruptly, leaving Claire holding a dead phone.

Marcus grabbed her shoulders.

"You are white—what did she say to you?"

"I have to go." She grabbed the bag off the counter, startled by the weight. Hiking it over her shoulder, she headed for the back door. Marcus beat her there. "Get out of my way."

"Tell me what she said and I—"

Claire stepped back and did what she promised herself not to do to another person again.

She used her power to harm.

Flicking her hand, she threw Marcus across the shop. He crashed into the short wall next to the front door and collapsed, bloody, unconscious. Claire leaned against the door, lightheaded. After a few not quite steady breaths, she pushed herself up, buried her guilt for later, opened the back door and headed for her car.

*

Annie spotted Eric walking on Beach Street, head down, not paying attention to the people who jumped out of his path.

She caught up to him, matching his pace until he finally looked at her.

"Hey, handsome—going my way?" He gave her a smile. A little one, but it was a start. "I'm off to meet Claire, coax her into having dinner. Want to—" He flinched at the mention of Claire's name, all the color draining out of his face. Annie herded him to the side wall of the art gallery. "Hey, it's okay, Eric. She doesn't blame you for what happened."

"I can't stop blaming myself." Wind whipped off the ocean behind them, tossing sweat matted, sun streaked hair against his forehead. Annie reached out to brush it back. He lurched backward, hitting up against the wall. She just kept moving until she made contact. Eric closed his eyes when she touched him, swallowed convulsively. "Don't."

"Come with me, Eric. There's nothing worse than the anticipation of rejection. And trust me, you won't be getting any of that from her." She took his hand. "Come on."

He followed her around the corner, heading toward Claire's store.

"You don't take no for an answer very often, do you?"

She smiled over at him.

"Nope."

Her reward was his laugh. Rusty, quiet, but a laugh. She planned to get more out of him before the end of the night. He didn't remember much about her, so she was going to help him make new memories. Happier memories.

Light filtered out of the front window of The Wiche's Broom. Claire probably had a customer she couldn't get rid of—always too polite to just shove them out the door at closing time. I'll give her a hand with that—

The door was locked.

"What the—" Claire never locked the door when she was expecting Annie. Never. Annie peered through the window, her heart pounding—and saw nothing. No Claire, no customer, no one at all. "Oh, God—" She fumbled the spare key out of her purse, started to push it into the lock.

"Let me." She jumped when Eric touched her shoulder. In her panic she'd forgotten about him. "Stay behind me until we know what's going on. Okay?"

She thrust the key at him. "Just get in there."

He obeyed, unlocked the door. The small bell rang when he opened it—then the door hit up against an obstacle.

"Claire—" Annie squeezed around the door, halted when she saw the sprawled figure—and recognized the black clothing, the dark, curling hair. "What the hell?"

They both knelt. Eric eased Marcus on to his back. Blood stained his face, matted his hair. The fingers of his bandaged right hand were twisted, like they'd been slammed hard against a wall. Looking up, Annie saw where he hit. The plaster was cracked, blood dripping down the pale yellow wall.

"He's alive," Eric said. "Is there water here, a blanket?"

Annie slung her purse off her shoulder and stood, ran shaking fingers through her hair.

"Water—yeah, in the back. A blanket—what are you, a doctor?"

"Something like that. See if you can find a first aid kit—check under the counter."

She went hunting for what he needed, refusing to believe what her mind screamed at her.

Claire wouldn't—she doesn't have that kind of power—she couldn't—

The night in her apartment taunted her, and Claire, overpowering the fire elemental— Annie shut the thought down before it could go any further.

A decorative moon and stars throw served as a blanket. Eric took it, along with the heavy first aid kit and one of the water bottles she pulled out of the back room fridge, then he studied her. "How are you with blood?"

She swallowed. "Not great. What do you need?"

He smiled, the first life she'd seen back in his blue eyes.

"For you to play nurse."

"Okay."

"Good girl." He flipped open the first aid box and whistled. "Looks like Claire is prepared for anything. Open that water, wet down some sterile pads for me. Here." He handed her several of the wrapped pads and a pair of latex gloves. "Keep these on until I tell you. Got it?"

"Yeah."

She watched him snap a pair on with the ease of long practice, tried to follow his method. They slipped on easily, the powdered inside soft against her hands. For about ten seconds. Then her hands started to sweat. She ignored it, ripped open the gauze pads, passing them over as fast as she could get them wet.

Eric cleaned the blood off Marcus' face. It looked like a bad nosebleed, and his nose was crooked—probably from impact with the wall. Once Eric packed his nostrils with dry gauze, the bleeding stopped.

"See if there are any splints in there," he said. He gently lifted Marcus' broken hand, cut away the torn, bloody bandage. "God in heaven—how did he do this?"

The skin of his palm was shiny, tight—like a newly healed burn. A bad burn.

His hand had been scorched black yesterday.

"I don't know—I don't think I should—" Annie looked up at Eric—and blurted it out. "He burned it breaking the spell."

Eric swallowed, then dropped his gaze back to Marcus' hand. Cradling the broken fingers, he took the index finger and methodically snapped it into place. Marcus bolted awake.

"Slow now, old man." Eric lowered him back to the floor. "You had a nasty run-in with the wall."

"You are—"

"A vet," Eric said. Annie blinked at him, then smiled. "I know anatomy well enough to diagnose a not badly broken nose and some damaged fingers."

Marcus cursed, whispering in some fluid language Annie had never heard before—then he grabbed Eric's wrist.

"Claire," he whispered.

"Not here."

"Gods help her." He looked at Annie. "She went to Natasha."

Chapter Ten

Claire eased herself out of the car, stiff from hours of driving. Her newly healed leg ached, her body feeling battered from the violence of the last day.

She had already pulled all the tools she thought she would need at her last stop, shored up her power as much as possible with the resources at hand. Though she was not at her best, she could still match Natasha blow for blow.

Her hope was to free the woman Natasha held, then do everything short of actually killing Natasha to subdue her, once and for good. This confrontation had been a long time in coming, and Claire had to admit that she was the one who put it off.

She had been wrong to do so, and now an innocent suffered because of it.

Taking in a deep breath, she used the spotlights that blazed from the roof of the warehouse to check the address on her phone one last time. It had been sent by Natasha, an hour into Claire's twice-the-speed-limit dash up to the outskirts of San Francisco. The number over the rusted door was the same.

Claire avoided looking at the water she could hear lapping at the shore just yards away. Annie always kidded her about living so near the beach, when she hated the water. Claire never told her it wasn't the water she hated, just the memories connected to it.

Tucking the phone in the pocket of her loose cotton pants, cursing the chill of the wind, she reached for the door knob.

"Welcome, cousin."

The silky voice stilled her.

Claire wanted to spin, throw a spell, any spell. Instead she turned, slowly, hands in sight. Natasha leaned against the side of Claire's hatchback, tall, sleek, stunningly beautiful in a long, clinging green dress. Claire shoved down her fear for the woman her cousin held. If Natasha got even a whiff of that fear, she would take it out on her captive. Claire knew her cousin's M.O. all too well—or thought she did. Murder had never been part of her playbook. Until now.

"Where is she, Natasha?"

"What, no hello? Your manners have deteriorated in that provincial village you insist on calling home. I would be insulted, if I did not already expect it from you."

Claire frowned. Natasha wasn't normally so formal. Something about her pretty speech was off—and that put Claire on alert.

"Let her go, and we can get to it."

"It." Natasha smiled, pushed off the car. "A small word for years of—what shall we call it? A difference of opinion? Violently opposite views of magic? What would you call it, cousin?"

"Mutual dislike. Where is she?"

Natasha flicked her right hand. Heat swept past Claire—and she jerked away as it scorched her skin under the sleeve of her jacket. Natasha's power felt—different. Stronger. Claire didn't have time to worry about it as the door behind her flew open.

She ran inside, searching the dim interior. Bare ceiling bulbs flickered over half-rotted wood boxes, two rows of steel columns—and a hunched figure in a dirt streaked white dress tied to the one closest to the door. Claire let out a breath when she saw the woman move.

Crouching in front of her, Claire spoke in a quiet voice. "I'm here to help you."

The woman's head snapped up. Claire knew she would be panicked, so she stayed out of touching range. Blood ran down the freckled face. Claire's heart skipped at the resemblance. Except for the blonde hair, the woman—no, girl—looked enough like Claire to be her sister. And she couldn't have been older than twenty.

"Who—please get me out of here! Before that crazy woman comes—oh God—" She recoiled, staring at the tattoo on Claire's wrist. "You're the reason I'm here. She said you had—don't touch me—"

"Please, it will be all right. I am going to free—"

"I said don't touch me!"

Panic skated across the girl's voice. Claire stood, hands at her sides. "I understand why you're afraid. I can only imagine what she told you about me. But I promise you, I will see that you are safe."

Wide blue eyes stared at her for an endless moment, then filled with tears.

"Get me out of here."

Claire knelt behind her, relief easing the pressure in her chest.

"Hold still. I'm going to free you." Flinching at the torn skin on the girl's wrists, Claire tugged at the knot until it loosened, then untied it. "I've got you now. I'm going to ease your arms down. I'm afraid it's going to hurt, and I am sorry for that."

The girl whimpered, but she managed to help Claire, the muscles in her arms quivering against Claire's fingers. When both hands touched the floor, Claire let her go and moved around the pillar.

"What is your name?"

"Lisa," she whispered.

"All right, Lisa, let's get you on your feet."

Claire wrapped on arm around her waist, lifted until Lisa found her strength, and finished standing on her own, towering over Claire's five foot two.

"My car is outside. I'll take you wherever you want—" She cut herself off when she saw Natasha blocking the doorway. "Wherever you want to go. Just keep moving, no matter what. I will protect you."

They moved to the door, Lisa clutching her. Claire braced for retaliation. Natasha gave her a smile and stepped out of the doorway.

That scared Claire more than an outright attack. She walked Lisa past as quickly as she could, the younger girl shivering against her.

"Can you run?" Claire whispered.

The girl stared down at her. "If I have to, I—I think so."

"You may have to. I don't trust my cousin—"

"That's your cousin?"

"Not proud of the relation, but you can't always choose family."

She kept up the chatter as she led Lisa to the car, angling so she kept Natasha in her sightline. Claire waited for her to lash out, to do—something. Natasha never lost or gave up without retribution. Claire knew that from past experience.

She reached out to open the passenger door when Natasha struck.

"Get down!" Claire let her go and spun, already clutching her amethyst as she flung up her other hand.

Natasha's power shredded her barrier like it didn't exist and smacked into Claire. She stumbled, heat scorching the newly healed knife wound at her throat, just managed to throw up another barrier before Natasha attacked again.

This one held together—but the force of Natasha's attack shoved her against the car.

Lisa— She found the girl, huddled near the back bumper, her face stone white. Widening the protective barrier, Claire gathered herself for a distraction and raised her hand.

Fire burst out of her palm. It missed Natasha by nearly a foot. Claire cursed at herself for letting her defensive skills get so rusty and tried again, ignoring the screams coming from the back of the car. This time the burst of fire hit her target.

"Get in the car, Lisa." The girl kept screaming. Out of time and patience, Claire stalked to her and slapped her across the face. The scream cut off. Lisa stared at her, one hand on her reddening cheek. Claire dug her phone out of her pocket. "Take this, get in the car. Call 911."

She crawled into the back seat, closed the door, and scooted as far away from Claire as she could manage. Claire hardly blamed her.

Clenching her aching hand, she braced herself, knowing she couldn't leave Natasha alive, and turned to finish the job.

The fist came out of nowhere, smacking her cheek. She stumbled backward and slammed into the car. Natasha smiled at her, whole, unharmed. That's not possible—

"You missed, cousin." She flicked one finger, and the door locks snapped. "Uh-oh. What could happen next?"

The car started to roll.

"No—" Panic roared through Claire. She grabbed the handle, the heavy car dragging her across the gravel lot. "Lisa!" She banged on the window. "Lisa! Get in the front seat—hit the brake!"

It took precious moments for her words to sink in—then Lisa threw the phone down, scrambled between the front seats and dropped into the driver's seat. Clutching the steering wheel, she pumped the brakes. The car moved faster. Headed straight for the water. No—not again—not again—

Claire threw a spell to freeze the wheels. It bounced off an invisible barrier, narrowly missed her as she ducked.

"Natasha!" Her cousin cocked her head, watching the car, as if what she caused was a fascinating experiment. "Stop this!"

"Experiencing the horror of déjà vu, cousin?" Claire stared at her. She couldn't know—no one knew, no one still alive— "You could not save them before; what makes you think this time will be any different?"

Natasha waved her hand, and the car shot forward.

Claire lost her footing, hit the gravel. Ignoring the sharp pain in her scraped hands, she pushed upright and ran, grappling for a handhold. The car had rounded curves, a too-wide bumper—nothing for Claire to grip. And she left the keys in the ignition—

"Lisa!" She hung on to the door handle, no running board for her to stand on. The girl still clutched the steering wheel, staring at the fast approaching water. Her head swung around when Claire banged on the window, her eyes wide and blank with horror. "Turn the car on! You can put it in reverse—damn it, turn the car on now!"

Lisa stared at her, then snapped out of her paralysis. She turned the key. The engine roared into life. Claire flinched as the gears ground, but the car shuddered to a halt and started to back up.

"That's it!" Claire smiled at her and let go of the door handle. "Now punch it!"

Lisa did, spitting up gravel and dirt as she swerved back across the lot. Claire sprinted after her. She grabbed the passenger door handle, ready to yank it open and pull Lisa out. Her fingers froze, then her arm. Before she could start a protection spell, hands closed over her shoulders and jerked her away from the car.

Claire froze in the grip, a nightmare come to life as she understood who—what—held her. What had taken over Natasha, and used her body, her power for its own ends.

"You do not get to win this time." Those hands slid down her arms, leaving a trail of icy pain, then closed Claire in a hug that trapped her against Natasha's chest. Something pressed into Claire's shoulder blade, small and hard. "But you do get to watch."

Natasha whispered, and the Latin poured over Claire, ancient, surreal. Heat burst from the object against her shoulder. Familiar heat, familiar power that ratcheted her panic.

"Don't do this. Please—I'll go with you now. Just don't do this—"

"I need her soul."

Freeing one arm, she pulled the object off Claire's shoulder, cradled it in her palm. The panic slithered through Claire as she recognized the talisman. A talisman that she never thought she would see again. It shouldn't be here—the darkness that rode Natasha shouldn't be here—

Claire let out a hoarse gasp when the talisman touched her again. It sucked at her power, left her shaking and weak. With a smile, Natasha tucked the talisman out of sight, out of reach.

"She never guessed about you," Natasha whispered, her breath warm on Claire's cheek. "I can hear her, screaming inside this body, screaming at me to finish the useless witch. She certainly does hate, but she has no idea what you really are, hiding behind your pretty face and this petty life. Why do you choose this, when you could have such power—"

"Take me," Claire said. "You can have it all, the power, the rank, everything. Just let her go—you don't need—"

"I want more than what just you will give me. And I am done with your damn compassion for these humans."

One hand covered her mouth, the arm around her like iron. She watched, helpless, as her car skidded forward and drove straight into the water. The last thing she saw before it sank was Lisa screaming through the window.

*

"We have to find her." Annie stalked around Claire's living room. She had been stuck here for hours—for hours, because Claire was too stubborn to trust, and left them out of the loop to try and protect them. Now Claire was out there, somewhere, alone, maybe hurt. Or worse— "She's in no condition to face her cousin—"

"I agree with you, Annie." Eric leaned against the wall next to the kitchen, looking as tired as she felt. "Claire isn't up to facing anyone—thanks to me."

"What did I say about that? Claire doesn't blame you—"

"But she does blame herself," Marcus said. He sat on the sofa, a blanket around his shoulders. His face looked like someone had worked him over. But she could have sworn he had more bruising an hour ago— Marcus jerked her back to their conversation. "And I would go after her in a heartbeat, Annie. If I knew where she had gone."

Annie wanted to slap him for reminding her that they were essentially helpless. Fear crept in and twisted around her anger. She shoved it back down. Again.

"Her phone is going straight to voicemail. I know where Natasha lives, but she would hardly keep a screaming victim in her tiny row house. So that still leaves us with a big fat bupkis."

She paced to the end of the living room, then swung back around and headed for Marcus. To his credit, he sat still on the sofa, waited for her attack.

"What did you say to Claire to make her lose her temper? She never uses her power on anyone. It's rule number one."

Marcus looked up at her, his eyes solid green and exhausted. Annie had to tear her gaze away; she swore she saw gold in his eyes the last time she—no, she was just tired. And scared—really scared.

"We had an argument."

"Really, Sherlock? Watson's dog could have told me that."

Eric raised his hand. "Did Watson have a dog? I don't recall—"

"Okay, funny boy." Annie smiled. His flippant question eased the tension between her and Marcus. The fact that he cracked a joke made her feel better. Maybe it was finally getting through that he didn't need to dump all the blame on himself. "If we can't call Claire, maybe—wait, she has GPS on her phone. Stupid—God, how could I be so stupid, I should have thought of this—" Annie ran into the bedroom, unplugged Claire's laptop and carried it out to the living room. "I think she downloaded some tracking software—"

"Let me," Eric said. He took the laptop and fired it up, tapping his fingers on the coffee table while it hummed through loading, then the welcome screen. Claire's wallpaper finally popped up—her and Annie, dressed to kill for the annual artist's festival Christmas dance. Annie swallowed. Claire looked happy, healthy, different. It shocked Annie to see that smiling face, compare it to the drawn, pale one she had greeted every morning for the last few months. Once Eric had access, he opened up her program and started typing. "I've got her."

They crowded around the laptop, watched a blip on the map—a blip that moved, steadily, heading past the Monopoly-sized building. Straight toward the large body of water that stretched behind it.

*

Claire wrenched out of Natasha's grip and ran, stooping to pick up a rock before she splashed into the water. She gasped at the icy embrace. Taking in a deep breath she dove under.

The car still floated, heading toward the bottom, at least twenty feet down. Kicking hard, Claire made it to the back of the car, grabbed the spoiler, then maneuvered around until she could reach the closest door handle.

There was an air pocket near the ceiling, and Lisa had her face pressed into it. Good girl. Claire got her attention by pounding on the window. She gestured that she was going to break it. Lisa nodded, moving as far as she could get while still having air.

Claire pushed through the resistance of the water and smacked the sharp edge of the rock into the window. It cracked, a small, insignificant line tracing out from impact. Claire's lungs ached, screaming for oxygen. She pushed off the car with her feet, broke the surface of the water, took in a few breaths, then a final deep one and slipped back under.

This time she held on to the door handle, smashed the rock against the window in the same spot. And again. The third time her hand went through, catching on the jagged glass. She ignored the burst of pain and kept pushing until the window finally gave way.

Lisa floated near the steering wheel, her dress spread out around her, eyes blank, her face already grey. Claire grabbed her wrist, wrestled her out of the car. Her body begged her to take in a breath. She ignored it, ignored the burning in her lungs, and pulled Lisa up toward the light.

She broke the surface, sucked in a gasping breath as she lifted Lisa's head clear. Her cut wrist burning, she hauled the limp body through the water, dragging her once they touched land. As soon as she cleared the water's edge, Claire lowered Lisa, dropped down beside her and checked for a pulse. Nothing.

She started CPR, following the instructions she knew as well as the layout of her shop, the rooms of home. Lisa felt icy under her hands, her lips blue, her chest still.

"Come on—" Claire breathed into her, waited for a response. "Come on, damn it—don't you give up on me—"

She worked over Lisa until her arms ached, and kept going. She refused to lose her; she couldn't lose her, not again—

"I am afraid your efforts are for nothing." Claire ignored the taunting voice, kept trying to resuscitate her. "Claire, stop—her soul is already mine."

With a gasping breath, Claire sat back. Lisa lay under her hands, pale and still. Dead. Leaning forward, Claire gently pushed the soaked blonde hair off her face, then gathered the cold body into her arms and rocked her, tears sliding down her face. She thought nothing could hurt as much as that first loss, so long ago. She was wrong.

Natasha knelt beside her. If Claire had the strength left, and the death wish to go with it, she would have smacked the woman.

"Go to Hell."

"I will be happy to—as long as I can take you with me. I want to go home. I am so tired of pretending, tired of playing human. Look at me." Claire obeyed, knowing that this creature may not be Natasha, but she had Natasha's memories. And not one of those included anything even remotely sympathetic when it came to Claire. "I am going home. But I mean to return in style, and for that I need souls."

Panic swamped Claire—along with an emotion she had not felt for a long time. Terror. "Take me now. I am worth more than any human soul—"

"You are my boon, my bonus, my ticket in the door." Natasha stood, her eyes flashing. "I will come for you, make no mistake. But I have more work to do here." She smiled. "Much more. Goodbye, Claire."

"Natasha—"

Claire spoke to empty air. Natasha had disappeared. Literally. Closing her eyes, Claire fought the panic surging through her. Natasha had been possessed by one whose power Claire may not have the strength to challenge.

Carefully, she lowered Lisa to the ground, looked around. Her cell phone was in the water, and she doubted there would be a land line in the deserted warehouse. Aching everywhere, she stood, cradled her bloody wrist, and limped toward the main road to call for help. Help that was no longer needed.

Chapter Eleven

Since Claire refused to tell her what time she would be arriving at the airport, Annie sent a taxi to get her, with specific instructions to wait until Claire showed, not take no for an answer, and bring her back to the store.

Annie waited outside when her taxi pulled up. The Art Nouveau streetlamps came on as she stepped off the sidewalk.

"Thank you so much, I'll take her," she said to the driver, who helped Claire climb out of the back seat. "Thank you for bringing her home."

"Pleasure, miss."

He pocketed the envelope of cash Marcus insisted on providing, then drove off.

"I'm taking you home, Claire, and staying. No argument." Claire didn't argue, didn't say a word as Annie wrapped one arm around her waist and led her to the car. A bruise stood out on her left cheek, nearly black against her too pale skin. Dark circles smudged the skin under her eyes. She looked—broken. "In you go—take your time, honey, I'm in no hurry."

Claire moved slowly, like she was in pain, but she didn't make a sound. When Annie grabbed her right arm to help her into the passenger seat, she saw the heavy bandage on Claire's wrist, the scrapes and bruises on her fingers. Oh, she was getting answers, all right. But she would let Claire sleep for about twenty hours before she went on the attack.

*

"I can't tell you any more, Annie." Claire's throat was raw, every muscle aching. She hardly slept, and finally gave up trying just after sunrise. "I need to know you are safe—"

"And the less I know the better, blah blah blah." Annie settled beside her on the sofa, touched her left hand. "I'm not leaving until you tell me why you're so damn scared for me."

With a sigh, Claire closed her eyes. She had already lost too much time, and if she did not get rid of Annie soon, it would leave her little time to pack what she needed and return to finish what she started with Natasha. With what Natasha had become.

"Natasha is killing people. I have to stop her. Any other questions?"

"Yeah." Annie crossed her arms. "What army you planning on taking with you?" Claire looked at her, suddenly afraid that her friend already knew more than she should. "A sergeant called from the police station, Claire; you put my number as your emergency contact on the police report. I know what you did to save that girl. Whatever's wrong with Natasha, you can't take her on alone."

"She is—"

"Your family. Yeah, well, so am I." Tears stung Claire's eyes. "And I'm taking the right as family and saying hell no. You won't do this on your own."

Claire didn't know whether to laugh or panic.

"Annie—"

"Nope. And you try to sneak out like that again, I'll sic two big, strong men on you. I can't believe I'm saying this, but you owe one of those men an apology."

"Marcus." Claire lowered her head, shame heating her face. "Is he all right?"

"An out of joint nose, broken fingers, some bruises. He'll live. Lucky for him Eric has medical experience." Claire looked up. "He's a vet." Annie's smile was contagious.

"Did Eric mention it before or after he treated Marcus?"

"After." Her smile faded. "You're not going back alone, Claire."

"I will not involve you in this—"

"Too bad, and too late. I'm your friend." She closed both hands over Claire's shoulders, gave her a little shake. "Your family, damn it, so that makes me involved. What is so bad that you can't tell me? I know it's some big ugly—I've known for a while that you've been doing everything short of lying to me about the big ugly."

Claire swallowed. "Annie—"

"I'm not stupid. I know you're different, and not the 'I'm a witch' different. Why don't you trust me?"

"Oh, Annie." The pain in her friend's voice squeezed her heart. Claire never planned to create such ties, but Annie simply wormed her way in, and stuck. "You are the only person I trust."

"Then why—"

"Because there's nothing to tell." Claire hated the lie, hated telling it. "I learned to practice in secret." That much was true. "It simply became habit."

"Right. Habit." Annie stood, gathering up the breakfast Claire didn't eat. "When I come back, you're going to bed. You look like death—again."

Claire let out a shaky breath after Annie disappeared into the kitchen, aware that she was not off the hook yet. She knew that tone; Annie was furious. But she would rather have furious than repulsed. No matter how much Annie pushed or argued, she was never going to know anything about Claire's past.

Never.

*

When Claire opened her eyes, she found Marcus sitting next to her bed.

She bolted upright, furious that she let herself fall asleep when she should have been preparing—

The world took a slow, nauseous dip. Marcus caught her when she tilted sideways, eased her back to the bed.

"You will be doing nothing but resting," he said. "Not for the next few hours, at any rate."

"And you're what, my watchdog?" She flinched. Her throat felt like it had been scraped with sandpaper.

"So it would seem."

Guilt swept through her at his low, pain-rough voice.

"Marcus, I owe you an—"

"No need." He took her hand, careful of the cuts scoring her fingers, the scrapes on her palm. His still held the warmth of a recent healing. A fading bruise darkened one side of his nose, but she couldn't see any other damage. "It was a quick and dirty way to protect me and put me out of action at the same time. Do it again," he smiled at her, cold and feral, "and you will not have the chance to offer an apology."

"So noted. What time is it? Where's Annie?"

He helped her sit, plumping the pillows before he settled her against the headboard. Just that simple move left her lightheaded and breathless. "It is just after five pm. I asked Eric to call her, propose a distraction. And after promising to offer up my soul if something happens to you, she let me stay while she went to help Eric pack. I want the truth, and I knew you would not give it to me with Annie here."

Swallowing, Claire finally said the words out loud.

"Natasha has been taken over by a demon."

His grip on her fingers tightened, painfully. "Are you certain?"

"Oh, yes. Believe me, I wish I was wrong. Worse, it's a greater demon, trying to buy its way into a higher rank—"

"Who does it serve?" Marcus grabbed her shoulders and yanked her forward. She let out a gasp when his fingers dug into still aching muscles. "Claire—who does it call master?"

"I don't know—I wish I did, Marcus, but I was too busy trying to stay alive to probe for that information."

He let her go. "Forgive me. You have been through an ordeal, and here I am interrogating you like a heartless fool."

"An ordeal." She shook her head, sagged against the pillows. "Aren't you the master of understatement." One hand inched across the mattress, touched his wrist. "We need to keep Annie safe. Natasha will go after people I care about first." She rubbed her forehead, felt another headache starting behind her eyes. "We should include Eric in that, since I pulled him out from under her influence. My guess is she will thoroughly enjoy being ridden by a demon. It means she no longer has to worry about a conscience. Not that she had one to begin with, but now she has the perfect excuse."

Marcus took her hand.

"Then we will keep each other close, until this is over."

*

Annie stood up and stretched her back, then brushed various animal hairs off her shirt, the front of her jeans. "You really are lousy at packing."

Eric smiled—the closest she'd seen to a real smile since meeting him. "Never had to be. Kate always—" He cut himself off and turned to face the window.

"God—I'm such a dolt." Annie moved to his side, took his clenched hand. "I know you don't believe this now, but it gets better. Not easier, but better."

Tears filmed his eyes when he looked down at her. "How—"

"Personal experience. I lost my parents two years ago—they were on their way back from Africa, of all places. They had just finished a whirlwind tour, and wanted to get home before—" She took a deep breath, the familiar ache weighing on her heart. "They wanted to be here for my birthday. The big, legal twenty-one life changer. Mom thought I'd be traumatized. And I was—for an entirely different reason." Tears stung her eyes.

"Annie—"

"It's the reason Claire and I connected right away—she lost her parents when she was just a kid. Watched them drown when their car went into an icy river. She still won't tell me how she managed to get herself out." She took in a deep breath, the ache easing. "I didn't tell you for sympathy. Just so you know—I've been there, and I got from there to here with a butt load of help from my friends. So don't shut us out." He blinked at her. "Yeah, friends. You're stuck with us now, pal, so get used to it."

Eric didn't say anything—just pulled her into his arms and held on. Annie rubbed his back, whispered to him. When the first sob escaped, she led him to the sofa, eased him down, and let him grieve. He sure didn't have the chance before now.

He lifted his head, accepted the box of tissue, turned away from her while he blew his nose, wiped his face. "Sorry."

"Don't you dare." He looked over at her, both eyebrows raised. "Never apologize for dumping on me, Eric. You'll be the dumpee someday, I promise, and you—"

He cut her off by yanking her forward and kissing her.

After the initial shock, Annie slid both hands up his chest, wrapped herself around him. He tasted like mint and tequila. And he was gentle, both hands framing her face as he deepened the kiss, bit by bit, until she thought she'd go crazy with the need for more. She moaned when he lowered her to the sofa, arched against him when he thoroughly explored her mouth.

He broke away, stared down at her. "Annie—"

"Stop now and I swear to God I'll kill you."

With a low, rumbling laugh, he lifted her off the sofa—then swept her off her feet. Her heart stuttered in her chest, started pounding as he headed for the bed.

*

"Thank you," Eric whispered against her hair, both arms tightening around her.

"I always aim to please."

His laughter rumbled against her ear. "I didn't mean for the chance to get naked and sweaty with you—though I am absolutely grateful for that. I meant for the comfort."

Annie leaned up just enough to kiss his jaw. "Anytime. I mean it—and not only because of the incredible, mind-blowing sex. I've been where you are, and knowing I could count on someone just being there helped so much."

"I like you being here."

She snuggled in, relished the feel of his bare skin against hers. It was so rare for her to find a taller man that didn't feel intimidated by her height—or her abrasive personality. Eric appreciated both, in a way that made her feel cherished. She didn't want to leave. Ever. But the real world called, and they had to answer the damn door.

"So." She propped her chin on his chest and looked up at him. "When does your flight leave?"

His smile shot straight through her.

"I don't have a reservation. I was just planning to take the next flight out when I got to the airport. I know the schedule pretty much by heart."

"The schedule to where?"

"Topeka, Kansas."

Annie sat up. "Kansas?" Panic lodged in her throat. "I thought home was San Francisco."

"I can't go back there. Please understand, Annie." He caught her hands, tightened his grip when she started to retreat. "I have a small farm my parents left to me. It will give me room to think, to figure out what I want to do from here. I already called the vet clinic, told them I was taking an extended leave of absence. Privilege of being the boss." He slid his hands up her arms, framed her face. "There is nothing for me in San Francisco. But here—why did I find you now, in a place I can't stay?"

He kissed her cheek. Swallowing, she eased out of his grip and turned her head away, tears filling her eyes. "You should go now, while it's still easy—"

"Too late." She looked at him. "In the short time I've known you, I have figured out that nothing to do with you would be easy. God help me, I'm going to miss you, but I have to go. At least for now, until I can sort things out. Please understand."

"I wish I didn't, so I could complain about how unfair this is." With a sigh, she brushed her fingers over his cheek. "But I understand, so there goes the bitch session. I still am going to complain, a little."

"You go right ahead." He kissed her, then sat, pulling her up with him. "Get dressed. I'm taking you to dinner."

"And then what?"

His smile had her pulse racing.

"We come back here, get naked and sweaty again."

Chapter Twelve

After spending most of the night awake, they decided Eric should take the early morning flight out. Fewer people, easier for him to sleep on the way.

Annie walked with him to the curved driveway in front of the hotel.

"Call me when you get there," she said.

"You're sure?"

They spent almost as much time arguing about this as they did making love. Annie wanted to see if they could make things work long distance. Eric didn't want to tie her to someone with his baggage. She still wanted to laugh at that one.

"You don't call me, I'll hunt you down. Shouldn't be hard, seeing as Kansas is flat."

His laughter warmed her.

"I'm going to miss you."

"You better, damn it." She wrapped her arms around his waist, let his scent fill her. His hands slid up her back, into her hair. She pulled back, met his eyes. "Now kiss me goodbye, so I can start practice on my not-going-to-get-emotional send off."

"You are a surprise." He kissed her cheek. "A pleasure." Then her other cheek. "And the only reason I regret leaving." His lips claimed hers, kissing her so thoroughly she felt her knees turn to water. Gasping, she clung to him, to keep from becoming a puddle on the sidewalk. Eric tightened his grip on her, buried his face in her hair. "Take care of yourself."

"You too," she whispered. Tears lodged in her throat.

Letting go, he cupped her chin, met her eyes. "I mean it, Annie. You take care."

She jerked out of his grip.

"If you're trying to warn me off Claire, you can shut the hell up and start walking—"

"Whoa—" Eric caught her hand. "I know how important she is to you. I also know how much her cousin hates her." He swallowed, and Annie felt like dirt for forcing him down that road. "You are her closest friend. That makes you a target. Katelyn was in the wrong place at the wrong time." Taking both hands, he pressed his lips to her forehead. "I can't lose you, too."

"And now I feel like an idiot." Easing back, she looked at him. "Not only will I keep myself out of the deep, I'll keep Claire out of it. You go commune with nature, or whatever you plan to do in the middle of nowhere."

His laughter was a reward, and painful at the same time. She would miss the low rumble of it as much as she would miss him. And how stupid was it to fall for a man the night before he walked out of her life?

One of the hotel cars pulled up, the valet rushing forward to open the passenger door.

"So." Eric walked backward, leading her toward the car. "Want a ride back to town?"

"And make out in the courtesy hotel limo?" Annie put away the ache for later. "Sign me up."

*

Annie watched the limo until it turned the corner, refusing to cry on a public street. Even if it was deserted. She would suck it up, then get home and curl into a ball on her bed. About two days of self-pity should do it—

"Spare change, lady?"

Annie whirled and took a giant step back from the hunched figure. A hood shadowed her face, the stained cloak not an odd accessory on the homeless around here. Long, dark hair spilled over one shoulder—and that made her take a bigger step back. Natasha had dark hair—

"I know you got money, lady. Saw you get out of that fancy car." The woman shuffled forward. "Gimme, and I won't hurt you."

A knife flashed in the hand reaching out from under the cloak, and the hood slipped back, revealing her thief. Definitely not Natasha. Heart pounding, Annie raised both hands, backing away from the woman.

"I'll give you what you want. No need for violence—just give me a second—" She dug into her purse, pulled out the twenty she kept for emergencies. "Here—it's all I have on—"

"I bet you got a fat bank account." The knife moved closer. Annie stumbled backward—and smacked into the building behind her. The bank. "Whip out that magic card. Time to do your good deed for the day."

"Okay—there's no need for the knife. I'm just going to get my wallet." She reached in, her hand shaking, finally managed to grab it, and held it up. "I'm going over to the ATM now, okay?"

The knife twitched, and Annie froze.

"Move it," the woman said. "Before we get company."

She herded Annie to the ATM machine. Then she slipped the knife up until the tip pricked Annie's jaw; if her hands weren't shaking enough before, that got them going. It took three tries to punch in her pin number—and the third time she forced herself to focus, or the machine would eat her card. Then she'd be shit out of luck.

"That's it?" The woman pressed up against her, staring at Annie's pitiful account balance. Her stale body odor made Annie want to recoil. "You have more—with that fancy car, you got to have more—"

"I'm sorry." Annie eased away from the knife blade. "My friend is the one with money—I can give you—"

The woman screamed and lunged at her.

Annie retreated, arms raised, hoping the knife wouldn't slice into something life threatening—

She tripped, flying backward. The knife thrust into the space she occupied a second ago. Scrambling to her feet, Annie ran.

She skidded around the corner, hoping to lose herself in one of the narrow alleyways on Forest. A body tackled her from behind. They tumbled to the sidewalk, Annie's left elbow bouncing off the decorative brick. Pain radiated up her arm. She rolled over, tangled in the woman's dirty cloak, cheap velvet snagging her good arm.

With a frustrated scream, the woman grabbed Annie's hair and pounded her head against the sidewalk. Only Annie's oversized purse kept her from serious injury. It acted like a buffer, but she still hit with enough force to make her dizzy.

Fingers scrabbled over her. Annie let out her own scream and slapped at the invading hands. She didn't expect help, didn't even hope for it. Not on a street full of businesses just after dawn—

The weight on her disappeared. Annie snapped up her right arm, ready to fend off another attacker.

"I'm here to help. Are you hurt, dear?" The low, muffled voice sounded female. Strong hands lifted Annie to her feet, led her away from the huddled pile of velvet, leaned her against the nearest storefront. "She won't bother you again."

"Thank you," Annie whispered, her voice shaking almost as much as the rest of her. "Is she—"

"Just out of commission. Stop worrying, Annie. You're safe now."

"How do you—" Light from a passing truck flashed over her rescuer's shadowed face, and Annie's heart skipped. "Natasha—"

"Ah, you remember me." Her grip on Annie tightened with bruising force. "That will save time on explanations. Come quietly, and I will not harm Claire."

"What do you want with her—" She let out a cry as Natasha's fingers twisted into her arms.

"Questions can wait. I will give you all the answers you want. Now, will you come quietly and not fight me, no matter what I ask of you?"

That ratcheted Annie's panic. But she had no choice, no wiggle room.

"Yes," she said. "I'll do what you want."

Chapter Thirteen

Claire unlocked the back door of the shop and stepped inside. Expecting to see the aftermath of her rushed packing job, and her confrontation with Marcus, she was only partly surprised by the tidy shop.

Annie. She wouldn't have left a mess for Claire, especially after what happened with Natasha. There were times when Claire knew she didn't deserve the unconditional trust.

Headed for the front counter, she checked the message machine. Nothing. There had been no message at home either. She expected Annie to at least leave a voicemail telling her that Eric was gone. Claire wished him all the best—she just didn't want to have to face him again to say it.

Kneeling, she pulled out her portable file box, set it on the counter and rifled through her various signs for the "Closed Until Further Notice" sign. She had it printed, along with the standard signs, hoping she would never need to use it.

But this time, once she walked out that back door, she didn't expect to return.

Slipping the sign in front of her sliding Open/Closed sign, she took a final look through the front window. Another thing Annie fixed for her, calling to have it replaced while Claire recovered from Eric's attack.

Trees swayed in the rising wind, their dark leaves fluttering, the late morning sun highlighting their rich color. Claire loved this street, had since the moment she rounded the corner off Beach and saw it for the first time, lined with trees and filled with people enjoying the sun and the eclectic mix of shops.

Rubbing one hand over her heart, she turned away, touching items as she made her way back to the counter. She tried Annie's cell phone again, worry licking at her when it went straight to voicemail. On impulse, she scrolled through her contacts and found Eric's number, stored there just in case. She connected, and it started to ring.

She was ready to disconnect when Eric answered.

"Claire? I didn't expect to hear from you—"

"Is Annie with you?"

His silence notched the worry up to panic.

"I dropped her off just after dawn. I'm at the airport, and finally about to board my plane. She's not home?"

Claire took a deep breath.

"Her phone keeps going to voicemail."

"I'm on my way."

"Eric—you don't have to—"

"I care about her, Claire. Don't make plans without me."

Before she could argue he disconnected.

She decided to head over to Annie's apartment; she should have checked there first before she started calling and sending other people into an unnecessary panic. Heading for the back door, she dug the keys to her rental car out of her jacket pocket. And halted when she saw Marcus standing outside the door.

With a sigh, she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

"Were you planning on facing her again?" Marcus used his height and his anger to back her into the shop.

"Stop it—Marcus, stop." She slapped both hands against his chest. "I'm not going anywhere. Annie may be missing."

He caught her hands before she could pull away.

"Tell me how I can help."

Tears stung her eyes. She forced them back, met his gaze. "I was just on my way to her place. She went to help Eric pack, and I think something happened between them." She tapped his chest with her fingers when anger flared in his eyes. "Something good, so stop plotting his death." A smile tugged at his mouth, and the anger retreated. "She is not answering her phone, and I wanted to make sure she isn't just sleeping off a late night before I really start to panic."

"My car is out back."

Claire locked the front door before she followed him out, and grabbed the door latch just as the shop phone rang.

"That could be her." Claire ran through the shop, snatched the phone off the counter. "Annie—"

"So sorry to disappoint." Claire stilled at Natasha's voice, clutching the phone. "But she is close, very close. And you can save her."

"I want to talk to her."

"Proof of life. Sorry, she can't come to the phone right now, but she can yell."

Claire heard shuffling, silence—and Annie's voice burst out.

"Don't do it, Claire! I'm not worth—"

Claire sank to her knees when a raw scream cut Annie off. Marcus knelt beside her, and she leaned against him, thankful she wasn't alone.

"She is quite a spitfire, your Annie." Claire closed her eyes. "She left you a gift. Check your front stoop. I will call back with instructions."

The call cut off, the dial tone buzzing in her ear before she dropped it. Marcus caught the handset, laid it on the rug, then turned her to face him.

"Talk to me."

"Let go—I have to—let go—"

She yanked out of his grip and pushed to her feet, running for the front door. With a shaky breath, she flipped the deadbolt and opened the door.

A small box sat on the mat. Claire reached for it, her fingers shaking. Pain radiated from the box, along with Annie's energy. Claire swallowed, braced herself, and snatched up the box. That pain shot up her arm. She closed her free hand around her amethyst and threw up a barrier. The pain broke against it.

It took three tries to pull the lid off the wooden box—and she almost dropped it when she saw what lay inside.

Marcus cupped her hand, steadied her with his other arm. Claire leaned against him, fought the panic, the fury that pushed up behind it.

"It's Annie's favorite earring," she whispered. And Annie's small earlobe was still attached to it. "Oh, God—"

"Breathe, Claire." Marcus pulled her inside, then reached around and shut the door. "She is alive right now. Think of that, hold on to that."

"Right." She took in a breath, clutching the box. "Natasha won't hurt her—not until I'm in her sights. You have to get her out of there, Marcus." Turning in his arms, she looked up at him. "Promise me."

"We will all—"

The front door burst open. Eric stalked in, looking like an avenging angel.

"Where the hell is she?"

*

It took all Eric's control to rein in the fury, the panic.

He wanted to lash out at Claire—Annie wouldn't be in danger if she wasn't friends with this witch—

But the anguish on Claire's face stopped him. She cared about Annie, and he knew the feelings were mutual.

"What happened?"

Swallowing, Claire held out the box in her hand.

Eric stared at the bloody earring. The same earring he watched Annie slip on this morning.

I will fucking kill her, whatever she is—

"No, Eric," Claire said. His head snapped up. "We are going to get Annie out, and I will deal with Natasha. No." She slapped at Marcus and stepped away from both of them. "You have no idea what she's capable of, how little she cares about anyone but herself. We agree, here and now, or you are out of it."

"Claire," Marcus said, his voice quiet and almost—hypnotic. Eric shook his head. "You cannot—"

"Don't you dare use your hocus pocus on me." He had never seen a woman so furious. She may have been tiny, but she radiated such power Eric believed at that moment she could take them both on. And win, hands down. "She already has the most important person in my life—I will not give her the chance to—"

The ringing phone cut her off. Eric watched her face go sheet white—then she sprinted around the counter and disappeared.

Both he and Marcus followed her, found her kneeling on the rug, phone clutched in both hands. She listened, eyes closed, then spoke a single word.

"Yes."

Carefully, she disconnected, set the phone on the rug next to her, and stood. Head down, she moved past Marcus, past Eric—then took off at a run, headed for the back door.

Marcus went after her. Eric followed on his heels, joined the intimidation when he caught up with them just outside the door. Marcus had her trapped against the wall, and she vibrated with rage.

"—me go now, or she will hurt Annie."

"Not alone." Marcus leaned in. "All of us or not at all."

Eric waited for her to punch Marcus. Instead she took in a deep breath and nodded.

"Fine," she said. "Now get the hell out of my way. We are wasting time."

Marcus dragged her to his car, a sleek, black four door Jaguar. "I drive, you give directions." He smiled when she glared at him, then glanced over his shoulder at Eric. "Coming?

Eric answered by sprinting to the Jag.

Chapter Fourteen

Annie closed her eyes, gave up trying to free herself from the ropes that bound her wrists behind her. Her skin was already raw and angry from the struggle, and she could feel blood trickle down her hands.

Natasha stashed her somewhere big and empty, and it smelled like it had been empty for a long time. No chance of anyone stumbling across her.

Annie shifted, chilled by the cold slab of concrete she had been dumped on. She was attached to a steel pillar, which meant she was stuck. Sunlight filtered in from the dirt-streaked window on her left side, splashing over her legs. Its meager warmth did nothing to take the edge off. The bitter cold woke her earlier, seeping through her jeans, just in time to hear Natasha's phone call to Claire.

Anytime—they'll be here anytime now.

She used the words as a mantra, repeating them in her head, listening, waiting for any sound that meant rescue. The focus helped keep her mind off the cold, and the raw pain in her ear.

She still didn't believe Natasha had cut her earlobe off. If it didn't throb like a bad tooth, she'd chalk it up as a side effect of the concussion she was sure she had.

And Eric—he'd be halfway home by now, ignorant of her abduction. Part of her was glad; he wouldn't be involved, which meant he wouldn't be in danger again. Natasha screwed up his life enough already. Now the woman was after Claire, and it burned Annie that she was the dangling bait.

"Stupid—how could you be so stupid—" No—beating herself up out loud didn't help.

She would just find a way to help when the time came. Claire would not suffer for her mistake.

With renewed determination, she started working on the ropes again, ignoring the fresh burst of pain. If she could just—

"Hello, Annie." The silky voice froze her. Natasha knelt beside her, reached down and brushed sweat matted curls off her forehead. It took every ounce of control not to recoil. Annie had a feeling the response to that would be painful. "I trust your nap was refreshing. Not that it matters, but I do enjoy playing polite." The smile sent chills racing down her spine. "We are going on a little field trip. How does that sound?"

"Boring," Annie said before she could stop herself. Anger snapped in Natasha's dark green eyes. Swallowing, Annie kept going, hoping the anger would work in her favor. In for a penny— "I always hated field trips—nothing worse than riding on a stinky bus with a bunch of—"

Natasha backhanded her. Annie's head bounced off the pillar. Moaning, she tried to decide which hurt more—her cheek or her head. Then Natasha yanked her forward and her entire body won as every muscle tried to cramp at the same time.

Annie let out a harsh gasp, and Natasha slapped her again.

"Make another sound, and you will lose talking privileges. For good. Do you understand?"

Annie nodded, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. For a second—one long, endless second—she saw a hideous face flash across Natasha's. A face that wasn't human.

*

Marcus screamed into the deserted parking lot, and Claire had the door open before he finished stopping.

She ran to the warehouse—another warehouse—and reached for the door handle. Marcus caught her hand just before she touched it.

"This is a trap—"

"You think I don't know that? I've had to deal with the backlash of her nasty little games for years. I know her M.O.—and I will not let it stop me from getting to Annie—"

"Think, woman." Marcus gripped both shoulders. If he shook her she swore she would smack him. "Let us find out exactly where she is before we go running to her rescue. Or we may be the cause of injury."

"You're right." Claire rubbed her face. Heaven above, she was tired. "You can let me go, and tell me what you already have in mind."

"We go in low, quiet, and fast. Eric." He stepped up, fists clenched, his jaw working. "You will cover the back door. No argument—I do not need your temper involved at this point."

"Any more insults before I leave?"

Marcus raised one eyebrow. "They will wait."

That pulled the hint of a smile from Eric. "See you inside."

He took off, checking the side of the building before he slipped around the corner. Marcus looked down at her. "Ready?"

Claire took in a breath. "If she's hurt—"

"We will deal with it. Go."

She opened the door just enough to slip through and crouched against the wall, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Her heart skipped when she saw the figure, tied to a pillar at the other end of the wide space. Just like before.

Squashing the desire to run flat out across the warehouse, Claire skirted the edge, caught sight of Marcus doing the same on the opposite wall, his black clothes the perfect camouflage. She sprinted once she got directly across from Annie.

Blood puddled the concrete around her, matted the blonde curls.

"No—" Claire dropped to the floor, reached out, her hand shaking. She gripped Annie's chin and eased her head up. Her heart stopped, then burst back into life when she realized it wasn't Annie. Her blood-slicked fingers searched for a pulse, knowing already there would be none. Cold surrounded the young woman, edged with the violence of her death. "Another one you will pay for, Natasha," she whispered, gently closing the wide blue eyes. Another one to add to my list of blame.

"Gods." Marcus knelt beside her, brushed long fingers over the blonde curls. "We will not let her death be in vain."

"If this isn't Annie," Eric's voice turned them around, "then where the hell is she?"

Claire pushed to her feet, faced the rage pouring off him.

"I don't know. I won't stop until I find her, Eric. I love her as well."

He blinked, obviously startled by her words. "Claire—"

"I need to think." She slapped away Marcus' hand and all but ran across the warehouse, shutting herself in the glassed-in office that took up one corner of the open ground floor.

Once out of sight, she sank to the floor and let the despair in. Afternoon sunlight streaked the floor, a reminder that time was running out for Annie. And Claire had no way to find her.

Ignoring the ache in her leg, she drew it up with the other and lowered her forehead to her knees. There was no way to track Annie, not with her power running close to empty. And Natasha would have her cloaked, just in case Claire was desperate enough to—

Her new cell phone rang, the default ringtone harsh and jangling.

She fumbled it out of her jacket pocket, looked at the display, recognized the number. It was Annie's cell.

Taking in a deep breath, she answered.

"Annie better be alive, Natasha."

"Claire—not even a hello before the demand?"

Natasha's voice made her skin crawl. She heard the beast behind it, the demon who used her cousin like a suit, slowly burning her out from the inside. It was what they all did, when they found themselves banished to this plane, this earth.

Closing her eyes, Claire asked the question she knew Natasha waited to hear.

"What do you want?"

"Now we come to it." Natasha let out a sigh. "Your Annie is alive, and will stay in that condition. I only ask one thing from you, darling Claire. That you come to me, in your true form. No more hiding—it is time to go home."

Gripping the phone, Claire let out her breath.

"I'll be there."

"I will know if you try to fool me. And Annie will pay—"

"No tricks. Now tell me where."

"The cliffs, near the main beach. Do you know—"

"I know it. I need an hour."

"You shall have it. Cousin."

The call disconnected. Claire stared at the wall, heart pounding, every moment from this one bringing her closer to the end. She had been expecting it for a long time, surprised as each decade went by that she still remained undiscovered, unmolested. Safe.

She could not have chosen a better reason for her sacrifice. It would save her best friend.

Dropping the phone, she stood, and turned to find both men staring at her through the glass. She moved forward, unlocked the door, opened it, and looked at each of them.

"I'm going to need your help."

*

Claire kept her gaze on Marcus while she explained, without actually using the words that would make it crystal clear to Eric. She wanted to delay the moment she would see the revulsion in his face for as long as she could.

"We only have an hour, and that includes travel time to the cliffs, so we need to get started. I don't know how long this will—"

"You cannot do this, Claire." Marcus grabbed her arm, started to pull her aside for what she knew would be a persuasive argument.

"It is already done. I just need you to help me—I need you to—" Unable to continue, she met his eyes, relieved that she saw only anger there. "I can't touch what I need to use to break the ward, and I will need time—to adjust when you release—"

"Stop." He cradled her face, let out a sigh. "Whatever you need. How long has it been?"

"Eighty years."

"Gods." He scrubbed at his face. "How strong were you?"

"I was what you would call a first lieutenant, before I was banished. I answered to only two, and my master was one of them."

"Who, Claire."

She swallowed, braced herself, and whispered the name.

"Azazel."

It hung in the air, as if the name itself had weight, substance. She knew saying it pushed at the door that Natasha cracked open, but Marcus had the right to know what he was up against.

"Were you one of the fallen?" She closed her eyes briefly, nodded. "You must be at the top of the most hunted list."

She let out a harsh laugh. "At the very least."

"I will gather what we need to—"

"Plan on letting me in on the joke?" They turned around at Eric's voice. He watched them, arms crossed, anger and fear rolling off him. "What the hell is going on?"

"Eric." Claire crossed over to him, touched his wrist. "I'm going to need your help, and it is going to be for something you'll have a hard time believing in. The knife has to be iron," she called after Marcus as he headed for the door, ignoring the wash of dread at the thought of iron touching her. "Solid, if you can find it. And hurry, Marcus, please."

"Claire." Eric moved back, out of touching range. She didn't expect the rejection to hurt as much as it did. "What are you saying—"

"I am a demon." She held his gaze, watched the shock, the disbelief flare in the blue depths. "And the woman you know as Natasha—she's a demon as well. She killed your sister to buy her way home."

"Right." He laughed, the sound hollow. "And the next thing you're going to say is you're her meal ticket home."

"Got it on the first go." She held her ground when he stumbled backward, his face white. "I am so sorry, Eric. If I had known, I would have stopped her. But my power—it's buried behind a ward, and I didn't see her for what she was until I came face to face. By then it was too late, for your sister. For more people that we most likely don't know about."

"And you want me to—"

"Break the ward."

He rubbed one hand over his mouth. "Why me?"

"Because." Marcus stalked toward them, his hands full. "You are the only human in the room."

*

Eric needed to sit down after that revelation.

He actually needed to run as far as he could as fast as he could, but Annie was still in danger, and his only way to find her meant sticking with the two people watching him. The two people who weren't people.

"I'm sorry for the shock, Eric," Claire said. "But we don't have the time to be gentle—"

"Annie—" He didn't want to believe that she wasn't the vibrant person he had fallen hard for, that she wasn't human—but he had to know.

"As human as you, Eric. She has power, but it is the pure power of a white witch."

"A—witch." That explained the effect she had on him, when he was—not himself.

"Don't you dare hold that against her. She is the most compassionate, loving person I know. And she has no idea what I—she doesn't know about me." Claire closed her eyes briefly, then stepped back, her voice all business. She stripped off her jacket, started unbuttoning her shirt. "The office will work best—it's a confined space, and you can use the desk to bind me."

God protect me—

He turned on Marcus. "And what the hell are you? Another demon?"

"I am Jinn—and there is no time to tell you all I am."

They looked the same—no sudden transformation just because he knew the truth. How was he supposed to believe when they looked just like they did before he knew—

"I can't do this."

Claire turned on him so fast he didn't have time to retreat. Fingers dug into his wrist—fingers that shouldn't have been that strong.

"You are the only one who can. I'm so sorry—but you are the only one who can help me save Annie." Still holding on to him, she turned to Marcus. "What did you find?"

He dumped his supplies on the desk, picked up a small tool.

"This was the only iron with a point I could find." He held what looked like a screwdriver with a long, narrow point. "It is an awl, and not very sharp. I am sorry, Claire."

"It will do." She touched the coil of grease-stained rope. "You can tie me to the desk with this. Let's get it done."

Marcus grabbed her wrist. "I will not tie you down like an animal—"

"I will be the closest thing to it. Eighty years is a long time to bury my true nature." She let go of Eric, laid her hand on Marcus's chest. "I don't want to hurt anyone, not until I can get it under control. Please do this for me."

Marcus rubbed one hand over his face, nodded. "Eric, I will need you here."

Fear jumped in his gut. He stared at them, wanting to believe they were the same people who saved him from Natasha's influence, when he knew now they weren't even human—

"Eric?" Claire's quiet voice jerked him out of his runaway thoughts. "We're running out of time."

For Annie. He nodded, kept her in the front of his mind, and moved to the desk.

"What do I have to do?"

*

Eric's hand shook as he gripped the awl. Claire got her way; she lay across the desk, her shirt open and pulled up out of the way, the rope looped underneath to tie off her hands and feet. Filtered light from the only window streaked across her bare torso. Eric had to keep reminding himself to breathe, flashbacks of Katelyn threatening to seize him up.

Claire's jeans were already open, exposing the tattoo on her right hipbone: a pentacle, the circle created by stylized red and gold flames. Words etched each side of the gold pentagram, in a language he didn't recognize.

Marcus laid his hand over her wrist. "Ready?"

She took in a shaky breath, swallowing as she looked up at him. "No. But it has to be done. Eric." Her gaze moved to him. "I need you to shut out everything but your goal. You have to cut across the tattoo completely, one unbroken line. And you'll have to cut deep; I had the pentagram re-inked every few years." She gave him wry smile. "I'll try to keep the screaming to a minimum."

He let out a hoarse laugh, then rubbed one hand over his mouth. "Claire—will you—" He cleared his throat. "Will you—"

"Change into some monster?" He nodded, hating himself for the horror movie images that flashed into his mind. "Not externally. I will look like me, but the demon who spent thousands of years in Hell will be doing the talking."

"Thousands—God—"

"Won't be helping me with this. Now, Eric, before I lose my nerve." The quiet plea in her voice pulled at him.

Nodding, he stepped to the edge of the desk, laid his left hand on her right thigh. She sucked in her breath when the tip of the awl touched her skin. Horror gripped him when that skin started to sizzle.

Claire jerked under his hand, and he snatched the tip away.

"No—" She took in a gasping breath. "Don't stop—I can only go through this once."

Eric looked at her, then up to Marcus. The anguish in the man's green eyes smacked him. He let out his breath, tightened his grip on the wood handle, and leaned over her again.

"Forgive me," he whispered. And dug the tip into her skin.

Claire screamed, tried to recoil. There was nowhere for her to go. Jaw clenched, Eric dragged the tip across her tattoo, cutting slow—too slow—through the sun flames. The acrid smell of burning skin clogged his nose; her gasping screams scraped his nerves.

He focused on moving as fast as he could. The fact that the iron burned her made it easier to move the otherwise useless tool. It also kept the bleeding down, but enough charred blood leaked out of the blackened skin to make him want to gag.

The screams died down to panting gasps. And she started to whisper in a language that sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Sweat slipped down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, clenched his shaking fingers, and kept digging his way across the tattoo.

He hit the edge of the flames on the opposite side—and with a single flick of her finger Claire sent him flying across the office and out the open doorway. He hit the floor hard and slid until he smacked up against a steel pillar. Impact knocked the breath out of him. Fighting to get it back, afraid to leave Marcus alone with whatever he set free, Eric forced himself to move, surprised to find the awl still gripped in his hand. He decided hanging on to it was a good idea.

Using the pillar as a support, he stood, his ribs aching from their collision with the steel. He stumbled to the office door—just in time to see Claire break the rope like it was paper and slide off the desk with the same deadly grace he remembered from Natasha.

"Free." She laughed. The sound of it raised the hairs on the back of his neck. "How could I have locked myself away like that—over a moment of guilt? Move one more inch, Jinn, and I will return you to the smoke and sand you came from."

Marcus froze behind her, a small wrench clutched in one hand. Eric guessed it was iron.

"Claire." Marcus didn't flinch when she spun to face him. The same cold power emanated from her that Eric saw surrounding Natasha. "Remember why you have done this."

The hand she raised to hurl some torment at him stilled. Then it started to shake.

"Annie," she whispered. "How could I—drop the iron, Eric, before I drop you." Claire glanced over her shoulder—and Eric jerked. Her eyes were silver, the blue swallowed by the almost pulsing color. "I need what strength I can keep, after you freed me with that damned thing. Now drop it."

He let it slip out of his hand. The awl clattered against the cement, and Claire stepped back as it bounced toward her. Marcus wrapped both arms around her, pinned her arms to her sides and lifted her off her feet.

She screamed, kicked back, her heel smacking his leg. Marcus winced, but he kept moving until he trapped her against the glass wall. Eric saw the small iron wrench in his back pocket, which explained why he had any control over her. He must have slipped it there when Eric had her attention.

"From this moment, demon, you will squelch you desire for violence, and torture, and control, and focus on the reason you are putting yourself through this. Until we reach Natasha you will behave, or I will use whatever means necessary to do it for you."

"I got it, Jinn. Let go of me—the iron in your pocket is making my injury throb like a bad tooth." She took in a deep breath, and her next words sounded like the Claire Eric knew—before. "Please, Marcus. We are running out of time. And my strength is not what it was."

He freed her, one hand on the wrench as he backed away. Claire turned, slowly, and Eric flinched when he saw the blood staining the front of her still opened jeans. She zipped them, gasping as the fabric brushed against the ragged wound. When she looked up, the blue had returned to her eyes.

"Thank you," she said, her voice raw. "Thank you for believing, when you could have just as easily tied me up and dragged me to Natasha."

Marcus smiled. "It would have been easier."

"I do have one more favor to ask of you."

Marcus leaned in when she whispered, and both eyebrows rose. "We can take the time for that. It will be a surprise for Natasha, and an unpleasant one."

"That's the idea." Her laugh sounded rusty. "Let's go. It's time to get Annie back, free my cousin, and send the demon riding her back to Hell."

Chapter Fifteen

Claire sat in the backseat of Marcus' Jaguar, swallowing a scream when her jeans shifted over the gash on her hip. It took every ounce of control she had not to let her true nature take over.

The freedom, the power that flooded her when her barrier had been breached almost turned her back into that grasping creature. Into the demon who spent hundreds of years taking out the pain of banishment on humans who could not defend against her.

Until Claire—the real Claire—crashed into the demon's existence. The child who fought for her life in a river, trapped in a sinking car while her parents died before her eyes. The child who became a demon's salvation.

The demon that innocent child saved was hiding in a cave not far from the accident, licking her wounds after facing off with another demon who decided she would be the one to open the way home for him.

The body she rode was dying, and would finish the job the moment she left it. She was about to shed that body when she heard the screaming.

It took the last of the strength in her borrowed body, but the demon pulled a young girl out of the car that was nearly submerged in the deep, icy river. She couldn't save the girl, but she couldn't leave her to die, not alone. The compassion of the woman she possessed helped her remember her own, buried under centuries of hate and despair. The demon had been one of the blessed once, created and cherished by a beloved Father, before she gave away all that she was in a moment of rebellion. In the end she joined her brother Lucifer, and became one of the fallen.

When the girl Claire died in her arms, the demon made a vow to bury her true nature forever. To do what she could to make amends, by living as human, helping where she could. To do that, she needed a body.

On that cold winter night, the demon became Claire Wiche, twelve-year-old orphan, saved by a woman who had died in the effort.

"Claire." Marcus' quiet voice yanked her out of the past. "We are here."

"I'm going in first. Alone. No argument—it's what she expects, and I want to make sure Annie is all right before the cavalry rides in."

She waited until both men nodded, clearly unhappy, and got out of the car.

Wind whipped at her, tossed hair around her until she gathered it in one hand. The other hand held the only weapon against Natasha that she dared to bring.

Ignoring the goose bumps on her arms, she moved across the grass, pausing when a keep away spell slapped at her. She took in a breath and pushed through it. The only retaliation was the sensation of icy fingers dragging across her skin. She considered herself lucky, and headed to the clump of trees near the cliff. The first thing she saw was Annie, tied to the closest tree and slumped over.

No—no no no—

She ran, and dropped to her knees beside Annie, the horrible déjà vu strangling her. Shaking fingers reached out—and Annie let out a harsh gasp when Claire touched her.

"Claire? Oh, God no—you have to get out of here—"

"Not without you." She pulled the rope apart that secured Annie around the waist with her bare hands, looked up to meet the terrified brown eyes. "I'll explain later. Can you walk?"

"I think—with help."

"You've always got mine." Laughter echoed in her head—mocking laughter, as her true self pushed at the mental barrier. "Marcus and Eric are waiting for you—they will get you out of—"

"Starting the party without me?" Natasha stepped out of the shadows. "I am crushed by your rudeness, Claire. Ahhh." Her satisfied purr sent icy fingers down Claire's spine. "So you did as promised. Now I get to meet the legend. The demon thrown out of Hell because she learned how to care."

Annie stilled beside her. Closing her eyes briefly, Claire stood, faced Natasha.

"I still care."

"And I counted on that." Natasha strode to the edge of the cliff, the long hem of her green dress dragging through the grass. She yanked a black cloth off what Claire recognized all too well—the tools to summon a gate. A gate to Hell. All she needed was the talisman she held, and a silver knife coated with the blood of another greater demon. Claire's blood. "Your little human friend is free to go. She has served her purpose."

"Claire?" Annie's strangled whisper tore at her heart. "Is that true?"

"Please go, Annie." She kept her gaze on Natasha, couldn't bear to see the revulsion in her friend's eyes. Not now. "Go!"

She heard footsteps running away from her. When Natasha looked over one shoulder to watch Annie, Claire shifted her position, until she felt the wind at her back.

"Alone again, Claire." Natasha taunted her, the nasty little voice she remembered grating over her patience. "It is for the best, since you are going home."

"Not today."

Claire popped open the silver flask of holy water and aimed for Natasha's face. The water splashed over her, aided by the wind. Natasha screamed as the blessed water burned everywhere it touched. Blood and water dripped off her chin, her face not as lovely now, with burns streaking over the pale skin.

"You bitch!" She ran—not at Claire, but toward the impromptu altar. Claire's heart jumped in her chest, and she went after Natasha. "I only planned to take you with me, but now I'm going to claim every damn soul I can touch! They are all on you, but they will be my gift to Azazel." She grabbed a silver knife and swung around. Claire stopped, out of stabbing range. "And you will be the big, fat bow on top."

With a furious scream she flew at Claire. The knife glanced off Claire's upraised arm. Pain shot through her. She ducked under Natasha's arms and drove one shoulder into her stomach. Breath whooshed out of Natasha's lungs, and the momentum carried them both across the grass. Claire slammed her into the nearest tree, danced backward.

Natasha recovered faster than she expected. Another scream soundtracked her lunge forward. It changed from furious to frustrated when Claire evaded her. Claire's arm throbbed, blood slicking her right hand. She shook off the pain, wiped her hand dry and circled Natasha, scenting her weakness—and found the talisman, hanging from a chain and tucked inside Natasha's bodice. With the right spell, that talisman would attach its power to every soul in a mile radius and drag them to Hell.

If it cost her life, she would destroy that talisman.

She leapt forward and punched Natasha, hitting the water burned cheek with her fist. As Natasha crumpled with an agonized scream, Claire grabbed for the chain. The protective ward she expected burned her palm. Sucking in a harsh breath, she yanked hard. The chain broke, the talisman sliding off it and bouncing in the grass.

Both of them lunged forward. Claire got there first, fingers closing over the goat's head—and let out a scream when the knife sliced into her back.

"Mine, demon." Natasha pried the talisman out of her pain-frozen fingers, jerked the knife free. "And now I have everything I need."

She staggered toward the altar, Claire's blood dripping off the blade.

No— Shoving herself up, Claire took a step before her body betrayed her. She fell against the nearest tree, knife-torn muscle clenching, blood soaking her shirt, taking her strength with it.

Natasha knelt in front of the altar, lifted the talisman and the blood drenched knife. The ancient Latin raised the hair on Claire's arms. She dredged up the last of her strength, pushed herself up, and stumbled to Natasha.

Wind blasted her, knocked her off her feet—and she watched with horror as a gate opened in front of her. It swallowed the sun, fire licking the edges of the gaping, unnatural hole that hovered at the edge of the cliff. Keep moving—I still have time—

She crawled forward. Lost in the spell, Natasha didn't sense her. Until Claire ripped the talisman out of her hand.

"NO!" Natasha's scream followed the talisman as it flew into the mouth of the gate. Back to Hell, where it belonged.

Claire faced her—and her heart stopped when she saw three figures appear out of the shadows.

Natasha felt them. Her head whipped around, a smile curving her burned lips.

"I will have at least three more to offer, along with you."

Natasha raised her arms, began a different chant—one that had all three of her friends dropping to the ground in agony.

Claire pushed herself to her hands and knees, breathless and lightheaded from that single move. Please, Father, if you ever listen to the prayers of the damned, hear me now.

Claire gathered herself, got to her feet, and moved behind Natasha. "You are done here, demon," she said. Natasha whirled. The chant cut off, and Claire felt life, strength flow back into her friends. "Time to start paying for your sins."

"You first."

Claire gasped as Natasha plunged the knife into her, the hilt slamming against her ribs. Beyond the rage of the pain she heard Annie scream. Be well, my friend. Both arms wrapped around Natasha, a true death grip. Her cousin fought wildly to free herself, terror replacing the smug in her silvered eyes as she realized what Claire meant to do. Claire smiled at her, dragging her to the gate. Every step jarred the knife, agony blurring her vision. She turned to face the ocean, Natasha still fighting and clawing in her embrace.

"Let's go home, cousin."

Closing her eyes, she stepped off the cliff.

Chapter Sixteen

The two women tumbled into the fire-edged void. With a sound like a giant taking in a breath, the void collapsed in on itself, leaving behind a low hanging sun in a twilight sky.

"CLAIRE!" Annie's scream echoed in the sudden silence. She leapt forward. Eric caught her around the waist, held on to her when she kicked and clawed. "No—we have to go after her—we can't let her—Claire . . ." Sobs tore through her voice, doubled her over.

Eric lowered her to the ground, gathered her in his arms. She clutched him, refusing to believe, to think, to feel.

"Hush, Annie. One breath at a time; take it one breath at a time." Eric rocked her, running gentle fingers through her hair, then down her back in a continuous, soothing rhythm. "She's gone, honey—no," he said when she struggled to free herself. "You need to hear this. She deserves for you to listen."

Annie raised her head, hearing the grief tear at his voice.

Tears slipped down his face, but he gave his attention to comforting her. "You're right," she whispered, her throat so tight she could barely squeeze the words out. "Marcus—where's Marcus?"

Eric eased his grip, gestured with his chin. Annie turned her head and found him. Standing at the edge of the cliff, Marcus stared out past the water, the wind blowing hair around his shoulders. Grief etched lines into his face—lines that hadn't been there before.

As if he felt their gaze on him, he turned and moved to them. Lowering himself to one knee, he cradled Annie's cheek.

"Are you all right?" She shook her head, fresh tears blurring her vision. Marcus leaned forward, kissed her forehead. "She sacrificed all for us, took the demon to Hell to keep us safe. Remember that, remember her, and she will never be truly gone."

"Oh, bullshit." His eyes widened. Annie wiped at her cheeks, anger whipping through the grief. "She's gone, damn it. Dead. I don't want to hear any pretty speeches about keeping her alive in my heart. I want to scream, and pound something, and rage about how much it absolutely sucks."

Marcus raised one eyebrow. "You do have a way with words."

She let out a hollow laugh. "Thanks." Looking at each of them, she saw the pain, the exhaustion she felt stamped on their faces. "We were dying, weren't we."

Marcus let out his breath. "Natasha was chanting an ancient spell. If she completed it, she would have ripped our souls out and carried them with her to Hell."

"God." Annie sighed, let in what she had been pushing away since she had been told. "Claire was a—demon."

Eric tightened the arm around her waist. "I'm still trying to wrap my mind around that, and I saw her—change."

"She's the kindest person I've ever known." Annie eased out of Eric's grip, pushing to her feet. "And that's how I'm going to remember her. How everyone is going to remember her. Got that?" Anger shoved down the grief, made it easier to breathe.

"No argument here," Eric said. "I owe her my life."

Marcus stood. "We need to dismantle the altar, make certain there is nothing left behind for someone to stumble into." He looked at her. "Can you help me with that?"

Annie lifted her chin. "Bet your ass."

He laughed, a real laugh. It eased the cold fist clenching her heart. "Come, then. Once we take some time, I will show you a trick or two. Your power can be nurtured or neglected. I am of the mind that Claire would want it nurtured."

Annie looked over at Eric. "Now you know—I'm a witch."

He studied her face, and she felt heat flush her cheeks.

"Yeah, now I know."

She let out her breath, not sure if she was disappointed or relieved by his bland reaction. "So, are you up for helping?"

"I don't—I won't be any use—"

"Of course you will," Marcus said. "You can wash out the bowls."

The comment pulled a smile. To Annie's surprise, Eric took her hand as the three of them walked to the edge of the cliff, kneeling in front of the altar. Annie swallowed when she saw what was assembled on the length of velvet.

"Natasha was going to do some big nasty, wasn't she?" She glanced up at Marcus. "I heard enough to know she meant to take more than Claire with her."

Eric spoke, his voice low. "She was going to buy her way home." Annie looked at him, the anguish on his face twisting into her. "Katelyn was the first offering. Claire was supposed to be the last—God, why didn't I remember that before now? I could have warned her—"

"And she would have done the exact same thing." Annie twined their fingers together. "Because she protects the people she loves. God, I'm going to miss her." Her voice broke over the last words, fresh tears blurring her eyes. "Damn it—let's get this done." She rubbed at her eyes. "I want to get the hell out of here."

Chapter Seventeen

Annie spent the next few days in a haze of grief. She had a sign printed for the store to announce that it was closing for good, and didn't have the heart to put it up.

She wandered around the streets of Santa Luna, not seeing anything but the last moments of Claire's life, blaming herself. Claire ended up on that cliff because of her. Because she was stupid enough to let Natasha catch her.

When that didn't tear her up, the fact that Claire had been hiding who she really was, what she really was, ate at her. Why didn't Claire trust her enough to tell her? The list of reasons kept her up at night.

She reported Claire as a missing person to the local police when enough time had passed. She moved into Claire's house, gladly giving up her apartment, not wanting the house to sit vacant, vulnerable.

To compensate for the fact that she could no longer wear an earring in her right ear, she had her left ear pierced again, and wore two simple amethyst studs, because they helped her feel closer to Claire.

Slowly, she started picking up the pieces of her shattered life. And set them aside, because she couldn't bear the pain of putting that life back together.

Eric stayed, moving to a hotel in town, spending more nights with her than in his hotel room. She cried in his arms every night, and refused to talk to him the rest of the time. Annie knew he worried about her, but she didn't have the strength or the heart to talk about Claire.

Until two weeks into her self-imposed penance, Marcus showed up on her doorstep.

*

"Still hiding, are we?"

"Go to hell, Marcus." She started to close the door. He caught it with one hand, pushed it back open. "Damn it, I want to be left alone—"

"Do you?" His voice was low, gentle, and it broke through the wall she managed to build against the world. She backed away from him, tears lodged in her throat. He followed her, closing the door behind him. "Is this how you want to honor Claire? By hiding away and trying to forget her?"

"I'm not—"

Grief and fury choked her. She whirled away from him, staring out the window at the darkness. He was right. But she wasn't trying to forget Claire—just the life she had when her friend was alive. How could she live, day to day, with the weight of the guilt on her heart?

"By living one moment at a time." She spun to face Marcus when he spoke, her heart pounding.

"How did you know—"

"It's a gift. Come here, Annie."

He held out one hand, and with a choked sob she threw herself into his arms. His low voice wrapped around her as she cried, the words soothing her grief. When her knees buckled he picked her up and carried her to the sofa, cradling her until she came up for air.

"Sorry." She used the sleeve of her robe to wipe her face. "I really didn't want to cry all over you."

"I am flattered you trust me enough to do so."

A laugh escaped her. "Yeah, I guess I do. Eric told me you reopened the store."

He shrugged. "It—hurt me, to see it sitting empty. I can answer questions well enough."

"And charm the money right out of every female's wallet."

A smile crossed his face. "Charm was not needed."

She smacked his arm. "Egomaniac." But he made her smile, something she hadn't done since that night. "So, people are coming in? Are they—do they—"

"Ask about Claire?" She nodded, tears stinging her eyes again. "Every day. But they seem to be getting used to seeing me there. I came here tonight to ask you to join me."

Panic threatened to close her throat. "At the store? I can't—"

"Your knowledge of the finer points of the craft would be appreciated. And I know you did the occasional tarot reading. I am hopeless at that, and there are regulars who keep asking when it will be possible—"

"Okay, stop nagging. I'll do it." Instead of feeling more panic, a weight lifted off her heart. "Besides, Claire would kill me if I let all her hard work go under." Leaning against the back of the sofa, she pushed lank curls off her forehead. "Can you give me one more day? I'm not stalling," she said when he opened his mouth. "I need to take care of some business."

Marcus took her hand. She couldn't believe she thought he was an ass. No man had been more patient, or kicked her butt when she needed it.

"You take all the time you need. As long as you are in the shop bright and early, let us say . . ." A smile crossed his face. "The day after tomorrow."

"Slave driver. Thank you, Marcus. Eric is leaving soon, and I need—hell, you don't want to know all the boring details."

"He told me. I am sorry, Annie."

She waved away his apology. "I already cried enough over that, thanks. I know he needs time, and he needs to be away from the reminders of—well, everything. Working will help. So, boss." She gave him a shaky smile. "I'll be in bright and early."

*

"I've got you down for tomorrow morning, Mildred." Annie herded her toward the door, plucking the love candle out of her hand. "We'll see just how he feels about you then."

She closed and locked the door, then leaned against it, letting out a sigh. Marcus smiled at her, but she was too tired to curse him for sticking her with the old woman. They had another manic day. It had been that way for the past two weeks—for some reason, Claire's disappearance increased the number of customers walking through the door. Morbid curiosity, Annie figured. She resented the reason, but she couldn't resent the money they brought with them. Claire's legacy would flourish, and that was all that mattered—

A knock on the door yanked her out of her thoughts. She turned around and saw Eric standing there, hands in his pockets, the breeze tousling his sun streaked hair. Her heart jumped in her throat. She managed to forget during the madness of the day that he was leaving tonight. Unlocking the door, she let him in.

"Hey." He leaned in and kissed her. The touch of his lips left her tingling. "Another busy day?"

"Insane. I'm wiped out." She grabbed his hand. "Come and sit. My feet are killing me."

Annie led him to the reading table in the back, left Marcus to close out the register. She sank into the padded chair, slipped off her shoes and let out a sigh. Eric lifted her legs and settled both feet in his lap, fingers massaging her aching arch. She leaned back in the chair.

"Oh, that feels fantastic. I love you."

His hands paused, then kept massaging. "Right back at you, blondie."

Her heart stuttered, then hit fast forward. She pulled out of his grip, swung her legs to the floor.

"Do you mean that?"

He met her gaze. "I don't say anything I don't mean. You should know that by now."

"And you don't care—" She forced herself to continue, because she had to say it. He had to hear it. "That I'm a witch?"

Eric cradled her cheek. "I'm thinking it will just make my life more interesting."

Tears stung her eyes. "Oh, damn. How did I get so lucky?" She crawled into his lap, buried her face in his shoulder. "Can you say—"

"I love you, Annie."

Letting out a sigh, she tightened her grip on him. "Great way to say goodbye."

He kissed the top of her head. "You know I would stay, but I need time—"

"Eric." She lifted her head, framed his face. "We've been through something that would break down a strong person. I'd be worried if you didn't need the time. God knows I'll miss you, but I understand, and I'll try not to embarrass myself when we say goodbye."

"I'm going to miss you, more than I expected to."

Annie smiled. "Good."

She kissed him, like they had all the time in the world, forgetting Marcus, forgetting everything but the feel of his lips, his tongue, the warmth of his breath. When they came up for air, a discreet cough turned her head around.

Marcus leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

"What?" she said.

"It is time."

"Right." She kissed Eric one last time, slid off his lap. "You're all packed?"

"Bags are already in his car."

"Okay." She took his hand. And held her other hand out to Marcus. "Come here." He obeyed without asking why. Annie looked at each one of them, managed a smile. "I want us to make a promise, right here. No matter what happens, we stay connected. Wherever we happen to be." Her gaze moved to Eric, and tears filled her eyes. "We will always—"

"Promise," Eric said, pulling her into his side. He let go of her hand, wrapped his arm around her waist, kissed her cheek. "What about you, old man?"

Marcus bent over her hand and kissed it. "You have my word."

"I think Claire would approve—not of you running her store," she said to Marcus. "Though she may hate it less than she thinks. And there I go again, talking about her like she's in the next room." Annie took in a shaky breath, tugged Marcus forward. "She'd be happy, knowing we aren't alone. Okay." She let go of Marcus' hand, swallowed past the tears lodged in her throat. "Get out of here."

Eric turned her in his arms, slid both hands in her hair, and kissed her until she couldn't think straight.

"I'll call you when I get there," he said, his breath warm against her still healing ear. Then he kissed that ear, making her shudder. "God, I'll miss you."

He pulled away and walked to the back of the store, glancing over his shoulder before he stepped through the door. Annie let out a sigh, turned away. Marcus pulled her into a quick, welcome embrace.

"I will be back soon. Dinner?"

"Sure. I'll wait here for you."

She watched them get into Marcus' Jaguar, the engine purring like a big cat before it roared out of sight. Rubbing her eyes, she dropped into the chair and rested her forehead on her crossed arms.

She almost told them, wanted to tell them so badly. But she wasn't sure how to put into words what she knew in her heart. What the dreams that woke her in a cold sweat kept telling her.

Claire was alive.

The End

To continue the series with A Gathering of Angels now, click here to visit the author's website: catedeanwrites.com/claire-wiche

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##    
Drowning Mermaids  
Sacred Breath  
Book One  
By Nadia Scrieva

##

##

Chapter One

"To our lost friend."

"To Leander. I hope he's in a better place than this—one with more tolerable temperatures."

"So anywhere? Including hell?"

"I'm not sure what I believe about the afterlife," the young man responded thoughtfully, "but I am positive that the fires of Hades are a tropical paradise compared to Alaska."

The older man laughed at this, temporarily transforming his sorrowful face. "Cheers, kid."

"Cheers, Captain." The two men nodded at each other solemnly before clinking their mugs together. The younger one took a long, satisfying swig of the brew before smiling in appreciation. "You know, this club is a lot wilder than I expected. I figure if I'm going to kill myself for money, I might as well spend it on some quality entertainment in the downtime."

"Kid," said the grey-haired man, shaking his head disapprovingly, "too much of this kind of 'entertainment' will be the precise thing that gets you killed on the job if you're not careful."

"I've been lucky in my life so far. I don't intend for that to change. Want to get a seat closer to the stage, Captain?"

"No, thanks, Arnav. You go ahead. My leg's aching something awful."

"An excellent excuse to save your dollar bills!" Arnav joked before clapping his friend on the back and heading to the center of the action.

Captain Trevain Murphy leaned back in his chair, mulling over the details of the previous days. He had always been fortunate on the waters; he had always somehow scraped by until the end of the season without a single casualty.

He was a firm believer in not allowing the sea to collect the souls of his men. Although they took their food from the sea's open mouth, he did not believe it was necessary to offer up human sacrifices for this privilege. He had stayed in business long enough without appeasing any pagan gods—and he was quite certain that the gods did not pay close attention to Alaska anyway. Trevain did not accept that losses were bound to happen as most others did. He held that they were the result of carelessness and inefficiency, and he chose his men cautiously to avoid having either of these blights on his boat.

The conditions of Leander's demise had been strange. The captain had begun to wonder in the moments before the incident whether the man had been feeling all that well.

"Did you hear a strange noise, Captain?" Leander had asked in his suspicious but respectful manner.

Trevain had briefly paused, as if to listen, to satisfy the man. Perhaps his mind had been too occupied with the remaining tasks on board, but he had heard nothing. "Just the whistling of the wind, Leo. A storm's not far off, but we'll be home long before it hits. Why are you so agitated?"

"I just... I swear I saw something in the water earlier."

"Like what?"

"I don't know." Leander had been so tense that he twitched when Arnav dropped a coil of rope a few feet away from him. "I am a bit tired and feverish. Might just be coming down with something and seeing things."

"Just relax—we'll be back to shore soon. A hot meal and a warm bed will fix you right up, son." Now, in retrospect, his own words made him cringe.

The weather had been benevolent while the day had unfolded smoothly. There was no way that Trevain could have expected anything unusual on such a humdrum fishing trip. After hauling up the pots and completing all of the most grueling tasks, the crew had begun to bask in their communal sense of accomplishment and good cheer. They had been turning the ship around and preparing to head home when the first mate, Doughlas, had noticed that Leander was missing. None of the men could find him below or above deck, and no one had shouted for a man overboard. Everyone had been puzzled, and Trevain had felt the first pangs of true panic he'd experienced in over thirty years. Leander had just seemed to vanish.

The crew had suggested that the young man they fondly called "Leo" might be taking a nap somewhere. It had been a long trip on the water, and the seasoned seamen were used to working inhuman hours. They had considered that he had been hiding or trying to pull some strange kind of prank. It had only taken a few hours for the Magician's temperament to progress from mildly amused to generally annoyed and finally to disbelieving and appalled. It was hard to accept that a man was dead when there were no details to process regarding the incident. Nothing to examine, nothing to understand.

The last person to speak with Leander had been Edwin, the Canadian. When asked about the conversation repeatedly by the crew, Edwin lost his cool at having to revisit, dozens of times, that Leander had only told him that he was going to take a leak. The Canadian had cursed incessantly, while wiping tears from his eyes with his sleeves. "I thought it was safe enough for him to go to the fucking washroom on his own. I didn't think he was in danger of drowning while urinating! Toilet monsters that grab you by the wang and pull you down to a horrifying death-by-piss haven't exactly been my major concern since preschool."

Now the men were drowning their woes in women and booze. They loved the occasional sojourn in Soldotna for that purpose, but their woes usually did not require such a substantial sloshing to be adequately submerged.

As Captain Murphy sat in a secluded corner of the strip club, he frowned until his face creased with dozens of dismal trenches. The lines deepened and intersected to create a roadmap leading to nowhere as he inwardly labored to find the path to understanding how he had lost a man. He had always prided himself on being able to bring men home to their wives and children at the end of the season. Leander had been young, and had no children depending on him—but he had a girlfriend that he had spoken of often, one whom he had hoped to marry. He also had loving parents. There had been an established place for him in the world which had now collapsed.

No obvious, detrimental mistake had been made and no miscalculations could be identified. There was no one to punish or blame. Trevain could not yell at the men to reinforce or avoid a certain action in the future to prevent this from occurring again. There was nothing to correct, there was no lesson to be learned. Nothing had really gone wrong. It had been a random, quiet, shadowlike loss.

Had Leander just decided to dive off the side of the boat when no one was looking, just for the hell of it? Had he plunged himself into the cold depths to see how far he could swim down into the sea before he sucked in a breath of saltwater? These were the types of scenarios that floated through the captain's mind as he tried to imagine what had happened to the deckhand. The situation seemed that crazy. Trevain couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. There had been some kind of major change in the seas since he was a boy, and he no longer knew the waters as well as he always felt he had.

The ocean was not usually quiet and mercenary-like in her brutality. There had always been plenty of fanfare to announce her burgeoning rage. The sky would use its whole canvas to display a bloodbath of remarkable colors in unmistakable warning. Trevain had always interpreted the message correctly: "She is ravenous. Do not go out to fish today. She will rape you." It had very little to do with the weather—of course bad weather presented a technical danger. Trevain was more concerned with some quality he could not quite describe, but could intuitively feel and gauge—bad energy, perhaps.

Oftentimes the crew would call him silly and superstitious. Trevain would patiently point out other signs of trouble as he sternly forbade the men to sail. Large, dark birds like falcons and eagles would leave their secret roosts and venture out, flying in erratic and confused patterns over the shoreline as if trying to discern the source of an unknown crisis. There might be a certain mournful sound in the wind or a certain morbid chill in the air. It was as if everything on the planet was privy to some knowledge that escaped Trevain. Everything was pulsating with the excitement of some indefinite impending carnage. Trevain felt that being human automatically precluded him from being on nature's mailing list for memos about this sort of thing, but he would not allow that disadvantage to cripple him.

"We have all lost touch with nature," Trevain would lecture threateningly, pointing at his only Inuit crew member, "yes, even you Ujarak." The accused man would shrug his innocence and chomp down on his cigar nervously as the captain continued his tirade. "If your greed for a few dollars is greater than your inclination to live, then by all means, go out and fish! Be my guest, take the boat." Trevain would turn around and march away from the docks, with a parting wave and a mocking challenge, "Go out and fish!"

Of course, no one did.

One by one, the crew would lose their motivation for the intended trip. Without a tenacious leader to rally them, they would disband within minutes and trickle off into homes, bars, and hotel rooms. Sure enough, by the time they gathered again they would have heard of at least one accident or casualty on another fishing boat. They would return to work with the high morale that came from knowing they had escaped the ultimate misfortune. They would hastily remove their hats when speaking of the lost or injured man, and have their faith in their captain renewed to the greatest magnitude.

For decades, although men had come and gone from his crew, that was the way things had worked. Until Leander. Until a few days ago when Captain Murphy had been unable to inform his crew of impending danger. He had not noticed any distress in the birds, the sky, or the winds. His usual indicators had failed him. It was as if even they had been unaware of the ocean's ire.

Maybe Leo was just mentally unstable, the captain thought to himself. I could have overlooked something when I hired him—maybe he was hallucinating, and he saw or heard something which caused him to jump overboard and dive to his death when we were all occupied. Maybe it was just a singular event. Something out of my control.

As he tried to mentally reassure himself, he leaned back and drank deeply of his cold beer. He did not feel very reassured. Smiling wryly, he imagined that he suddenly understood what it was like to be a veteran master of some now obsolete technology: that which he had been most intimate with had gone and innovated itself on him. Yes, he was fairly certain there had been some kind of eerie change in the seas he had come to know so well, and he was pretty sure that it did not have anything to do with global warming.

Chapter Two

Captain Murphy had not intended to even glance at the stage.

While his shipmates found the hollering and raucous energy of the crowd distracting and healing, he felt that remaining silent in a corner while slowly nursing his drink was a better way to pay homage to the memory of his shipmate. Staring very hard at the droplets of condensation gathering on his glass, and following them as they trickled down into a little pool on his coaster, was his manner of protest.

Why should he seek to experience anything resembling fun when Leander no longer could? The man had been robbed of his life while working under his watch. Trevain was the ship's captain—the ultimate authority: God of his boat. This made him ultimately responsible. He felt it more than ever as he lifted the cold beer to his lips again for a long swig.

The last simple, coherent thought he would remember having before his mind was plunged into a war with itself for fourteen minutes and twenty three seconds was that he definitely needed to get something stronger.

He really had not meant to look.

However, sometimes a word of certain significance can draw a man out of his reverie. When the DJ announced her name, it brought back the memory of his mother's voice reading to him when he was a child.

"Now gentlemen, get ready to be blown away by our mysterious newcomer. She's the girl you've always dreamed of, but never thought you'd actually meet in the flesh: Undina!"

He glanced up for a moment, his eyes falling upon the dark-haired woman who was slowly ascending the stairs to the stage. The length of her hair was astonishing—it flowed almost down to her knees. He felt immediate curiosity about the way her stormy eyes were downcast and her mouth set in a grim line. He felt further curiosity when he saw her light graceful steps—she was wearing ballet slippers! Not eight inch heels that made her steps awkward and clunky, but real dancing shoes.

Despite his escalating curiosity, Trevain managed to yank his eyes away from the stage and focus again on the droplets sitting on his beer glass. He had no business looking at such a young girl, he told himself. She might be an adequate dancer, someone moderately trained in ballet but not skilled enough to be a prima ballerina. She might have chosen an interesting stage name which suggested she had some mild knowledge of art or literature, and it might be entertaining to speak with her...

Trevain clamped the thought by the neck before it could gasp its first breath. He would not, absolutely would not, even consider speaking with such a young girl. He would not behave foolishly like the other older men who frequented this club and places like it. He was here for the sake of his crew's morale. He was not even a patron of this place, not in the traditional sense, not really. He would not sit with her, converse with her, and tentatively place his hand on her knee in desperation to touch her to be assured that she was real. He had just about as much business doing so as the disinterested droplets of condensation on his glass.

Why was it so quiet in the club all of a sudden? Several strange, hushed seconds of silence made Trevain wonder if he had been transported to a different venue. Was this the same rowdy, vulgar club that he despised? What was happening on the stage? An asymmetrical bead of water joined with its neighbors and slowly began its descent. Trevain put his finger on the glass, destroying the slow moving droplet and quickly tracing its path with his roughened skin.

I will not look. I will not look. He mentally chanted a mantra of encouragement to himself, trying to gain strength from watching the apathetic and asexual water droplets and participating in their gravity-induced activities. Carefully picking up the glass and bringing it close to his face, he could almost successfully pretend he was one of them. He clung to the glass in a strange suspension. Until the silence ended.

One massive, powerful voice filled the club—only overwhelming, bewitching soprano vocals, no music. There was no need for music, for the voice itself would have shamed a harpsichord. Trevain's first instinct was to close his eyes and let the voice wash over him, but he had been struggling so valiantly to do the opposite of what he most desired that he instead savagely lowered his glass to its coaster and turned his head toward the stage. He looked.

Later he would not be able to describe exactly what he saw, or how it affected him. A slender gracefully extended arm, an expression contorted with longing and yearning of the truest kind. Eyes flashing like lightning, lips parted with vulnerability.

The woman's feet moved across the floor with such ease and liquidity that he could have believed she was flying. Yet when they hit the ground after certain spins or jumps, he could hear the solid sound they made, even over the enchanting volume of the music. Those long, slender, girlish legs were deceiving in the strength and flexibility they possessed.

She danced power. Yet there were moments of such tenderness! She would pause, and hesitantly beseech the audience with a pleading look. It was heartbreakingly poignant—as though she were seeking wisdom to correct the error of her ways. Then she would suddenly be fierce, and her movements would be so sudden and quick and sure that he had to hold his breath to properly absorb her furious, vengeful sequences.

Absorb he did, and consumed he would have if it were possible.

Oddly enough, he recognized the first two of the songs she danced to. One was from the opera Rusalka, and another was from an opera called Undina, which must be her namesake. Trevain's mother had loved obscure pieces of opera, and on any given day in their household when he was growing up such songs could have been heard playing as Alice Murphy had gone about her housework.

He was startled as the woman on stage fell quite suddenly to a lowered position, and continued to dance from her knees. She was sometimes so still, stationary, and quiet, and then she would be explosive—she would be everywhere at once. Every single moment of her dance had him fully engaged, and he could not have looked away if he tried. He did not even realize that he was craning his neck for a better view.

When she gracefully lifted her dress to slowly remove her lace panties, Trevain was again surprised. She did it in a manner which was so relaxed that she could have been in her own bedroom, yet so careful that no skin was yet exposed. She was fulfilling the requirement of removing an article of clothing during the second song, he knew. However, the article she had chosen to remove showed nothing. As she continued to dance without her panties, her skirt swirling around her thighs was suddenly tenfold as tantalizing.

He found himself staring at the glittering red fabric as it billowed in the breeze created by her motions. He found himself staring at her smooth tanned thighs, illuminated by the flashing lights, and hoping for a glimpse of more of her skin. He found his lips had become very dry, and he licked them to moisten them. Trevain thought he imagined for a moment that the woman, Undina, cast a smug and proud look in his direction, as though she knew how impatient he was to see more—as though she knew the effect she was having on him. She was far too young to exhibit such confidence. Also, there was no possible way she could have known the true extent of what her dance made him feel. It was beyond anyone's comprehension, including his own.

Before long—it certainly felt like an instant, the woman on stage was removing her dress. Trevain felt his heartbeat quicken, and almost thought he should look away. She was too young, too young for him to behold in the nude! Yet it was the nature of the establishment, and although the girl had perhaps taken refreshing liberties with her choice of music and her style of dance, she conformed to the basic rules of the job.

As the melody played, whimsical and feminine, Undina stood with her back toward the audience. She glanced back at the enrapt onlookers as she slowly, achingly slowly, slipped one scarlet strap of her dress off of her right shoulder. Her fingers were extended to emphasize the drama of the gesture. She smiled then, one of those carefree smiles of youth, and her once stormy eyes seemed to twinkle with mischief and delight. She did the same with her other shoulder, yet it was somehow different. The subtlest change in her expression seemed to change the mood from light and airy to somber and sultry.

She tossed her impossibly long dark hair to the front of her body and began sliding the crimson dress down her back. Trevain watched closely, drinking in each new inch of velvety tanned flesh that Undina exposed. Her skin was flawless as it hugged the sinews and contours of her back, and in the atmospheric lighting of the club, almost luminous. The contrast of her skin against the bold burgundy hue of the fabric was striking. She arranged her dress around her hips before slowly turning to face the audience. She crossed her arms over her chest in a display of modesty as she moved forward, gentle steps in time with the music.

Then her arms were gone, and her face was proud and bold as she bared her breasts—unbearably round and firm collections of flesh. As she moved back into her dance, using one hand to hold her dress around her hips, Trevain wondered at how impressively young her body was. He marveled at her athletic silhouette when she arched backwards with extended arms, and he marveled at how she seemed conscious of her motions to the perfectly extended tips of her fingers and pointed toes.

She danced not only shamelessly, but proudly when she was nude, and had cast the dress completely aside. Her motions were not as wild and powerful, but they were careful and precise. Her steps were so controlled and gentle that her breasts did not shake when she moved. She moved as though her limbs were cutting through a substance far more viscous than air—almost as if she were underwater.

She was dancing the nighttime. She had taken them through the course of a full day, through energetic mornings, brilliant noons, mellow evenings, and now it was the quiet, peaceful night. Or perhaps she was dancing the winter. Having already paid homage to the midnight sun, she now saluted the midday moon.

Then it was over, as solemnly as it had begun. Undina stood completely nude, with a hauntingly serene and satisfied expression on her face.

The crowd erupted in applause, in thundering, most appreciative applause. Undina inclined her head in polite acknowledgement. In the midst of the loud clapping and cheering, she looked up at the audience, and her eyes met with Trevain's. She gazed at him, and he gazed back at her, enraptured. Their eyes were locked for a moment in a quiet, private intensity. As the music and applause subsided, her expression darkened once more and her eyes lowered. She quickly gathered the garments she had disposed of, and in an instant she had disappeared backstage.

Trevain used his tongue to moisten his dry mouth. He exhaled. He mused at how shaken and affected he was. It was a work of art, he told himself. It was just as if I had entered any museum and observed... some work of art.

He felt emotionally drained. Grasping his beer once more, he brought it to his lips and poured the remaining contents down his throat. As he lowered it to the table, he noticed a particularly large droplet sliding down the glass. A tear.

He moved his hand to his eyelashes to scrape away any others that threatened to fall. One tear is acceptable, Trevain reasoned, considering that a man just lost his life. One tear is acceptable.

He knew quite well that Leander had not crossed his mind for what must have been over fourteen minutes and forty-six seconds.

Her cheek grazed her knee as she waited backstage, doing simple stretches. A woman with large fake breasts tottered by shakily on towering heels, sending her a suspicious glare. Aazuria was stricken by the disproportionate size of the woman's breasts with respect to the rest of her emaciated body; she remembered something her personal doctor had told her about new procedures which augmented certain physical attributes. It was fascinating, but not really of much significance to her, and she returned to pressing her forehead flush against her leg.

The carpet under her bare legs was rough and abrasive. She imagined that it was already leaving ugly scratches on her newly-tanned skin. As she straightened slowly from the stretch, she stared at the unfamiliar color of her knee. She missed being underwater. More women strolled by, sending her more distrustful and disdainful looks. Aazuria sighed to herself, and continued to pull her muscles taut. She focused on the comforting ache in her tendons as she tried to bury her homesickness and override the upsetting images from her recent past which flashed just behind her eyes.

A redheaded woman burst into the room, strutting buoyantly on her six-inch pumps as if they were springs. Her whole body was finely toned and her height was intimidating; at six feet tall she towered over the other women in the room who barely came up to her chin. Her pleasant laughter rang out loudly in the dressing room.

"For Sedna's sake! Zuri, you really don't need to stretch. Don't bother giving this any effort! It's supposed to be a low-class, inferior form of entertainment." The redhead turned to the women who had been watching Aazuria with airs of superiority and glared at them. She flung her hand towards the exit as she barked an order, "Skedaddle, bitches."

The women quickly complied. Aazuria smiled up gratefully at her protectress. "It is not worth doing unless it is done properly, Visola."

"Then show me how it's done, Princess," Visola said with a wink. "Just be careful not to overexert yourself. Those lovely legs of yours aren't used to these ghetto conditions."

"Are you referring to the club or the land?" Aazuria asked as used a knuckle to knead her thigh.

"Both. I'll be watching."

"You have always been watching," Aazuria said fondly. She heard the first few notes of her song begin, and she rose to her feet nervously. She took a deep breath, feeling the unfamiliar air fill her lungs—it felt extraordinarily empty. The muffled voice of the DJ filtered backstage:

"Now gentlemen, get ready to be blown away by our mysterious newcomer. She's the girl you've always dreamed of, but never thought you'd actually meet in the flesh: Undina!"

Visola smiled. "Not a bad introduction. Why did you choose to use your mother's name?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind when they asked." Giving her friend a gentle shrug, Aazuria glanced at the exit with foreboding. "Well, here I go."

"Break a le—"

"I would much rather not." When she pushed past the beaded curtains, Aazuria immediately felt the vibrations of music seeping into her bones. Her fingers twitched with the desire to move before she had permitted them to do so, and she exercised discipline to quell them. To do this correctly means moving precisely when the music commands me to—I will not waste a single motion. Her eyes were downcast as she ascended the stairs, feeling a strange sense of simultaneous nervousness and excitement. She had always been confident in her dancing technique—she had studied various styles on various continents, and she had practiced for hundreds of years. She usually trained in water, and it was far more difficult to dance in water than it was on land. By all accounts, this should be a cinch.

The familiar vocals began, and Aazuria finally surrendered to the yearning of her limbs and plunged them into motion. A burst of energy began in her chest, and visibly traveled throughout her every cell. Indescribable sensations of loveliness washed over her, as they always did when she began dancing, reaching her lips to settle there in a subtle curve of pleasure. Once she had expertly commenced her art, she turned to gauge the reaction of her onlookers.

The audience was a sea of eyes. Adoring eyes of those seeking something from her dance which she would never be able to give them. They were seeking the things which they did not really need. They sought sex and excitement or momentary stimulation, but her every gesture and expression, her every step, was dancing in homage to something transcendent and everlasting.

Slowly, the audience was pulled out of the realm of their own expectations and into the realm of her creation. Yes, she could hold them spellbound with a little help from the haunting sound of her sister's recorded voice. Aazuria was strong enough to guide them all—she had always been in a position of leadership, and this was no different. She created the atmosphere; she poured her personality and her principles into it, and she invited them inside for a moment to glimpse the décor of her soul. She felt like she was challenging their roughness with her grace, and ultimately, she was winning. She was overpowering them.

She spun, and spun, until she felt windborne. There was an impossible fire within her which seemed to radiate forth from her center. All of the elements coalesced in her emotions, and as always, she felt far greater than herself when she danced. Aazuria felt a memory of her father's face return to her, but she flung her head to the side, casting it away from her thoughts before it could cause her harm or interrupt the flow of her kinetic thrill.

There might be other moments of her life when she was twisted into various uncomfortable shapes by exterior forces, but for now, at least, she was in complete control. The stage was hers, the audience was hers, and time was hers. She could bend it and make the moment last an instant or a lifetime, depending on her whim. She could manipulate all of their hearts like putty, just as long as she kept moving—and as long as the poignant music played, she had no intention of stopping. Each moment was a crescendo, overpowering the last.

She reveled in this complete control until he looked up from his drink. Aazuria paused for a millisecond, nearly missing a beat. She felt shame at what had almost been a misstep, but certain that no one had noticed. Turning her gaze away, she tried to focus on the perfection of her lines. But she could feel that the dramatic expression on her face had lost some of its conviction, having been replaced by curiosity. She hoped that the flaws in her dance were imperceptible.

Aazuria did not mean to make eye contact again, but she could feel the force of his scrutiny like a warm stream gushing toward her. Even from a distance, she could discern a hue of sadness in somehow familiar jade irises. In the midst of this strange new environment, and this even stranger establishment, something shone in that expression which she felt she knew. She was suddenly safe in the comfort of a warm lagoon as she beheld the unmistakable intelligence glinting at her from across the room.

She had to remind herself to keep moving—for her hand had paused without her consent for a fraction of a second. The eyes had seemed to notice even that tiny hesitation, for they flitted to her fingers vigilantly before returning to her face. What did it mean? Admiration? Loneliness? Loss? Her chest constricted as she tried to explain the connection—the man's contemplation hit her like a tidal wave and nearly knocked her off balance. All she could do was hang on for dear life, as she pushed her body onto automatic mode. At the same time that she moved thoughtlessly, she was doubly conscious of her postures. She tried a little harder because she knew that there was at least one person in the room who could distinguish the quality of her execution.

The rest of her dance flew by in a blur that she could barely remember. Her heart was beating unusually quickly under the keen inspection. Every moment she could justifiably spare was spent glancing at the sharp gleam unnaturally present in those olive green eyes. The person they belonged to was the furthest away from her, concealed in an extremely dark-lit corner. Luckily, her vision, especially in the dark, was better than most. There were dozens of men, probably handsome young admirers, clustered around the stage; she was not sure why her attention was held rapt by this distant, intense gaze.

As the world churned about her in a mess of sea foam, those green eyes were a solid island. How sweetly they shone, and how firmly they were grounded. She could not resist being drawn to them as a windswept ship eagerly seeks a harbor. She could not resist the immediate intimacy that was provoked in her chest, completely unbidden and unanticipated.

When she had finished her dance and retreated backstage, she stood naked against a wall, trying to calm her racing heart. She sucked in gulp after gulp of the air which no longer felt empty. Each breath was laced with electricity. A surge fizzled through her scalp and neck, and she reached up to touch her skin soothingly. Underneath her fingers, her skin still tingled with triumph. The audience had loved her; she had sensed it. She felt strangely affirmed by this—she was by no means a young woman anymore, despite her smooth skin and physical appearance.

But that man! She closed her eyes as she leaned her head back against the wall, remembering his gaze. Imagining that she might never again feel such an intent and private gaze, she tried to commit the feeling to memory.

"How was it?" came a soft voice from the shadows. It was Visola, of course. The red-haired warrior woman never strayed far from Aazuria's side.

"Oh, Viso," she said, her chest heaving with exhilarated breaths. "It was divine. There was a man..."

"There were many men, darling."

"Yes, but this one... I saw the sea in his eyes."

Visola released an incredulous grunt before scowling. "Princess Aazuria! I have never known you to spew such a load of romantic whaleshit."

"I am not being romantic, General! You know that I have a knack for judging people." Aazuria had straightened her posture in order to defend herself. "There was a unique quality—something that I have never seen before, and yet it was familiar... "

Visola reached out and grabbed Aazuria's naked shoulders. She gave her a violent shake. "Listen to me. I know that home is a distasteful memory you want to escape right now, but you can't deceive yourself with fantasies about this place. This is a cruel, disgusting world. The atmosphere isn't the only thing you need to get acclimatized to—it's the people. You must stay on guard."

"I have lived among land-dwellers before," Aazuria argued, reaching up to remove Visola's hands from her shoulders. "I know how to interact with them."

"Things have changed in the last hundred years that we've been cooped up in Adlivun. Culture, technology, weaponry..." Visola was speaking in a low voice, but when a dancer walked by with a heavily painted face, she relaxed and hit Aazuria in the arm. "You should go talk to this guy! And for Sedna's sake, try to smile a little. You look like someone died."

"Someone did die."

Visola waved her hand casually. "That's irrelevant. We're here to collect copious amounts of this nation's currency with minimal interaction. We make our money and get out." Visola's voice was stern, and she raised a finger to add emphasis to her next words. "You cannot get attached to these land dwellers, Princess. We have a mission to complete."

"I have no intention of veering away from your directions," Aazuria said with a nod. "You are the strategist. By the way—where is Sionna?"

"Around here somewhere," Visola said with a shrug. "Off making tons of cash, no doubt. She keeps trying to convince me that we should purchase medical equipment instead of firearms. That's my sister and her screwed-up priorities for ya! I tried to tell her that if we have a good offense we won't need... hey, Zuri?" Visola paused, studying her friend. She noticed that her friend was idly fingering the back of her neck and glancing toward the beaded curtain. "I've never seen you so distracted. What did this man of yours look like?"

Aazuria stared at the redhead blankly. She tried to picture his face and frowned when her mind faltered. She could not remember a single attribute of the man—not the color of his skin, his hair, his clothing, or even his height and build. Nothing came to mind. But burned into her memory was his peculiar pair of emerald eyes, and the odd feeling which they had stirred in her breast.

"I do not know," she said in confusion. "He was interesting."

"Interesting!" Visola barked as she recoiled. "Darling, 'interesting' is tantamount to 'deadly.'"

Aazuria smiled at her friend. "Just because you married a demon..."

Visola stiffened at the mention of her husband. "I know. Not all men are mass-murdering monsters—just the ones I like. Come to think of it, I don't even know what type of fella you like. You've always been so disciplined. I haven't seen you display interest in someone since 1910."

Aazuria shook her head. "The Rusalka prince? That was diplomacy, not romance. I was being cordial for the sake of the alliance."

"Good. If you can be polite to the Russian sea-dwellers for our country, maybe you can be friendly to American fisherman." Visola grinned and reached under her skirt, revealing a giant knife. "I've got your back. Go out there and have fun! I can't wait to see what this guy looks like—he must be a total hunk if he managed to get your attention."

"Perhaps," Aazuria said with a frown. It still bothered her that she did not remember what the green-eyed man looked like. She could recall the general area where he had been sitting, but it was possible that he had already left the club. If he had moved to another location, she might not even recognize him. "He could be hideous," she mused.

"Well, go find out," Visola encouraged, nudging Aazuria playfully. "Remember, the most important part of a man's appearance is the girth of his..."

"Visola!"

"...wallet."

Chapter Three

As the hours slowly ticked by, Trevain found himself lost in drink and observation. He had switched over to brandy after watching the dance of the woman called Undina. He could not help but notice when she re-emerged from backstage and seated herself in an isolated corner of the club. In order to quell his natural desire to go over and speak with her, he had taken to carefully monitoring the way his crew members were interacting with the various women in the club.

The captain's younger brother, Callder Murphy, had already guzzled down far too much beer. He was puffing out his chest and doubtlessly boasting of grand, falsified exploits to the girls who flocked around him. Even watching his body language from across the room made Trevain exhausted. He was fairly certain that his brother would convince one of those girls to accompany him home at the end of the night. To Trevain's home, anyway, where Callder parasitically stayed.

Rolling his eyes at Callder's behavior, he sent a fleeting curious glance in Undina's direction before turning back to his men.

His eyes settled on his young protégé, Arnav Hylas. The boy was a college student from New York who had grown tired of the burden of his sky-rocketing debt. He had researched the position in which he could make the most money possible in a few short months, and here he was, giving it his best shot. Trevain felt protective of the boy. For all his cosmopolitan cleverness, he still had a youthful recklessness about him which was hazardous in a place like this. Trevain wondered, as he watched a blonde seat herself on Arnav's lap and whisper in his ear, whether the young man really understood the danger he was facing. Not from the blonde, who was only a danger to Arnav's heart and bank account, but from the job.

Arnav had not actually seen Leander die. Neither had he seen the man's body—they had not been able to recover it. Perhaps a gruesome, visually violent death would have been healthier for the boy's deficient sense of caution. Then again, most young men carried themselves about with an aura of immortality and invincibility. Trevain wondered why he had never felt that way himself.

He discreetly looked over at Undina's corner once more. Trevain felt an inexplicable pang of jealousy when he saw a man approaching her, and an even more peculiar pang of pride when he observed her crossed arms and reproachful body language.

He turned back, casting his gaze on Ujarak—the brawny man of Inuit descent who was always chomping on something. A cigar, a toothpick, a pen, a piece of rope. He was sitting with Edwin, the Canadian, and the sentimental ex-marine Doughlas. For a supposed war hero and someone who was self-proclaimed to have "seen it all," Doughlas was not taking the situation well. He was essentially sobbing as Edwin and Ujarak consoled him.

Not far from those three sat the brothers from Seattle—Wyatt and Wilbert Wade. For being such very different people, the Wade brothers were fiercely loyal and devoted to each other, and they got along far better than Captain Murphy and his own brother. Wilbert, called "Billy" by the crew, was somewhat effeminate. He was never the butt of any jokes or teasing, for Wyatt was extremely defensive and always joyously ready for an excuse to deploy his fists. Trevain could not resist a small smile as he observed Billy interacting with a pretty dancer. He was doubtlessly complimenting her clothing and sense of style and confusing the poor girl.

Again, the captain looked over at Undina. A gorgeous redhead passed close by her, being pulled to the private dancing area by a young man. The redhead looked at the seated dark-haired woman, and quickly made a complex hand gesture as she passed her. Undina responded with a hand gesture of her own. Trevain frowned thoughtfully. American Sign Language? Could one of the girls be deaf or mute?

He was positive that Undina could not be deaf—at least not completely. She had danced too perfectly to the time of the music to be unable to hear it. Yet it was possible that she was mute. He had not once seen her lips move in speech; those sensuous, reddened lips, which contrasted sharply with her impressive mass of dark hair. Undina's head turned towards him sharply, as though she could feel his inquest. Her dark eyes locked with his hesitantly, and he looked away in embarrassment and dismay.

Trevain began to scan over the activities of his men once more. After a few minutes of this, he began feeling a bit like a hovering father. He knew that his tendency to be overprotective had been amplified by Leander's death. He tried to tell himself that he was not at the club to supervise a daycare, and that the men were all adults who could take care of themselves. None of them would fall into any kind of jeopardy if he looked away for more than a few seconds. But he did not look away.

Only one of the living members of the crew was missing from the club. Trevain sighed and took a swill of his brandy, thinking of their only female shipmate, Brynne. She had taken the weekend off work to attend a family member's wedding in Florida. While many crews still archaically maintained that a woman on the ship was bad luck, Trevain felt the opposite—if the woman was tough enough she could help to keep the men in line better than his authority alone ever could. Now, his superstition was confirmed, and he already dreaded having to tell Brynne about Leander's demise. She would be furious.

It occurred to Trevain, as his eyes wandered over the crowd, that it was a certain specific type of person that was drawn to a place like this. Some of the folks, like himself, had the misfortune of having been born and raised in Alaska, but the majority of the crowd, especially during the fishing season, was not local. Both the men and the women, the patrons and the dancers, probably had pasts which were darkened by financial difficulties. Something awful had happened to many of them, or they had somehow been pushed to the realization that they needed to make a drastic change and take drastic action. They had somehow decided that fast money was worth very high risk or high levels of discomfort. Then, once they had ventured into the world of large gains and large losses, they had been unable to turn around and return to wherever they hailed from.

They were the same type of people who frequented casinos. The same type of people who drove their cars a little too fast for the sensation it gave them. The same type of people who experimented with substances which allowed them to step outside of themselves for a moment. The same type of people who did not file their income taxes. The same type of people who ventured to Alaska to fish for king crabs.

Everywhere he looked he could neatly categorize the humans into little mental file folders for future reference. He could easily place them above captions and under subheadings; except for that girl, Undina. She struck him as tremendously different and out of place. Even from his infrequent, uncertain glances at her, he had gauged that she did not have the air of desperation that most of the females in the place exuded. After her dance, she had found a quiet place to sit which strategically overlooked most of the club, and she seemed to be observing people and their interactions just as much as he was.

He felt inexplicably drawn to her. He felt kindred to her in that they were both withdrawn onlookers, not active, wild participants in the madness of the establishment. He wanted to go to her, but her perfect young body repulsed him. Perhaps he could relate to her in certain ways, but his age was a greater disability than even his physical impairment. The combination of the two tarnished any feeble chance he had of being remotely attractive to a young girl.

He knew that she would take one look at his grey hair and his limp and her smile would disappear in disappointment. That extraordinary dancer deserved an energetic young man like Arnav.

"Captain Murphy!" a voice bellowed. Trevain looked for its source, and saw Arnav holding up a bottle of beer in each hand as he slurred his speech, "Captain, come party with us!"

Trevain shook his head and held up his hand to politely decline the offer.

"Why's my big brother alone?" Callder shouted, leaping up from his seated position and swaying slightly on his feet. "Don't sit there in the corner all gloomy, Trevain. You gotta have some fun tonight!"

"Yeah, let's hear it for the captain!" shouted Edwin, the Canadian. The men all cheered and drank from whatever glasses were close at hand. Trevain couldn't help but notice that some of the men had picked up their neighbor's glass instead of their own. He had nightmarish visions of having to carpool the men home to their various locations and drag them all in to their beds. He imagined having to tuck them in and listen to their crying about Leander.

This is sometimes like running a preschool, he thought to himself in mild amusement, but I suppose they're all just miserable and scared under their drunken party-animal disguises. I guess it won't hurt me to play governess to the kiddies in the nursery for one night.

"Big brother! Come over here and have a drink with this pretty girl!" Callder shouted as he stumbled over furniture while navigating the room.

Trevain cursed softly, feeling a sickening feeling in his stomach as his head snapped around to witness his brother approaching Undina. Of course. Why? Of all the women here? When Callder began trying to wrestle Undina out of her chair, Trevain leapt to his feet and crossed the room in as few strides as possible. He firmly wedged himself between his brother and the dark-haired woman, and glared at the younger man sternly.

"Callder, relax!" He forced his brother into a nearby chair and pinned him to it. "Sit here and try to calm down, okay?" Trevain turned to Undina in embarrassment and began to apologize when Callder cut him off.

"I saw you looking at her," Callder accused. "You're not a complete fucking robot, even though you pretend to be! I just thought you should meet her. I know you like her. Since you wouldn't get off your ass I was going to bring her to you."

Trevain shook his head and exhaled. "Callder, you're out of line..."

"No!" he hissed, leaning forward and staring past Trevain at the girl. "Look. Undina, that's your name right? Undina?"

She lifted an eyebrow and gave the slightest of nods.

"Okay. Undina," Callder tried to straighten his sloppy posture and gesture toward Trevain. "This is my brother: Captain Trevain Murphy. As you can see, he and I don't really get along. It's not because we don't love each other. It's because he's, like, some big-shot crab fishing tycoon, and I'm just his stupid kid brother who gambles away every penny that he pays me."

"Callder," Trevain said in warning, but the drunk man continued ranting.

"But you gotta meet him, Undina. He's, like, the richest man around for hundreds of miles, probably. He's a good guy, really, I promise," Callder emphasized this point by throwing his arm around Trevain in a lopsided, meager attempt at a hug. Trevain pressed his palm to his forehead as his brother continued on boasting proudly. "He worked as a deckhand when he was just a kid, like forever ago. He's been in charge of a boat since he was a teenager. You can do the math: now he's like... a millionaire, and a couple centuries old or something."

"Oh?" the dark haired beauty remarked with a shy smile, glancing at Trevain. "How many centuries?"

It was the first time she had spoken. So, she was able to speak.

"Lots. Like two or three," Callder boasted, "he's ancient."

"Hardly," she responded. "You could live on this earth for a millennium and still be surprised on a daily basis."

When her lips opened to allow the phonemes to travel forth, they emerged with a slight accent Trevain could not place. His brow creased slightly, and he found himself leaning forward to better hear her lilting syllables over the unpleasant thundering of noise which was considered music.

But Callder had already begun ranting again, obviously enjoying the sound of his own gruff voice. "Trevain is so wise and amazing. He never makes mistakes, ever." Callder was gesturing at the older man wildly as tears gathered in his eyes. "That's just my big brother. Just the way he is! He should hate me for what a screw up I am, but he doesn't. You wanna know how I know that?"

"Hush now, Callder," Trevain said, trying to pull the man away from Undina, "quit bothering the girl."

Callder shrugged his brother off and leaned closer to the dark-haired woman, speaking in a conspiratorial tone, "He doesn't fire me. He keeps me around so that he can watch over me and make sure that I'm safe. He continues to pay me a salary. He's always looked out for me like that, even though I'm a shitty sailor. I'm pretty much useless on the Magician, and I waste all of the money he pays me. Do you want to know what I'm good for? I scrape ice off stuff. That's glamorous, isn't it?"

"Quite glamorous," she answered with the friendly smile one would give to a stranger's adorable infant. Trevain frowned and wondered how she could possibly find Callder's lewd behavior charming.

"But you know the worst part?" Callder moaned. "I failed my brother. I totally screwed him over this time. Because if I wasn't such a deadbeat, and I paid any attention to what was going on around me, Leander would still be alive and drinking with us now. He used to drink gin and tonic. The stuff tastes terrible, but at least he'd be alive to drink it. It's my fault that he drowned, because I'm such a fucking loser..."

Callder had excited himself into a torrent of tears, and Trevain looked on in silent sadness at his emotional display. The woman called Undina seemed troubled at the knowledge that someone had drowned.

"I killed Leo. I killed him with my laziness!" Callder sobbed, smashing his fist down onto the table. His shoulders began to shake. "My own brother can't even enjoy himself in a strip club, and it's all because of me. I ruined everything."

Callder suddenly slumped into his chair. It was a moment before they realized that he had only gone quiet because he had passed out.

"Thank God that's finally over," Trevain murmured, rubbing his temples. "What a fool."

"He may be weak of heart," Undina noted, "but he has great respect for you. He seeks your approval."

"Well, he'll never have it if he keeps drinking himself into oblivion!" Trevain said sharply. He turned to Undina, shaking his head wretchedly. "I'm so sorry you had to deal with this tonight..."

"Do not apologize," she answered softly. "He was so honest and exposed. He was temporarily ignited with such a wealth of emotion. It was refreshing."

Trevain looked at her curiously, and then back at his collapsed brother. "He was just being a drunken idiot."

She nodded staring directly at Trevain. "I can see that. Nevertheless, I appreciate that he was thoughtful enough to introduce us, however clumsy his methods may have been."

"Undina," Trevain began, testing the sound of the name which was obviously false. He was intrigued and pleasantly surprised by her personality, and wished to engage her further. A thousand sentences threatened to spill off the tip of his tongue, and tumble forth toward this young woman warmly. He just wanted to speak to her—he just wanted to continue to hear her carefully woven words, curled up in her rich accent. Yet he knew he could not. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about this again. I'll take him away and I promise he won't bother you anymore."

As Trevain moved to pull his brother out of the chair in which he had collapsed, the woman called Undina gently touched his sleeve near his elbow. Although her hand had not even grazed his skin, he was startled by the intimacy and felt his whole body grow tense.

"Please," she said quietly. "You and I have been sitting alone all night. Life has been happening all around us. I would like to partake of it. Would you please sit with me for a little while?"

He stared at her, searching for any sign of humor. She did not seem as put off by his grey hair and his limp as he had thought she would be. On the contrary, she seemed to hardly notice.

"I have two younger sisters as well," she was saying with a ghost of a smile on her lips, "perhaps I could tell you about them."

Against his better judgment, Trevain found himself using his foot to slide his snoring brother a few feet away before seating himself closer to Undina. He could not believe she had invited him to chat. A smile threatened to reveal his gladness, but he counseled it to desist.

"I enjoyed your dance so much. More than I can tell you," Trevain admitted to her.

She looked at him appreciatively and nodded. "Thank you. It is so invigorating to dance for an audience."

"Where are you from?" he asked her.

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise at his direction of questioning. "Not far from here," she answered. Then in a low voice which he imagined she thought he could not hear, she added, "But also quite far from here."

In fact, he could not hear those last few words, but luckily he had a knack for reading lips. "I see," he answered, "are you from Canada?"

She raised an eyebrow, hesitating before casting her eyes downward, "Uh, something like that. How did you guess?"

"You have a slight accent," he said. "I can't quite determine what it is, but... never mind. So, what brings you to these parts?"

Her slender shoulders rose in a carefree shrug and her eyes lit up as she smiled. "I have chosen to follow the waves and see where they take me."

"Well, they've taken you to a strip club in Soldotna, Alaska," he said, leaning forward. He studied the curve of her cheek and chin, and returned his gaze to her compelling dark eyes. They were hypnotizing at close range. "Those waves may be mighty but they don't have magic in them, child. You need to master them and choose where it is you want to be."

She looked up at him harshly. There was a flash of anger in her murky irises as she answered, "I think you and I must be acquainted with very different waves."

"How is that?" he asked.

"The ones I know do have magic and cannot be mastered." Her serious expression disappeared and her smile returned. "Anyway, I do not think you should be calling me 'child' since we already established that I am older than you."

"I'll be fifty next year," he admitted in a crestfallen voice. "What are you, eighteen?"

"Six hundred and three," she answered, wrapping a strand of her dark hair around her finger. There was something whimsical about the way she moved.

"I see that you're protective of your personal information," he observed. "That is very wise in a place like this. I didn't mean to offend you, but compared with me, you are really but a child, Undina."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "I may seem young, Captain Trevain Murphy, but my life has been very difficult. I have experienced a lot of hardship and I do not feel like a child."

While her eyes were closed, he used the opportunity to drink in the oval shape of her face, allowing every precise word she spoke to register in his mind. Her eyes opened and she looked out across the room at the silhouette of a tall redhead.

She turned back to him and gripped the arms of her chair abruptly as she pushed herself into a standing position. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Trevain, but I should probably go."

He nodded, feeling his stomach sink. He knew that he would scare her away. He half wished that his brother had not initiated the irrational introduction to begin with; he should not have ever spoken to her. Trevain had never been a very sociable person since he spent most of his time buried in his work. He did not possess any friends who were not paid employees, and his only family was Callder, who was also a paid employee. Every interaction in his life centered on his financial arrangements, and he only knew how to speak to someone when their livelihood depended on their cooperation with him.

The woman called Undina had stepped around the table, and was moving past him to surely disappear from his life forever. This thought made him reach out to gently catch her wrist within his hand. He marveled at the feel of her tiny bones as his longest finger and thumb overlapped each other. She had paused in her departure, awaiting his words.

He hesitated, deciding what he should say to her. They could be the last words he ever spoke to her, and they were important. Since Leander had disappeared, Trevain's mind had been filled with all manner of darkness. His thoughts had been chaotic and racing as logic and emotion waged a painful and confusing battle over trying to make sense of a man's unnecessary death. However, since he laid eyes on Undina, his mind had felt clear, purified, and temporarily relieved of strain. She had filled every aching corner of his soul with the tenderness and strength of her dance. He would do anything to hang on to that feeling. Her mysterious nature occupied every spare effort of his mind as he tried and failed to make sense of her.

He opened his mouth, intending to apologize, or perhaps compliment her—anything that he could think of to make her stay a moment longer without sounding too desperate. He believed he should say something so profound that it would leave an impression on her, and inspire her in some way, since he would never see her again.

Instead, the words that left his mouth inquired, "Would you please dance for me in private, Undina?"

Chapter Four

They sat together in the private booth. It was not completely closed off from the rest of the club's VIP area, but a beaded curtain over the only exit gave a sense of privacy to the small room. The dark-haired woman glanced up apprehensively whenever someone walked by the curtain, almost as if she was expecting to be attacked at any moment. The tall redhead that Trevain had noticed earlier was lingering not far away.

Trevain was wondering why he had thought to purchase private dances. He had not asked a girl to dance for him in close to thirty years. The initial experience had been a rather boring and expensive one that he had chosen not to repeat. Now, he knew that he would have done just about anything to secure a few more moments of being close to the woman called Undina. Yet another one of his relationships was now dependent on money, but he was more comfortable that way. Trevain felt it was worth having the security that she would not leave—he gained something from their interaction that he could not place a price tag upon. He just needed to sit with her and witness her being. The reassurance of her existence somehow swelled his courage.

"Would you like me to begin?" she asked softly. The section of the club that they had moved to was much quieter, and Trevain could hear every nuance of her enigmatic accent. He could have sworn that he had heard similar pronunciation before, although he could not determine where. It did not sound Canadian.

"You don't have to actually dance for me," he said, lifting his hands as he explained. "I would prefer if we just talked. Is that okay with you?"

There was skepticism in her shadowy eyes. "I would love that, but I should probably return to work." She glanced up at the curtain, as if considering leaving. There was a look of purpose on her face.

Trevain reached into his jacket for his wallet. Unfolding the creased leather with his work-roughened fingers, the captain deftly counted out some bills and extracted them. He handed them over to her with a smile. "A thousand dollars for the pleasure of your company. A thousand dollars if you'll sit with me and tell me about yourself and your life until the end of the night."

She stared at the money, and then back at his face hesitantly. "Trevain, I am not sure..."

"Please," he said, grasping her hand and pushing the folded bills against her palm. He closed her fingers around the bills and held her small hand in his larger ones. "I don't get a chance to talk to someone with a brain very often. You've seen the morons I work with! I feel like a good conversation with you could be really rejuvenating."

She smiled at him weakly, and gave him a gentle nod. "Thank you," she whispered, "this is so kind of you."

"Nonsense," he said, gesturing back to the main area of the club where his brother was being taken care of by the other deplorably drunk sailors, "Callder boasted about my finances enough for you to know that I am quite comfortable. These aren't my last pennies, dear. I want to know more about you."

As he spoke, she observed a twinkle of mirth in his eye. It pleased her enough to feel comfortable in accepting his gift and opening up to him.

"I will tell you as much as I can," she conceded, graciously tucking the money into her purse. She glanced up through the beaded curtain where a swift flash of wild red hair was visible. She turned back to Trevain, and seemed to force herself to relax, making an effort to smile. "I must admit that I am not sure why you are so curious about me. Your life must be far more interesting than mine."

"I would like to know why a talented young woman like you is dancing in a strip club in Soldotna."

She flinched, but instantly recovered herself and nodded. "For the most part, I am here to learn about people and the world. I have lived an unusually restricted life, caged up for far too long."

Trevain mused over her words. He stared down at her long, slender fingers which rested lightly on her thigh. While he wanted to learn about her, he did not want to press too far or make her uncomfortable. He decided to prompt her with an open ended and vague question. "Caged?"

"Yes." The woman called Undina looked up at him with a guarded expression on her face. She could see that he wanted to know more, and she did not want to disappoint him. She struggled to speak the difficult words. "He kept me imprisoned for a very long time, along with my two sisters. I had no connection to the outside world for many years, and I lost track of time."

"Your father?" he inquired, prompting her again.

"Yes." She lifted her hand to her neck, rubbing her throat nervously. "My father was the sort of man who made fairytale villains look like gentlemen. Very powerful and very overprotective. He was a man of the sea, much like you are... but he was not kind. He was commanding and everything had to go his way. I have been well educated and have many skills, but until recently, I have had zero practical application for them." Her expression darkened and her tone grew harsh. "If my father was successful, I would never have seen any portion of the world again. I would never have felt the midnight sun tanning my skin."

"So this is an act of rebellion against him?"

She grimaced. "No. No. My father is dead now. This is my first very small, rather silly act of freedom."

The captain shook his head, beginning to understand. "I'm sorry for your loss. My dad died when I was very young too."

"How old were you?" she asked him gently.

"Seventeen. My father was the captain of the original Fishin' Magician. When he was killed in a senseless accident, I took over. I vowed I would never let another sailor die on my boat." Trevain gritted his teeth. "And I didn't... until two days ago."

She placed her palm against his cheek. "Do not blame yourself. The sea takes lives callously."

He seemed surprised by the touch of her soft hand against his face. He immediately felt self-conscious and wondered when last he had shaved his face. He was sure that his stubble felt rough and prickly against her delicate skin. He cleared his throat, in discomfort at her attentive affection. He did not know how to respond. "Anyway, my dad died a very long time ago," Trevain said. "Your loss is much fresher, and I should be comforting you, not the other way around!"

"No," she responded, withdrawing her hand and clenching it into a small fist. She shook her head fiercely. "It sounds like your father was a good man that you regretted losing. I cannot say the same for mine. What about your mother—is she well?"

Trevain stiffened slightly and stared at the pattern on the tacky wallpaper before giving a small shrug. "I hardly know, to be honest. She was committed to a psychiatric hospital when I was twelve. I used to visit her frequently, but as I grew older and her health deteriorated, I began to visit less and less. It's hard to see her falling apart the way she is."

"My sympathies are with you," the woman said in a low and gentle tone. Her voice sounded like it was made of wind. "Your youth must have been difficult."

"It was harder on Callder than it was for me," Trevain said, gesturing to the main area of the club. "That's why he is the way he is. I couldn't take care of him as well as our parents would have been able to."

She smiled. "I think you did a great job. Forgive me if this is too familiar; I hardly know you, but I believe Callder could not have asked for a kinder or more capable big brother."

The compliment moved him. He felt suddenly embarrassed to be revealing so much of his life, and he felt the need to distract himself. She was sitting very near to him, and he felt the desire to touch her dark hair. Pretending to have an excuse, he gently reached out to tuck a few strands behind her ear. He marveled at the silken texture; even her hair seemed too velvety and luminous to be real. Of course, he had not touched a woman's hair in as long as he could remember, so perhaps there was nothing special about the texture. She seemed surprised at the boldness of his touch, but not offended. As his fingers brushed her ear, he felt himself swallow.

"Undina," said the captain quietly, "I also hardly know you, but I think there are much better things that you can do with your newfound freedom than this."

She bit her lip and gave him a hard look before responding. "I have two younger sisters who are now under my care. I am sure you understand this. I want to do the very best I possibly can for them, and I want to be able to keep them safe from future harm."

"I'm sorry," Trevain said. His fingers ached to reach out and touch her again, but he could not find a good excuse. He did not want her to be upset with him. "I don't know your situation."

She nodded in acknowledgement, giving him a small smile. "There are many positive aspects to this job. I have to look at it that way. It is a way to learn about the world. It is a way to meet interesting men like yourself, and a way to interact with other human beings. It may not be the best way, but I am just grateful to be free to make my own choices and live my life... even if I choose poorly."

"I understand," Trevain answered thoughtfully. He surrendered to the urge to touch her shoulder. Resting his elbow on the back of the sat behind them, he brushed his thumb lightly over her collarbone. Her skin was so thin there; as thin as silk or gauze.

"The world is so large," she murmured, enjoying his caress. "There is so much land, so much sea. I have been yearning to experience life for the longest time."

"Life is a good thing," he answered. As he gazed down at her half-lidded eyes and somehow melancholy smile, Trevain was overcome with the urge to kiss her. His self-control was weakened by the moisture of brandy and beer, and his torso seemed to be inching forward without his permission. He was a few inches away from her lips when he was suddenly distracted by movement on the other side of the beaded curtain. A redhead's piercing green eyes sent him a wary look of appraisal. He was startled by the distrustful look in that fierce face. The fiery glare quickly disappeared, but not before it had instantly reacquainted him with reality. The redhead's eyes had a strange quality about them, gleaming almost in the way a cat's eyes did in the dark.

He pulled away from the girl that he had been intending to kiss a moment before. Trevain inwardly cursed himself. Undina's manner of speech had made him feel more comfortable with her than he could have imagined. He had forgotten to remind himself of how young she was, and what a lecher he would be if he made any sort of advance on her. Although he did not feel much older than she was, and he did not feel like she was mentally or physically juvenile in any way, he had to remind himself of his age. He chastised himself for nearly crossing his personal boundaries of courteous conduct.

"That redhead; she's a friend of yours?" Trevain asked, clearing his throat. "It looks like she doesn't trust me."

Undina's eyes shot wide open in surprise. She squinted out of the small room before releasing a tiny burst of laughter. "Yes, she's just paranoid about everything. She likes to keep aware of her surroundings."

Trevain had never heard her laugh before, and it was just as powerful and pure as her dance. She threw her head back slightly, and opened her lips, and let the laughter bubble up from deep within her. It stirred him. What he would not give to see her laugh like that more often! He decided then that he would find a way to hear that laughter again.

"Where are you and your sisters staying?" he asked. "Do you have friends or relatives in Soldotna?"

"No. I am renting us a room in a nearby motel. Not the best accommodations, but we are grateful. It is so good to be far away from home; away from all the depressing memories..."

"How old are your sisters?" Trevain asked.

She hesitated. "Elandria is only slightly younger than I am, although she is far more mature. Corallyn is... much younger. She is just a child."

He wondered why she was not giving specific ages. He did not care. "Undina, forgive me if this is too bold and presumptuous..." Trevain tried to stop himself from saying the words as they spilled forth. Was this the brandy talking? What was he thinking? "I feel strangely connected to you because of what you're going through. I know how hard it was to raise Callder when I was just a kid myself. I can help, if you'd let me."

"How?" she asked.

"You're going to think I'm crazy," he said. In fact, he already considered himself crazy for what he was about to suggest. But he wanted it to happen. He wanted it more than anything, and knew he would continue to want it even after the brandy had been purged from his system. "I would like to offer you to stay in my home, and you can bring your sisters along. I have a massive house, with far more room than Callder and I have any clue what to do with. We're gone out to sea for several days at a time anyway, and the place is cold and empty. I have many spare bedrooms, and I can offer you one for each of your sisters..."

Some of the shadows had retreated from her eyes, replaced by the light of curiosity. "Are you serious?"

"Sure. We have an old friend of the family who helps out around the house and does all the cooking and cleaning. You girls wouldn't have any responsibilities, and you could focus on your education. You wouldn't have to work in this place."

"Trevain, do you really mean it?" The dark haired woman had clasped her hands together in surprise.

"Of course," he answered, swallowing and desperately hoping that she would agree. "I understand if you find it difficult to trust me. I promise, I'm not asking you for anything in return. I just want to see you settled, comfortable, and happy. Living out of a motel is not the best arrangement for young ladies. I can offer you access to all the money you could possibly need, meals, clothing, books, computers, tutors..."

"Trevain," she said quietly. She contemplated him for what felt like a very long time. He fought the urge to shift in discomfort, remaining motionless as she studied his face meticulously. The young woman's dark eyes bored into him; he tried to imagine what was racing through her mind. When she spoke, her voice was choppy and wavering. "How is it possible you can be so kind? To a complete stranger you have only just met? I could be... I could be a murderer. I could be... some kind of inhuman beast."

It was Trevain's turn to throw his head back and laugh. "I highly doubt that you're a bloodsucking vampire."

Mirth danced in her mysterious black eyes. "I could be something far worse."

When his laughter finally dissolved, Trevain ran a hand through his grey hair sheepishly. The motion of laughing had felt so good in his chest that it had been difficult to stop. The merriment was therapeutic, mending all the brokenness his insides had accumulated. Even deeper than that, the rusted gears turning in his mind felt like they had been newly oiled. It was her company that had this effect on him, he knew.

Trevain suddenly felt like he was sitting with an old friend. He smiled and spoke with greater confidence. "You don't belong in a place like this, compromising yourself to make ends meet. The kind of life you should experience, now that you're seeking to experience life, is one in which you will enjoy every single moment—one where you can trust that your sisters will be provided for and happy, and that they won't turn out like my nutcase of a brother."

His comfortable new manner was infectious. The rigidity of her limbs had released along with the tension around her lips and eyes. She gave him a look of sincere gratitude, and placed her fingertips lightly on his forearm. Feeling emboldened, she squeezed his arm affectionately. "Will you let me talk it over with my sisters tonight and see what they think? I do not want to force them; we have just been liberated from living under tyrannical male authority. They may not like the idea that it could happen again."

Trevain shook his head emphatically. "I promise that it won't be like that."

Her obscure eyes moved toward the beaded curtain, evidently searching for her red-haired friend. She took a moment before she spoke. "If we become dependent on you, we will owe you everything. Our freedom will be yours. But I have seen that you are beloved among your crew; they adore you and your guidance, so I have no reason to imagine that you would not be caring of us as well."

"Those are my employees," he explained, "but they are my only friends. They're the closest thing I have to family, but they pop in and out of my life when their need for my money expires. Do you see that young man over there, Arnav? We've been working together every single day, and he feels like a son to me. He's a college student who's going to head home as soon as soon as the season's over, and I'll probably never see him again." The grey-haired man paused as premature nostalgia painted his face. "So you see, if you and your sisters want to move on at any point, I won't have an issue with that. I'm used to it, and I just want to know that I made a positive impact while I could, however brief that may be."

Trevain saw that she was staring at him with a peculiar and unreadable expression. Was it wonder? Approval? Well-concealed contempt? Feeling suddenly exposed, he cleared his throat gruffly. "At any rate, if you choose to grace my home with your presence you will always be considered a welcome guest. I'm not a tyrant, and never will be. If Callder ever bothers you, I'll smack him upside the head—but he's a harmless lout, even when drunk. No one will ever tell you what to do—you would choose your every action as you see fit. Go where you want, do as you please. You would be safe. I promise you this, Undina."

"Well, then. I cannot listen to you calling me that anymore," she said softly. She glanced furtively toward the curtain before leaning close to him and putting her lips near his ear. "Please allow me to tell you my real name..."

Chapter Five

"He offered you to live with him?" the child almost shouted. "A complete stranger?"

"Hush, Corallyn. I will explain in a moment. I need to rest."

"Of all the ridiculous..." The small girl furiously marched into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Aazuria slowly made her way to the bed, trying to keep her sore knees from collapsing. The joints felt like liquid that might give way under her weight. She finally crumpled weakly onto the mattress. A very quiet woman with a long braid rushed to her side and propped her legs up on pillows as she winced.

"Thank you, Elandria," she whispered. "The twins will be here in a moment."

Elandria nodded. Throwing her long braid over her shoulder, she began to knead the other woman's calves.

After a few minutes, the massage seemed to soothe Aazuria enough so that she could speak. She reached out to touch Elandria's wrist. "Do you trust me, sister?" she asked earnestly.

Elandria looked up in surprise. Her large, dark eyes were similar to Aazuria's own, except for the shyness present in them. Before she could respond, the door to their motel room opened. Two identical redheaded women entered. They were laughing and chattering as they shut the door behind them. When they noticed the state of the woman on the bed, it only added to their humor.

"Oh, Aazuria," one of the twins scolded from across the room. "What is the point of having a doctor around if you never listen to my counsel? I told you not to dance on stage. You can make far more money by just lap dancing, and it's much less strenuous."

"Unlike you two, I feel greater comfort in dancing on hardwood than on the laps of men," Aazuria responded curtly, with a small smile.

"You didn't seem to object to spending a little alone time with that captain of yours—and his hospitable lap," the other twin said coquettishly, with a bold wink.

"He is a kind man," Aazuria responded, running her hands over her thighs and groaning, "but he barely even touched me. I certainly did not become acquainted with his lap. You always jump to conclusions, Visola."

"What? You didn't sit on his lap? Why in Sedna's name not?" Visola stumbled over to the bed, revealing in her canter that she had consumed a few adult beverages. She clumsily tossed her purse onto the night table, and a cluster of bills spilled out. She grinned at this and launched herself onto the bed beside the other girls, landing face-first against the mattress. "Tell me everything!"

"He thinks that I am too young," Aazuria responded drolly.

Visola snorted in laugher. "You! Young, indeed. Did you tell him how old you are?"

"Yes. He did not believe me; he thought it was a joke."

"Typical," said the other twin. She had been carefully removing her purse and jacket, but now she turned to Aazuria and crossed her arms over her chest. "That's due to the deterioration of the quality of communication between men and women in this society. It's really quite markedly manifest."

"What do you mean, Sionna?" Aazuria asked, trying to focus on her friend's words through her blinding pain. She saw the brilliant doctor tilt her chin arrogantly before speaking.

"You could tell a man anything, darling. Anything at all. Tell him about the secrets which make us unique—our biological faculties. Tell him about our rich heritage; tell him about our beautiful home and how it's unlike anything else on earth. Tell him about your years of captivity, about how long and hard you've dreamed of this very moment when you could be in the company of a kind stranger and reveal all this. He will very likely respond with, 'Och, that's funny dear! Now let me see your titties.'"

Visola chuckled at her sister's cynicism. "So true! So very true."

Sionna nodded. "The same goes for the women. Men and women of this particular period are so used to constantly lying to each other that they are culturally trained not to take the other seriously. It's a mental adaptation everyone seems to have. Ubiquitous distrust."

"Captain Trevain Murphy was so genuine and generous with me," Aazuria insisted. "After meeting him I think it must surely be possible for men and women to communicate candidly, even here."

"You're so naïve, Zuri," Visola said with a yawn. She leaned her head against her friend's shoulder. "For your advanced years, you can be so idealistic. Soon you'll see that we're right."

When Aazuria sighed, she inhaled the combination of Visola's fragrant red hair and alcohol-laced breath. She knew that it was futile to criticize the warrior-woman's habits; among other unsavory titles, Visola was Adlivun's drinking champion. Aazuria glanced down at Elandria who was still rubbing her calves dutifully, but the small woman did not speak. She turned back to the redhead resting on her shoulder with a smile. "Trevain noticed you two hovering around me. So much for stealth!"

"Sio and I have been at your side, guarding you for over five hundred years," Visola said firmly. "We're not going to let any harm come to you. After all we've been through, it would be downright silly if we let you get shanked in a lap dancing booth."

"Shanked?" Sionna repeated, rolling her eyes at her sister. "General Visola Ramaris! Where did you pick up such smutty slang?"

"You ladies forget that I have the ability to take care of myself," Aazuria pointed out in amusement. "I hardly think I was ever in any danger from that sweet, harmless man."

"Harmless my foot," Visola muttered, stomping her foot on the bed for emphasis. "Didn't you notice how tall he was, how broad and muscled his shoulders? He is physically strong and potentially very dangerous."

"You grow more paranoid every day, Viso." Aazuria rested her cheek against the wayward red curls exploding from her friend's scalp. "Trevain Murphy is a gentleman. He runs a boat called The Fishin' Magician. He works too hard and does not have a large family; I believe he is lonely." Seeing that her silent sister had looked up curiously, Aazuria smiled and gave some more descriptions. "He has sad, tired green eyes and a slight limp. He also has some kind of obsession with age and he seems to think that he is extremely old."

"Proportionately to his lifespan, he is rather old," Sionna pointed out, "although in absolute terms and relative to us, he is but an infant."

"An infant who has accomplished great things," Aazuria told the doctor. "Apparently, he owns a massive home not too far from here. He has invited me to live with him."

"To live with him? To live with him?" Visola asked, bolting upright frantically. "You're not considering it? Great Sedna below! You're seriously considering it."

"We need to be practical. He has also offered me access to financial resources. There are five of us. One hotel room with two beds is quite pathetic considering the cavernous dimensions we were accustomed to in Adlivun."

"It doesn't bother me, Princess Aazuria." Sionna's voice was firm. "We didn't come here for luxury. We came here for safety and protection. I came here for knowledge and technology to update our infirmaries."

"And I'm here in to score superior weaponry for our forces," Visola said. "It's embarrassing to admit, but our weaponry is pretty primitive. I can easily fix everything with some hardcore American dollars."

The door to the bathroom flung open just as loudly as it had been slammed shut. The child called Corallyn emerged from restroom, wringing a cloth between her hands. "Why is he offering you this?" she demanded.

"He feels sympathy for me," Aazuria explained to her youngest sister. Corallyn's physique was similar to that of a nine-year-old. "He wishes to be our benefactor since our father is dead."

Visola's eyes narrowed as she regarded her friend. "I wonder if he would feel that way if he knew that you had killed your father, Aazuria?"

"Please," Aazuria said in a low voice, "please."

The quiet girl with the long braid stopped massaging Aazuria's legs for a moment to use her hands to sign an insult to Visola angrily: "It is too soon to bring it up so casually! Have you no tact?"

"I'm sorry. Elandria, you're right." Visola sighed and hugged Aazuria gently around the waist. "Forgive me, Zuri. I forget how much you cared for your pops."

"I am very tired. My legs are burning. I should rest." Aazuria pulled away from the others to curl up into a ball on the small, crowded bed.

"Zuri," said Corallyn, approaching her older sister and placing a damp cloth around her knees apologetically. "I ran a bath for you. Sio mentioned before that I should add something called Epsom salt to heal your legs right up. Please try it; it should make you feel better."

Aazuria remained still for a moment, her eyes closed tightly before she nodded. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse and soft. "Thank you, Coral. I will."

She sat up, and began to move to stand, but once she was off the bed, her knees began to collapse. The twins were at her side in an instant, placing their arms under her shoulders to support her as she walked to the bathroom. They helped her remove her dress and get into the bathtub where she blissfully lay down and closed her eyes.

"I did not know it would hurt this badly. It did not hurt at all when I was dancing on stage," Aazuria admitted.

"That was probably adrenaline," Sionna explained. "Your body had a rush of a hormone which made it think it could do more than it really could. I somehow never experience that sensation at home."

"This place is much less calm than we are used to, Doctor Ramaris," Aazuria said softly to Sionna. Seeing that the young girl at her side was worried, she reached out to touch Corallyn's elbow. "The bath helps. Thank you."

"You're welcome, big sis," the child answered. "I'm sorry that I was rude earlier. Just the idea of living with a man again! So soon after we rid ourselves of Papa! The idea truly frightens me."

"He promised me that we would have our freedom," Aazuria said, stretching her aching legs out underwater. "If you think about it, we may not get another offer like this. We need to seize it. His resources could be invaluable to our cause."

"We don't need a man, Aazuria," Visola said firmly. "Do you know how much money we've made in the past week? They say Alaskan king crab fishermen make the most money in the world, but I don't believe it. My sister and I have each made over five thousand dollars this week. The shrewd women seducing away large portions of the salaries of the men who make the most money in the world stand in a substantially better position than those fools do."

"She's right. If your main concern is our poor accommodations, Viso and I can easily afford an additional hotel room," Sionna suggested.

"You two would not allow a curtain to come between us. Now you want to sleep in separate rooms?" Aazuria closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the tub.

"You can't blame us for being cautious," Visola said. "Everything has changed now that Adlivun is being threatened and scouted. Your father ignored the signs of impending attack, but everyone knows what's happening. If you really want, we could get a larger suite. Maybe two joined rooms if we leave the door between them open..."

"All of these solutions are so temporary! We can't revive Adlivun's defenses in a week. We do not have bank accounts, nor do we have any safe places to store the massive amounts of money we are making. We cannot get bank accounts, and we cannot purchase homes or vehicles. We do not have any identification. We do not exist."

"I have identification!" Corallyn interrupted. "We could use mine."

"Yes. You have identification that says you were born ninety years ago in Moscow, but you only look about nine years old by land standards."

"I'll just stay above the surface for a few years until I look my age!"

"By the time you will look your age, you would realistically need to resemble a cadaver. I think the best solution is to take Trevain up on his offer and to live comfortably in his home while we do what we need to do. We cannot survive in this world without connections and allies. Just as we have allies in Adlivun, we must have allies here."

Visola sat down on the toilet seat of the small bathroom and strummed her nails against the ceramic basin. "How about we just kill a few friendless, jobless, women who look like us and steal their identities? People won't notice they're missing. We can hide their bodies in Adlivun and no one will ever find them. Then we can just do everything ourselves."

"Visola!" scolded Sionna angrily, "we are not doing that."

"It would be efficient and fast," Visola muttered with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. "Spoilsport."

Corallyn had been chewing on her lip nervously. "I think Aazuria's idea makes the most sense," she finally admitted.

Aazuria looked at the young girl gratefully. "I am glad you agree. But if I accept his offer I can only take my sisters with me."

"No," the twins chorused in unison. There was very little the two could agree upon, but this was one of those rare moments.

"Absolutely not," said Visola. "We won't allow you to go. We may not be related by blood, but we grew up at your side. I have hardly ever been separated from you, Zuri. We are as much your sisters as Elan and Coral are!"

"In almost every respect you two are my beloved sisters," Aazuria answered, sitting up in the tub and turning to cast a stern glare at the women. "However, politically, and with respect to the government of our people, I am now your mother. Mother to all of you. I am the eldest, and I have been educated for this role. Father is gone now, by my hands. It is my responsibility to take care of all of you, and to make decisions that will keep us all safe. I will consult you and gather your opinions, as we often begrudged father for not doing, but I would appreciate if you treated my ideas with a little more respect."

Sionna sighed and knelt by the bathtub, resting her chin on her elbows and looking up at Aazuria. "Do you really like him, darling?"

Aazuria pondered over the questions for a moment. She stared at the olive fleur-de-lis patterned tiles on the bathroom wall before nodding. "Yes. I do really like him."

"Very well. Just remember this is exactly what King Kyrosed always warned us against." Sionna dipped her finger in the bathwater and drew lingering circles. "He kept us imprisoned because he believed it was dangerous to get too close to land-dwellers."

"And that is exactly why you all wanted him gone," Aazuria reminded her. "We thought it better to face these dangers as free women than to waste our lives away in captivity. We thought it better to have a fighting chance at survival rather than to remain sitting ducks and be conquered. Now that we are here, what is the point of our freedom if we are guarded to the point of keeping ourselves imprisoned anyway?"

There was a small silence, before Corallyn nodded. "You're right. Besides, if we make mistakes, we'll always have each other to help us to rectify our errors. Nothing is permanent."

"I still can't agree with this," Visola said. "It sounds too good to be true."

Aazuria gestured to the doorway where the silent woman stood. "We have not yet heard what Elandria thinks."

Elandria, who had been fretfully fingering her braid, dropped the rope of hair. She lifted her hands to answer in sign language. "I defer to whatever you decide, esteemed sister. If you say he is a good man, then I believe he is a good man."

"Rubbish," said Visola with a dissatisfied grunt, "absolute rubbish. There is no such thing."

"I may prove you wrong yet," Aazuria challenged gravely.

"Ha! I certainly hope you do," Visola said. Then after taking a deep breath, she smiled. "I can't say I'm not a little jealous, Zuri! A few days here and you've already been offered to enjoy someone's home and fortune. Basically a marriage proposal. I've got squat!"

"That's only because Zuri gives off that 'refined royalty' vibe, and you give off more of a 'vicious harlot' vibe," Sionna explained.

"Don't forget that we're exactly alike," Visola said to her twin with a sunny wink. She turned to look at the others. "Do you girls mind if I have a private word with the princess?"

When the other three had left, Visola sat on the edge of the bathtub. The two women sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Visola began speaking. "Look, Zuri. I understand if you don't like dancing in that grimy club for money. It was the quickest solution I could come up with that didn't involve pawning our jewels."

"It was a great solution, Viso. It is an impressive way to make money," Aazuria admitted. "But we should also sell the jewels; what use are shiny baubles if we can use the money to save lives?"

"They are irreplaceable heirlooms from our ancestors. Let me see if I can do this without touching our treasures. Maybe we won't need to go that far."

Aazuria nodded. "I should have listened to you and I should not have tried the ballet. My legs were not ready yet."

"I'm not sure about that," Visola confessed. "Your dance was so moving. It almost brought tears to my eyes, and you know that I am as cold as they come. You were so free and... triumphant. I've never seen you let go like that, not once in over five hundred years."

Aazuria reached up and grasped her friend's hand, squeezing it firmly to express her gratitude. Her voice descended to a whisper. "You know me so well, Viso. I have never felt as exultant as I did on stage tonight. Thank you for showing that place to me—it is rough and crude, but there are real people there with earnest passions and sorrows. I could see it in their eyes when I danced. It was almost too much to bear; to feel all those heavy eyes on me, and to feel so obligated to dance their afflictions away!"

Visola's lips twitched. "Only you could turn a strip club into something spiritual."

The dark haired woman sent a sly smile at her protectress. "It was worth all the physical pain I now feel. It was worth taking father's life for. This is one of those days that I do not regret what I have done."

Visola brought Aazuria's hand up to her lips and kissed it gently with respect. "You should never feel regret. You did us all a great justice, but I wish that you would have let me do it for you so that you wouldn't have to live with the guilt."

Aazuria was quiet for a moment. Visola reached out to brush her moist dark hair over her shoulders. "How are your lungs?"

"Perfectly fine. No pain at all," Aazuria answered, forcing a small smile. "I will be in good health as long as I do not attempt to dance like that too often."

Visola continued to stroke her friend's dark hair, sighing. "Poor Zuri. I hardly recognize you with this dark skin and dark hair. How long has it been since you were in the sunlight? Australia, maybe?" She swallowed at the bittersweet memory. "I really wish that you would take me and Sio along with you to live with your captain. It would ease my mind. I'll drive myself mad with worry otherwise. Why don't you just lie and say we're related?"

"We must be realistic, Viso. With my melanin problem, and you two just as fair as ever, there is no way that he is going to believe that." Aazuria gave her friend a wry look, lifting her arms. "I look as though I come from the heart of the Caribbean or Mediterranean, not from the Bering."

"We could dye our hair to match yours..."

"It would not work. Coral and Elandria are also tanning considerably, so it's easy to see that they are my sisters. Let us not lie any more than we need to. Also, I would not want to cause Trevain more discomfort than necessary; bringing two girls with me is far more polite than four."

"Fine," Visola said, reluctantly. "I understand—but Zuri, I haven't let you out of my sight in a very long time. I want you to know I'm not going to be comfortable with this." The redhead slowly stood up, placing her hands on her hips in an aggressive pose. "If you see shadows lurking in the bushes outside your new place, don't freak out. That's probably me. If you see a red laser dot in the middle of your captain's forehead, don't freak out. I've probably just got him in the crosshairs of my sniper rifle."

Aazuria looked up at her friend in confusion. "You have a sniper rifle?"

"Not yet, but trust me: I'll get one soon enough." Visola's turned upwards in her classic mischievous grin. "I'm working on it."

Leaning back in the tub, Aazuria returned a tired smile. "Can you ask the girls if anyone needs a bath?"

Visola opened the door of the bathroom and addressed the other women in the room. She turned back to Aazuria and shook her head to indicate the negative response.

"Do you need one?" Aazuria asked.

"Nope," Visola said, "I showered before leaving the club."

"Great. You four can share the beds. Have a good night. I am going to sleep here in the bathtub." With that, Aazuria sunk down into the artificially created saltwater, and curled up inside the ceramic basin.

Visola refrained from protesting. "Goodnight, Zuri," she said tenderly before exiting the bathroom. She left a crack open in the door and seated herself against the wall just outside.

Chapter Six

"These clothes are itchy," Corallyn complained as the taxi cab drove off.

"The twins did their research and said that these are normal and fashionable garments," Aazuria answered. "Are you alright, Elandria?"

The quiet girl nodded, playing with her braid as she surveyed the house they stood before. It was indeed massive, and there would surely be more than enough room for all three women inside. The house was also very close to the water, only steps away from the seashore.

"So how old is he again?" Corallyn asked.

"Nearly fifty," Aazuria answered.

"Younger than I am," Corallyn mused. "Maybe I'll finally be treated with respect now that I won't be the youngest person around."

"I doubt it. You will be obliged to act as though you are nine years old."

"Delightful," Corallyn muttered, gazing down at her young body with scorn, "simply delightful."

"Remember, he thinks that I am an innocent eighteen-year-old teenager," Aazuria said, making a face. She turned to stare at the massive double doors and asked, "Are we ready for this?" When the other two women nodded, Aazuria marched forward and pressed the button which rang the doorbell.

Before too long a portly but energetic elderly man came to the door. "Come in, come in! Mr. Murphy told me that he was expecting some young ladies. It's a pleasure to meet you girls! My, aren't you all so beautiful!" The short, round man with even rounder glasses quickly ushered them into the house, and looked around in confusion on the porch. "Don't you have any more bags?"

"No," Aazuria answered, gesturing to the sacks that they held. "This is all."

"I see, I see," the old man mumbled, scratching his chin, "well, right this way!"

He bounced into a room with sofas and encouraged the girls to sit down. He rubbed his hands together in excitement. "It's been so long since we had a lady in the house! Or a child! Or even a permanent resident! Mr. Murphy and his brother are gone out to sea most of the time. I do their cooking and housekeeping and laundry and whatnot, but it's awful lonely here in this big house sometimes. My name is Mr. Fiskel, by the way. Where are my manners? What are your names?"

"I am Aazuria, and these are my sisters Elandria and Corallyn."

"My goodness, what unusual names! Aazuria, Elandria, Corallyn. I couldn't believe it when Mr. Murphy told me there were young ladies coming to stay with us! I'll go and let him know you're here and then cook something delicious up for lunch—do you girls have any preferences?"

"We are fond of seafood," Aazuria said with a smile.

"Seafood! Seafood is my specialty," the old man said happily. "I guarantee this lunch will be the freshest, yummiest seafood that you ever did taste!"

This was his claim as he arrogantly ambled away. Aazuria looked at her sisters, exchanging secretive smiles. Corallyn couldn't conceal a small giggle.

"He's cute," Corallyn whispered. "Thank heavens we can eat real food again and don't have to live on those awful things called hamburgers!"

Footsteps echoed on the white marbled floors of the imposing foyer, heralding the arrival of the man of the house. When Trevain Murphy entered the room, Corallyn's judgmental eyes roamed over him languidly from head to foot. Elandria, however, turned to observe her sister's reaction. She was surprised to see the subtle light warming Aazuria's eyes and the creases forming around her smiling lips. She knew without a doubt that her sister was somehow enchanted by this man. She also knew that Aazuria had a way of seeing qualities in people that existed far beneath the surface.

Corallyn observed Trevain's limp and his wavy grey hair. She compared his appearance to the descriptions she had heard from the twins, noting his broad, muscled shoulders. She watched the way he crossed the room, eyes fixed eagerly and reverentially on Aazuria, hands outstretched in warmest welcome.

Aazuria rose and placed her hands in his, pleasantly surprised by the sight of him. In the daylight, he looked much more robust than he had in the somber lighting of the club. Of course, that had also been immediately after he had lost a member of his crew and had been in a very distressed state.

"I am so glad you chose to accept my offer, Aazuria." Trevain was beaming. His face seemed to have been cleanly shaven, revealing a sharp and angular jaw. "I promise you won't lack for any convenience while you're here."

"I cannot thank you enough for your kindness," Aazuria said, inclining her head slightly. She felt the urge to curtsey, but she reminded herself that this was not Europe, and the rules of conduct had changed since she had last been among land-dwellers. "I would like you to meet my sisters, Elandria and Corallyn."

"Hello," said the captain, smiling and approaching them. "I am Captain Trevain Murphy. I hope you will enjoy staying here. The house is huge and empty, as you can see, so I'm thrilled to have some company. You have already met Mr. Fiskel, the cook, but you might also run into my brother Callder once in a while. "

Trevain extended his hand first to the younger of the girls. "Corallyn, is it? What a lovely name. What does it mean?"

"I was named after a marine organism," Corallyn explained tersely. The harshness of her tone and the precision of her words did not suit a nine-year-old; she seemed determined to dislike Trevain. "Some varieties of coral are valued as precious gems and worn as jewelry."

Trevain nodded, observing the young girl carefully before asking. "What grade are you in, sweetie?"

Corallyn bit her lip and looked tentatively at Aazuria for assistance. Aazuria moved to the girl's side and stroked her back reassuringly, surprised at how edgy her youngest sister seemed.

"She has been homeschooled," Aazuria quickly offered. "We all have been homeschooled. I can guarantee that her knowledge far exceeds the standard for whatever grade she should belong to."

"Ah, I see," Trevain remarked, feeling tension radiate off the young girl. He swallowed, hoping that it would ease away with time. He could not help but wonder what dreadfulness she had experienced to make her so distrustful of him. He understood why Aazuria had seemed protective of her sisters at first.

"Well, Corallyn," he said lightly, "you can call me Uncle Trevain if you'd like. Let me know if there's anything you ever have need of, and I'll try my best to help out."

"Thank you, Uncle Trevain," Corallyn said politely, glancing at Aazuria with a look of amusement. Aazuria gave her a feeble smile and shrug which went unnoticed by the captain as he turned to address Elandria.

"Elandria, is it? A pleasure to meet you." Trevain reached out to shake the woman's hand. "You look so much like your sister."

Twisting her braid nervously within both hands, Elandria looked up bashfully at Trevain. She peered at his outstretched appendage, too hesitant to accept the offer.

"Elandria does not speak," Aazuria explained to him quietly. "She uses her hands."

"Her hands?" he asked.

Releasing her braid, Elandria deftly moved her fingers into a few communicative formations before returning them to her hair.

Aazuria laughed softly before translating. "She says that she is honored to meet the man her sister spoke so highly of, and surprised that for once I was not exaggerating. She also says that she is humbled by your kindness in inviting us to stay with you."

"You speak very well with your hands," Trevain said with fascination as a slight blush touched his cheeks. He remembered the sign language he had seen Aazuria use at the club with her redheaded friend, and reasoned that Elandria must be the reason they knew how to speak that way. He thought to himself that if things worked out with the girls, and if they decided to stay for an extended period of time, he would learn sign language in order to better communicate with Elandria. That might impress Aazuria. He pushed the thought away as soon as it had come.

"Elandria. I don't think I've ever heard that name before. What does it mean?" he asked.

Elandria hesitated before signing the words, looking to Aazuria for reassurance that it would not give away their secret.

"It means 'she who lives by the sea,'" Aazuria translated with a smile.

"Ah, that's suitable!" Trevain remarked with a laugh, gesturing through his windows at the stunning view they had of the ocean. "I'm sure Mr. Fiskel is working on lunch as we speak. I can show you girls up to some rooms so that you can choose yours and get settled in. I have to go to work not too long after lunch. I'll probably be away for a few days, but please make yourselves at home and help yourselves to anything that you'd like."

The girls rose to follow Trevain to the second floor of his house. As he ascended the staircase, his limp became more prominent.

Corallyn thought she might as well take advantage of her supposed youth by bluntly asking, "What happened to your leg, Uncle Trevain?"

"It was an unfortunate accident at sea," he answered, turning to look at her. "I always point out my bad leg to the sailors in my crew when they're doing something carelessly. It serves as a constant reminder and warning—safety first! You never know when your leg might get crushed or your arm might get chopped off on those dangerous fishing boats."

While Corallyn could not resist a grin at his adorable fatherly lecture, Aazuria frowned, wondering why she felt that she could detect the smallest hint of a lie somewhere in his words. She continued to listen to his voice as he pointed out the available rooms to her sisters, indicating which ones had the best views and the largest closets, but she did not hear the tone again which she thought indicated untruth. Each room was painted in a different color, and Elandria gravitated toward the warm yellow. Corallyn preferred her namesake coral, and was exuberant when she found apricot-colored walls.

Trevain took Aazuria's arm gently as the girls selected their rooms, guiding her down the hall to the room he thought was best suited to her.

"This one is my favorite," he confessed as he opened the door. "I'm not sure if you'll like it, but the walls are painted a rich dark red..."

When Aazuria saw the combination of burgundy walls and dark mahogany wood, she turned to Trevain in excitement. "It is charming!"

He smiled at her reaction, noticing that her accent was far thicker than the one in Corallyn's voice. Perhaps their family had moved around? He gestured further down the hall. "That room on the left is mine, and the one on the right is Callder's—that is, when he decides to stay over, and when he's sober enough to make it up the stairs."

Aazuria smiled, remembering Callder's lamentable display at the club. Trevain grinned at her. "He's still sound asleep there right now. Hung over. I should wake him up before lunch, although I dread it—he will be grouchy as hell. Maybe I'll have Mr. Fiskel do it."

"Poor Mr. Fiskel," Aazuria said, following Trevain as he continued to guide her through the house.

"He's an old friend of the family. He used to be a sailor on the boats back when my father was alive. When he was too old to fish, I decided to hire him on as my cook and butler."

You are amazing, Aazuria thought to herself, but she decided against saying anything of the sort. Instead she just nodded in acknowledgement.

"There's an indoor swimming pool and hot tub on the main floor," he informed her. "Heated so you can get a bit of exercise even in the winter. There's a solarium filled with exotic plant species. We also have a very large library, although you might find my taste in books eclectic. If you ever want to entertain, maybe invite some friends over like that redhead from the club, feel free to do so. Just let Mr. Fiskel know so he can prepare extra food."

"That is thoughtful," Aazuria said. She could not wait to invite the twins over and show them the magnificent quarters, proving to them that Captain Trevain Murphy really did honor his word. She still had difficulty believing her good fortune.

From downstairs, the sound of the doorbell was heard ringing through the house. Before a second passed, the doorbell was rung again fiercely several times, each loud clangor overlapping the echo of the previous peal.

"Crap," Trevain whispered, growing pale, "not now."

"What is the matter?" Aazuria asked, feeling the muscles in her stomach tighten in apprehension. The doorbell continued to sound wildly.

"Keep an eye on your sisters," Trevain said with a frown. "Don't let them come downstairs. This isn't going to be pretty. I've been dreading this."

Aazuria watched as an agitated Trevain limped downstairs. She rushed to the room where Corallyn and Elandria were discussing their new closets in sign language.

"There may be some kind of danger," Aazuria said, ushering the girls behind her and closing the door until there was just a crack open.

"Danger?" Corallyn asked. "I knew this was too good to be true. I knew it."

"Hush," Aazuria said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small knife. She crouched by the door with the knife in a ready position and pressed her ear close to the crack to listen for any signs of trouble. The doorbell only stopped ringing when the door was opened, and promptly slammed shut.

"You need to explain to me exactly what the hell happened, Trevain!" came a hysterical voice. "I leave for a few days and all of you men forget how to tie your own goddamned shoes? What happened? Tell me! Start talking now!"

"Calm down..."

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down! Leo is dead! Dead! How can I be calm? How could you let this happen? Dammit, Trevain! Dammit!"

"Listen, Brynne..."

"You listen! What the hell is wrong with you? You've never been such a negligent asshole!"

Meanwhile, upstairs, Aazuria was grimacing. "It is just some annoying, irate female," she whispered to her sisters angrily. "No real danger, but Trevain is too nice to stand up for himself. He is letting her rip him apart!"

"Then go do something about it," Corallyn suggested.

"I do not wish to interfere," Aazuria said, although she was sorely tempted to give that woman a piece of her mind. She tucked her knife back into her purse. "I hardly know him. It is not my place."

From downstairs, Trevain's voice filtered up into the room, his tone beseeching. "Please, Brynne, there was nothing that I could have done. Nothing that anyone could have done. We didn't even know when..."

"You didn't know!" the female voice almost screamed. "You didn't know when a man fell overboard? When a man was injured? When a man was drowning? How could you not know? How could no one have seen or heard anything?"

"You know that I run my crew more carefully than any other captain who fishes the Bering Sea. I have never lost a man in my entire career before Leander. I can't explain what happened out there, but we can't allow it to get us overemotional or we risk making mistakes and letting it happen again."

"Why didn't you call me? I headed down to the docks today after doing some grocery shopping for our trip—I got some vegetables in addition to the instant mashed potatoes and chocolate because I was in such a great mood and felt like getting something healthy. But once I got to the Magician, everyone looked as though someone had died. Finally, I had to practically beat up Billy to find out that someone had actually died. Do you know what it's like finding out that way? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I knew you'd react like this. I didn't want to ruin your time in Florida."

"Fuck Florida! I needed to know this. Dammit! This is your fault, Trevain. I hope you know that Leo's death is on you. This is what you get for hiring such an incompetent greenhorn! No one else is to blame but you."

There was a silence before Trevain wretchedly said, "I know."

Aazuria resolutely raised herself to her feet at sound of the captain's quiet acceptance. Elandria grabbed her wrist and held her fast with both hands, mouthing words to her since she could not use her hands: Aazuria! Do not be rash! However, the older girl slipped out of her grasp quickly.

"Stay here," Aazuria commanded her sisters, before opening the door and quickly crossing the corridor to the staircase. Her modestly-heeled black shoes clinked on the oaken staircase as she descended, her posture erect and uncompromising. When Trevain and Brynne turned up to look at her, she was suddenly conscious of her new clothes. The twins had chosen a simple knee-length teal dress for her, believing it would accentuate her new dark coloring. She also wore her extremely long hair wrapped up tightly into a bun. She hoped this styling would have the added benefit of ensuring that she was taken seriously despite her young appearance.

"Forgive me for overhearing your bellowed accusations," Aazuria began steadily, while still descending the stairs. "I did not mean to eavesdrop, but it is challenging to ignore such a deafening commotion."

Brynne assessed the woman with astonishment. She had not expected anyone to be in the house other than Mr. Fiskel and Callder, and was immediately ashamed. She was even more embarrassed by the feminine appearance of the girl, and her elegant mannerisms. Brynne was suddenly conscious of her own ragged jeans, flannel shirt, and manly shouting.

"Who is she?" Brynne whispered angrily to Trevain.

"Be polite," Trevain softly warned the brunette.

Brynne's fists clenched in jealousy. "I'll be as rude as I damn well please!"

"Captain Murphy does not deserve to be verbally attacked," Aazuria stated calmly and evenly. "Do you not think he has suffered enough pain for his loss already? In fact, Captain Murphy has had to be strong for his brother and all of his crew who are equally distraught. They were all present at the tragedy, and they all share the burden of responsibility. Perhaps you should do something positive. Console the men; reassure and support them instead of tormenting them as though you are entitled and blameless just because you're female."

"How dare you!" Brynne shouted, swiveling to face the captain. "Now you're living with some woman, Trevain? Is she the reason you weren't paying attention on the ship and you let a man drown? Is your new bedmate keeping your head in the clouds and distracting you?"

Trevain recoiled and shouted. "Brynne! Jesus, woman. This is Aazuria. I only met her two nights ago, after Leo drowned."

"Two nights ago! And she's already living here? Did you have a Vegas-style wedding? How old is she, nineteen? God, Trevain! I thought you were a sensible man, but it looks like you're having a midlife crisis! The granddaddy of all midlife crises!"

Aazuria approached Brynne until she was standing directly before her. "Excuse me ma'am, but you are mistaken in your obscene suppositions. When Trevain learned that my father recently died he extended his sympathy to me and my orphaned younger sisters in letting us stay in his home. I am sure you can see how offensive it is to hear the character of the man who has offered me such charity and compassion slighted so unjustly."

Brynne was rendered silent for a long moment. She stared into the hard black eyes of the woman who reprimanded her until she had to look away. She looked at Trevain and saw that he was also displeased. "I'm sorry, Trevain. Sometimes I jump to conclusions. And you... sorry about your dad," she said, trying to soften up, but failing to fully let go of her fury. "What did you say your name was?"

"I am Aazuria."

"Aazur—? What the hell kind of a name is that?" Brynne spat.

"It is derived from the word 'azure' which is the color of... the ocean," Aazuria said. She had briefly hesitated, almost having said that azure was the color of her eyes, but she quickly remembered that her eyes had changed with the increased melanin from her high sunlight exposure.

"The ocean? The ocean isn't azure, girlfriend, it's black, okay?" Brynne snapped. "Black as death. And sometimes, when someone dies in it, portions of it are red. Was there lots of blood in the water when Leo died, Captain?"

"Stop attacking him," Aazuria said darkly. "Also, stop displaying your ignorance. The ocean is azure."

"What do you know?" Brynne asked, advancing on Aazuria until they were almost nose-to-nose. The women were both tall, but Aazuria's low high heels allowed her to tower over sneaker-wearing Brynne by two inches. "What does an adolescent girl like you know about the ocean?"

"Enough." Aazuria's voice was cold as ice, sending a chill through those around her. Her chin had lifted as she dissected the brunette with her glare. Hostility crackled in the air between them, and Aazuria felt so much bile stirring within her that she surprised herself with the force of the emotion. She had never felt so compelled to defend someone's honor, and she almost hoped that Brynne would strike her so that she would have an excuse to strike back.

"You know nothing!" Brynne shouted. "You're obviously a brainless spoiled brat—I am a grown woman who has lived and worked on the sea for over a decade." Each word was laced with mounting resentment.

"A decade," Aazuria repeated with a condescending smile. "Is that supposed to impress me? Poets have been calling the ocean azure for thousands of years."

"Exactly. Romantic, dimwitted poets. I'm a fisherwoman. Don't you dare come into my world and tell me what color the ocean is! I don't care what the poets say. It's black. Black as midnight. Black and awful!"

Aazuria realized that the woman was in pain from mourning—sympathy promptly replaced most of her anger. "You may feel that way right now, but you are only allowing passion to cloud your judgment. Look out the windows and you will see that the ocean is clearly azure."

"Don't you have some audacity!" Brynne hissed, stepping even closer to Aazuria. "I am intimately familiar with the water. I'm telling you now, what you see is a goddamned illusion! It looks blue and pretty to your untrained landlubber eyes, but I can see the truth. It's actually hell that you're looking at. Hell on earth!"

"Brynne Ambrose! Settle down," Trevain demanded, putting a hand on the woman's shoulder and trying to firmly guide her away from Aazuria. At that moment, he would have preferred to be breaking apart two giant football players. Brynne seemed out for blood. "Give her some space."

"No! She needs to be taught a thing or two," Brynne barked, shrugging him off and turning back to her adversary.

"Hell on earth?" Aazuria repeated in a whisper. "It is closer to paradise. If only you knew..."

"I'm trying to teach you something, you vexing little virgin. You are a virgin, aren't you?" Brynne snickered, much to Trevain's frustration. "Learn this fast if you want to survive amongst us: the water is black. Do you understand me? Black. You had better change your name."

Aazuria stared at her challenger, her eyes flashing with indignation and pity. "You are gravely mistaken. Your soul is of the earth—how could you know the sea?

"Who knows the color of the ocean better than me?" Brynne released a hysterical snicker. "In case you didn't notice, girl, I'm a fucking fisherwoman. I know best."

"I know better—because I am a fucking mermaid."

Chapter Seven

Elandria slid down the wall she was leaning against, her bottom landing against the floor with a little thump.

Corallyn's lips parted in shock. "I can't believe she just gave it all away like that."

"I thought she found the term 'mermaid' offensive and erroneous," Elandria signed with her hands. "What is she doing? She is usually so tactful. She used to be a diplomat."

"She cursed too," Corallyn noted. "She never curses. I think we should get ready to leave. It's a good thing we didn't unpack or get too comfortable."

The girls were interrupted by a great howl of laughter traveling up from downstairs. Corallyn and Elandria stared at each other in surprise as they listened to Trevain's gigantic guffaw until it petered down into uncontrollable chuckles.

"It's just like Viso said," Corallyn realized after a moment of confusion. "He didn't even believe her."

Downstairs, Brynne's face had been etched with shock at the other woman's statement. They had stood in a moment of stalemated silence until Trevain had begun to laugh in his good-natured and infectious way. Finally, Brynne felt a smile coming to her own lips, and felt rather silly for being so aggressive to the beautiful young girl. She vaguely wondered why she had been so unwelcoming; there was an unpleasant combination of grief and envy in her chest.

Brynne realized that it had been a long time since a woman had stood up to her like Aazuria just had—perhaps no female had ever done so. Brynne was used to battling with males, and she was used to winning. She had perfected the art of intimidation at a young age, and it had served her well. She argued ridiculous things, claiming that grass was blue while the sky was red. She would have argued for milk being purple if it suited her need to overpower someone. The arguments were always about the same thing for Brynne; establishing and emphasizing her dominance in all of her relationships.

"Well, Aazuria, I guess you win," she said reaching out to shake the woman's hand in a gesture of apology. "I can't compete with a certified sea-wench like yourself. I'm sorry for being such a bitch; I just went a bit crazy after learning about Leo. I really liked that kid, even though he was a bit of a greenhorn. If he was half as tough as you are, he probably wouldn't be six fathoms deep right about now."

Aazuria raised her eyebrows at being called a sea-wench but she returned the woman's handshake and nodded head in acceptance of her apology. Trevain had been observing the interaction between the women curiously. He was used to Brynne's rough ways, but very impressed and amazed by the graceful vigor that Aazuria had battled her with. The girl was young, but she could stand her ground.

Brynne turned to look at Trevain, and lowered her eyes shamefully. "I'm sorry, Captain. I just had to let off a little steam. I'm fine now, and reporting for duty. Let's go catch some crabs."

"Brynne," said Captain Murphy quietly. "I understand if the accident has made you angry enough to want to quit. I can pay you for the portion of the season that you worked, and that will be that. I think you know, however, from experience, that women aren't generally treated very well on most other fishing boats. You'll have to choose your next employer carefully. I'll give you the best of recommendations, of course."

Brynne crossed her arms across her chest, exhaling heavily. "I don't want to quit, Captain. Our crew is a family. I just don't want this to happen again. I feel like I just lost a brother. We've always heard about this happening to other crews, but it has never happened to us. I wasn't even there! Goddammit! It's just... I only learned about it a few minutes ago at the docks, and I haven't been able to deal with it yet."

"If you need to take time off, take as much as you need," Trevain said. "The men haven't been dealing with it well either."

"No," Brynne said, her voice cracking. She shook her head violently. "I'm not letting anything else go wrong. You boys need me to keep an eye on you out there."

"Yeah. We do," Trevain said, slapping Brynne on the back in a companionable fashion.

"No more weekends in Miami for me," she joked. "Have either of you been to Florida? It's far too warm, and I simply don't have the right wardrobe; definitely not my cup of tea. My cousin's wedding was beautiful though."

Just then, Mr. Fiskel entered the room, "Captain Murphy, Miss Aazuria, lunch is served. I heard Miss Brynne's voice (it was rather loud) and I set another place at the table. We're having lobster tails!"

"Sounds delicious, Mr. Fiskel! You're a savior," Trevain said with a smile. "Could you do me a favor and go upstairs to—"

"No," Aazuria interrupted, placing a hand on Trevain's arm. She sent him a secretive look before turning to the brunette. "Brynne, do you know where Callder's room is?"

"Yeah," she answered suspiciously, "why do you ask?"

"You seem like the type of woman who would know where men's bedrooms are. Would you please be a dear and go wake Callder to tell him that lunch is ready?"

Brynne looked as though she wanted to hit Aazuria, but she quickly gathered her composure and turned to Trevain with reddening cheeks. "Where on earth did you find this creature? She looks like she's eighteen but she speaks like she's eighty. Goddamned sea-wench!"

The brunette continued to sputter curses as she marched up the stairs to perform the dreaded task of waking a very hung-over Callder. Trevain had to try very hard to keep from laughing at how much Brynne's feathers had been ruffled.

"I am sorry," Aazuria said, turning to him. "I just had to get her back for the virgin comment. Goodness, that was rather fun."

"You've got a legendary sense of humor," Trevain responded with a chuckle, shaking his head. "No one ever stands up to her like that."

"She may be a fiery fisherwoman, but she is still just a woman. I know her type. She thinks because she is the only girl tough enough to hang out with the guys that she can disrespect them as much as she likes. This probably grew from issues with her father. Am I right?"

"Spot on. It seems that no one I know has a good relationship with their father," Trevain remarked. "Luckily, bad parentage affects people in very different ways. In your case it seems to have made you stronger."

Aazuria glanced up at him judiciously. "What about you, Trevain? Have you ever had children?"

"No. I've always wanted to, but..." Trevain's brow furrowed and he cleared his throat. "I guess my life didn't work out that way. Probably for the best; as you can see, I'm hardly capable of taking care of a boatful of men. There's no way I'd be able to shepherd little rugrats away from danger."

"You do take care of them," she assured him. "The whole boatload of men and one eccentric, maniacal woman."

Trevain grinned again. "You had me fooled, Aazuria. I thought you were so innocent when I first saw you, but if you can handle yourself around that banshee then I'm not worried about anyone taking advantage of you. Ever."

Aazuria's cheeks felt the strength of her smile. The strength of her smile led to embarrassment which led to heat flushing her cheeks. She turned away from him, murmuring, "I should go and collect my sisters for lunch."

"Wait," Trevain said, moving close to her. "Brynne and Callder and I are probably going to head out to work directly after lunch. We will be away for a few days, depending on the weather. I just wanted to mention one thing to you in private before I leave."

"What is it?" she asked, searching his eyes for clues. She wondrously watched the delicate skin around his eyes crinkle into tender lines of hilarity.

"You were right, my dear. The sea is azure."

Brynne's heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway as she trudged towards Callder's room. "Maniacal banshee!" she grumbled. "Call me more flattering names as soon as I turn the corner, why don't you? Brynne doesn't have ears!" Even though she was making good progress in convincing herself that she was upset with Aazuria and Trevain, she was mostly upset with herself. For a woman in her mid-thirties she sure could be immature at times.

"That's Calzone's influence on me," she told herself. Then she cringed and made a face at the sound of the old nickname. It exited her lips so naturally, creating one more reason for her to be ashamed and upset with herself.

Brynne jumped in fright when a small head poked out from one of the many doors in the corridor. She caught her breath and looked at the child to make sure it was a human being and not a ghostly apparition. Trevain's house was usually so empty that it was shocking to find anything or anyone in it—this was her second such surprise for the day.

"Hi, there," Brynne said, once she was convinced that the child was real. "What's your name, sweetie?"

Corallyn sent the woman an appraising glance. "You were a total dick to my sister."

Brynne winced at hearing such words leaving a child's mouth. "Hey, I'm sorry..."

"You're ignorant. Where I come from, for speaking to a Vellamo like that, you might have been beheaded. Or worse." With that, Corallyn withdrew into the room and slammed the door vehemently.

Brynne flinched again at the loud noise. "A Vella-what?" Her brow knitted in confusion, and she wondered what kind of books Aazuria was letting her little sister read. Shrugging at the child's unusual behavior, she continued down the hall to Callder's room. The hallway seemed to stretch forever. When she finally stood before the door, she knocked hesitantly. Gone was the boisterous Brynne who had viciously rung Trevain's doorbell a dozen times within ten seconds. She swallowed, feeling more uncomfortable to be standing at this door than she had expected; and not just because Callder was cantankerous when hung over.

She cleared her throat and shook her hands out at the wrists to release her misgivings. She knocked on the door again forcefully, in a decidedly more Brynne-like manner. "Hey, Callder! Wake up. Lunch and work!"

"No!" was the grouchy shout heard from the inside.

"Don't make me come in there!" Brynne yelled back. "I will kick your lazy ass right out of that bed."

"Please do," was the muffled invitation which filtered through the door and possibly blankets.

Brynne immediately flushed. "Worst day ever," she whispered to herself. She took several deep breaths before turning the doorknob. "Callder Murphy! You useless layabout! This is why we broke up."

The man had been facing the curtains. Now, he shifted under the blanket to turn and consider her. Brynne felt a twinge of dismay when she saw the red puffiness around his eyes. He looked far more hung over than usual, and she could tell that he had been crying.

"Wanna come help me wake up?" Callder asked as he stretched.

"No!" Brynne immediately felt her pity disappear. "We have to get out on the water. Some of us adults actually need to pay our bills and can't depend on big brother to do everything for us."

Callder rubbed his eyes and yawned loudly. "But you could. Come live with me and Trevain will take care of your stuff too. I miss you."

"My answer is still the same. Unlike you, I have this little thing called pride, and a few other little things called goals. There's more to life than staying in bed all day."

"I could change your mind in about ten seconds," Callder said with a toothy grin. He lifted the blanket to expose his impressive arousal before pouting melodramatically. "I've got this little thing called morning wood. Bring that pretty ass over here and help me get rid of this! It hurts."

"You filthy pervert!" Brynne said, crossing her arms. She assumed the meanest look she could manage to hide the smile that threatened to appear. "We're co-workers, Callder, and this is sexual harassment. Get your lazy ass out of bed and get dressed!"

"Just go away," Callder said grumpily, replacing the blanket and turning to face the window.

Brynne heard the note of sadness in his voice, and released a sigh. Against her better judgment, she crossed the room and sat on the side of the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Don't wanna work today," Callder admitted. He lifted a hand to scratch behind his ear. "I'm not really that hung over. Just don't wanna go out on that boat."

"But we need you out there. We're a man down."

"Is that the only thing you need me for?" he asked quietly. He glanced at Brynne briefly, and for once there was serious sorrow speckling his warm brown eyes. "I have a really bad feeling."

"Everything's going to be fine," Brynne said. She felt the familiar sensation of mothering Callder, as though he were six feet and two inches worth of pure, giant child.

He turned away and grunted. "The Magician stinks of death. I can't stop thinking about it. Just find some bright-eyed young kid to do my job, and I guarantee he'll do it better even."

"It's going to be tough on all of us to get back to work today. Please don't make it harder on us."

"That's all I'm good for. I'm a fuck-up, remember?"

"Calz—Callder. Please. It comforts Trevain to have you around. You relieve everyone's stress with your trashy, tasteless jokes. Don't flake out on us; not today of all days." Seeing that her speech was not having the desired effect, she knew that it was necessary to pull the woman-card. She placed a hand on his arm tenderly. "I need you out there."

"Leo was ten times the man that I am," Callder said gruffly. "It should have been me. I should be dead."

"No." Brynne's touch changed from affectionate to reproachful instantaneously as she slapped him upside the head. "Don't say things like that!"

"What do you care?"

"I care."

"Then get back together with me," Callder said, propping himself up on his elbow. "How many years are you going to make me beg? I miss you."

Brynne pulled her lips into a tight line. She never knew what to say. Sometimes she wanted to relax and agree more than anything, but a small part of her still hoped that she could find a better man—someone who felt less like dead weight. "Let's talk about it when we get back," she said. "For now, we need to focus on getting through this day. The guys are miserable."

Pushing his torso fully upright, Callder ran a hand through his messy brown hair. "So I guess you need me to rant about booze and whores to cheer 'em up?"

Brynne laughed. He always could make her laugh. "Exactly."

Chapter Eight

"This library is rather eclectic," Sionna observed as she browsed through the titles.

"In the best possible way," her twin added giddily. Visola had been curled up in an armchair with her legs tucked under her as she rapidly consumed the pages of the book she had chosen.

"What are you reading?" Sionna asked, glancing at her sister nosily.

Visola's eyes lit up as she held up the cover for the others to see. "The Influence of Sea Power on Ancient History by Chester Starr."

"Non-fiction," Corallyn observed in disappointment without glancing up from the laptop to which she had recently become joined at the hip.

"Always work, work, work with you, General Ramaris. You're totally obsessed with naval warfare," Sionna accused somewhat fondly. "Grim situations aren't supposed to get a person so excited."

"He even has submarines!" Visola sputtered excitedly. "I just thought it was best to do my reading in chronological order and save the best for last."

"Maybe you should start with the titles most relevant to our situation," Sionna suggested as she went back to browsing the section she favored.

"There certainly is a common theme," Aazuria remarked as she studied the rows of spines, thinking of how the carefully shelved volumes reflected on Trevain's interests. She fingered one book idly and read aloud, "The Beasts of the Sea..."

"Are we featured in that?" Corallyn joked as she continued pounding away at the keys of the small computer. She had grown addicted to the machine much too quickly.

"No. It just caught my attention because it was written by Georg Wilhelm Steller."

"Steller?" Visola asked thoughtfully. "Now why does that name sound familiar?"

"It's because you slept with him," Sionna informed her.

"No way. Did I really?"

"It's okay, sweetie." Sionna gave her sister a superior smirk. "1741 was a very long time ago. I don't expect you to remember every man whose bed you invaded; especially considering you can't remember the names of people you slept with yesterday."

"That's not true! I remember all the important ones," Visola argued. "There was only one important man in the 18th century."

"He was a writer too, wasn't he?" Sionna asked.

"Shut up," Visola said, rolling her eyes and stretching languidly. "Shut up and find me something with lots of mines and torpedoes."

"You can use this computer to do research if you need to know about a specific weapon," Corallyn suggested.

Visola raised an auburn eyebrow. "Honey, I was born in 1449. Do you really expect me to know what to do with that machine?"

"What she means to say is if it doesn't kill something, she's not interested," Sionna explained.

Aazuria was leaning against the bookcase and looking at her quiet sister thoughtfully. Elandria was avoiding conversation with the others by curling up in a corner of the couch with a book, but Aazuria knew she was listening. Very little escaped her taciturn observation. "I remember 1741," Aazuria murmured as she watched her sister; the years being discussed had not been pleasant for Elandria. "So much began to change back then. Father had just decided that we should stop speaking Aleut and converse mainly in Russian. I began studying ballet under a new instructor on land. My legs were so much stronger back then..."

"I didn't know that Russian was ever exclusively spoken in Adlivun," Corallyn commented in surprise.

"We had a very brief Russian phase," Sionna said, waving her hand in dismissal. "We spoke it for less than a hundred years before King Kyrosed decided that English was the way to go. That man never could make up his mind! By the time he ventured off to impregnate some poor, unsuspecting girl with you, Coral, we had been used to English for quite some time."

"I see. What did you speak before the Aleut language?" Corallyn asked.

"Old Norse," Sionna answered, "but that was a very long time ago, before we came to the Bering Sea. Even longer ago, way before our generation, Latin was the language of choice. We sort of go with the flow of the world above us, wherever we are living. We try to stay current in case we need to spend time on land—like right now. Only our sign language has remained pretty much unchanged and unique to us."

In response, Elandria lifted her hands from her book to communicate, "I appreciate consistency."

This drew a burst of laughter from Corallyn. The young girl placed her laptop aside and moved to the sofa that Elandria was sitting on. She curled up beside her sister in a catlike way.

Aazuria continued to browse the library, running her hands along the old volumes as she thought of Trevain. Each title made her more and more curious about him, and about what secrets of acumen he held behind his unassuming demeanor. After several minutes of examining the books, she began to feel guilty about concealing her true origin from him, and slightly nervous about whether the secret could remain hidden for long.

Feeling a warm hand on her shoulder, Aazuria turned to find Elandria looking at her intently and holding out a particular book. Reaching out to accept the offering, she looked down at the blue cover with bold black lettering.

"The Aquatic Ape Hypothesis by Elaine Morgan," she read curiously.

"Are we in that one?" Corallyn asked sleepily from the couch.

"I doubt it," Sionna answered without even glancing at the book, "but I found our section over here. Take a look." A few of the girls gathered to where she had been pointing as Sionna placed her hands on her hips and glowered at the shelves. "He's got probably every book in existence which examines the various European water myths: the Selkie, Melusine, Kelpie, Vodyanoy, and the Rusalka. Take your pick! There are even African folklores about Mami Wata. He doesn't stop there. Here's Inuit lore on Qalupaliks and obscure southern legends about Aycayia and Sumpall. This collection is remarkably extensive. There's plenty of reading on Asian stories about the Ningyo..."

"The Ningyo. Ah, memories!" Visola immediately commented. "I wonder if Queen Amabie is still alive and well. She was the greatest swordswoman I have ever known. Do you remember fighting alongside her in that vicious battle in the 1950s? The last real fun I've had."

"How could I forget," Sionna grumbled. "Your asshole husband tried to kill us and he nearly took my leg off."

"I should pay a visit to those crazy Japanese mermaids," Visola said, completely ignoring the personal remark. "Reinforcing our alliance with them could come in handy in the future. Queen Amabie would definitely help us out if things got rough."

Sionna was reflexively ready to protest and mock her sister, but she found herself relenting. "That's actually a really great idea, Viso."

Meanwhile, Aazuria clutched the book Elandria had given her to her chest as she examined the titles in horror. "This is dreadful. If he is so finely educated in water mythology, how did he not take one look at me and know exactly what I am? I have been imprudent. I will be found out; it is inevitable. He knows what we are."

"Oh, darling, don't worry so!" Sionna said lightly. "All land-dwellers have a general idea of what we are, and the general impression that we're here. They just deny our existence so hard that it wouldn't even cross their minds."

"You mean they know who we are," Corallyn corrected from her perch on the cushions.

Visola shook her head. "No. They don't know who we are specifically, but they do have a vague conception of what we are. They just blow their damned stories out of proportion. They have to say that we have fish tails, sparkly scales, hair made out of smelly seaweed, magical singing powers or other crap in most of these stories."

"I know, right?" Sionna said, firmly shutting a book that she had previously opened. "They're just xenophobic! All of them! Doesn't it make sense that if we have slightly longer lifespans, those of us who are singers will be better singers? There's a limit to the mastery of any art that can be achieved in any single lifetime. Their limits just happen to be much lower than ours!"

"Your extreme nationalist views are showing, Sio," her sister teased.

Sionna made a face. "I'm proud of both who and what I am. I love my country, and I love the woman who will soon be our new queen."

"Yes. Some queen I will make," Aazuria said, laughing derisively at herself. "If Adlivun wasn't already underwater, I swear I would somehow sink it. I have already made a mess. I tried to secure a home on land, and I messed it up by basically revealing us."

"We haven't been revealed!" Corallyn shouted from the sofa, opening her eyes and slamming her fist into a soft pillow. "Sweet Sedna! You worry too much, Zuri. 'Uncle Trevain' is totally enamored of you and you couldn't have said or done anything to screw that up if you tried. He thought the mermaid comment was hilarious!"

Aazuria nodded, feeling marginally reassured by her youngest sister's words. Sighing, she moved over to the sofa and sat down listlessly. She stroked Corallyn's hair absent-mindedly.

"We all look perfectly normal," Sionna reaffirmed. "Sure, we're extremely cognizant of our differences, but the truth is that no one can see the morphological distinctions of our lungs directly through our chests."

"That's a good point, Doctor Ramaris," Visola said, grinning, "and even if they could see directly through our chests, they would be far too distracted by the exterior to do so." Corallyn giggled at Visola's indicating hand motions.

"The extra inch of webbing between my fingers and toes is very conspicuous," Aazuria said, self-consciously examining her hands.

"Sweetie, there are varying degrees of webbed fingers and toes even in land-dwellers," Sionna said. "Seriously, they consider excessive webbing a disorder called syndactyly. Some people have complete webbing of the fingers or toes that they have to fix with surgery. No one will think anything of it, even if they do notice."

"I saw on TV that girls with partial webbing of their toes get piercings there to accentuate it," Corallyn chimed in. "I thought it was pretty. I kind of want to get the webbing between my toes pierced too."

"It would be hard to wear shoes and walk around while you were healing," Visola commented.

"Maybe I'll do it when I no longer have to wear shoes," Corallyn argued.

"What about my legs?" Aazuria asked. "What if I collapse at some point and have to lie to explain it..."

"Oh Zuri, that's nothing," Sionna said with a laugh. She had always been captivated by anatomy and medicine, and she came alive when the topic of conversation drifted to biology. "Doesn't even Trevain have a limp? Land-dwelling humans are chock full of interesting imperfections. I recently read about a disorder called Sirenomelia which people nicknamed the 'Mermaid Syndrome.' Apparently, on rare occasions, human babies are born with their legs completely fused together. That's what they think of us. They think we are radically abnormal and disfigured in some grossly apparent way."

Aazuria frowned. "I know that their notions of us are ridiculous. That is partly what protects us from them; their unwillingness to understand. However, if Trevain has all these legends from across the globe, and I am going about declaring myself to be a mermaid..."

"I told you, men don't believe anything a woman says any longer. The legends could just be a collector-type thing. Maybe he hasn't actually read them."

"Nah, they're dog-eared," Corallyn affirmed. Then seeing that Aazuria's face had fallen, she added, "Maybe he just hasn't read them in years. He's probably forgotten all about anything he ever knew about us. Decades of hard work will suck the magic right out of life."

Sionna scoffed. "Darling, we aren't magic. We're just biologically superior. It's all science, really."

"All life is magic," Aazuria said softly.

"Speaking of life," Visola said, drumming her fingernails on the wooden bookshelves, "this is unbelievable. This guy... who is he? Look at these books."

"What is it?" Sionna asked.

"Underwater birthing. Apparently it has recently become popular with land-dwelling women."

"How fascinating," Sionna said, selecting a book. "Perhaps there's even knowledge in here that could be of some use to Adlivun's midwives."

"I doubt that," Visola said, "but don't you find it strange? All the subjects? It's like he knew we were coming. This guy has every instruction manual you could possibly need if you were planning on falling in love with a mermaid."

"There is something odd about the focus of this library," Sionna agreed. "I don't trust him. He could be allied with whatever enemy forces threaten Adlivun—we don't know nearly enough about our attackers."

"There's only one army big enough to dare," Visola muttered softly.

Aazuria leaned back in the sofa leisurely, studying the suspicious faces of the twins. "Girls, if we really consider it, it makes perfect sense that Trevain would be personally interested in all of these subjects. He's a seaman. Someone who spends his life on the water probably spends a lot of time meditating on the water. Listening to stories, imagining what could be. Maybe he just likes to research mythologies and practices concerning that which he knows best."

"That's right," Visola said. "There was an Inuit man in his crew—maybe this began with a fascination with researching Inuit traditions, and one thing led to another."

"Goodness. We have to be very careful around him," Aazuria said, straightening her spine abruptly. "We may henceforth only curse to generic, non-water-related deities."

"That's right," Corallyn chimed in. "Instead of 'Dear Sedna' we can just say 'Dear God.' It works just as well."

"I'm quite fond of the scintillating phrase, 'Holy Shit,'" Visola offered.

"My sister has charming taste," Sionna said.

"We still need to investigate part of this house which is much more important than the library," Corallyn said, uncurling her small body and bouncing to her feet.

"What's that?"

"The hot tub, of course," Corallyn said with a grin.

"You goof," Visola accused with a chuckle. "Mmm, but it has been a while since I've gotten wet."

Aazuria smiled at the girls encouragingly. "You all should go have a soak. I need to spend some time reading and try to get more caught up on this modern world. I need to know everything that has happened above the surface in the last hundred years if I am going to successfully implement reform in Adlivun."

"Fine, be a bookworm and miss out on the fun stuff!" Corallyn said with a pout. "I sure am grateful that I don't have responsibilities like yours."

"You might someday," Aazuria said to her with a fond smile, "but for now, go relax!"

Corallyn grabbed her laptop and had exited the room almost before Aazuria finished speaking. Sionna smiled and predictably selected a medical volume. "I'll take this along. I can read and soak."

"Sounds like a plan to me," said Visola, trailing after her sister.

The other three having left, Elandria rearranged the throw pillows in the corner of the couch and sat down beside Aazuria. She snuggled in and got comfortable before returning to a weathered leather volume.

"Are you sure you do not wish to go with them?" Aazuria asked.

Elandria smiled and shook her head. Using her elbow to mark her place in the book, she signed to her sister: "I prefer to stay here and read with you."

Chapter Nine

It was their second day out at sea, and everything had been perfect. Trevain briskly walked across the deck of the ship, his limp hardly noticeable in his determined stride. He meticulously supervised the work of his entire crew, barking out unyielding commands instead of his usual polite-but-forceful recommendations. He was normally very respectful; he knew that the men were capable of doing their jobs and he did not like to insult them by treating them like newbies and nitpicking over minutiae. However, things had changed—Trevain found himself suddenly searching for the proverbial Devil whom he understood to have a penchant for haunting the details.

He would have liked to exchange a word or two, or better yet, blows with that particular Devil.

The crew responded to his behavior in kind, carrying out their instructions in jumpier, but more obedient form. It had only been a few days since Leander's death, and to a disinterested onlooker the actions of those aboard might have seemed more or less exactly the same as before, (the men were still performing the same routine procedures, and still catching crabs, after all) but the atmosphere had changed significantly.

"Good work, Edwin. Those pots look secure. Careful there, Brynne—if that pitches to starboard you'll get crushed."

"Not my first rodeo, Captain."

Trevain smiled at the woman's lithe movements as she climbed over the pots. She really was an asset to the morale of the team. "Perfect as always, Doughlas. Just rig a few more of those up and we should be ready to start today's catch. Callder, for god's sake! You aren't done with the bait yet?"

"If this herring didn't reek so goddamn bad I could work faster," Callder complained, wiping his forehead with the back of his gloved hand.

Trevain rolled his eyes at his little brother. "Jesus, how long have you been doing this? You should be numb to the smell of fish by now."

Brynne could not help cracking a smile. "The aroma must remind him of the strippers he's been hooking up with lately."

The men all burst into laughter. Doughlas clapped Brynne on the back. "Low blow! I swear; these jokes are twice as funny coming from a lady."

"She's just jealous," Callder said with a scowl as he scooped up great handfuls of putrid bait. "She just needs to get laid is all. She misses all of this hotness."

"Brynne is way out of your league, Calamari," Billy said with a giggle. "She could have you in a second if she wanted to."

Callder grinned. "True. Do you want me in a second, Brynne?"

"You can ask me ten times a day, Calabash, but my answer isn't going to change."

Trevain smiled at the antics of his shipmates. "Let's get started, guys. Ujarak, did you remember to bring the..."

He found himself trailing off midstride and mid-speech. The captain's head swiveled sharply to the south, and he felt a keen sense of awareness overtake his body. He felt shivers of trepidation suddenly arrest him, along with a dark feeling that could only be described as dread. He walked to the edge of the deck and grasped the railing, staring out at the giant swells of the sea breaking against the boat.

In the darkness of the wee morning, the water looked black. It felt black.

The color was not for lack of light, but for malevolence. Trevain suddenly felt himself taken by a bout of dizziness. Am I going crazy? Today looks like it's going to be a perfectly fine day for fishing. The skies are clear, the temperature is mild, and the waves are pleasant. What's wrong with me? He stared at the water until he imagined he saw large, dark figures just under the surface. He peered down at them, trying to determine whether they were whales or sharks or something of the sort. But something about the silhouette of a certain figure struck him as oddly human—and there was no shape more capable or terrifying. He turned around, observing his men hard at work as his double vision began to correct itself. He felt ill.

"Stop," Trevain said abruptly. "We're turning around at once."

Ujarak's brows knitted together in confusion as he paused, his hands full of ropes. "Captain Murphy? You're kidding right?"

"No. We need to turn around."

"You've gotta be kiddin' me, Cap'n!" Wyatt Wade shouted across the boat. "Billy and I are just getting' warmed up here! There are plenty more crabs for the catchin'!"

"Everyone stop," Trevain said resolutely. "We won't be fishing today. We're going back to shore."

Brynne frowned deeply. "What the hell, Murphy? I know I only worked eighteen hours yesterday, but I needed a nap mainly due to the jet lag. I'm good to go for another twenty-five to thirty hours today."

Everyone else chimed in with murmurs of agreement.

"Listen," Trevain said gravely. "I may sound crazy right now; I know I'm asking you all to sacrifice potentially fifteen thousand dollars each... but we need to turn around."

The crew members looked at each other in quiet surprise and disbelief. The Wade brothers, Wyatt and Wilbert mumbled to each other in displeasure and bewilderment.

Edwin flexed his enormous arm and scratched the back of his neck in puzzlement. "Look, Captain Murphy. I want to be home in front of the television with a beer in my hand and my feet on the ottoman just as much as the next guy... but we have a job to do. We can't go it alone—we need to stick together as a team."

"We've already taken some unexpected time off," Ujarak added as he crunched down on an unfortunate toothpick. "We lost prime fishing days due to the whole situation with Leander. We have major catching up to do."

"I'm telling you all now—if we want to avoid more unexpected days off, and more anguish and grief, we're not going to fish today." Trevain's voice was inflexible and resolute.

"But Trevain..." Wilbert Wade whined.

"No buts, Billy."

Callder snickered a bit at this, but promptly stopped when he felt Wyatt's elbow connect with his ribcage.

"Trevain," Brynne began, almost frantically, "I know that you feel responsible for what happened. My outburst didn't help. I'm really sorry for attacking you before. I said some awful things. I just didn't know how to deal with it other than to lash out, you know? But please, Trevain... don't give up on us. Be reasonable..."

"Brynne, this is not up for discussion. We're turning around."

"Wow. When did my big bro grow a pair?" Callder questioned sarcastically. The captain glared at his brother, but their staring contest was interrupted by Arnav stepping between them.

"Guys... look. It occurs to me that we've been decimated."

"What?" asked Wilbert grumpily.

"It's a word that's been stuck in my head for days," Arnav spoke. "Decimation. It's not an easy thing to deal with, and I think we're all a little off our game..."

"Decimation?" Ujarak asked.

"It's a war term. It means that one tenth of our forces have been destroyed," Doughlas answered. "There were ten of us on this boat originally, and one of us was killed. That amounts to exactly one tenth of our unit being destroyed."

"But this isn't a war, boys," Brynne said "We're a crew, not a unit. No one is attacking us. The crabs certainly aren't fighting back. It was just an accident."

"Whatever it was, I won't let it happen again," Trevain vowed.

"It won't. Leo was an anomaly," Wyatt Wade said. "If we get scared now, it's kind of like we just got pulled over for speeding on the highway, and decided to slow down for the rest of the trip out of fear. It's asinine —I mean logically there won't be another cop around for ages. This is Alaska, and it's fucking gigantic. They can't afford to put a cop at every exit."

"That's an interesting comparison, but a little more is at stake here than a speeding ticket. All of your lives are at stake," Trevain rebuked, running a hand through his grey hair in frustration.

"Captain Murphy," Arnav said politely. "I think that's something we all have accepted. I'm sure everyone here has heard the statistics. There are dangers in every job... people die all the time from construction and mining accidents and whatnot. But this is the most dangerous job in the world. I came here knowing that I was one hundred times more likely to die doing this as I was doing anything else in America."

"Not on Trevain's boat," Brynne said softly.

"Now you show some loyalty, eh?" Ujarak spat. "That's nice, Brynne. After callin' the cap'n names all day yesterday."

"I needed a nap," she said defensively.

Arnav sighed before putting his hands up. "I know Captain Murphy runs the best crew on this sea, maybe the world, and that's why I begged him almost on my knees to hire me. Still, we're not immune to the elements. What makes up for the danger is the money. If we don't work, we won't make money, and the danger isn't worth it. We can't hide from the danger whenever someone gets a bad feeling."

"I'm with the kid," said Edwin, in his Canadian way. "This job is all kinds of nasty. It's physically strenuous, it's exhausting, and it's wet. But we're here because we prefer to be rich men of action than poor men of cubicles. We're here to get insanely rich. So let's not wimp out because of what happened to poor ol' Leo. Let's catch some more crabs! Let's make expensive, scrumptious entrées out of some poor unsuspecting suckers!"

A cheer went up from the men aboard the boat, and Trevain found himself frowning. "We already have a good day's catch. We can head out again tomorrow when we've all had a good night's sleep at home in our own beds and refreshed ourselves. We need to learn not to be greedy. Let's just take what we've got so far and head back to shore."

"A day's catch isn't bad, Captain," said Doughlas, "but there comes a moment when every self-respecting man has to upgrade the old Toyota. I need a few more bucks to buy that new Audi I've been saving up for."

"Seriously? You're still on about that Audi?" Wyatt said scornfully. "I told you to go with the X6."

"Leo was saving up for a goal too. He wanted to buy a house so he could marry his girlfriend. Now he can't do any of that," Trevain scowled. "When you get too greedy you end up losing everything. Isn't that right, Callder? Isn't that the way gambling works? I won't gamble with your lives!"

Callder glowered at his brother, but was prevented from responding by Brynne grabbing his shoulder and shaking her head.

Ujarak sighed. "We're gambling with our own lives, Cap'n. We're already here. Other fishing crews aren't going to fish for a day and then go home to rest. They're all out there now, hauling in their pots and catching as many crabs as possible. They're pulling inhuman marathons to make the best of the season. They're bulldozing through their setbacks and focusing on the cauldron of gold at the end of this watery rainbow of shit."

"This isn't a competition with the other fishing boats," Trevain argued. "We need to focus on ourselves. I want us to do well, and I want us to make our money safely—we shouldn't be concerned with how much other fishermen are making."

"It totally is a competition," argued Wyatt. "At the end of the day, I want my house and car to be bigger and shinier than my neighbor's house and car. This is my method of achieving that. I don't have anything else in life to aspire to. This is America, you know. Do you expect me to have some kind of nobler intent than competition?"

"And when your neighbors are all also fishermen, you've gotta fish harder than them," Ujarak added.

"Fish harder!" Billy echoed, as though it were a prayer in a gospel choir.

"We make a lot of money, but it's in fleeting periods of time. The fishing season is always gone in minutes. Every single day of fishing that we lose is a massive amount of money lost as well, and it hurts," said Doughlas. "I start getting really depressed if I don't make money for a single day—you don't even understand."

"If you lost your life on one of these excursions, the pain of losing potential income would be the least of your concerns," Trevain muttered.

Callder advanced on Trevain threateningly, speaking in a slow and steady voice. "We're not all rich like you, big brother. Some of us need to work in order to pay our bills."

"You mean you need to pay off those credit cards you maxed out gambling, right Callder?" Trevain shot back.

"Look bro—you haven't taken a day off since you became captain. You're a beast! It's downright weird. You're like some kind of demonic machine-thing."

"Thanks. I believe you've taken enough days off for the both of us."

"Look, shut up! I'm trying to be nice here. I mean... you're getting pretty old. Someday, eventually, you're probably going to retire, right?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Trevain asked with a modicum of panic. "Retire? Have you gone mad?"

"No, seriously—listen. You do a lot of other things. You read and you plant shit in your stupid garden. I do nothing except fish during the fishing season and gamble when I'm not fishing. I'm basically nothing if I'm not a fisherman. So just let me do it for once. Let me take over and be the captain for one fucking day while you relax at home. That way everyone gets what they want. The crew can keep fishing, and you can stay at home where it's safe."

"It's not just about me! I want everyone to be safe. I have a very bad feeling about this."

"About this beautiful day?" Callder asked, making grand gestures around himself. "Big brother, maybe you need a break. A sabbatical. I know you've been taking this Leander thing hard although you're acting tough. Let me be the head honcho for this trip. We'll turn around and drop you off then we'll head over to fish near Kodiak. We're good to go, right crew?"

Many of the crew members nodded. Trevain looked around, making eye contact with all of them and frowning. "You really want to be the captain?" Trevain asked the younger man slowly. "You want to act as my deputy, take charge of things?"

"Why not? I am your brother. It could be good practice for when you retire."

Trevain sighed. "And when do you think that will be, kid? I could have retired at thirty if I really wanted to sit around on my thumbs."

"But there's a woman in your life now. Maybe you can relax a little."

"It's not like that, Callder. She's just a girl."

"The same way you were just a boy at her age?" Callder snorted. "She's a woman if I ever saw one. Hell, her vocabulary even intimidates me!"

Doughlas nodded. "He's right there, Captain. You need a woman."

Trevain groaned. "Guys, my personal life isn't up for discussion. Let's keep this work-related. I'm only asking that we take a break for one day."

Brynne smiled tenderly. "That's 'cause you never have a personal life, Murphy. I hate to say this, but I think Callder's right."

"You do?" Trevain scowled, thinking to himself that he would rather put Brynne in charge of his ship than Callder. However, he could see on his brother's face that beyond the confident words the younger man was seeking his approval and recognition. What kind of monster would he be if he withheld it from him? He was the only family that the boy had. Callder was his responsibility.

"Do you guys think he can do this?" Trevain asked his crew.

The first mate Doughlas had a skeptical look on his face, but he only shrugged. "He can't make it worse. We know what our jobs are."

"Let him give it a shot, Trevain," Brynne said gently. She was smiling brightly at seeing Callder show a bit of initiative. Trevain knew that Brynne had always had a soft spot for his younger brother. She liked her men the way she liked her cars and houses—pathetic fixer-uppers that she could feel sympathy for initially and profoundly proud of after the renovations. She had never successfully renovated a man, of course.

"Alright, alright, fine," Trevain said, taking a deep breath in surrender. "Callder, I'll give you the chance to do this. You can run the rest of the excursion."

"Awesome!" said Callder gleefully. "You won't be disappointed. You deserve to spend some down time with your new girlfriend."

"I told you she's not—"

"She will be. I like that Aazuria, even though she talks a bit funny. So go home. Take her out for dinner. Show her your stupid plants."

Chapter Ten

"He is especially well-preserved for a land dweller of his proportionately advanced years. What if she falls in love with him?" Corallyn asked, wriggling to allow the jets of water better access to massage her back.

"She deserves the opportunity to 'fall in love,' but she is much too reasonable a person to lose her head about it. We need her, and she won't neglect us," Sionna answered, flipping a page of her book. She was seated on the edge of the hot tub and only allowed her calves to dangle inside. Her twin sister was, contrarily, completely submerged.

"What if we all mate with regular land-dwelling humans?" Corallyn asked. "We'll... what's the word? Hybridize? All of our children will be mostly human and our descendants will be regular boring ol' terrestrials. They'll live shortened lives and never even have a chance to see Adlivun. I would probably be dead already if I were a land-dweller!"

"There are negative aspects of that scenario," Sionna answered distractedly as she continued her reading.

Corallyn became annoyed at being ignored and pulled Visola out from under the surface. "What do you think about that? Us hybridizing with humans?"

Visola blinked the water out of her eyes with her red eyelashes. "We are human, aren't we? What's the big fuss?"

"You know what I mean!" Corallyn said in exasperation.

"Well," Visola said thoughtfully, "after working at the strip club, I've learned that men generally prefer us to land-dwelling women. If you want to go out and 'hybridize' when you look old enough, you shouldn't have a problem finding a mate."

"Why is that?" Corallyn asked.

Visola grinned. "The buoyancy of water keeps our breasts from sagging. Gravity, man. If I had lived on land for five hundred years my breasts would be dragging on the floor!"

"No. Technically they would be dust. You wouldn't be able to live for five hundred years on land," Sionna corrected.

"Well, hypothetically," Visola explained jauntily. "But look at you, Coral. You've lived ninety years and you don't even have breasts yet. Now that's a superior lack of senescence."

"Yes, yes, of course. We're so superior," Corallyn muttered, "but if we're so great, why are there so few of us and so many of them? And why do they have television and the internet, but we don't?"

Visola splashed water at the young girl in response, and they both laughed.

"Hey! Reading here. Don't get my pages wet," Sionna said sternly.

"Sorry," Corallyn said. She leaned her head back against the concrete edge of the hot tub. "I know my questions sound silly to you two, since you've lived on land among humans before. It's all just so new to me. One moment we're calling ourselves human, and the next we're saying that we're superior. I'm having difficulty drawing the line between them and us. Sometimes there is no line. Sometimes there's a canyon."

"Homo sapiens marinus," Aazuria said as she entered the room and approached the girls in the hot tub. Elandria trailed behind her with her hands wrapped around her braid.

"What's that?" Corallyn asked.

"It is what I believe we would be identified as if they ever 'discovered' us," Aazuria said with a smile, crouching down beside the hot tub. "We are human, but it is undeniable that we have diverged at least enough to warrant a subspecies."

"Perhaps," said Sionna curiously, looking up from her book. "Yet there are a lot of human beings with unusual traits. There have been Alaskan Inuit families with blue skin. One wouldn't consider a person with that condition, although they look extremely unique, to be of a different species."

"Yes, but that's not really functionally any different," Visola argued. "Our people have lived separate from land-dwellers for tens of thousands of years. Instead of treating our unique traits as a disease or unfavorable mutation, they were revered, preserved, and propagated. Additional changes have happened to our bodies over time, and we've been perfected. I believe it makes sense for us to have our own subspecies."

"There's one problem with that, Viso," Sionna said, closing her book and placing it aside. "We have never really completely been separate from the land-dwellers. Perhaps it's due to some innate nostalgia, or sentimentality, but our culture has always been intricately tied with theirs. We have always interbred with them, even when it was disallowed. Many of us have chosen to live among them, and I would argue that our true differences are much more political than biological."

"Stop, stop. You guys are confusing me," Corallyn complained, putting her hands to her head. "I just asked a simple question, and now my thoughts are even more muddled than before."

Elandria smiled and lifted her hands to contribute. "That was not even a slightly simple question, Coral. As you can see, there are very conflicting opinions on the matter. Just remember: your mother was a completely human land-dweller. Father said she hated the water with a passion, was afraid of it, and would never go near it. The twins were fathered by a man, a great warrior, who was one of us but chose to live on land and leave his daughters below. That being said, you have lived your entire life, from just shortly after your birth, immersed in the sea with us. Whatever stance you choose, remember to honor the balance of our connection to the land and those who dwell on it in addition to the separation from it which makes us unique."

Corallyn nodded as she processed the words which rolled off Elandria's fingers. She moved closer to the silent woman who had seated herself on the edge of the hot tub, and leaned her head on Elandria's knees. Corallyn had never known the land-dwelling mother that her sister had mentioned. She knew that she was named after the woman, Koraline Kolarevic, who had been a tall blonde ballerina with whom Aazuria had taken private lessons. However, it had been Elandria herself who had raised and educated Corallyn. Corallyn respected and loved Elandria as much as she could have loved any mother. The two shared a father, but had been born hundreds of years apart to different women.

"You never cease to amaze me, Elan," Aazuria commented. "Balance between separation and unity with humans and the land. It sounds like the perfect purpose to aspire to."

Visola shrugged and asked, "Don't we have that already? We walk amongst them and they can't tell we aren't like them. Some of them probably have our abilities and will never even know they are anything special. Humans look at other humans of different skin tone or gender, or as Sio points out, even political alignment, as far more different than us."

"That's only because they lack knowledge of our people," Sionna said, stretching her arms, "but you know, we truly do not have balance. The Alaskan Inuit families with the blue skinned people—there was nothing really wrong with them, they just appeared different. They were missing a certain enzyme in their blood called diaphorase. In fact, some of them lived longer and healthier lives and had more children than people with regular skin tones. But that trait was so rare that it has been basically lost now. It was preserved when the blue people lived in closed off communities and intermarried with cousins or close relatives who had similar genes... but as soon as they began to travel out into the world, the trait pretty much dissipated. It's too bad. It was rather special."

Visola quickly added, while staring pointedly at Aazuria, "Not as special as being able to breathe underwater."

"Exactly," Sionna said. "That's why we need to be careful, and protect it. It's our gift... we should not throw it away. Do you understand what we're saying, Aazuria?"

"Yes. Yes, of course I do," Aazuria answered halfheartedly.

"Some rather large decisions need to be made rather soon about our future," Sionna reminded her. "I only hope that you will..."

"We will make those decisions together, and as wisely as we can manage," Aazuria said.

"They're both implying that you shouldn't fall in love with Trevain even though he's super nice and has a great house with an awesome hot tub," Corallyn said bluntly. "You will eventually have to return to Adlivun and go through the coronation..."

"I know," Aazuria said firmly, "I know."

"Sweetie," said Sionna gently, "just don't do anything with him physically. It will break your heart if you have to leave him after that."

Aazuria nodded.

"Oh, for sure!" Visola said adamantly. "Considering you've never been with a man—not in six hundred years? No way. You will attach far too much emotion to the first person you sleep with, and if it's a land-dweller then he'll be dead in a few years and you'll be mourning him for centuries more. Gosh, Zuri—do anything but that! The first man you sleep with should be your king. It should be a sea-dweller who can remain in Adlivun with you. Someone who will be around as long as you will be."

"Viso, I get it," Aazuria said with a smile. "I know what is required of me."

"Do you, Zuri?" Sionna asked, looking at her friend inquisitively. "I have never seen you show so much interest in a man as you seem to be showing to this Captain Trevain Murphy. There are plenty of male sea-dwellers at home, hundreds. If no one there suits your taste—and I am quite sure no one does—we could travel. We could go to Japan and live amongst the Ningyo for a time, meet new people. If we need to travel further..."

"Stop this!" Aazuria said, grimacing. "Do I seem that desperate for a man that we must make it a priority and travel the whole undersea world for it? Please. I just killed my father, and a girl does not get over such a thing so easily. Let us focus on what is important."

There was a heavy silence for several lengthy minutes.

Aazuria cleared her throat and began speaking to break the silence. "The book that Elandria gave me earlier was intriguing. It suggested that the main difference between human beings and other apes is that our bodies are so well adapted to aquatic life: because we had an aquatic ancestor. It mentioned the way that our bones and organs are better suited to functioning when submerged."

"That's true. Land-dwelling elderly have issues with arthritis in their joints from chronically moving on land," Sionna added. "They perform exercises underwater because it's gentler."

"Is it any wonder that we live so much longer?" Visola asked. She rubbed her neck idly. "So, your book posits that the secret ingredient which makes all of humanity special is our ancestral connection to the water? Therefore, our bodies and our way of living is closer to the ancestral condition and more natural? I believe the correct celebratory term here is 'boo-yah.'"

Sionna winced at the use of the word and made a horrified face, but with a great effort she refrained from reprimanding her sister.

"I guess that's why they have hot tubs in their houses," Corallyn said with a chuckle as she lightly splashed the surface of the water.

"That is true," Aazuria said. "They find comfort in the same things that we do. They are quite akin to us."

"Yes," Sionna said, "and that's why they're dangerous. They are similar enough to assimilate us completely! Our numbers are dying. There are hardly any of us left who have all of the pure sea-dweller traits like you do, Princess Aazuria. All of our children could eventually just blend in with them, and we would lose our culture and disappear."

"I sometimes wonder... about my daughter," Visola said uncomfortably. Everyone else quieted down, for this was a subject that the warrior never felt comfortable enough to address. She had already begun staring forward vacantly when Aazuria reached out to touch her shoulder. Visola gave her friend a sad smile. "I suppose my little girl already has blended in with land-dwellers."

Sionna closed her eyes, feeling her twin sister's pain as if it were her own. "It is not such an inadequate life, to live among humans," she said softly. "For some, it's what they would choose."

"No," Aazuria said, shaking her head. "It was only under Father's tightening regime that we fell apart. The largest allure of being a sea-dweller is the feeling of freedom. You are liberated from land constraints and borders—or at least there is an illusion of such. If you are forbidden to leave your home whatsoever, the whole 'freedom' aspect severely suffers."

"It certainly made our charmed life much less charming," Elandria responded. "Even a glorious ice palace can be hideous when you are incarcerated within it."

Sionna sighed. She reached out to touch her sister's arm. "Sweetie, we should probably take a cab back to work." Visola nodded, her eyes still empty and forlorn. She was evidently immersed in thoughts of her lost daughter.

"Good luck, you two!" Corallyn said with a shudder. "I'm so glad I don't look old enough to work in that awful sounding place."

Visola forced herself to smile and put on an energetic voice as she rose from the hot tub. "Coral, dear! It's quite a lot more fun than you'd expect—the unparalleled sense of power you get! A bit of breath on a man's neck, just enough to rustle the tiny hairs there, and he's putty in your hands. Quite easy really."

"What if the thought of a man being 'putty in my hands' doesn't appeal to me?" Corallyn inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Then you just don't understand the delicious manipulatin' goodness you're missin' out on!" Visola teased, drying her auburn curls with a towel.

"Viso, stop trying to act as though you know anything about being on land or being around men," Sionna scolded as she also dried herself off.

"You're right, sis. I should stick to what I know: knives and spears." Visola's tone had suddenly grown darker and her expression had become hard. "Now, I know you all value my opinion and I must advise serious caution. Trevain has an extremely fascinating library, and he seems to be a clever fellow. The more intelligent a man is, the more dangerous he is. Also, the chances of him being 'good' are much fainter."

"Aw, you should give him a chance, Viso," Corallyn said kindly.

"No. I will not. The moment I relax and expect anything better than the worst is the moment that the worst will inevitably happen. Sio and I have to go to work, but I swear—you two. Look out for Zuri. This is a command. If anything happens to Aazuria while I'm gone, I swear to Sedna, I will hold both of you responsible. I will kill both of you in the most painful fashion conceivable."

Visola wrapped her towel around her body and strode away from the other women. Sionna sent the others an apologetic look and rushed after her sister.

Elandria hesitantly lifted her hands as if she were intending to sign something. However, after a slight twitch of her fingers, her hands fell back to her sides below the water. She was physically speechless.

"I read about the ingredient that makes her like that," Aazuria mused to herself, "I believe it is called 'testosterone.'"

Corallyn turned to Aazuria incredulously. "How many more hundreds of years do you think she's going to carry around that vendetta of hers?"

Aazuria lifted her shoulders and let them fall dejectedly. "I do not anticipate that she is going to become trusting anytime soon. She was atrociously betrayed by the man she loved. She was left alone and with child—she was abandoned and had to raise her daughter by herself. I mean—we were all there for her, but it was not what she needed. She was never the same after that. She had been a strong and formidable warrior before Vachlan... but after what he did to her, she was ruthless. She became fearsome and unforgiving."

Elandria lifted her hands out of the water again. She closed her eyes solemnly as she moved her fingers in signage: "It did not help when she lost her daughter."

"Poor Viso," Corallyn said, hugging herself. "If I ever met that Vachlan, I would give him a piece of my mind for hurting her like that."

Elandria looked at the small girl in horror. She shook her head fiercely, a harsh look on her face. She gripped her braid tightly until the sinews in her forearms were strained.

Aazuria placed a hand on Elandria's back, massaging in gentle circles to soothe her. She then turned to glare at Corallyn and spoke in an austere tone. "Do not wish it. He is not the kind of person you should ever have the misfortune of encountering."

"That man is an abomination to both aquatic and terrestrial humanity," Elandria viciously signed. "I hope he no longer breathes air or water."

Chapter Eleven

Trevain stood on the docks and watched The Fishin' Magician depart until it was indistinguishable from a grain of sand on the horizon. His worries accumulated as he watched his boat float away, completely without his guidance. He was not sure whether he felt more like his crew and ship had abandoned him, or like he had abandoned them. His brother had been right: he had not taken a break from work in as long as he could remember. Now, as he watched his men head off without him, he felt sick to his stomach. It did not seem right to him that he should be left on the land while they sailed off to sea—his sea. That was where he belonged.

He felt a powerful withdrawal from the comfort that his sense of control had given him. Trevain had never realized that being captain of his ship had not only meant that the crew depended on him, but that he also depended on them. Without his boat and his men, his body did not feel like it weighed the same as before. He did not feel like he was attached to the ground. He was unencumbered and free from burden—he was as light as a teenager, and just as terrified.

He wondered how owning and running a floating vessel could have the effect of making him feel so steadfast and immovable. Why did bowling through twenty-foot-breakers make him feel like his roots were firmly planted? When he was at sea, he was floating in stability.

Turning to the parking lot, he began walking towards his car. There was no use standing on the dock and waiting for the Magician and his crew to return. They would probably stay over in Kodiak, and might not return for a week. He glanced back over his shoulder deftly, and seeing nothing as far as the horizon, felt strangely naked. He had been stripped of his boat, his job, and his authority. He returned his gaze to his Range Rover as he approached it.

His eyes fell on the gaudy bumper sticker that Callder had given him for some recent past birthday. Big orange capital block letters against a blue background declared: "EAT. SLEEP. FISH." He had always seen the sticker as a lame product of Callder's juvenile sense of humor, but had sentimentally valued it because it had been a gift from his brother. Now he saw it as almost a clinical diagnosis of an addiction. Callder had been serious: Trevain did little more than eat, sleep, and fish—he felt little joy in anything other than work. He needed a break.

"They disobeyed me, so let them work and carry on as they see fit. It's none of my concern; they're all big boys. They'll be fine."

Unlocking and throwing the driver's door open, Trevain entered the car without even removing his waterproof yellow rubber clothing. He realized he was still somewhat in denial about the whole situation when he glanced in his rearview mirror to see if the boat was returning. He shook his head to clear it and turned the key in the ignition. Putting the car in drive, he placed his yellow-gloved hands on the steering wheel and used his yellow-booted foot to accelerate out of the parking lot.

The world around him seemed to blur as he stared straight ahead in a sort of daze. He went through the motions of driving robotically, without much conscious thought or focus. His latex-swathed fingers clutched the steering wheel tightly as angry thoughts filled his mind. He remembered the negative feelings that he had been unable to shake on the boat—the sinking sensation of dread. He merged onto the Sterling Highway, his foot heavy with indignation on the pedal. His arms locked stiffly as he remembered the way no one would listen to him. He did not understand how he could feel so much galvanizing rage, yet feel so aloof and withdrawn from his body at the same time. It was as though he had split into two separate beings—one was feeling, and the other one was retreating to a distance and observing himself feeling.

He was unable to appreciate the magnificent views of the Kenai Mountains which the highway afforded. The sight he usually found tranquil and poignant had about as much effect on his psyche as a cheesy greeting card would have had.

Trevain gritted his teeth and reached to the center console to turn on the radio. He browsed through his presets, feeling awkward at pushing the buttons with his large yellow gloves on, but at the same time hardly noticing. He really did feel like something horrible was going to happen, and this anxiety was upsetting. He felt like he had left a huge part of himself on The Fishin' Magician and all that lingered were the frail remnants of a clumsily functioning person.

A few familiar chords enveloped him from the various locations of the speakers on his car. It was an old romantic rock ballad he had heard when he was younger, and the tune and the sound of the voice roused his memory. His lips began to move along with the long-forgotten words as the song drew the distant pieces of him forth.

These highways just ain't long enough

for my jaded soul to wander.

These oceans just ain't large enough

for my spirit to navigate.

Trevain felt the music pervade his being. His waterproofed fingers began to tap on the steering wheel as his waterproofed toes lightly tapped on the gas pedal—too lightly to make a difference in the speed, which he suddenly noticed for the first time. He had been driving at 110 miles per hour. He took his foot off the gas pedal completely for a few seconds to allow the vehicle to calm down.

Unbidden, Wyatt's words came into his mind: This is Alaska, and it's fucking gigantic. They can't afford to put a cop at every exit. He frowned, thinking of the unnecessary and fruitless risk. The risk that his whole crew was now facing without him. He pressed his foot back down until the pedal hit the ground. He glared forward at nothing in particular as he began to accelerate again, feeling a thrill from the wrongness of the speeding. It gave him a sense of control along with a rush of masculinity. Watching the other cars appear to fly backwards made him feel superior to their mellow, listless drivers. The throbbing of the subwoofers added to the experience. He felt alive. He could not recall ever having felt this free on land. Again, he was floating in stability.

He forgot about his responsibilities and only felt his own existence and movement. All awareness of where he had come from and the troubles on the boat slipped his mind. All remembrance of his destination disappeared too, and he just lost himself in the music and the sensation of flying across the road. The smoothness of the rolling wheels over the highway was intoxicating; he wished the highway and the moment could go on forever. He felt the same delirious delight he felt on his boat.

He felt ridiculous.

A lyrical line reminded him of Aazuria, and thinking of her made him feel suddenly embarrassed. Trevain suddenly recalled that he was not heading home to an empty house to wallow in his own distress. He was heading home to where the beautiful dancer and her two adorable younger sisters were now staying, and they would be looking up to him for guidance. There was another ship at home of which he was newly crowned captain. He wondered why for a moment he had been acting like a rebellious youth. He had never even done so even when he had been an adolescent. It puzzled him that thinking of an eighteen year old girl made him feel embarrassed about the puerility of his actions.

"Maybe Brynne is right," he said aloud. "Maybe I am going through one granddaddy of a midlife crisis."

He continued driving, swallowing up the miles until his home. Before long, he found himself pulling into his driveway, and glancing up at the windows to check if any lights were on. Would Aazuria be awake? Seeing nothing, he sighed and entered his garage. It was an ungodly hour, and any normal person would be sleeping. It was too late for anyone to have stayed awake and far too early for anyone to have just awoken—that ominous silent moment right in between.

Trevain exited the Range Rover and entered his house, heading directly for the stairs. It slipped his mind that he had not eaten in quite a while, and it slipped his mind that he was still wearing his waterproof fishing clothes as he headed upstairs. He found himself glancing under doors for any signs of light or life. It was just his luck that as soon as his house was no longer empty, he would still come home to find it deathly tranquil. What had he expected? Someone smiling and greeting him when he walked through the door?

He sighed, heading for his bedroom. He dearly wanted to just lie down and let slumber take him. He wanted to forget all about the emotions he had experienced on the boat, and especially all the ones that had been generated since he had left the boat. When he was steps away from his room, he thought he saw the dim flickering glow of a light under a door. It was the room he had shown Aazuria. He felt a small rush of hope that she was awake. How he wanted to talk to her; if only he could see her face once before he went to bed!

He approached her door, trying to walk softly, but instead having his rubber boots squeak loudly on the hardwood floors. He winced at the sound, and inwardly scolded himself for still wearing his rain gear. (It was the first time he had become aware of it since he had left the boat.) It occurred to him that perhaps Aazuria just slept with a dim light on—a night light or a lamp of sorts. He noticed a flicker again as he stared at the glow, and wondered if it was a candle. Did he even own a candle? Surely she was awake—it was not wise to fall asleep with a candle burning, and Aazuria seemed like a very wise girl.

Trevain felt tempted to knock, but he immediately realized what a horrible idea that was. (He had already lifted his hand to the door, but he abruptly lowered it before it made contact.) There was no sound coming from behind the door, and Aazuria was most likely asleep. Even if she was awake, it was rather unseemly for him to knock on her door at this hour! After assuring her that he would be the perfect gentleman, it would be ridiculous to bother her now, in the middle of the night, on one of her first few nights in his home.

She would surely think that he was seeking sex. He shuddered at the foul thought of being considered a dirty old man. He imagined Aazuria's face painted with fear and distrust if she were to open the door and behold him. He remembered what he was wearing. With a little sigh, Trevain turned away to head down to the hall toward his own room. He could be a patient adult and wait until the morning to see his new houseguest and speak with her.

As he walked away, he heard a light shuffling sound. He turned back and saw the light under her door becoming brighter. His hope was instantly reignited and shortly gratified. The door opened to reveal Aazuria's curious face lit softly by a flickering candle she was holding in a candleholder. She was wearing a black robe over her nightclothes. She held a book under her other arm.

"Trevain," she said in surprise, with a warm smile of greeting. She seemed genuinely pleased to see him. "I thought you would not return for days!"

"I've been kicked off my own boat," he found himself saying blithely.

"What?" she asked.

"I was supposed to be out at sea much longer, but I was paralyzed by this awful feeling. I tried to stop the fishing trip altogether, but the men just opted to eject me instead. Callder decided to try to run things."

"Callder?" Aazuria asked, before remembering herself. "Oh, I am sorry. I barely know him; I have only met him a few times. I am sure he is quite capable..."

Trevain started laughing. "He's completely incompetent. I'm expecting my multi-million dollar boat to return in several pieces, if at all. The boat's insured of course, but the people can't be replaced. My best bet is if Brynne and Doughlas take care of things. I'm sure it will all be fine."

Aazuria stared at him for a moment before she realized that something about the experience had shaken him; the smiles and laughs were all a cover. She gestured inside of her room. "Would you like to come in and talk about it? My sisters are asleep down the corridor, and I do not wish to wake them."

"Yes. I..." Trevain welcomed the idea of sharing his uncomfortable burden, but then he remembered the sensitivity of the situation. Aazuria was young—impossibly young. It was unseemly to enter her bedroom. He really did not want to make her feel as though he sought to sleep with her.

She cocked an eyebrow at his hesitation. "You really should vent to me about the injustice of it all; it might make you feel better."

"No. I..." Trevain felt heat flush his cheeks, and wondered why he had been suddenly reduced from a successful captain to a bumbling schoolboy. His own nervous spluttering annoyed him. The conversation was in serious need of a change of subject. Or change of location. Before he could think of the right thing to say, he noticed something strange.

"Were you reading by candlelight?" he asked with a frown.

She glanced down at the candle she held with dismay, nearly loosening her grasp on its holder. "I... well, I was..."

"You should have asked Mr. Fiskel for a desk lamp or a flashlight," he said.

"Of course," she answered, "but I did not want to bother anyone so late. I do not mind candlelight."

"What were you reading?" he asked.

"Oh," Aazuria said, squirming a bit as she tried to conceal the book behind her. "It is just a novel. I probably should be reading something scientific or historical..."

"There is nothing wrong with fiction," Trevain said. "Science and history can be easily learned. Fiction leaves you with vague impressions you need to sort out on your own. Human relationships are complex."

"I believe you are right," she said softly.

He nodded, reaching up to scratch his head as he looked at the strange young girl holding a candlestick. He thought that the best thing to do was to bid her goodnight and head to bed. He was tired, and stressed, and very likely to say something bizarre or senseless. He did not want to make an ass of himself, and she probably wanted to go back to reading her book. Yes, he should tell her goodnight.

He opened his mouth to wish her sweet dreams, but as he was beginning to realize was often the case when it came to Aazuria, his tongue and body disobeyed his commands. He instead found himself asking, in what was probably the dorkiest pick-up line ever:

"Aazuria... would you like to see my plants?"

Chapter Twelve

Trevain and Aazuria stood quietly beside each other in the solarium. They had opted not to put the lights on, since the room was bathed in the dim morning sunlight streaming in through the glass. Aazuria still held her candlestick. They were an odd pair, with Aazuria in her robe and Trevain in his yellow rubber coat. They both had their arms crossed as they gazed in silence at the central piece of the solarium.

"What do you think of it?" Trevain asked.

"It is very... stout. The trunk is very intricate."

They continued to stare at the small potted plant for several more silent minutes. It was evident that Trevain wanted to say something, but he seemed uncertain of how to proceed.

"What type of plant is it?" Aazuria asked, trying to incite conversation without being intrusive. It seemed to her that there were heavy thoughts on her host's mind, as she was beginning to realize was often the case. She wanted to be involved, but she did not want to cause him discomfort by invading the private space of his mind that she imagined had been sacred for quite some time.

"It's a baobab tree," Trevain answered, as he began to pace. Despite his subtle limp, there was something decidedly dignified in his gait as he slowly circled the small tree. "The species is from Madagascar. The tree naturally grows to be massive. They get so large, and the trunk gets so thick that people can live inside of them. There's actually a pub inside of one of these trees in South Africa—a pub that can accommodate fifty patrons."

"That's remarkable," Aazuria responded with surprise as she eyed the tiny plant. She did not know very much about plants that grew above the surface of the sea. In fact, the only growing species in Adlivun were those that did not require sunlight, such as various mushrooms.

Trevain nodded, and the passion in his voice increased as he spoke. "People find pleasure in using the bonsai technique to domesticate them. It should be impossible to stunt the growth of a living thing to one thousandth of its natural size! There's something disturbing about it; almost paranormal even."

"And here I was thinking that it was just a plant." She squinted at the silhouette of the tree in the soft light, and could not help but think of how alien it looked. It did not resemble anything she had ever seen anywhere in the world—not on dry land or concealed within ocean depths.

"I hate the idea of bonsai," Trevain said firmly. "I hate the idea of constantly trimming and pruning something to keep it from reaching its full potential."

"Are there not any benefits to the method?" Aazuria asked.

"It can result in an extended lifespan for the tree—it lives a comfortable life, free from disease and drought, well-taken care of." Trevain shook his head. "I am just not convinced that living longer and being safe from the elements is worth the sacrifice of becoming what one is supposed to become. It's just... horrifying. To take a stately tree and inhibit it like this!"

Aazuria looked at Trevain curiously. She held the candle up to his face to better examine his expression. "So what this tree means to you... is hatred?"

"Restriction."

"And yet you let it live. You let it live while pitying its existence. You come here and tend to it, further restricting it while thinking about how much you despise what it represents?"

"No, not exactly. I think about my life." When he saw that she did not follow his words, he sighed. "I think about the human obsession with bringing order to anything wild. I think about control and consumption; about the anxiety that everyone has about the world running out of space and resources. I think about how unnatural it is to tell people they can only have one child. To worry that people will run out of room to live, and food to eat."

Aazuria nodded. "I see. If these trees are allowed to grow and consume everything around them, it is beautiful—a thriving majestic life form, but it is also... uneconomical?"

"Land is limited," Trevain answered. "There is only so much available for us to use for everything we need to use it for."

"Yes. Land is limited," Aazuria repeated slowly. She wished that she could tell him that she had the solution to his problems. A new habitat, an unlimited domain with almost endless opportunity for settlement; but her home did not quite suit everyone.

"I really believe that life will find a way," Trevain said gently. "The challenges push our creativity. Skyscrapers, sustainable farming; there are so many ways. When we allow anxiety about the future to inhibit our lives now..."

"How is it inhibiting life?" Aazuria asked. "You said that these miniature trees might live longer than their gigantic counterparts in the wild. So perhaps a little control can be a good thing?"

"I suppose," Trevain answered. "But think of your own life, Aazuria. You said that you have lived under constricting circumstances—would you have chosen to continue living that way if it meant you would be protected?"

Aazuria closed her eyes as she thought of her father. "Of course," she answered softly. "It was only when Father began to make foolish decisions which placed us all in dire danger that we needed to get away."

"Danger?" he asked.

"I do not wish to speak of it now," she said cryptically. Aazuria was quiet for a few moments. Finally, she glanced at Trevain and smiled at his gaudy yellow jacket. She wondered if she could "bonsai" him somehow and take him home with her. She wished that she could tell him the truth about her kingdom and her past—she did not know how to build a friendship with so many secrets between them. "If you could choose to extend your natural lifespan, would you?" she asked.

Trevain considered it before answering. "I would, but not if I had to be confined in a pot in order to do so. It's not natural for anything to live and die in a pot."

She walked to the windows. She gestured out at the water whimsically with one hand. "What if you could be even more wild and free?" she asked in a musical voice, feeling a bit homesick.

He smiled sadly, thinking of his drive earlier. "Sometimes I feel that way—but it's such an evanescent sensation."

She turned back to him, suddenly serious again. "Trevain, here in Alaska... is it not the only chance of survival for these plants? For the foreign species at least, is it not necessary to be indoors, in your solarium, in a pot?"

"Yes," he said bitterly, "but they shouldn't be here in the first place."

"What do you mean?"

"Why do I need to own an African tree here in Alaska?" Trevain quickly crossed the room to where she stood and carefully picked up a potted plant that was near to her. This one was even smaller than the baobab, and it had needle-like evergreen leaves.

"This is a Giant Sequoia bonsai. Kind of an oxymoron, isn't it? A tree of this species is the tallest tree in the world. Yet I keep mine regulated to fifteen inches tall."

"I do not think the tree minds," Aazuria suggested. "Records and milestones? Those are human fixations. I do not think that trees themselves want to be the largest of the large."

"Then what do you think they want?"

"Just to be," Aazuria said, allowing a genuine smile to possess her lips and eyes. It was all that she wanted too; she was beginning to form a secret hope that he would somehow be part of her existence. "Just to be—alive and healthy, for as long as possible."

"So the important milestone is the age of the tree, correct? It doesn't matter if it's stunted—as long as it lives a long and healthy life. In that case, practicing bonsai on these trees is a good thing, correct?"

"I... I believe so," she answered.

He gently held up the Giant Sequoia until it was between their faces. "We confine them, we constrict them... they could have been so much that we will never know. Their roots feel out gingerly until they touch the ceramic—then it's decided. They must follow the concave surface religiously, having no other choice, until they tangle up amongst themselves, suffocating." Aazuria peered around the plant at Trevain's wrinkled brow as he soliloquized. "The heart knows the immensity it wants to achieve, but it is limited..."

She cocked her head to the side curiously. "Trevain, are you saying you feel like you are a potted plant?"

He chuckled. "Well, when you put it that way it makes me sound ludicrous." He turned around and placed the tree back in its location. "I probably sound outlandish to you—don't mind me. I'm just... not quite myself right now."

"No, please tell me what you meant to say!" she insisted.

He gave her a small smile. "Growing up in Alaska, losing my parents and having to take care of Callder—I had no choice in my career. I really wish I could have done something more rewarding with my life than catch a lot of fish."

"What would you do?"

He hesitated. "I probably couldn't have done much more anyway. You never know these things."

"What would you have done?" she asked firmly.

"Maybe Marine Biology—maybe help to preserve sea life instead of massacring it on a daily basis." He shrugged. He did not know that this answer won him major points with Aazuria since she considered herself to be within the category of sea life. Trevain removed his yellow gloves and tucked them into his pocket. "I don't know. Maybe I'd have studied Cultural Anthropology and traveled more."

"Then do it," she said simply.

"I wish I could," he said with a sad smile. "It's too late to make changes of such magnitude. I'm too ol..."

"No! I cannot listen to you calling yourself old one more time," she interrupted zealously. "You are in the prime of your life! You have accumulated so much knowledge and so much experience—now you are ready to pursue that which you regret not pursuing and be exactly who you wish to be. If you feel stunted or confined, then just break out! Reach out, and explore and grow—you too can be a giant instead of being fifteen inches tall. You are already a giant in my eyes—why should you not be so in your own?"

Trevain stared at her in surprise. In the short time he had known her she had always remained so calm, but she was evidently incensed about this subject. It gave him the impression that she was beginning to care for him, at least in some small degree. Her manner was inspiring, but a few livid words could not undo years of decaying hope.

He reached out and removed the candleholder from her hand. He blew the flame out before placing it down on a table. Reaching out, he gently took both of her hands in his. "I am not young like you, Aazuria. You are a teenager and all the whole world lies before you. I wish that I were standing here a young boy of your age and that we could imagine grand futures together and dream of the glorious years to come; but I stand here a potted plant all twisted up into the prescribed shape of my confinement. Your roots are reaching out in freedom, eager to burrow their own path into the earth for miles around. My job now is to nourish you and help you grow."

She shook her head adamantly. "You cannot cast your life aside as though it is worthless!"

"I am not," he spoke softly. He was moved by her concern for him, and he closed the distance between them, wrapping her up in a fatherly hug. "The better part of my life is over but maybe I can help to make the better part of yours the best it could be."

She was a bit stiff at first and surprised by the proximity, but she took a slow deep breath and relaxed into his embrace. Hesitatingly, she lifted her own hands up to circle his body and return the hug. The fabric of his waterproof clothing was rough to the touch, but the subtle scent of him which filled her nostrils when she inhaled was particularly pleasant.

She could not shake a strong feeling of melancholy at his words; she did not feel comfortable accepting that the better part of Trevain's life was over. He was younger-looking than her father by a large margin, and her father had been expecting to live for several hundred more years. It did not make sense, or seem fair to her. She almost believed that if he somehow chose to continue living the best years of his life instead of resigning himself to being "over"—then it would suddenly be the best time of his life again.

Aazuria pulled back slightly away from his hug. She scanned his face, searching for contours or shadows of hope. "You should leave your pot," she whispered with determination. She did not know what to say or do to convince him, but she would have tried anything. She felt like there was a world between them, and it had nothing to do with the fact that they were from different worlds. It was all in his mind. "You should break out of your prison and plant yourself beside me—if I am in fact planted. How else can our roots grow interconnected?"

He studied her dark eyes, trying to decipher her meaning. Was there a subtle suggestion in her tone—was it a question or demand? He became confused. Even though he could see the truth of what she felt and wanted, he could not completely believe his eyes. He wanted to believe. He wanted to achieve the intertwined roots that she had described, building a sturdy foundation of networked essences. He wanted to build this bond with her and even more. He wanted to grow close at the core, and close at the trunk, and closer still at the branches.

Yet his honor reared its head to remind him that it was wrong. She was his ward now, and she was under his protection. He should not allow a touch of temptation to turn him into the thing from which she needed protection.

"They can't," he answered, pulling away from her abruptly. "I'm sorry I disturbed you at such a late hour and interrupted your reading. Thanks for chatting with me and listening to me rant; I had a rough day. I should probably get some rest."

With that, Trevain turned and left.

Aazuria watched his retreating yellow back with disappointment. She felt the unfamiliar sting of defeat; she had tried to reach out to him, and had found him unreachable. Would he always be so distant and disciplined, so difficult to get close to? She found herself suddenly smiling; she was sure that he was just trying to be kind and gentlemanly.

She walked over to the centerpiece of the garden. She reached out to carefully trace the patterns on the baobab's ceramic pot with the fingernail of her index finger. Harder than any pottery or steel was a person's manner of thinking; if a person chose to be firmly set in his ways he was forever immobile. On the other hand, if that same person decided to seek another way, or several other ways, there was no substance on earth that could stop such ambition.

Aazuria felt like there had been a change in her own manner of thinking. If she could accomplish such a feat after six hundred years, then surely anyone's mind was pliable. Surely anyone's heart was elastic enough to be reached.

Chapter Thirteen

"Very good, Captain Murphy," said the instructor, closing his book. "You made excellent progress in this session."

"I've never been great at picking up new languages," Trevain admitted. "This seems really difficult. Communicating a simple phrase takes so much more effort than talking."

"You get used to it if you have to," the instructor answered, beginning to gather his materials. "I don't mean to pry, but what is the reason you've decided to learn sign language?"

"There's... a woman," Trevain said, awkwardly. "She's fallen on hard times and she's staying with me. Her sister is unable to speak, and I'd like to be able to understand her."

"Ah, I see," the instructor said with a grin. "Trying to impress a lady, are we?"

Trevain smiled sheepishly. "Well, yes... but when this lady translates her sister's speech it's always very intelligent and insightful. I'd like to be able to carry on a conversation with her without the translations. Maybe it would make her more comfortable with me... we could feel a bit more like a family."

"That's thoughtful of you," the instructor said, nodding. "I'll come by at the same time tomorrow?"

Several days had passed since Trevain had been expelled from his own boat. The Fishin' Magician had yet to return from its leaderless voyage. Trevain had received a few phone calls from Brynne and Doughlas, assuring him that they were doing great and that everything was fine.

He wondered if he had truly been worried for no reason. Paranoia—perhaps a sign of old age? He even mused that the crew might enjoy the fishing trip without his authority more than with him there to boss them around. Maybe they would be kicking him out more often.

Trevain had been getting along very well with Aazuria and her sisters. He had taken the girls on trips to museums where he found they were fascinated with only the extremely old artifacts. He had taken them on shopping trips to update their very sparse wardrobes. He was very excited about his idea to surprise Elandria by learning American Sign Language.

Entering the kitchen to grab a snack, he happened to run right into Elandria. He decided that he was finally feeling confident enough to try to use a few phrases with her. Trevain lifted his hands and tried to communicate a few basic words of salutation, and a comment on the weather.

Elandria looked at him in confusion—her eyes darted from his hands to his face nervously.

Aazuria entered the room was immediately puzzled by the look on Elandria's face. Elandria glanced at her with worry before picking up her skirts and rushing out of the room.

"What's wrong?" Trevain asked. "Did I say something wrong? I thought I could manage a simple greeting..." He continued going over the motions with his hands, trying to figure out where he had erred.

Aazuria stared at him for a moment. "You've been learning sign language?" she asked.

"I thought it would make it easier to speak with Elandria..."

"That is so sweet of you, Trevain." Aazuria said softly. How did she tell him that their sign language probably predated any language that was currently used above water? She sighed and rubbed her temples.

"What's wrong?" he asked, approaching her. "Do you have a headache?"

She gave him a small smile, feeling saddened that he had tried to take the initiative to connect with her family, and that it had not worked out. The cultural barrier between them felt suddenly immense. Being from different countries made communication challenging, but being from different worlds was doubly daunting. She knew she must try to explain. "The sign language which my sisters use is a bit different from the common... "

"Damn!" he cursed. "I should have asked you first. The instructor did ask me if I wanted to learn British or American Sign Language, and I just assumed."

She smiled in relief. "That is correct, we use British Sign Language. Perhaps—I could teach it to you?" she asked.

"I could just ask the instructor to switch..."

"No!" she said hastily, reaching out to touch his arm. "Please, do not bother with employing an instructor. It will be my pleasure to teach you."

She smiled, moving her hand in a simple pattern, followed by another. "This is 'hello,' and this is 'how are you?'"

He repeated the motions with his hands, "Like so?"

"Perfect," she answered. "Try that with Elandria next time and maybe she will not run away in fear."

He laughed, and continued to practice to drill the words into his muscle memory.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Elandria was explaining what had happened to Corallyn.

"So that's what he's been doing for the last few days," Corallyn said in admiration. "He said that guy was his stockbroker!"

"I did not know what to do, and I panicked," Elandria said. "I could not understand him... he probably thinks I am psychotic."

"Nah," said Corallyn, poking her sister in the side. "You're the only sane one among us."

"You seem unimpressed," Trevain remarked as he observed Aazuria's reactions—or rather, the lack thereof. Her youngest sister was bouncing all over the museum, zipping from plaque to plaque to devour every word she could find.

"Oh, no," Aazuria responded as they strolled along. "The exhibit is fascinating. Just staring at the bones of all these creatures which have been dead for so long... I find it a bit macabre."

"You're difficult to please. You are always bored to tears when we go shopping and won't purchase a single thing unless I force you. I thought women were supposed to like shopping! And then you order rice and bread whenever we go out for dinner." Trevain shook his head in exasperation. "I don't understand you."

"Where I come from, rice and bread were very rare," Aazuria explained. "Plus they are usually the most affordable items on the menu. I do not wish to take advantage of your generosity."

Trevain sighed. "I wouldn't have invited you all to stay if I couldn't afford more than rice and bread!"

They came upon Elandria, who was standing before a colossal collection of bones arranged in the shape of a dinosaur-like sea creature. The silent woman had her hands clasped behind her back, and she seemed to be examining the exhibit intently.

"There!" Trevain said, gesturing to the quiet woman. "Elandria seems to like the giant monsters."

"Yes," Aazuria responded. "She keeps several as pets."

"What?"

Hearing them approach, the small woman turned around quite suddenly, her dark braid whipping over her shoulder. She fixed her sister with a puzzled look. "It says that they believe Steller's sea-cow is extinct," Elandria signed. "I suppose it is lucky that I saved a few."

Aazuria nodded, observing the skeleton of the gentle beast sadly. "These people destroy everything they touch. Then they put the lifeless remnants in display cases like trophies..."

"Trophies?" Trevain asked, squinting as though it might help him to better understand what they were saying. He had barely managed to recognize three words.

Immediately embarrassed, Elandria lowered her head and moved away. She had forgotten that Trevain could now understand some of her speech, and this made her uncomfortable.

Aazuria turned to the grey-haired man apologetically. "She needs to improve her social skills."

"What were you two talking about?" he asked as they began strolling again.

"Trophies of destruction," Aazuria answered. "That is all these buildings seem to be. Some of these lost treasures were defeated by natural causes, but many were wiped out by us—and we cannot just let them go quietly. No, we must celebrate their annihilation."

Trevain stared at the dark-haired woman walking beside him. "Did anyone ever tell you that you can be really uptight?"

"Pardon me?" she asked, as she paused in her movement.

"Yeah. You're just so... stiff. If I hadn't seen you dance I would have believed you were made of harder wood than Pinocchio, and with a harder stick of wood shoved up your ass."

She stared at him speechlessly for a moment. "How dare— "

"I would apologize, but it's kind of a compliment," he explained with a smile. "I like it."

"You like the stick up my ass?"

He reached up to run a hand through his grey hair nervously. He worried that he was being too familiar. "It's just the exact opposite of what I'm used to. The men on the boat are very, very loose with language. They curse like... sailors. Listening to you speak is rather refreshing. I don't feel my brain hurting as it tries to process the rawness into something palatable."

"I cursed that one time," Aazuria reminded him.

"And it was adorable," he said. "I like your language. It reminds me of something... maybe an old fashioned, black-and-white movie. I also like the fact that you never slouch. It makes me feel like I should pay more attention to my own posture and language."

"A stick up my ass," Aazuria repeated, in disbelief. "There is only one person who has ever dared to say such things to me..."

"I didn't mean to insult you," Trevain said, but he was suddenly grinning. He gestured around them to the re-assembled skeletons. "Most of the time, you seem more rigid and emotionless than these guys. So yes, there is a stick the size of a Giant Sequoia, and it is way up there."

Aazuria's eyes widened. "But... I am a..." She felt the need to explain that she was extremely old, and from a royal bloodline, and that there had always been certain things expected of her. But when she tried to finish her sentence, laughter bubbled out of her instead. "A stick! Trevain, you..." The hilarity began to shake her torso. Glancing up at the dead dinosaurs, and picturing that Trevain considered them more passionate than she was, she suddenly found herself doubling over in laughter. Was she that horrible?

Corallyn happened upon them at that moment, and she stared at the spectacle with surprise. She saw the self-satisfaction on Trevain's face, and she lifted her eyebrows. "Wow. You made my sister laugh? I haven't ever seen her really laugh like that... but I'm only ninety—er, nine." Corallyn felt embarrassed by her blunder and quickly tried to distract him with a compliment. "You must be a magician."

"No," Trevain answered, looking at Corallyn suspiciously. "I'm just the Magician's captain."

In another attempt to distract him, she bounced up on her toes. "Uncle Trevain, will you buy me something cool in the gift shop?"

"Sure."

"Now, now, Corallyn," Aazuria said, having regained control of herself. "I told you that you need to stop frivolously spending the captain's money."

"Don't listen to her," Trevain said to the young girl warmly. "She has a health issue which makes her so snooty. Something about a large tree."

Aazuria was astounded by his boldness as Corallyn pulled them both towards the gift shop. Trevain sent her a playful wink.

"Look. This bottle of lacquer has my name on it!" the young girl exclaimed.

"It's called 'nail polish,'" Trevain explained. "Women use it to paint their fingers and toes."

"Uncle Trevain, will you purchase it for me?" Corallyn asked. "Please! There's a Coral Sunrise and a slightly darker Coral Catalyst."

"Sure," Trevain told her. "Get as much as you like. Maybe you can pick a color for your boring sister to try to liven her up."

"Heavens!" Aazuria said, shaking her head. "You are having entirely too much fun at my expense."

"I'm trying to have enough for the both of us," he told her.

She smiled. "I will make an effort to relax. On one condition."

"What's that?"

Aazuria slipped her hand against Trevain's large palm, weaving her soft fingers between his rough ones. "Show me one of those old-fashioned, black-and-white movies."

Chapter Fourteen

"Now introducing an amazing duo who will knock your socks off: Raine and Storm! Give it up, gentlemen!"

The redheaded Ramaris twins made their grand entrance, smiling and bowing. Sionna, or Raine, was wearing a tuxedo bodysuit and fishnet stockings, and her hair was pulled back tightly from her face. She was evidently her sister's assistant for the show. She moved to a circular piece of wood which her sister eagerly strapped her against with leather cuffs.

Visola, or Storm, wore a long glittering green dress with long slits up the side, all the way to her waist. There were knives strapped to her thighs, and she held a saber in her hand. Visola brazenly walked up to the edge of the stage, and picked up a champagne bottle that was usually left there for her show. She smiled to the audience, displaying the bottle to them before she used her sword to "cut" off the lip of the bottle. A small uproar of excitement came from the crowd as the champagne bottle burst open.

Personally, Visola found the sabrage trick rather boring and easy; it was a trick of physics more than skill, and it was performed with a blunt sword. Nonetheless, the collective enthusiastic response of the audience made her grin. She followed this by tilting her head back, turning the champagne bottle upside down over her mouth and pouring a few glasses worth of the bubbly liquid down her throat. Much of it spilled over her cheeks and chin, cascading over her chest and over the sequins of her dress. The liquid pooled around her high heels, but she did not care. Visola had no aversion to being covered with liquid of any kind. The audience found this extremely entertaining.

Disposing of the saber and champagne bottle by 'recklessly' tossing them aside, she pulled one of the knives from her thigh strap. She showed it to the audience confidently, walking the length of the stage and causing the men to murmur in interest. She moved forward to a man sitting near the stage, and grabbed his tie, yanking him forward before slicing the tie off. He fell abruptly back down in his chair. Everyone laughed and cheered at the demonstration of how sharp her knife was. She giggled and winked at the man in apology for ruining his tie. He smiled at her, and she could tell he did not mind in the least.

Sauntering towards her sister who was strapped onto the wheel, Visola ran her knife along her twin's neck. Sionna tried to act appropriately scared and vulnerable. Visola took a step back, and set the wheel spinning in one fluid motion. That should have been enough, but the audience did not know her strength. She pushed it again twice for demonstrative purposes, to give the impression that it was spinning even faster.

Moving back to the other end of the stage, Visola proceeded to throw her knife at Sionna. She rapidly chose another from her thigh to throw within a second. The men in the audience stared spellbound in amazement. When the wheel stopped spinning, Visola had thrown four knives at her sister. Two were piercing the shoulders of her outfit, very close to her neck, and another two were piercing her tuxedo coattails on either side of her hips. Finally, she took a fifth knife out from deep within her cleavage, and she aimed and tossed it right between Sionna's thighs.

The audience erupted into applause and cheering. There was a loud standing ovation, as Visola bowed. She pretended to walk off the stage and forget about her sister, but then raised a finger to indicate that she had remembered at the last second. Even this goofy bit of drama earned her chuckles. It was an easy and good-natured audience tonight, for which she was grateful. Visola could comfortably feed off the warmth of a crowd like this one. She returned to untie Sionna. The women held hands and bowed graciously, earning even more accolades and yelling. They walked off the stage together.

When the twins entered the back room, the loud buzz of various power tools was heard. Hairdryers, curling irons, and straighteners were wrangling unruly hair while fancy electric razors were being used to deforest legs. Nail files and nail clippers were being vigorously employed in taming talons. Girls were frantically asking each other to borrow equipment; superglue to fix garments that had come apart, antiperspirant, perfume, and mascara. Noxious fumes were everywhere from the nail varnish, hairspray, and foul, nauseating mixture of beauty products in the air. To the senses, the atmosphere seemed more like a construction site than a dressing room—indeed, each of the women was her own little building project.

The twins tried to find a quiet corner of the dressing room to sit.

"Did you have to nick my pantyhose, Viso? Heavens. Hundreds of years of training and you use it mainly to annoy me! Your poor older sister."

"Only older by a minute, darlin'. Besides, the crowd loved the expression of almost-barely-surprise on your face, and I can't get that unless the knife hits close enough for you to feel the breeze and the vibration. Maybe draw a little blood next time to make you yelp so they don't think you're a statue."

"I just know how good you are. It rather bores me to have you throw knives at me, you know."

"I know. But you don't have to yawn! You can at least act a little impressed!"

"I do not fear for my life or even my skin," Sionna said with a smile. "I do, however, fear for the lives of those who would intend me harm."

"Or even a hint of disrespect," Visola added with a wink. The twins did not share many sentimental moments, preferring the merriment of bickering. They both were entirely secure that they cared deeply for each other underneath the surface squabbles.

"Hey," said a woman with a thick Russian accent, "there is man looking for you."

Visola eyed the woman's sagging boobs disdainfully. They perfectly conformed to her personal stereotypical expectations, and this was disappointing. "Sorry, sweetheart—I am only interested in military men at the moment."

"Why? You are better than everyone else?" the woman spat questioningly. "You are princess?"

"No, tootsie-pie," Visola said in a supremely condescending voice as she rose from her chair and advanced on the woman. "I am not a princess, but I happen to be the elite bodyguard of one: and guess what that means?"

"Stand down!" Sionna ordered as she firmly restrained her sister. Then, once she felt Visola relax she made a show of fake gagging. "Tootsie-pie? Tootsie-pie? My goodness, Visola! Could you be any more experimental with your language?"

The Russian woman made a disgruntled noise and fished a cigarette out of her sequined bra, proceeding to light up before the twins.

"You are not allowed to do that," Sionna scolded, eyeing the cigarette warily. "Other people have to breathe this tainted air, which is already killing us rather quickly. I know you have no idea what I'm talking about, but I can feel myself aging. Put that cigarette out immediately!"

"Why? I can smoke if I want," she answered stubbornly, jutting out her chin and taking a defiant suck of her cigarette before blowing the air out at Visola's face. "This man is military man. He is asking to see you now."
Visola's green eyes flashed with rage to have smoke blown into her face, but Sionna's arms still restrained her. She processed the words that the annoying woman had spoken. "Really? Where is this man?"

"Why should I tell you, princess?" the Russian dancer asked, raising a thinly plucked and stenciled eyebrow. She pointed her finger at Visola threateningly. "You are rude girl."

"You should tell me," Visola said softly, staring at the offending finger, "because I use knives with great precision."

The girl sized her up before turning to leave. "He is the man sitting by bar, wearing red shirt."

"Score!" said Visola with a grin. She called out to the retreating dancer, "Thanks, lady."

Sionna released her grip on her sister and began rubbing her own temples. "You know, there are ways of getting information from people... and just plain communicating with them which don't involve threatening."

"Why fix it if it isn't broken? It's been my surefire method for half a millennium. Oh, boy! I sure do hope this guy can help me get access to what I need. You never know when your day is going to suddenly become more important than all the other days." Visola cheerfully checked her reflection. "Now how do I look? Wish me luck!"

Visola had disappeared before Sionna could respond. Sionna rolled her eyes skyward before looking into the mirror and responding to herself. "You look exactly like me. Your makeup is a bit trashier, of course. Otherwise, dear sister, you are drop dead gorgeous. Also, you make every day important with that crazy charisma of yours. Good luck."

Chapter Fifteen

The doorbell rang once, demurely.

One of Aazuria's eyes squinted open. She felt an unusual pressure across her stomach, and was startled to see that it was an arm. An arm belonging to another person—a rather heavy arm. Everything was heavier on land, but she was not accustomed to having arms draped across her body at all. Her eyes followed the limb to their possessor and she was further amazed to see a man. This was the most surprising element of the situation altogether. She looked around and took in the couch, the popcorn, the empty bottles of wine, and the television still tuned to the channel that constantly played old black-and-white movies.

This is exceedingly comfortable, she thought to herself with contentment, remembering the movie marathon they had had the night before. She had been swept away in the classic beauty of Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe, of schoolteachers falling in love with doctors, and millionaires with big boats. (Trevain had jealously insisted that his ship was worth a hundred useless pleasure yachts.) After Corallyn and Elandria had gone to sleep, Aazuria had finally relented to trying a glass of merlot called Pétrus, and had enjoyed sipping on the fruity oak flavor for hours. Eventually, they had needed to open another bottle. She hoped that Visola would never find out about her lapse, for after years of giving the redhead grief about her drinking habits, she would surely seem an awful hypocrite. But she did not regret it—the moment had begged for a touch of abandon.

As the divine dark liquid had caressed her palate with hints of berries and vanilla, her spirits had begun to soar with sensual pleasure. She had not wanted the moment to end, and had requested "one more movie" at least five times, until she was far too tired to sit upright. Her memory was fuzzy about her final hours of consciousness, but she remembered growing comfortable enough to lie against Trevain's chest on the couch. She remembered his fingers lazily stroking her long dark hair, entangling between the strands near the nape of her neck. She remembered how soft and warm, how extraordinarily cozy he had been. She remembered thinking that she would give up her kingdom in a heartbeat for this.

She remembered being so overwhelmed by the beauty beyond the television screen that she had begun crying during one of the scenes. Aazuria had discovered with dismay that the one century she had been confined to the water happened to have been the most incredible century in the history of humanity.

"I have missed it all," she had moaned. "I have missed the entire twentieth century. How can I never have seen a movie? All this technology, all of these new stories. How can he have kept it all from me? I should have been able to experience all of this as it was created!"

"Aazuria, these movies were filmed long before you were born. Some of them even long before I was born. Luckily, they have all been preserved and we can still see them now."

"You are wrong. It is not the same," she insisted, tears cascading over her cheeks. "The world has changed so much that I hardly know it anymore. I do not belong here. I want to survive in your world, but I do not know the first thing about this place."

"I'll teach you everything you want to learn," Trevain promised, wiping away her tears. "The world isn't going anywhere anytime soon. We can go and see anything you want to see."

"Just stay close to me," she pleaded. "There is too much to take in—I am afraid that I will make too many mistakes. I will stumble and fall on these weak legs. I am so lost here."

"I won't let you fall," he had answered.

She remembered Trevain lightly pressing his lips against hers in a reassuring kiss. But she was not sure if that was memory or imagination of what she had wished to happen. She should have felt embarrassed at showing such emotion—Aazuria had always prided herself on being stone-faced, as was expected of undersea royalty. But Trevain's warmth easily melted her icy countenance, and she was not upset with herself for allowing this. It was refreshing to trust someone enough to fully relax in their company.

The doorbell rang again.

Aazuria lifted a hand to rub her eyes. She adjusted herself so that she could stretch her legs before carefully slipping out from under Trevain's semi-hug. She walked out of the room a bit unsteadily at first, but she had resumed her poise by the time she reached the door. She undid the locks deftly. When the door swung open, it revealed that Brynne was standing there.

"Sea-wench," Brynne said hoarsely.

"Fisherwoman," Aazuria responded in greeting. She was suddenly alarmed when she realized how unkempt she was. In Adlivun, she never entertained visitors without first suffering hours of intricate hairstyling and elaborate face-painting. She quickly tried to arrange her disheveled clothing to be more presentable, and lifted her hands to smooth her hair. "Please come in."

"Where's Trevain?" Brynne asked in a quivering voice.

"He is still resting," Aazuria answered. "I apologize—it's my fault. I kept him up all night watching movies."

Brynne chewed on her lip fearfully. "I need to see him. Can you please get him?"

"Shouldn't we let him rest?" Aazuria asked. "I can tell him whatever it is..."

"Please," Brynne said in a hushed voice, completely unalike the brash tone she had used with Aazuria at their first meeting. "Please get him, Aazuria."

Aazuria frowned, but she nodded compliantly. She crossed the house to the family room and spoke Trevain's name while touching his arm to wake him.

"Hmmm?" he asked, groggily.

"Brynne is here. She wants to speak with you."

"Brynne?" he responded, clearing his throat. "Bet she's here to boast about their catch."

"I'm not so sure," Aazuria said in confusion.

"I guess I should find out what she wants," he said, pulling himself to his feet. He rubbed the wrinkles out of his shirt. He left the family room and headed for the foyer, with Aazuria close on his heels.

When Brynne laid eyes on Trevain, she stopped wringing her hands. She was deathly still and quiet for a few seconds before she tried to speak. "Trevain..." Brynne's voice caught in her throat. She paused, and tried to speak again, but no sound left her lips. She tried again. "Trevain, I..." She shook her head, screwing up her face before she burst into tears.

Trevain did not move or speak as he observed the strange behavior of the brunette. Finally, he turned his back on the women, clenching his fists. "No. I don't want to hear it." He turned around and headed upstairs.

Aazuria was bewildered by the whole situation. She knew that something serious had been silently communicated between the longtime co-workers, but it escaped her understanding. She stared after Trevain's retreating back, seeking understanding in his tired and angry gait, before returning her gaze to Brynne. "What is wrong, dear?"

Brynne was now sobbing uncontrollably, and she had fallen against the marble-topped console table in the foyer. Her shoulder had knocked over a large glass vase holding fresh flowers, and it was rolling off the edge and crashing to the ground. Aazuria knew that she could not catch the heavy vase in time, so she pushed Brynne back to prevent the woman from being cut by the shards of glass. Aazuria felt a few sharp pieces graze her own legs as the container smashed on the marble floor. Brynne fell to the ground a few feet away from the vase, and was whimpering as she stared at the water from the vase spilling all over the floor. The water had surrounded Aazuria's bare feet, tinted with a few droplets of blood from where the glass had cut the woman's skin. The fresh forsythia blossoms lay scattered gracelessly on the pile of broken glass.

"I'm so sorry," Brynne said wretchedly. She began sobbing again.

Aazuria moved to her knees and tried to put her arm around the distraught woman to console her. "Come and sit down," she insisted, using her strength to support Brynne as she helped her up from the ground. She guided the distressed brunette carefully around the floral glass carnage, and deposited her safely in the nearest couch. Brynne moved compliantly along in a daze, and once she was sitting, she collapsed and placed her head in her hands.

"Brynne," Aazuria urged gently. "Will you please tell me what has happened?"

"It's Callder," Brynne said between gasps. She could not seem to catch her breath as her sobs shook her whole body. "Callder's dead."

Chapter Sixteen

Aazuria was rendered speechless. She remembered the lively young man she had spoken to only a few days ago. He had been full of vibrant energy and blunt, unsophisticated honesty. He had been a slightly more primitive and mediocre version of his big brother. But it did not seem possible that...

"I should have married him. I should have married him," Brynne was moaning. "This is all my fault."

"What do you mean?" Aazuria asked numbly. She had grown confused again.

Brynne tried to control her sniffles enough to speak coherently. "We dated for a while. A few years ago. You know how it is: close quarters on the ship, working together every day... he always made me laugh." The brunette smiled through her tears. "But I thought... I thought he was beneath me—he had a lot of bad habits. Maybe if I had accepted one of his many proposals things would be different. Sometimes men change when they get married, don't they?"

"I do not believe it works that way, dear," Aazuria answered softly.

"He killed himself," Brynne whispered. "At least I think he did. He was acting crazy. He said he saw a woman in the water..."

"What?" Aazuria sat up to attention. She looked at the other woman grimly and infused her tone with hardness. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Brynne nodded, wiping her nose on her sleeve and trying to calm her gasping breaths. "I... I was cooking. He took me aside. He asked me if I would reconsider marrying him if he was the permanent captain of the Magician. I laughed—I laughed at him and said that Trevain would sooner appoint me to that position than a lazy ass like Callder. Then he got angry and said something weird... he said that if I didn't want him, he was going to go with the woman in the water..."

"What did she look like?" Aazuria demanded.

"What? What does that matter? He was just saying nonsense..."

"Any detail you remember matters!" Aazuria responded firmly.

"I think he said that she was blonde," she said, sniffling. "She was wearing a black dress with some strange necklaces..."

"Necklaces?" Aazuria gripped Brynne's shoulders. "This is not a joke. What kind of necklaces?"

"He mentioned shark's teeth... lots of shark's teeth. Callder's always had a thing for them. He said that she had beckoned him to go away with her—and that he would go if I didn't stop him. I just laughed and told him it was his lamest pick-up line yet, and I went back to cooking. He left, and skipped dinner, but I thought it was because he was mad at me. He usually gets moody like that after I reject him. Except no one has seen him since then." Silent tears began to fall over Brynne's cheeks again. "God, it's all my fault."

"It is not your fault, Brynne." Aazuria closed her eyes. A black dress and shark's teeth. This cannot be what I believe it is. My people wear green, and whoever lured Callder was definitely not one of us. The only sea-dwellers who wear shark's teeth are... but it cannot be them. We defeated them ages ago in Japan! It cannot be the clan I am thinking of—but who else would dress like that? It seems that Trevain and I share a common enemy—whether he is aware of their existence or not.

"What does it all mean?" Brynne whispered.

"It is not good news," Aazuria told her honestly. "Listen to me, Brynne. Do not go out on the water anymore. Do you hear me?" When the woman nodded, Aazuria sighed. "Thank you for the information."

"Trevain was right. He's always right." Brynne hugged her legs against her chest. "We shouldn't have been so greedy. I should have listened to him. He's going to be so broken-hearted when he finds out. Callder was all he had."

"He has us. We need to be there for him." Aazuria squeezed the other woman's shoulder gently. "I should check on him." She left Brynne and began to climb the stairs to the second floor, already feeling the heaviness of Trevain's grief. When she reached the corridor, she was stopped by a small hand on her arm.

"Is death usually this frequent for these land-dwellers?" Corallyn asked in a whisper.

"I do not believe so," Aazuria answered. "Go down and sit with Brynne. Try to cheer her up a little."

Corallyn nodded and darted off. Aazuria noticed that Elandria was standing in a cracked doorway. The two girls looked at each other knowingly for a moment.

"It is them, is it not?" Elandria asked. Her hands were shaking with fright as she signed the words. "The Clan of Zalcan. It is happening all over again. They are going to massacre us. The same way they wiped out the Bimini Empire. The same way they razed Yonaguni. Soon Adlivun will join these fallen kingdoms..."

"Not if I can help it," Aazuria signed back. "Yonaguni might have been destroyed, and Queen Amabie might have had to perform an emergency evacuation, but she defended her people. We helped her fight them off in the fifties with minimal losses—and if Zalcan did have the audacity to reorganize, we will just disorganize and dispose of his men again. We will send dispatch messengers to ask the Ningyo for help."

Elandria responded hesitantly. "Sister, we need to take definitive and immediate action. Perhaps we should also evacuate everyone and move to a different location... it is too dangerous to remain here."

Aazuria stared at Elandria's hands, unable to respond. She did not know where they would go. Many of her people had never been on land, and were rightly terrified of land-dwelling society. They could not run north, for with the approaching winter, the Arctic would be too cold for even the northern mermaids to survive.

"Aazuria?"

Nodding, the princess tried to display strength on her face. "Do not worry, Elan. We will figure this out shortly. I am going to check on Trevain." Excusing herself from her frightened sister, she walked down the corridor towards Trevain's room. She knocked once, lightly. Upon hearing no response she opened the door a tiny bit.

Trevain was sitting on his bed and staring at the wall.

"Trevain," she spoke softly.

He slowly turned to look at her, and lifted his eyes piteously. "Zuri," he mumbled. He had overheard her sisters calling her by the nickname over the few days that they had spent together, but this was the first time that he had used it himself. He shook his head wretchedly. "Please don't tell me. I don't want to know."

She could see that he knew the truth of what had happened, even though he had not heard it himself. How could he be sure if he had not listened to Brynne's story? Maybe he felt that if he did not hear the words, he would not have to accept them. "Are you sure..." she began.

"I don't want to think about it," he said, turning away. His voice cracked as he spoke. "I know Brynne. The wrath of that girl! She gets angry; she rages and rampages. She rips everything apart—but the only thing that could possibly make her cry... is if something happened to Callder. She loved him, even though she wouldn't let go of her pride and admit it if you held a gun to her head. I can't face this right now. He's my little brother. He wasn't perfect... isn't! He isn't perfect... God!"

Trevain buried his head in his hands. Aazuria went to his side. She could feel despair emanating from his body almost like a physical thing as she seated herself next to him. She put her arms around him, and rested her head on his shoulder. She hoped that her touch was comforting and motherly, but she didn't feel very strong. Elandria's words were floating through her mind. She thought of Bimini.

For thousands of years, the ruins now known as the Bimini Wall had been home to a thriving and prosperous undersea settlement in the Caribbean. That was until about a hundred years ago. An army of anarchist sea-dwellers from various clans and kingdoms all over the world had banded together under a revolutionary leader to form the Clan of Zalcan. They had ferociously attacked the Bimini Empire.

The underwater war had been waged for many years, causing a massive amount of collateral damage in the form of land-dweller casualties. The area became known as the "Bermuda Triangle" to superstitious seafarers. It was a well-known technique that mermaids used against each other, to attack ships or nearby surface settlements and bring huge numbers of suspicious investigators to the area, making it unlivable. In the 1940s, Bimini finally fell. The inhabitants of the empire were forced to relocate to nearby land, or to other underwater settlements. Adlivun had gained quite a few citizens from the fall of Bimini.

Aazuria's thoughts and memories were interrupted as she felt Trevain tighten his grip on her. She was pulled away from her focus on maritime warfare and returned to the second story of this land-based dwelling. She was returned to the sorrow of the terrestrial man of whom she had grown so fond. She felt a consuming rush of anger, thinking of how both worlds and so many lives had been ravaged over the past century due to the cruelty and selfishness of the Clan of Zalcan. She hoped that they were not really the ones responsible for the minor attacks on the outskirts of Adlivun and on fishing boats in the area. There was still no confirmation; it could be anyone. But in her heart, she knew what was coming—just as Trevain had somehow known.

"How did you sense that there would be danger?" Aazuria asked him softly, feeling his soft grey hair under her fingertips.

He did not move from where he weakly rested his head against her chest before he responded in an empty voice. "It was just a stupid feeling. I don't know. I was being irrational..."

"But you were right," she answered. "Did you see or hear anything?"

"I thought I saw some dark shapes in the water. It really gave me the chills."

"Why?" she asked.

"Why?" he repeated blankly. "I don't know. Some old story I heard or something. I... I'm a fool. I shouldn't have let them use my boat."

She bit her lip before speaking. "It is too dangerous out there now. You know this as well as I do. There are forces at work which aggressively seek to cause you harm. You must promise me that you will not go out on the water again. Please say that you will not!"

"I don't think I'm in any state to do so anytime soon, Aazuria," he answered. "I mean, I will have to eventually. People are counting on me. But this... first Leander and now..." The strength seemed to drain from him as he exhaled all of his willpower in a single breath. "I need to lie down."

He pulled away from her and moved to lean back on the pillows. She stood and unfolded the blanket from the foot of the bed, tugging it over his legs to keep him warm. He extended his hand to her.

"Zuri, would you stay with me?"

She took his hand and slipped under the blanket with him, hugging his arm and resting her forehead against his shoulder.

"I never considered leaving."

Chapter Seventeen

A week had passed since Brynne had showed up sobbing at their door. Trevain had hardly left his bed. He found it impossible to accept that his younger brother was truly gone. Whenever there was a noise in the house, he asked Aazuria to check if Callder had returned home. She did everything he asked without question. She took care of him, bringing him meals and encouraging him to eat. The princess spent endless hours chatting with the captain and trying to lift his spirits. She even slept beside him every night because she could not bear to leave his side.

She ignored the worried looks from Elandria and Corallyn's raised eyebrows as her focus on Trevain's life began to overshadow her own priorities. Aazuria knew that he was getting too deep in her heart, but it was too late to stop the flow of such great tides. She tried to compensate by spending a good deal of time strategizing with her sisters and with the twins about how to handle the situation in Adlivun. They argued over whether they should prepare for full-scale war, summoning all their allies to their defense, or whether they should turn tail and run. The very thought of running made Aazuria want to vomit. General Ramaris completely agreed, becoming livid when anyone even suggested retreat. They both knew that if it became necessary, they would need to advocate and implement an evacuation plan. But their pride would not allow them to surrender their beloved home so easily.

Aazuria also found herself quite suddenly in charge of Trevain's affairs. She found herself dealing with the Coast Guard since Trevain wanted nothing to do with them. She had to learn acronyms like SAR (Search and Rescue) and PIW (Person in Water) very quickly, and found it all rather irritating. She knew that Callder had not drowned naturally, and felt that these regulated procedures of the land-dwellers were largely a waste of time, at least in this instance. She found herself answering every phone call, and frequently being addressed as "Mrs. Murphy." At first she had corrected the callers, explaining that she was not married to Trevain, but they still assumed that she was his girlfriend or somehow the woman of the house. Eventually she had grown tired of explaining. It seemed that she had naturally fallen into role of acting as the captain's wife.

Mr. Fiskel helped her to deal with attorneys and death certificates and a whole host of unpleasant minutiae. Aazuria mostly sent people away and told them to call back later when Trevain was feeling better. He had already gone through this once with Leander, and she did not think he was ready to deal with legal responsibilities and press statements again so soon. This was not like before—this was not another workplace accident. Callder had been his blood—someone whom he had grown up beside. He was not prepared to deal with this loss, and he had yet to even truly admit that his brother was gone.

Members of his crew came by to visit with condolences, apologies, and their very hats in their hands; but whenever Aazuria told Trevain that he had a visitor, he was never interested in seeing anyone. The fishermen had been much too terrified to attempt working again. Doughlas had decided that he did not have to buy his new Audi as urgently as he had initially intended. The old Toyota would do.

The tragedy had driven Trevain closer to Aazuria than he had ever intended to become; in his misery he had let his guard down and been completely honest and open. He forgot all about the fact that she was supposed to be too young for him, and he began treating her like an adult and an equal. He saw less through his eyes, since his vision was obscured with grief, and more accurately with his intuition. The walls that had prevented their effortless communication and the development of their friendship were crumbling. Trevain had not placed any labels or rules on what they had become to each other, but they both knew that they had become something more; they were inseparable.

Only Aazuria and her sisters were permitted to enter Trevain's room. Corallyn and Elandria would sometimes sit with the captain and listen to him reminisce about Callder, and tell stories of their youth. The girls were truly sympathetic for him; they all knew how painful it would be to lose each other. Late one evening, when they were alone, Trevain made an unusual suggestion:

"You know, maybe you and Elandria should consider going to high school."

Aazuria laughed. Trevain observed her laughter, but did not smile.

She was startled when she saw that he was serious. "Trevain—you are in earnest. High school? What can I learn there?"

"It's not necessarily about learning. I know you are intelligent. It's about getting the diploma so you have something to show for it. At least the younger girls should go to school, for the sake of their futures. If you want to succeed in this world, you're going to need at least a high school education."

Aazuria nodded. "I suppose we do need that... in this world."

Trevain did smile then. "I love the way you speak. It's so unusual and puzzling. Watching you is like watching one of those old movies."

"Because my manner of dress is archaic or because I am terribly romantic?" she asked playfully.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Mr. Fiskel.

"Miss Aazuria, there is someone here to see you."

"At this hour?" she asked, sighing. She had received at least five visitors earlier that day. "It never ends, does it? Please, just tell him to come back another time."

"He says it is urgent, Miss Aazuria."

"Fine, then," she said, rising from where she sat beside Trevain on the bed and smoothing out her white dress. "I'll be right down."

Trevain sighed. "I feel so guilty for making you do all my errands for me..."

"Nonsense," she said firmly. "It is my honor. You just rest; I will be back before long."

Aazuria dutifully headed down the corridor to the stairs, but when she saw the man that was waiting in the foyer she had a moment of panic. "Naclana!" she cried, placing her hand on her chest. She descended the stairs quickly, almost at the pace of a run. She felt her heartbeat quicken palpably under her hand. "Sweet Sedna, are we under attack?"

At the sight of the messenger, chaotic scenes had instantly begun dancing through her mind. She saw her kingdom being pillaged. Having listened to Visola's lectures about new technology, she almost expected to hear that torpedoes and missiles were killing her people by the dozens.

"Princess," he responded, striking his chest in salute and bowing. "At this point the attacks are only peripheral. There have been losses—and there will likely be many more. We believe that the Clan of Zalcan has returned in full force. General Ramaris ordered me to escort you home."

Naclana was one of the few males who resided in Adlivun. He was one of a handful of men amongst thousands of women. It had not always been this way, but King Kyrosed, Aazuria's father, had significantly thinned the male population in the past few hundred years by exiling the sea-dweller men and sending many of them away on missions from which they would never return.

"I cannot leave right now," Aazuria said softly. She thought of Trevain, grieving over the loss of his brother. The captain was still an emotional mess, and she did not want to abandon him. She frowned. "Perhaps Elandria or Corallyn could go in my stead?"

"We need you, Princess. This is a time of crisis and emergency. An attack is imminent. Adlivun needs you."

"Adlivun? Attack?"

Aazuria looked up in horror to see that this was Trevain's voice filtering down the stairs. It was the first time he had left his room in over a week, and it was unthinkable that he had chosen this moment. As Trevain descended the staircase, Aazuria found herself trying to lie.

"Adlivun is my... hometown," she attempted to explain. Naclana raised his eyebrows at this.

"I don't understand. I thought you ran away from your home after your father died."

"Yes. My father was a man with many responsibilities which I suppose I have... inherited."

"And what about the 'attack?'" Trevain asked, coming to stand beside her. "What's going on, Aazuria?"

"Oh... uh. Attack meaning lawsuit... my father's estate. Taxes. Tax evasion. Bequest. Settlement. This man is my lawyer."

"Your lawyer calls you 'princess?'"

Aazuria wanted to slap herself in the face—she was sure that her cheeks were growing quite red. "Naclana has known me since I was very young. He was my father's lawyer. My father used to call me princess when I was a toddler. It was... a whole thing." Aazuria laughed nervously and waved her hand in dismissal.

Naclana cleared his throat. "The point is, er... Aazuria. I have my orders. You need to come home immediately."

Trevain looked stricken. "You're leaving?"

"I must." Aazuria turned to look at Trevain with worry on her face.

"But... I'm sorry—I'm being selfish," he quickly corrected. "You've helped me so much with my brother, and I forgot you have your own family problems to deal with."

"I wish I could stay," she told him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I will return as soon as I can."

Naclana cleared his throat, a bit surprised with this display of affection. "Aazuria, you must also bring your sisters along with you. Summon Elandria and Corallyn immediately, and we must depart."

"You're taking all of the girls?" Trevain said with surprise and dismay. "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes," answered Naclana. Aazuria sighed and called out the names of her sisters.

"This man gives me the creeps," Trevain remarked, eyeing the male sea-dweller suspiciously and noting his unusually long hair. "Aazuria, I'm not sure if I approve of you going off with this fellow alone. Maybe I should come along."

"Do not worry, Trevain," she said with a smile. "I have known him for four hun... fourteen years. Besides, I am quite certain he is even related to me. A distant cousin of sorts."

"Second cousin, twice removed, on her mother's side," Naclana responded promptly.

"There you go," said Aazuria with a smile.

"Do you come from the kind of village where people marry their cousins?" Trevain asked.

"Why are you being so overprotective?" Aazuria asked with a laugh. "That is frowned upon in Adlivun. However there have been accidents, as with any society, when there has been poor genealogical recordkeeping."

Elandria and Corallyn appeared on the landing, and Corallyn emitted a small shriek at the sight of the messenger. "Naclana!" she cried. "Is everything alright?"

"No," Naclana answered simply. "You are to come home to Adlivun immediately."

"Good Sedna," Corallyn whispered.

Elandria began signing furiously to Naclana with her hands, and he signed back the answers to her questions.

"Sedna?" Trevain asked curiously.

"That is... we had an Inuit grandmother," Aazuria fabricated. She was tired of the mountain of lies that were piling up. "It is just something she used to say."

Trevain nodded. He was surprised at the fact that the messenger also knew the sign language of the girls. He tried to read their hands, but could not follow their speed.

"Are you ready to go?" Naclana asked.

"He's all business, isn't he?" Trevain remarked dryly.

"Yes. Let's get going," Corallyn said, after reading Naclana's hands. She begun heading for the door. "We need to move."

"Don't you girls need to take some things? Clothes, toothbrushes, shampoo?" Trevain asked with concern.

"No," said Naclana. "We are leaving now."

Aazuria saw the look on Trevain's face and understood that he was feeling deserted. He had just lost his brother, and now he felt like he was losing her as well. "Elandria, will you stay with him?" she asked her sister. She added with her hands, "Take care of him for me."

Elandria nodded, accepting the assignment. "Please be careful, Aazuria. Make the decisions which are the safest, the boldest, and the most unpredictable."

Aazuria quickly signed the words, "I love you." She reached out and pulled Elandria into a fierce hug.

Trevain comprehended the hand signals for these three simple words, having learned enough to remember the basics. He also recognized that the way that Aazuria embraced her sister was desperate, as though she were heading into some kind of peril from which her return was uncertain.

"Aazuria," he began in a warning tone. "You know I would never try to stop you from doing anything, but I'm beginning to seriously worry. Where are you going? Can you give me the address and phone number so I can reach you? What is this about? Look, I don't like the way..."

She smiled at his concerned face, and moved forward to place her palm against his cheek. She rose to her tip-toes in order to place a soft kiss on his lips. She pressed her mouth against his for several passionate and purposeful seconds.

He was shocked into silence by her bold manoeuver. Although they had been very close over the past weeks, they had not crossed any definitive lines of romantic affection. Every touch and every word, however intimate, could still almost be considered friendly. Almost. At least, that is what he had told himself every time he considered her position in his life. But this was crossing some conclusive intersection—a junction from which they could not cross back. He recognized it in the devotion which he felt pouring into him through her lips. The kiss was so absolute that it could not, in any way, be considered merely friendly.

And Trevain was very happy about that.

Although he was still tremendously worried, his momentary gladness at this confirmation of her feeling overwhelmed him.

"I promise I will be back soon," she said, giving him a look that was somehow determined and tender at the same time.

"Aazuria..." he began, but she was already walking through his front door with Corallyn and her cousin-lawyer. He turned to Elandria, and saw that the girl's face had gone very pale, and that she was twisting her dark braid nervously between her hands.

"Is something wrong here, Elandria?" he asked firmly. "Is there something I should know?"

Elandria looked at him but could not respond. She continued to dig her fingernails into her rope of hair nervously.

"Where is Adlivun? If we get in my car, can you give me directions?" When she did not respond, Trevain clenched his jaw. "Jesus, Elan! Can you tell me if this town is in Canada or America?"

The woman's eyes grew wide and she turned around completely so that Trevain would not see the answer on her face. Her heart-rate had escalated with the interrogation.

Trevain swore under his breath. "If she doesn't return, I'll go mad!"

Elandria nodded in solemn agreement, staring at the wall uneasily.

"I'm going back to bed," he announced, before turning to drag himself up the stairs.

Chapter Eighteen

Elandria paced nervously in the corridor outside Trevain's room. A week had passed and Aazuria had still not returned from Adlivun. It had been too long.

Mr. Fiskel exited Trevain's room with a bowl of soup in his hands. The old man lifted his shoulders helplessly as he made eye contact with the girl. "I still can't get him to eat, Miss Elandria. He just won't stop talking about Callder. He's also running a temperature. The captain's making himself sick with stress."

Elandria gave Mr. Fiskel a steadfast look before approaching him and taking the bowl of soup from his hands. She nodded to him and entered Trevain's room. She marched to Trevain's bedside and placed the soup down on the nightstand firmly before reaching out to feel the man's forehead.

Trevain's eyes opened slowly, and he blinked at her. "Zuri, you're back. I thought you left forever. Like my brother. It never rains, but it pours. Shouldn't we amend that for Alaska? It never snows, but it blizzards. Doesn't have the same ring to it."

Elandria frowned at his nonsensical rambling. She moved her face closer to Trevain's and shook her head firmly to indicate that she was not Aazuria. She slapped him lightly on the cheek.

He blinked again, several times. "Elan? I'm sorry. What am I thinking. My vision must be... I'm just tired. In my defense, you do resemble your sister."

"How on earth can you be tired?" she asked him with the rapid hand motions "You have done naught but remain in bed for a week!"

"I didn't get any of that," he answered, staring up at the ceiling. "Did you know when Callder was a boy he liked fencing? Fencing, imagine that. A rather noble and focused sport for such a lazy and careless kid. Mother caught us playing with wooden swords once, so she signed us up for fencing lessons. He loved it. He really did. Especially when I let him win."

Elandria studied his pallid complexion with worry. There was moisture on his skin which caused strands of his grey hair to cling to his forehead. He had been very quiet for days, sending her away whenever she had tried to speak with him. Now he seemed to hardly notice her presence as he ruminated. He seemed like he was in the beginning of delirium. Having seen many illnesses and much grief in her extended lifetime, Elandria resolutely decided to do all within her power to bring him out of his despondency. She picked up the bowl and spoon, and attempted to coax Trevain to drink some soup.

He turned his head away from the offered victuals and buried his face in the pillow. "Fencing," he mused to himself. He continued mumbling into the pillow. "Put a saber in his hand and he was full of life. Why wasn't he like that about anything else? No self-esteem. Didn't know how great he was, how great he could have been. Should've told him. If only things had been different; if I'd been more attentive to my little brother... but I only cared about myself and my own success. Now what can my money do?"

Elandria placed her hand on his shoulder, shaking her head, intending to object to his self-blame with all the gestures she could muster. Trevain, however, did not acknowledge her touch. He continued to mutter against his pillow.

"The money's worthless," Trevain whispered. "Callder knew it. He knew it more than I did. He always said such negative things about himself. Why? He kept insulting himself until the insults became truth. He'd say, 'I'm worthless scum, and I'm better off dead. You're better off with me dead, and so is Brynne and the whole world!' It wasn't true. I swear it wasn't true."

Elandria reached out to soothingly pat Trevain's hand, but he still did not react. He swallowed and continued speaking softly to himself. "He made it true because he believed it so much! How could he believe those awful things about himself? He was such a smart boy. A kind boy. I should have told him! I should have forced him to know."

Elandria returned the soup to the nightstand. She took some of the fabric of her dress into her hands and began to squeeze it anxiously. She considered Trevain's words and wondered if she should have gone to Adlivun instead of her sisters. Waiting and not knowing was very difficult; it was paralyzing.

"Why did he drink so much? Why didn't he give himself more credit? Why did he have to be such a damned fool? It should have been me. It should have been me instead."

Standing up abruptly, Elandria walked to the window of Trevain's room. She parted the curtain and gazed out at the serene view of the ocean. Trevain continued to mumble to himself in bed, but Elandria was too far away to make sense of his muffled speech. She raised her fingers to the glass and traced the shoreline with her fingernail. She sighed as she also traced the horizon.

Her lips, which she usually kept tightly shut, now parted. She drew in several deep breaths before finding the courage to release her voice in song:

My love has gone to sail upon the sea,

A fortnight has passed without his return.

I cannot smile; I cannot eat or sleep.

I fear the worst and already I mourn.

We were to marry come the gentle spring,

In the small church our mothers kindly chose.

I clutch a lock of his hair and his ring,

Watching for signs of him upon the shores.

Elandria's voice echoed off the walls of the room, filling it completely with her celestial a cappella melody. Trevain stopped his muttering and paused, allowing the music to flood his mind and body. It permeated his being in the same way that ingesting hot liquid would have sent feeling of warmth throughout his insides.

He had not consumed any of the soup that Elandria and Mr. Fiskel had tried to get him to drink for days. They had been respectful of his wishes to starve himself. This poignant singing, however, was force-feeding his senses and overloading them with bucketfuls of emotional nutrients and enchantment. Now he discovered for what he had truly been famished.

Elandria's voice was sublime. She moved his blood, sending powerful currents through his stagnant arteries, with ripples that extended all the way to the smaller veins and capillaries. She brought all his pain to the surface, where it simmered on his skin, burning him briefly before dissipating into the air around him. Elandria's voice was...

Trevain suddenly sat up in bed, shocked by the realization. Elandria's voice? He looked to where she stood near the window, belting out passionate lyrics in a loud and clear soprano. Yes, it was coming from her throat—the throat of the girl who had not spoken once since she had entered his home. He was being serenaded by the speechless girl for whom he had begun learning sign language!

Although his astonishment was colossal, his immense pleasure at listening to the exquisite music easily overpowered his surprise. The sound was breathtaking. He could have sworn that he had heard it before.

O, where is his fine ship? Where is my love?

It was under the great sequoia tree,

He avowed to all the heavens above,

Come hell or high water he'd come for me!

So I ask the skies now: where is my love?

"You can speak," he said dumbly, interrupting her song.

She smiled at him weakly, and gave a small ladylike shrug. He stared at her, dumbfounded.

"You can actually speak," he repeated, in wonderment.

Elandria shook her head to indicate the negative. She raised her hands to answer him with sign language. "Yes, I can, but I choose not to do so. I can communicate in many other ways. Where I hail from, everyone knows sign language and it is completely unnecessary."

Trevain frowned as he stared at her fast moving hands. "I am really trying to understand you, but I can only pick up a word here and there. I can't put it together."

She tried to slow down her hand motions so that he could comprehend her signage. "I dislike the sound of my own voice in speech. It is garish and unrefined."

"Elandria!" he responded in frustration. "I just heard you use your voice! I'm not going crazy, am I? Please, speak to me. I know you can!"

She paused, clenching and unclenching her hands into fists fretfully.

"Elan?" he coaxed softly. "Please?"

She reached up and began to finger her braid as she gathered the resolve to form a simple sentence. She opened her lips and uttered a simple proclamation:

"Just as it never snows, but it blizzards, I never speak; I only sing."

He nodded then, satisfied. "I understand. I guess you have your reasons. Just like those ultra-holy monks who take vows of silence for personal enlightenment and such, right? Well, I won't force you to speak anymore. I just wanted to know why... your voice! It's magnificent. You're an opera singer... you performed those recordings which Aazuria danced to in the club."

Elandria nodded, her eyes downcast shyly.

"You've been professionally trained," he added. "Just like Aazuria has been trained in dance. No high school diplomas, but professionals when it comes to fine arts. You girls are just full of surprises, do you know that?"

Elandria gave him a small coy smile. "You have not the faintest idea," she answered.

Trevain observed the shy girl curiously for a moment. Then he grunted and crossed his arms. "That whole situation with that man, Naclana, didn't make any sense. What is your sister hiding from me?"

"Secrets bigger than you can imagine," Elandria responded. "I am sure you know that she cares for you and acts with your best interests at heart; but she has important duties of which you cannot conceive."

"I see. Actually, I don't. I don't see at all," he said miserably. "Would you sing to me again, Elan? I love the sound of your voice."

Elandria smiled in relief, grateful that Trevain was understanding of her need to remain silent unless it was in song. She was also delighted that he appreciated her singing so much that it had almost made him completely forget for a few seconds that his brother had just died. It was her only gift; if her voice was not capable of reaching him, there was no more she could do.

She closed her eyes, and lost herself as she allowed her soul to pour forth and fill the room.

The skies give me no comforting reply,

Instead they mock me with cruel tempests.

They terrify me, making lightning fly,

And I know I am not one of the bless'd.

I shall hold fast to hope though all seems lost,

I shall think of my love and his kind smile.

To retrieve him I shall pay any cost,

To rescue him I shall sail endless miles.

She continued to sing for several minutes. Every song that came to mind about love and loss, and even some songs she had created herself over the years. The acoustics of the large master bedroom were favorable, and she felt a sensation approaching joy as she allowed her voice to gust forth from deep in her gut and fill every corner and crevice of the chamber.

When her songs ended, she remained motionless and quiet for several seconds. She turned to gaze out the window again, scanning the horizon. She heard a creak of motion in the bed, and turned and saw that Trevain was sobbing.

"Not Callder, not Callder," he was moaning. "I just don't believe it."

He was crying. He was finally grieving and allowing himself to face what had happened. She felt a solemn satisfaction. He would be better before long. Elandria knew that modern medicine was without value in a case like this.

Only music could heal a destroyed soul.

Chapter Nineteen

A few days later, Trevain was scarfing down an omelet that Mr. Fiskel had prepared while he skimmed through the newspaper. Elandria smiled at him as she sipped on her orange juice and nibbled her toast. His health and spirits had improved exponentially since the night she had sung to him. She could see that he was almost himself again.

Trevain suddenly closed the newspaper and folded it up. "Maybe I'm out of line, Elandria—but what would you think of me asking for your sister's hand in marriage?"

Elandria dropped her fork. It had been tragically halfway to her mouth with a piece of buttered toast on it. She stared at Trevain in bewilderment.

"I know there's a gigantic difference in our ages... a gulf really. But do you think it's too large? Aazuria doesn't seem to notice or care."

It was a moment before Elandria had the presence of mind to retrieve her fallen toast. She stared at it intently, as if it would reveal the answers to her.

"I know it seems really sudden. I just thought I'd ask for your opinion... and your permission, before I go ahead and do anything stupid."

Elandria thought about the fact that if Aazuria chose to marry Trevain and live on land, Adlivun would become her responsibility. Elandria shuddered at this thought; she did not wish to be placed into such a frightening position of power. Then she thought about the fact that her sister seemed very happy with Trevain. Happier than she had been in as long as Elandria could remember.

He waited for a moment, but there was no response. He smiled nervously. "I thought so. It is a stupid idea, isn't it?"

She still remained quiet, and he sighed. "Elan, I understand the basic hand signals for 'yes' and 'no.' Do you think I'm an idiot for considering this? Just tell me what you think."

The hand holding the fork—which had been pierced through a carefully cut square of toast—began to shake. Elandria tried to breathe steadily, thinking about how little Trevain knew of her family. Happiness could never last when there were so many skeletons in the cupboard. How should she respond? This was not an easy question to answer. An idea began to form in the back of her mind. She considered telling Trevain something personal, just to test his love for her sister.

"Should I be worried that she hasn't returned yet?" Trevain asked. "Is that what this is about?"

Elandria stood up and headed for a certain cabinet she had seen the men go into. She grabbed the knobs and flung the doors open. Choosing a bottle, she held it up and looked at Trevain questioningly.

"Uh, help yourself," he said, scratching his head. "But it's pretty early in the day for scotch and I'm not sure you're even of legal..."

He stopped because Elandria had already opened the bottle and was guzzling it down as though it were water. He watched in surprise as she finished a quarter of the bottle before he rose to his feet to wrestle it from her surprisingly strong grip.

"That's pretty potent stuff, Elan," he said with a frown. "It'll hit you really hard."

"That liquid is vile!" she said, wheezing and screwing up her face. She placed a hand against her nose to ease the burning in her sinuses. Her eyes were beginning to water.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed, looking at the bottle. "It was my brother's favorite. Hey! You talked again."

"May I have another sip?" she asked politely. Against his better judgment, but unable to resist the sweet request in the third sentence he had ever heard her speak, he handed the bottle back to her. He watched warily as her sip became several generous gulps.

"Elan..." he began in confusion.

"Trevain, there are a few things you need to know," Elandria said, coughing as she put the bottle aside. She retrieved a napkin to daintily wipe the moisture from her lips.

"I'm all ears," he said.

She hesitated. "Aazuria, and Corallyn and I... we each have different mothers."

"Different mothers? That's unusual. I suppose some people remarry..."

"He did not 'remarry,' as you say," Elandria hissed. "Our father... he had many wives simultaneously. At least at first. Eventually, he stopped marrying them all together. He just chose whomever he wanted, and he took her..."

"Are you saying your father was a rapist?"

"No. Perhaps not in the legal sense of the term. But also, yes. Very much so. Women simply did not refuse him. He was a man of power, and everyone was afraid to say 'no' to him." She picked up the bottle again and proceeded to swallow several mouthfuls of liquor before looking Trevain squarely in the face. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and spoke again. Her voice faltered. "Even his own daughters were afraid."

Trevain tried to respond, but found himself failing to find the right words. "I'm so sorry, Elan." He swallowed. "I had no idea... "

"The type of father a girl has creates a profound effect on the woman she becomes," Elandria said softly. "My father is the reason that I prefer never to speak."

As he watched the emotions dance across her face, Trevain felt hot tears sting the back of his eyes. He raised a hand to his temple, and took a deep breath. "God, I wish I could undo what happened to you. Why... why are you choosing to tell me this?"

"I trust you. If you wish to become my brother it is important that you understand what little you can of our lives and past."

Trevain reached for the same bottle in which she had put a remarkable dent, and took a few gulps himself. He understood how the bitter taste made it easier to converse about such topics. "So you're trying to tell me that Aazuria is not in the least bit ready for marriage because of what her father did to her."

Elandria smiled a neurotic little smile. "He did not touch her. She was his firstborn, his pure gold baby. He would have locked her up and kept her in a metal cage forever if he could have done so. He did try to do so a couple times, but the cage was made of ice—and ice always melts. No, he only came to me, and to Corallyn, and to our other sisters. We had a few other sisters, but they have killed themselves."

Trevain felt physically sick upon hearing this. Bile rose in his throat as rage blossomed in his gut. "I didn't know—I didn't know. God. What you must think of me, crying like a child over my brother when you have lost siblings too! I can't believe... why didn't she tell me any of this?"

Elandria reached out and placed her hand on his arm as he struggled to cope with the information. It was more challenging for her to speak at all than for her to actually face these facts. It was all in the past, and she knew how to be detached. Trevain was more emotional than she was. In her lengthy existence she had seen and experienced much suffering. She was excellent at being numb when she most needed to be.

"It doesn't matter," he suddenly said resolutely. "That's all in the past. I want to make her life and all of your lives better. I'll help you heal, the way you have helped me heal. Tell me truthfully, Elan. Do you think I shouldn't ask Aazuria to marry me? Is it too soon; should I give her some space?"

So he was not yet dissuaded. Her brow creased in a combination of pleasure and frustration. Elandria looked down at her hands for a moment in silence, as if deciding whether or not she should answer.

"Elandria?" he urged, a bit frantically.

She looked up at him for several seconds, with a decisive and intense expression rapidly consuming her normally timid features. He could feel that her next words were going to be pivotal, but he could not have prepared himself.

"Aazuria killed our father."

"What?" Trevain took a step backward as though he had been struck. "She did wha... are you... you've got to be... a joke..." He seemed incapable of finishing his sentences, and temporarily powerless to begin any new ones. He slammed his hand down on the breakfast table as though trying to jumpstart his stalling brain. "Dear Lord! You're serious. Aazuria killed her father? Aazuria killed her father."

Elandria nodded gravely as she observed his reaction with as much mild amusement as she could allow herself to feel.

Trevain took several deep breaths, placing both hands on the table to calm himself and process the information. "Aazuria killed... killed as in murdered. She's a murderer. God. Is that—that seedy looking fellow, Naclana, is he her defense attorney? Is she on trial? If so, she needs a real lawyer! Someone who gets haircuts. We can get her off..."

A smile touched Elandria's face. She had already gotten her answer; she knew with whom Trevain's loyalties were aligned. "She is not on trial. Everyone knows that she did it. Everyone begged her to do it."

Trevain had to take a moment to let this sink in as well. "How did she kill him?"

"Why does that matter?" Elandria asked, studying his face carefully.

"I guess it doesn't," he answered. "I'm just curious—and very confused."

"She drowned him," Elandria answered, "with his own blood."

Trevain's brow wrinkled in consternation as he tried to imagine Aazuria doing this. "How?"

"I believe the precise term is 'hemothorax.' She stabbed him between the ribs in a particular spot, severing an artery and causing his lungs to fill with blood in less than a minute."

She saw that Trevain was staring at her rather aghast upon hearing the details of this description. Elandria reflected upon her father for a moment. There were several sacred tenets that every sovereign sea nation abided by—not laws in the sense of the ones enforced on land, but principles of living. Her father had broken the first tenet:

Ye who dwell beneath the sea or above it, know that your breath is a gift. If ye desecrate the sanctity of the liberty and wellbeing of any innocent human without just cause, your breath shall be stripped from you straightaway. Henceforth, you shall become one of the cursed legions of the drowning mermaids and mermen.

The major concept among sea-dweller faiths was that breath was holy. It was what gave life, and it was what took life away. Adlivun's myth of the afterlife depicted that if one lived in a dishonorable way, they would spend eternity struggling for oxygen; struggling to extract it from any medium possible.

Hell was eternal asphyxiation.

"Why do you call it drowning?" Trevain asked. "Wouldn't 'stabbing' be a more appropriate description?"

Elandria considered this. She wished she could articulate the relevant spiritual significance behind the act, but Trevain would not understand without context. She could only explain it anatomically. "I suppose that death actually comes from the loss of blood more than suffocation with blood. This is just the way that our people refer to this... traditional method of execution."

"Traditional," he repeated. He shook his head, almost refusing to believe that it was true.

"You may consider my sister a murderess, but our people consider her a heroine. Aazuria is my champion. I needed you to know; she may seem sweet and gentle, but she is also incredibly strong. She is very important to many people. She is not the kind of person that anyone can ever get away with hurting."

"I would never hurt her," Trevain said hoarsely.

"Yes, but in the unlikely case that you did, there would be dire consequences." Elandria gave him a forbidding smile. "I can assure you of that."

"I need some time to process this," Trevain said slowly. "Thank you for telling me."

He nodded at Elandria before exiting the room. He went directly to the library, where he began to briskly pace back and forth across the length of the room. He continued to pace for hours, hardly noticing the passage of time. He was overwhelmed with trying to accept and understand this new information. He knew that Elandria would not lie to him.

He paced the library until his leg was terribly sore. He had not been on his feet for a few days, and his bad leg protested against the sudden vigorous exercise. His limp became very pronounced as he continued to pace, but he did not notice this. He did not know how to accept that the woman for whom he had developed a deep attachment, the woman whose family he already loved and considered his own—the woman whom he wished to take as his wife was a murderess. Regardless of how awful her father had been, death was not the solution. He did not know if he could ever forgive her for having done such a savage thing.

Part of him knew that he already had.

Chapter Twenty

"Go at once, Naclana," Aazuria ordered, in a tone of voice which could not be disobeyed.

Naclana bowed deeply, recognizing her for the first time in weeks. In the torch-lit volcanic caves of Adlivun, Aazuria's silvery-white hair glistened as it hung down her back, woven with dozens of strands of pearls. Her stern eyes bored right through him, their color having returned to their natural, undersea azure; her namesake.

She was nothing like the fretful, lackluster girl he had seen when she came to answer Trevain's door. His faith in her was restored. She was the same intelligent, refined woman he had always known; she was more than capable of leading their nation. Here at home, Aazuria was fierce, judicious, and capable of anything. The difference was palpable even to Corallyn and the twins, who felt great comfort and security in seeing Aazuria's coloring return to the pale, albino-like tones she had sported for hundreds of years. With it, her fortitude seemed to return.

On land, they were all a little awkward and uncertain. Even the regal, confident Aazuria seemed overly-cautious and agitated above the surface.

"I will leave immediately, Princess Aazuria," said Naclana, saluting across his chest with sincerity.

"I wish you a safe journey," Aazuria said, inclining her head slightly in gratitude. Above the surface, her cousin was able to give her orders, but in their true niche, he was an emissary bound to serve her.

"Do not forget to give Queen Amabie my message!" Visola reminded him. "Tell her it's urgent."

"Yes, General Ramaris." Naclana saluted Visola as well before turning and marching away.

"May I please go with him?" Corallyn begged. "I have always wanted to meet the Ningyo."

"No," Aazuria said firmly, and that was that.

"It is far too dangerous, Coral," Sionna said in agreement. "Naclana will be safer and faster on his own."

"I hope they do send reinforcements," Corallyn said with concern. "I would feel so much safer."

"They will, kiddo," said Visola, ruffling the girl's hair. "Don't worry so much; I have scouts everywhere around the kingdom, so if anything goes sour we'll have plenty of notice."

"Since we're nearby, I think we should visit the infirmary caves," Sionna suggested. When Aazuria nodded in consent, the women began to walk there together. "Our warriors were able to save a few lives during recent attacks and we have about a dozen injured in the healing springs. We also have a few wounded captives."

"The easiest kind to work with," Visola said with a smile.

"Viso spent the last few days 'questioning' them and we found some interesting information."

"How bad are our wounded?" Aazuria asked briskly as the three girls navigated the warmly lit caves.

"A few of them are unconscious, but some are not hurt quite so badly. I'm considering staying behind to help take care of them," Sionna said.

"She thinks her talents are better expended in the hospital than in the strip club with me," Visola grumbled.

"And you do not agree?" Aazuria asked her friend.

"There's a war coming, Zuri. We know that now. We need weaponry badly. I've used the gloriousness of my boobs to single handedly triple our defenses. I'm working my ass off—literally, to prevent more people from being injured or killed. Isn't that important?"

Aazuria nodded. "Yes, but we need more." She turned to her sister. "Coral, go to the castle. Collect all of my mother's jewels. Get the guards to raid the royal chambers so we can pawn anything of value. We need to tap every resource and give Visola some real funds to work with."

"Your jewels, Zuri? But I thought..."

"We should have done this long before. We were not certain that it was war—we thought it might be just a few random attacks on our people when they happened to stray too far away from home. Even then we were largely unprepared. Now that we know we might be up against the Clan of Zalcan, we need to fortify to an immeasurable degree. Go now."

"Sure thing!" said Corallyn, saluting across her chest. "I'll go give the orders."

Visola clapped her hands together in delight as the youngest girl left. "Aazuria, my beloved princess! I would grab you and kiss you right now if you didn't have that serious, terrifying look on your face. Maybe I'll do it later." Visola winked at her friend, which caused Aazuria's lips to twitch slightly into a smile. Visola grinned and pumped her fist. "Yes! I'm done with that club, although I can't deny that it was fun and useful. Say goodbye to your pretty heirloom gemstones, and say hello to awesome American firearms. You won't regret this, Zuri."

Aazuria could not resist letting her face completely relax into a smile at her friend's energy, but Sionna rolled her eyes. As they entered the infirmary, Visola immediately went off to the area where the hostages were kept. Sionna placed her hands on her hips and assumed her own air of command. This was her element.

"Right, so we have a dozen wounded; ten women and two men—about three are in critical condition..."

"Two men?" Aazuria asked with concern. It was disturbing to hear that two of the very few men in Adlivun were out of commission.

"Yes. One is Sidnigel, the chef. He was out fishing in distant waters with his wife—he saw her being attacked, and he barely managed to save her. Both of them are seriously wounded."

"That is awful," Aazuria said, her eyebrows knitting into a deep frown.

"Sidnigel said he thought he recognized some of the attackers. They might be some of ours—the people Kyrosed exiled probably want revenge."

"I thought as much." Aazuria balled her hands up into fists and scowled. "It is unfair we have to suffer for everything my father did and inherit his enemies! Who else is here?"

"Here's the funny thing—the other wounded man is not one of ours. He's unconscious so we do not have a name. No one recognizes him, but he was impaled by an enemy harpoon. He was found floating in the middle of the sea, losing a lot of blood, and left for dead. Scouts took him in, figuring that the enemy of our enemy..."

"May I see him, Doctor Ramaris?" Aazuria was intrigued by the unusual situation. Perhaps he was a messenger from a nearby kingdom who had tried to bring them intelligence.

"Sure," said Sionna, leading Aazuria over to the hot springs where the man was submerged. She motioned for a nurse to lift the man out of the water. The woman immediately complied, and entered the spring. She carefully lifted the man to the surface so that Aazuria could see his face.

The princess released a gasp. "Sweet Sedna!" Aazuria exclaimed. She reached out and grabbed Sionna's arm in shock. "It is Callder Murphy! Trevain's younger brother who we thought to be dead."

Sionna stared at her friend for a moment in surprise. "Well, he's not quite dead yet, although he might be before long."

"Neither of you recognized him from the club?" Aazuria asked.

"I only saw him once, and he looks different wet and dying, sweetie." Sionna sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't have any good news for you. This handsome stranger took a harpoon to the chest; I'm surprised he's still breathing. I wouldn't tell your captain if I were you—there's no use in giving him false hope in case he has to deal with losing his brother a second time."

"But he is breathing," Aazuria said, watching as the healer eased Callder's body back down into the hot spring. "He is breathing underwater."

Sionna turned to face her friend and placed her hands on Aazuria's shoulders. "I know exactly what you're thinking, Princess. Stop that train of thought right now. Callder Murphy may have sea-dwelling traits but it does not mean that Trevain does. These are recessive genes. If both of his parents were our kind, then maybe—but if it was only one of them..."

"But he might, Sio. He might," she whispered. Her heart soared, and she tried to calm her exploding insides. "Oh, Sedna, look at me. People are dying all around—yet all I can think about is the fact that this means I might be able to stay with the man I love..."

"You love?" Sionna questioned, staring directly into Aazuria's cerulean eyes.

Aazuria felt a shockwave of horror course through her at having said the word aloud. She inhaled sharply and straightened, resuming her composure. "Possibly. Conceivably, though it is neither here nor there. It is wonderful news that Callder has a fighting chance at life; I will do as you recommend and conceal this from Trevain. It would be... so miraculous."

Sionna sighed, knowing that Aazuria's life had just become a lot more complicated. "Sure, darling. Now let's see if any of our hostages are feeling chatty. I'll take intelligence over miracles any day."

Visola had already begun to terrorize the prisoners, and she grinned at her sister and Aazuria when they entered the holding area. "Hey girls, listen to this. Tell me if it makes sense to you!" she said, before jabbing an enemy woman forcefully in her already injured abdomen.

The woman screamed, and took several ragged breaths to assuage the pain and calm down before she spoke in an angry hiss. "Atargatis is coming. Do what you want to me. Atargatis is coming! She will avenge me."

"Atargatis," Aazuria repeated in confusion. "That is an ancient name. I believe it belonged to an Assyrian sea-dwelling queen, several thousand years ago."

"Yeah, there's no way the original Atargatis is alive," Visola said with a frown. "My guess is that some young rebel mermaid chick named Jennifer or Molly decided to call herself Atargatis to make her shrimpy attack on us a bit scarier. Isn't that right, honey?"

The hostage woman tried to spit on Visola, but Visola expertly dodged the flying lump of saliva. "Now, now, that's not nice. Are you going to tell us why evil Miss Molly Mermaid is attacking us, or do I need to beat it out of you?"

"Her name is Atargatis! She is coming to exact vengeance because Kyrosed Vellamo stole her daughter!" the woman shouted desperately.

"That hardly narrows it down," Sionna said. "King Kyrosed took the daughters of many women."

"Atargatis is coming," the captive repeated, rocking back and forth frantically. "When she comes she will kill Kyrosed Vellamo and take Adlivun for her own!"

"Ah, I see. It's just your average run-of-the-mill divide-and-conquer attempt," Visola diagnosed, looking up at Aazuria with a shrug. "Pretty standard stuff. Happens every century or so to any nation worth its salt. Keeps things interesting."

"Viso, this is serious," Aazuria said softly. "Our people are in danger; so many are already dead or wounded. We need to find out as much about this 'Atargatis' as possible."

"It would be my pleasure, Princess." Visola cracked her knuckles cheerfully. "I already know the most important thing about evil Miss Molly Mermaid."

"What would that happen to be, sis?" Sionna asked.

"That I'm going to kill her. I'm going to toss a knife right into her left eye." Visola pointed to the eye in question. "I'm going to bury it deep in her brain, right up to the hilt."

"Let us see if some kind of diplomacy can prevent things from getting to that point," Aazuria said. "Maybe if you release the hostages and send an ambassador to speak with her—if she knows that my father is dead, perhaps it will appease her. We could even invite her to see his body for confirmation."

"Invite her here?" Sionna said with surprise. "That's risky as hell."

"Just her; not her entire army," Aazuria said. "I fear she may be allied with the Clan of Zalcan. Perhaps Atargatis is their new leader."

"You should remain in a safe location," said Sionna. She glanced at the captive and lowered her voice. "Stay with Elandria until all this is over. You will be safe there, Princess."

"I will," Aazuria agreed, "but if I am needed you must send for me at once. Let me know of every single attack on our citizens, however small. Send me word about whether Atargatis accepts our meeting. If you wish—you may communicate with me by telephone. Also, Corallyn says that the 'instant messaging' on her computer is rather efficient."

"I have Trevain's landline and cell number," Sionna said with a nod. "In all likelihood we will send a runner as well. Old habits die hard."

"Diplomacy never works," Visola said cynically, "but if you really want me to try this, I'll give it a shot."

"Atargatis is coming!" the hostage repeated with a hysterical screech.

Visola waved her hand in annoyance. "Duh. Of course she's coming; didn't you hear? We're inviting her over for tea and crumpets."

Chapter Twenty-One

Trevain looked up from his book, startled by the interrupting sound of the doorbell. Elandria had just left to go upstairs and take a shower, so he would have to answer it himself. He pulled himself up from his armchair, and tossed his book against the cushion. He limped across the library, grimacing at the pain in his leg. He had really aggravated it with his endless hours of pacing over the past few days. He did not want to call a doctor, but he assumed that there was some kind of arthritis developing.

Slowly limping to the door, Trevain unlocked the bolt and turned the knob. When a crack of the sky became visible, he noted that it was already dark outside, heralding that the extremely long nights of Alaska had begun. When he saw who stood outside his door, his heart immediately began beating faster. He forgot about the pain in his leg.

"Aazuria," he said, reaching out to gather her up into his embrace. She still carried no luggage with her, so she could use both of her arms to return the hug. He was glad that she clung to him just as fiercely as he held her. "I thought you wouldn't return," he breathed.

"How could I not?" she asked. She smiled against his warm, dry shirt, rubbing her cheek against the fabric. "I have learned so much that I wish to tell you."

"I guess you two are going to pick up right where you left off and continue smooching," Corallyn said dryly from behind her sister. She had entered the house and shut the door, and was now leaning on it with crossed arms.

Aazuria gave her younger sister a playful look. "Coral, go find Elandria and tell her about our trip. Tell her all the important parts, okay? The 'adults' need to talk."

Instead of saluting respectfully as she had done in Adlivun, Corallyn stuck out her tongue at her sister before obediently scurrying upstairs. Fundamentally, it meant the same thing.

"Will you come and sit down with me?" Trevain asked Aazuria, as he caressed her dark hair. "My leg has gotten really bad lately. I haven't been feeling so great."

Aazuria pulled away from him and looked down at his leg suspiciously. "Your 'fishing injury,' right?"

"Yes, that's right..." he began.

She saw it in his face again and stopped him by raising her hand. "Why do you deceive me, Trevain? You did not really injure your leg while working, did you?"

"How do you know that?" he asked. "I haven't told anyone. It's a congenital bone disorder. I've had it since I was a boy. I just tell people it was a boating injury to make them more cautious."

Aazuria's face was lit with a giant smile, and she laughed. She had to restrain herself from throwing her hands up in the air. "I knew it! This is wonderful!"

"You seem awfully excited about my defects," Trevain commented, but he was enjoying her laughter.

"I have the exact same problem with my legs! I know just how to ease the pain," she said, taking his hand. She beamed in delight. "Do you trust me?"

Trevain looked at her innocent face, and remembered Elandria's words. He tried to imagine that this smiling young girl before him was capable of murder. He inwardly scolded himself for the thought, and easily pushed it away. It did not matter to him.

"Of course, I trust you," he said softly. He was enamored of her smile. She placed her arm under his shoulder to support him as she guided him through his own house. She took him to the room where the indoor swimming pool was situated. She did not turn on the light, because the room was just barely lit by the moon and starlight.

"The first step in healing is undressing," she told him solemnly, holding out her hand. "Your garments, please."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Aazuria," he answered. "I probably can't swim right now, my leg is really..."

"You said you trusted me," she argued. He nodded and obediently pulled off his shirt and placed it in her outstretched hand. She stared at his body shamelessly, taking in the contours of his muscles. Her lips curled as she observed his massive chest and broad shoulders. While clothed, his ultra-nice manner made him seem harmless, but seeing the physical manifestation of his strength made her swallow back a lump in her throat. In the excessive darkness of the Arctic afternoon, he seemed rather intimidating.

He followed this by undoing the buttons of his pants, and allowing them to fall before stepping out of them.

"I did not realize it was Tuesday," she said with a mischievous smile.

He looked down, and his cheeks flushed as he realized that the day of the week was printed on his boxers. He cleared his throat in embarrassment. "So what is this miracle cure you have for me?" he asked with a bashful chuckle.

Aazuria placed his clothes aside, and shrugged out of her dress as well so that she was also in her undergarments.

"Come with me," she said with a smile before diving perfectly into the deep end of the pool. He admired the graceful curve of her back and the way she hardly made any splash. He could immediately tell that she was experienced with being around and within water. Trevain limped to the edge of the pool and slowly crouched down to a seated position. He dipped his legs in the water first, up to his calves.

Aazuria's emerged from the surface with her hair soaked and matted against her head. She picked up a tendril of her hair and looked at it, and was pleased to see that it was still dark. Not that she was really visible at all in this scarce lighting. She looked back to her patient. "This would probably be better if it were salt water, but nonetheless..."

"Do you think that simply having contact with water will make my legs stop hurting?" he asked skeptically.

"No. You need to come in with me," she said, beckoning him with her hand. "Fully immerse your body!"

He smiled at her enthusiasm and complied. Once he was submerged, he realized that it had been a very long time since he had actually used his swimming pool. It had been one of those things he had been very excited about getting before it had actually been installed. Once it had been neatly added to the house, he had mostly been too busy to enjoy it, or too preoccupied. Trevain gazed at Aazuria's dark cloudy form through the water, and lifted his head above the surface to see her more clearly.

"Race me," she challenged with a laugh, beginning to swim to the far side of the pool. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and he could do nothing except forget his sore leg and follow her. They experimented with swimming using different types of strokes, and Aazuria was surprised to see that Trevain almost always matched her speed.

"You are a very strong swimmer," she remarked when they stopped for a break.

"Well, I am a seaman," he explained.

"Yes. Yes, you are..." she answered, sending him a cryptic look.

"I made it to the state finals in high school," he said with nostalgia in his tone. "I couldn't finish competing because I had to work."

"You would have won," she said. "The state finals and more. The Olympics even. You're a natural!"

"Nonsense. If I'm so great how are you beating me every time?"

"I am one of the fastest swimmers in the world," Aazuria said matter-of-factly. "Yet I think that if you spent more time in the water you would be far better than I am. Can you not tell? It is rooted deep in your bones; the water calls out to you until it causes you physical pain unless you come to it."

"You're just trying to make an old man feel better about his ailing body," Trevain said humbly—but the truth was he did feel a bit of an ego boost from her words. He had always prided himself on his skill as a swimmer. He realized suddenly that the pain in his leg had eased almost completely with the swimming, and he marveled at this curiosity.

"Good grief, Trevain. If you call yourself old one more time, I will make a valiant attempt at drowning myself," she declared.

He laughed. "Unfortunately, Zuri, there's no getting around that fact. I'm way past my heyday."

Aazuria pressed the back of her palm to her forehead and mimicked a fainting damsel in distress. "Alas," she said dramatically, "my feeble heart."

She allowed herself to sink to the bottom of the deep end of the pool.

He smiled at her little display. "I shouldn't have shown you those old movies with all of those vulnerable and needy women!" he joked, knowing that she could not hear him underwater. He waited for a moment, and was surprised when she did not reemerge for quite some time.

"Aazuria?" he asked. He imagined that she must be trying to impress him with how long she could hold her breath. He had often played that game as a child. After some time, he began to glance at the clock in worry. She was really good at this game. He dipped his own head below the surface, and began to dive in search of her. The waters were dark, but he could make out her shape in the corner of the pool. She was in a seated position, and she was looking up at him patiently.

He swam down to her, positioning himself directly before her. He had always been quite skilled at holding his breath as well. She smiled at him under the water, and he could barely make out the curve of her lips in the darkness. His eyes roamed over her body, clad only in her green bra and panties. He returned his eyes to her face, battling the sensations that her state of undress aroused in him.

The two hovered in silence, looking at each other.

Trevain became very conscious of the fact that they were all alone, in a dark corner of the bottom of his swimming pool. He remembered the way that she had kissed him before she left, before her family. She had done so proudly. He realized that he no longer wished to restrain himself; he no longer wished to try so hard to be a gentleman. Here, immersed in the water so close to her, his body hummed with vitality and spirit. He felt just as young as ever.

Aazuria had seen the power in him which he had long forgotten, and she had forced him to see it too. He did not know how he could possibly thank her. All he knew was that he wanted to give every last drop of himself to her. He wanted to love her with every facet of his being.

He reached forward and circled his hands around her small waist, pulling her body against his. He pressed his mouth against hers hungrily. Her small hands immediately wrapped around his neck, and she deepened the kiss without reservation. She found herself wrapping her legs around him to try and get closer to him. The pleasure she felt from this underwater embrace ignited flames of craving within her which she had never felt.

To be a free human being; she wanted to cry.

The flames mounted to a firestorm. She felt his lips trailing down her neck and chest. She had not even realized that Trevain had ripped her bra from her body until his lips found her breast in the dark water and pulled her nipple between them. She felt his teeth graze her skin with his gentle sucking, as quivers of pleasure pulsed through her body.

His hands were everywhere on her at once, and she could not concentrate. She was utterly swept away and lost in his ardor. When his hand explored between her thighs, she gasped at the sensation, taking in a deep breath of water. Trevain felt her chest expand against his body. He looked at her in confusion, not sure if she had really taken a breath or if he was just imagining it. He realized that they had both been holding their breath for far too long, and that he should take her to the surface for her comfort. He wrapped his arms around her and swam to the surface. She exhaled the water from her lungs as they ascended.

When they broke forth into the air, he took a breath. She did as well, mainly to maintain the appearance of needing one. She laughed, clinging to him, and immediately moved to reconnect their mouths in another kiss. He responded, before abruptly pulling away.

He took a few deep breaths and gathered his composure. "Aazuria—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jump your bones as soon as you returned. I am being way too aggressive with you. I just couldn't restrain myself." He wiped the water out of his eyes. "We need to talk."

His words returned her to reality. She watched him breathing deeply of the air and wondered with horror whether he really could breathe underwater. She pressed a hand against her chest, feeling her racing heartbeat. She had gotten carried away. Testing something like this by trial and error was not exactly safe.

There was no evidence that he did have the ability, other than his legs being perfectly designed for swimming. It was not certain that he shared Callder's trait. In fact, if Callder had been unknowingly fathered by a different person than Trevain, there could be no chance at all of him having the trait. Aazuria closed her eyes in anger at herself for jumping to conclusions. Trevain's limp, and the structure of his legs, could have nothing to do with sea-dweller ancestry. She had heard the stories; throughout history, hundreds of human men had been accidentally or intentionally killed trying to be with their undersea lovers in this fashion.

She had been a breath away from becoming one of those reckless seductive sirens who killed sailors. "I am truly sorry," she whispered. "I meant you no harm. I did not mean to do this but I missed you so dreadfully."

"You haven't harmed me," he said with a laugh. He kissed her again. Although their heads were above water, he traced his hand over the curve of her waist beneath the surface. She seemed to be able to tread water effortlessly, without much movement. He could not seem to stop touching her body, and he willed himself to remove his hands. "Listen; I can't deal with being away from you anymore, Aazuria. These past few weeks I've gotten so attached to you that I felt lost when you were gone. I need to be close to you from now on, always."

She ran her fingers through his wet hair happily. "I feel the same."

"But I need to tell you something. I want you to know that I know, and I don't want you to feel you have to hide things from me anymore."

She looked at him in puzzlement. "What are you speaking of?"

"I spoke with Elandria when you were gone, and she told me some things about your past..."

Aazuria smiled. "You must have really improved in your sign language without me here to translate!"

"No, Aazuria. She told me."

Aazuria felt dread mushrooming in her chest. She held her breath, knowing intuitively that something bad was about to happen. "She spoke to you... with her voice," Aazuria said softly, knowing that it had to have been something extremely serious. She could not remember the last time she had heard her sister speak. "Good Sedna. I'm afraid to know what she said."

"She told me your big secret."

She swallowed. "What big secret?"

"How many do you have?" he asked gently. "She told me the biggest one."

"So she told you... that I am about to be made queen of a small sovereign kingdom and that we live in a mostly underwater ice palace carved into a glacier?"

He threw his head back and laughed as he often did when she spoke the truth. When his laughter died down, he reached out and hugged her around the waist, pulling her against him. "I'm trying to be serious here. I just want to clear the air between us."

So, I suppose that was not the secret, Aazuria mused to herself. "Really, Trevain. I am at a complete loss. I do not know what she could have told you."

"She told me about your father."

He felt Aazuria's body instantly stiffen under his hands. "She told you..." Aazuria wanted to ask specifically what Elandria had told him, but she saw the answer written on his face. Her stomach sank. She drew in a sharp breath, placing a hand over her mouth. Her hand muffled an involuntary sob. She fiercely ripped herself away from him, and swam to the edge of the pool.

"Zuri! Don't go..."

"What you must think of me!" she whispered as she climbed out of the pool hurriedly. She realized that her bra was still in the pool, and she covered herself with her arm as she fumbled in the darkness for her dress.

"Wait, Aazuria—we should talk about this!"

She had already run from the room.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Aazuria considered leaving the house.

Her hand was on the doorknob, and she had to decide quickly. She could run out of the house, leap into the sea, and swim home to Adlivun. She would not have to encounter Trevain ever again and hear how negatively he thought of her. She would not have to face Elandria again, at least not immediately.

She had a mental picture of lashing out at the poor girl in anger, and she did not want this to happen. She loved Elandria, even if she had turned Trevain against her. Her fingers tightened around the cold metal doorknob. Why would she have done it? Was Elandria jealous? Did she want Trevain for herself? Had she been hoping to sully Aazuria's character?

She knew this was not the case. Her sister was fiercely devoted and would never intentionally harm her. So what was the reason? She knew that she was far too upset to simply ask. The vicious way her voice would leave her body would scare the stuffing out of her sister. She turned the doorknob and pulled the door open. She had no other choice but to leave.

Trevain was suddenly behind her and his hand was on hers, closing the door which she had just opened. She immediately began sobbing again at the feeling of his skin against her hand. How could he bear to touch her, now that he knew?

"Aazuria, please don't leave me again," he said softly into her ear, slipping his arm around her stomach. "I need you to talk to me."

She felt all the energy drain from her body as she leaned against him. She knew then that she did not have the strength to make the swim back to Adlivun tonight, and her hand fell away from the doorknob helplessly.

"I shouldn't have brought it up right away," he said, kissing her temple, her ear, and her neck. "I just... I'm an idiot sometimes. I want you to know that I don't think any less of you..."

She twisted out of his grasp and moved away from him. She could not believe his words! It was not true. An altruistic, compassionate person like Trevain could never understand murder. "I am... exhausted from my trip," she said, struggling to speak calmly and evenly through her tears. "I need to rest."

"Aazuria—"

She bolted up the stairs, clutching the railing tightly as her weakened legs threatened to buckle under her. Congenital bone disorder, indeed! She ran directly to her room. Crawling into her bed, she buried herself beneath the covers as she quietly sobbed. She knew that he would never want her now. She deserved it. This was the price she paid for being herself. She felt betrayed by her sister for the first time in her life.

Why would Elandria tell him such a thing? It did not make sense.

She shut her eyes tightly to fight back her tears. She was not crying out of remorse for what she had done, or sadness for the loss of her father. No, she had come to terms with that and even wished she had been capable of doing it sooner. She knew that long-term repercussions of her father's cruelty would haunt her people for many years to come. She should have seen this and acted sooner, but her judgment had been clouded by filial love and loyalty.

Droplets of water slid from her wet hair down into her mouth. She tasted the chlorine from the pool. It tasted so unlike the comforting ocean saltwater, or even the fresh glacial drinking water which filled her massive bedchamber at home. She missed the taste of saltwater.

Chlorine just tasted like defeat.

She lay there in moist despair until she felt two strong arms encircle her. She was too weak to protest or to pull away. It was then she discovered how comforting a human touch could be. It was altogether different from when her sisters hugged her—it was more than just affectionate. His warm embrace spoke volumes of reassurance which her body instinctively understood. It was a secret sign language exchanged between souls.

"I asked Elandria for permission to ask you to marry me," Trevain explained, holding her close. "That's why she told me. She wanted me to truly know the woman I was hoping to join my life with; providing she'd have me of course."

Her body had known his intentions before her mind could register his words. She looked over her shoulder to see the honesty and love on his face. "Trevain," she whispered in astonishment.

"If you want to know the truth, Zuri, it has only made me more in awe of you. To go through what you have experienced must have taken incredible strength."

She examined each wrinkle and pore for the hint of a lie, but his expression was pure. She saw only truth there. She could not believe that he was so accepting and sympathetic. "You are amazing," she said softly, out loud this time.

He smiled. "I was planning to find some fancy, impressive way to ask you... but since you already know I'm going to, it kind of spoils the surprise. I guess I should just do it now." He wrapped his arms around her even more tightly and kissed her cheek. "Aazuria, please say you'll be my wife."

His words created several tiny explosions of emotion within her. She was inundated with euphoria and knew without a doubt that she wanted to accept his offer. Then, she forced herself to ignore the feelings and think. Her thoughts raced as she tried to imagine the possibility. She knew that she would have to return to Adlivun, and she was uncertain whether he could breathe underwater. Even if he could, he would think it was crazy. He would never even consider coming to her home; he laughed at the mention of its existence like it was some great joke!

Could she manage to live her life with him here, in his house, on land, and forsake her kingdom? Could she leave everything she had ever cherished behind in order to love him? No, those were not the right questions. She knew without a doubt that she easily could; the strength of her feeling attested to that. The real question was should she? She knew the answer to that question as well. She should not.

She had always been Princess Aazuria Vellamo of Adlivun. How could she suddenly be Mrs. Trevain Murphy, Alaskan housewife?

He saw the thoughts and emotions dancing in her eyes, even in the darkness of the room. Her eyes still had that certain subtle shine to them, reminding him again of a cat in the dark. He reached out and brushed the wetness of her tears off her cheeks, now that they had stopped falling.

"You don't have to tell me your answer now," he said. "I know it's crazy and sudden. I'll ask you again and again until you know for sure what you want."

She exhaled a breath that she did not realize she had been holding. She turned over in bed to face him completely, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she embraced him. "I do need to think about it," she said softly, "but it is a rather nice idea."

"I know you may not love me yet, but if you're willing to waste a few years beside me... maybe you'll grow to care for me more." His voice was hesitant but hopeful. "I don't really know how this love thing works, but I know I've never felt this way. I never thought I would, and it's kind of crazy powerful. I can't stand to be separated from you for a few minutes. I'll do just about anything to make you happy, and see you laugh—and it's really tough to make you laugh."

She smiled. She did not know how to tell him that she already believed that she loved him. She had entertained, and disdained, many proposals before, but usually from distant strangers who had sent an envoy to her father. Never from a man who was holding her tightly in his arms, and professing that he cared for her in spite of... and because of the fact that she was a murderess. This was new.

"Don't run away from me anymore, Zuri," he said burying his face in her hair. "You're all I have left."

She sighed deeply, remembering his recent loss. She guiltily thought of how Callder lay wounded in her infirmary. She wished she could give Trevain some small measure of optimism, and tell him that there was a slim chance his brother might pull through—but there was too much explaining to do. She felt awful at having to keep this from him.

"There is so much about me which you do not know," she whispered.

"I want you to feel comfortable telling me all your secrets," he answered. "I promise that I can handle them. We can get through anything together. Now that I know about your father, nothing can faze me."

"Did Elandria tell you why I did it?" she asked.

"Yes... she told me what he did to her," he said, swallowing. He could not think about it without feeling emotional. The main emotion was anger.

"I let him harm my sisters for years. I did not do anything to stop it," Aazuria said, struggling to vanquish a new onslaught of tears. "But that's not even why I killed him."

"Shhhh, it's okay," Trevain said, rubbing her back soothingly. "You don't have to think about it now."

"I thought his actions were going to destroy us. He did not care about who he hurt or trampled to get what he desired. I thought that killing him would save us. Now, I am not so sure. The damage has been done. The people he wronged... they are already coming after us. I may not be able to stop them."

"Don't worry about a thing, Zuri," he said, kissing her nose. "You're safe here with me."

"I wish that my own safety was all that I needed to consider," she lamented. "That would be easy."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Aazuria placed her teacup down violently. "I strongly recommend you do not return to work. Not yet."
"I have to," Trevain said. It had been a few days since Aazuria's return, and he had been catching up on his messages and chatting with his shipmates. He had decided that it was time for a return to normalcy. "It's been a while since we lost Callder and Leander, and the crew is getting restless. Everyone still has to live."

"I command that you do not go back to work yet!" she said, leaning forward with both of her hands gripping the edge of the table.

He chuckled at her intense body-language. "Zuri, we've missed most of the fishing season. If my men all go off and join other crews then I won't know what to do with myself in the years to come. The Fishin' Magician will be blacklisted and no one will want to join my crew..."

"If you must go off to sea then you will allow me to join you," she insisted. "You are short two men, and surely I can take over some of their duties."

"Aazuria!" he said with a laugh. "It's hard work. Dirty, wet, and exhausting."

"Please," she persisted. "I just want to make sure that you are safe."

"And I want to make sure you are safe. You've never been on a crab fishing boat before, have you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I have been on many boats," she answered, "so many kinds of boats that I cannot remember all of their names. You know that I am a strong swimmer as well."

"It's too dangerous for you," he said inflexibly.

"Dammit, Trevain, that's not fair! I want to be involved in your life."

"Then agree to marry me," he said with a grin as he sipped his tea.

"I will not agree if you do not either heed my warning, or take me aboard."

"And you will if I do?"

She shut her lips tightly.

"Very clever, Zuri. Nice try." Trevain smirked at her. "You're already trying to use all the leverage you have over me to manipulate me into doing what you want. I think you're going to make the perfect wife."

The sound of an annoying car horn being honked multiple times interrupted them. "That's Brynne, no doubt," he said. "I'm going to carpool with her to the docks."

"You are in grave danger," Aazuria whispered, putting her face in her hands. "How can you not see this?"

"Look! Wifely concern," Trevain teased, putting his hands on her shoulders, and kissing the top of her head. He gently massaged her shoulders to ease her tension. "Relax. As Brynne likes to say, it's not my first rodeo. I know how to take care of myself."

Brynne's car horn impatiently sounded again, startling both of them.

"Crazy Brynne Ambrose," he said, shaking his head. "I swear that woman will be the death of me!"

"Do not joke about the death of you!" Aazuria said harshly. "I have a very bad feeling about this. When you have a bad feeling you listen to it, and make your whole crew listen—will you not believe me this time? I am certain that there is a menace out there of which you cannot even conceive. I know these things, Trevain. I am being completely sincere; this is not paranoia."

"I've been doing this my whole life. It's a cinch," he said, giving her a reassuring smile.

She was not reassured. She could see that he also was anxious, but he was trying to push past it and remain calm. She wanted to pull rank on him and tell him exactly what she had been doing her whole life, just how long that was, and how much she had seen. She wanted to tell him what had actually happened to the boats in the Bermuda Triangle, and to the boats in Japan's Dragon's Triangle, and how it was happening again now, right here. Instead she just shook her head. "I hope you know that I am deeply displeased. Nothing good can come of this, and one of us will surely suffer for your mistake."

He reached out and squeezed her arm before kissing her on the temple. "I'll see you in a few days, okay?"

With that, he left. She let out a huge sigh, returning her head to her hands. She sat there, wallowing in worry for several minutes before she heard her sisters entering the room. Elandria came and sat close to her.

"What's wrong, Zuri?" Corallyn asked. "Still bummed about Trevain heading back to work?"

"I asked him not to go. I strongly recommended him not to go. I ordered him not to go! I demanded he let me come along!" she said angrily. "Why did he not listen to me? How dare he ignore me like this?" She wanted to smash something, but she had enough composure to restrain herself. She had learned to control her temper long ago, in her youth. It had taken three centuries, but she no longer acted on foolish impulse and whim. At least not when anyone was looking.

Corallyn smiled. "This is his jurisdiction. You can't order him around here. Besides, he doesn't know you're a crown princess, and even if he did it would probably make no difference."

"Atargatis is out there," she said uneasily. "I threatened him that I would not marry him if he left, and he still left."

"He must have known that was an idle threat," Corallyn said with amusement. "Do you think you're going to refuse him?"

"Yes! I cannot do this," Aazuria said. "I cannot be his wife. He does not even consider my words significant."

"You know that is not true," Elandria said. "You must understand that he has obligations to his crew just as you have obligations to Adlivun."

"Fine," said Aazuria, standing up and slamming her fist on the table. "Then I will follow him. I will not sit idly by as he plunges himself into dangers unknown to him. The sun sets so early; the fishermen spend most of their time working in the dark." She pointed to her eyes. "I have a tapetum lucidum, so I can see more clearly in the night than they can. I will be beneath the water, so I will also have a better angle of view."

"Sio and Viso won't be pleased about this," Corallyn warned her.

"It is just a reconnaissance mission, really. You know that I am fast, and I will not be seen."

"Then take the twins," Corallyn urged sternly.

"Sionna is in the infirmary taking care of people who are close to death! Visola is busy pawning my jewels and buying illegal weapons on the black market. Both are busy; I do not wish to disturb them."

"You promised Sionna you would stay here," Corallyn reminded her. "This is your sanctuary for now."

"Coral," Aazuria said, looking at her sister with authority, "it might be the Clan of Zalcan out there. Do you know how much fun they have killing unsuspecting sailors and fishermen? It is their trademark. They sunk hundreds of boats in Japan. Hundreds. Do you know how many people died? Those people had nothing to do with the Ningyo—that was just 'while we are in the neighborhood' killing."

"Yeah, exactly—so if they're so dangerous do you really want to run into them without your warriors? Elandria and I would go with you, but if there is any trouble, how much can we really help?"

Elandria placed her hand on Aazuria's arm to elicit her attention. She fixed her sister with a somber gaze. She opened her lips ever so slightly and murmured, "Take the twins."

Aazuria turned to her sister in surprise. When Elandria used her voice to speak, it was always imperative. Aazuria often said that her silent sister was the wisest person she knew, and she would never take any action against her counsel.

"Fine. I will."

Chapter Twenty-Four

"He really proposed to you? Poor guy, I bet he was so devastated when you flat out rejected him! I hope you weren't too mean about it."

Aazuria did not respond, and Visola froze in the middle of wrapping a thick forest-green fabric around her chest. "You did refuse him, right? Zuri?"

"I have not given him an answer yet."

"You're joking right? You're actually considering marrying this guy?" Visola's vivid green eyes widened. She held up her hand in order to count on her fingers. "Here are a million reasons why you shouldn't: one, you barely know him; two, he barely knows you; three, you belong in Adlivun; four, I don't like him; five, you're way too pretty; six, you have no idea if he's well-endowed, seven, you don't know if he's any good in..."

Sionna interrupted by throwing an arm around her sister and smiling. "Viso, I think it might take a little while for you to give her a million reasons. We are still mortal creatures and our time on earth is precious. Why don't we talk about this later?"

"Okie-dokie," said Visola, continuing to wrap the green fabric around her midsection. "Strip, Zuri. You get suited up next."

"What is that stuff exactly?" Aazuria asked as she slipped her dress off. The three women stood in a private area of the docks. "It had better not slow me down."

Visola grinned as she began to wrap the fabric around Aazuria's chest. "Relax! It's something innovative and fun."

Sionna assisted, wrapping the material around Aazuria's legs and hips. "Is it truly necessary?" Aazuria asked again.

"Yes, if you're really concerned about your boy-toy's safety. This is fifteen layers of Kevlar: a super lightweight, bulletproof body armor, covered in water resistant fabric."

"It is green."

"Such a lovely deep forest green," Visola mused.

"I call it 'slimy seaweed' green," Sionna said in embarrassment. "Viso was drunk and complaining that the drab color didn't match her complexion and hair. She dyed all the armor."

"That's not the only reason," Visola said with a blush. "Malachite green has always been our nation's color! And if we ever need... uh, camouflage..."

"We're not supposed to be drinking," Aazuria reminded her friend, feeling guilty for her recent indulgence. "It affects us poorly."

"Lighten up," Visola said, grinning, "and take one of these beautiful babies."

"What is that contraption? How am I supposed to carry it while swimming?"

"Here, I have it all figured out." Visola hooked the instrument over Aazuria's arm, fastening it onto her back.

"You two never answer me when I ask questions! I want to know what this is and why it is important before I allow it to slow me down."

"It's just an underwater assault rifle, sweetie." Sionna strapped one onto her own back and nodded at Aazuria reassuringly. "We probably won't need it, but it's just for extra safety. Shall we do this?"

Aazuria wanted to ask how the twins had managed to procure such weapons, but she thought better of it. "You two really outdid yourselves this time," Aazuria commented. She checked that the rifle was secure on her back and smiled at the other two women. "Let us go."

In one fluid, fishlike motion, Aazuria extended her arms and dived off the docks into the water. Visola and Sionna followed in perfect synchronization behind her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

"We've been following him underwater for two days and nothing has happened." Visola yawned, opening her mouth widely to take in a huge breath of water. "We've been down here so long your hair has bleached itself. I think he's going to be safe, Zuri."

Aazuria pulled a lock of her hair before her face and saw that Visola was right. She looked up at the twins. "Let us wait a little longer."

"Fine. But I hate camping out in open water. Eating whatever grows or swims nearby—this is barbaric." Visola and Sionna had followed their leader in search of Trevain's boat for several hours, easily keeping up with her effortless high speeds. They had found several other fishing boats before they located The Fishin' Magician. Initially, they had all felt the exhilaration of being in the water again, strength infusing their bones and spirits. However, now that they were just hovering around deep beneath the boat, waiting for the crew to exhaust themselves and head home, they were feeling rather bored.

When a metal cage was lowered nearby, Visola grinned. "Don't get caught! You'll be used as sushi by the sailors for lunch," she signed to her sister as they lurked deep in the shadow of the ship they stalked.

"At least I'm palatable and won't give them food poisoning," Sionna retorted with her hands.

"You're right, but they would probably lose their appetites at the sight of you and toss you out with the bad seafood."

"Viso—we look exactly the same. Quit insulting yourself!"

The sisters were startled out of their mindless time-killing banter by a hand signal from their newly platinum-blonde leader. They were further surprised when she reached behind her and pulled the assault rifle off her back. She stared down at the device in her hands, before looking to the twins for help.

Visola swam forward and quickly mouthed the instructions on how to use the weapon, giving plenty of gestures for rapid training.

"What did you see?" Sionna asked, frowning.

Aazuria pointed above them, to shallower waters, her eyes squinting in the darkness. The boat was turning around very slowly. Approaching the ship at high speeds, but still at a distance, was what looked to be a school of large fish. Upon more careful examination, and as they drew closer, one could see that they were actually people swimming in a military like formation and diverging around the boat. Their legs were covered with some sort of black fabric which made it look as though they all had black tails.

Aazuria could just barely make out the white glint of shark's teeth strung around their necks. Legend had it that the Clan of Zalcan trained their young warriors by pitting them against sharks in wrestling matches. Every single tooth on their necklaces came directly from a shark that the wearer had actually killed in hand-to-hand combat. If a warrior killed another warrior in a duel of honor, they would take the other's necklaces as a trophy and wear them as his or her own. The greatest warriors wore so many strands of necklaces that their necks were fully armored by them—they also wore them around their wrists, ankles, waists, and around their foreheads.

"It is them," Aazuria said. "I am sure of it. It is the Clan of Zalcan. Well, a few of them; maybe scouts or raiders. " She felt her blood boiling and knew instinctively that they were going to attempt to cause some sort of trouble on Trevain's boat. She began swimming up to the surface with the rifle in her hands, but she felt herself restrained. The twins began to hastily pull her back down deeper into the waters.

"What are you two doing? We need to go and confront them," she argued.

"No," Sionna mouthed. "There are at least thirty of them, and only three of us! They haven't spotted us yet, and that gives us the advantage. We're here for reconnaissance, so let's observe."

"We need to see how they work, and what they want," Visola added. "Take a few deep breaths, Zuri. Your captain will be fine."

Aazuria nodded, appreciating the wisdom of her friends. She retreated into the darkness with them, out of sight. She pulled slow breaths of water into her lungs, trying to calm herself down as she watched the mermaids prepare some kind of attack. Trevain is up there, she thought to herself, and so is Brynne and several other innocents. She had not realized how fond she had grown of not just the captain, but his entire crew in the past few weeks. She had no clue what the enemy intended until she saw that a few of them were laughing and swimming in zigzagging patterns under the boat.

"Are they drunk?" Aazuria asked.

"I don't know, but they're definitely enjoying themselves," Visola responded, frowning.

"Do you think that 'Atargatis' might be amongst them?" Sionna wondered.

Aazuria saw it then—a blonde woman swung her arm back and launched a harpoon at someone on the boat. The person fell into the water, and several of the mermaids immediately surrounded him, dragging him down. Aazuria's heart began to pound so hard it was painful, and she placed the rifle between her teeth before using her hands to rapidly swim up to the boat. The twins knew that they could not stop her this time, so they grasped their own rifles and followed.

It was several seconds before their enemies were aware of their presence. The black-clad sea-dwellers were so focused on the person they had taken from the boat that they did not even see when their own numbers began to dwindle.

Aazuria had never held a rifle before, but she found it surprisingly easy. Her first shot missed, but she gripped the metal barrel more tightly and tried again. Her second and third shots were slightly more precise, and after that it became easy. Aazuria shot at least five people who had heaped around the man, fearing that it was Trevain they were harming. A dark pool of blood surrounded him and she could not see his identity. Sionna and Visola shot many people on the flanks of the formation until they were too close to use the rifles.

The lifeless body of a man she had shot in the lower abdomen floated close to her. Aazuria pushed the rifle onto her back, and felt the man's waist for more basic forms of weaponry. Scoring a knife, she propelled herself forward into the thicket of battle, engaging in hand to hand-to-hand combat with the remaining mermaids. Her only focus was on fighting her way through the crowd toward the injured man. She was terrified of fighting the skilled Clan warriors, but she knew that she was much smarter than the sharks they had ripped all those teeth from.

She saw with great relief that it was not Trevain they had attacked; the man in the water was Arnav, the young student from New York of whom Trevain had always spoken so highly. She swam toward him, but a blonde woman with countless necklaces intercepted her with a leer.

Aazuria was caught off guard for a moment, for she thought she recognized the woman. She did not have time to remember who she was, for the woman seemed intent on gouging her eyes out. She would not allow this to happen easily, and used her knife to defend against the woman's strikes. When her blade bounced off the woman's waist, she discovered that the shark's teeth did serve as effective armor. As she struggled to keep the woman from gashing her body open, she realized that the woman was obviously the leader. Her black garments were the most ornate, and she was the most skilled fighter. Aazuria was kept on her toes in dodging the woman's attacks, and trying desperately to get in a few of her own. She silently prayed that each thrust of her arm would be the last. The woman's sword hit Aazuria squarely in the thigh, and Aazuria flinched, expecting a huge laceration. She was stunned when the blade of the knife did not penetrate her soft armor.

Visola saw this, and tried to get away from the fight she was having with three people at once to help her friend. She hacked at them mercilessly, but they were very fast. Sionna was in a similarly overwhelming situation. The blonde woman that Aazuria was fighting was annoyed that her blow had not wounded her opponent as much as she had anticipated. She reached out and grabbed a handful of Aazuria's hair, but Aazuria used the opportunity to drive her knuckles into the woman's soft breast. The woman recoiled in pain, and Aazuria lunged forward, using her other hand to slice open the woman's throat—but her opponent just barely evaded the blade. The blonde woman fought valiantly. Before both women knew it, their fight had broken the surface of the water. Their gasping and yelling was now audible in the air.

The men on the boat above began to take notice of the action, and began to crowd to the starboard side of the Magician.

"What in the bloody hell?" Ujarak exclaimed.

"It's pretty dark, but it looks like there are two women wrestling in the water," Doughlas observed.

"It's fucking cold down there! What's wrong with them?" Edwin wondered.

"Help!" Aazuria screamed, in a piercing voice which she hoped that none of them would recognize. She continued to fight with the blonde woman as she yelled to the men. She figured that if she screamed at the top of her lungs her voice would be adequately distorted. "One of your men—he is in the water, injured and drowning!"

"What is she talking about? We're all right here," Brynne said in confusion.

"Where's Arnav?" Trevain said very suddenly. Everyone began to look around frantically. The captain began to pull off his boots so that he could dive into the water.

Meanwhile, the giant blonde woman had placed Aazuria in a headlock and was proceeding to choke the life out of her. "So you know those people, do you, sweet pea?" she whispered.

Aazuria froze in her struggle for a moment, recognizing the voice and the pet name. "Koraline?" she gasped out in a labored voice as her neck was crushed. The woman had been one of her ballet instructors many decades ago. She was Corallyn's mother. Aazuria tried desperately to pry the muscled arm away from her throat. The pointy shark's teeth on the woman's bracelets which covered her arms from wrist to elbow were digging painfully into Aazuria's skin. She was sure that she was bleeding, but she did not care; her focus was on survival at this point.

"No one has called me that in a while. I go by the name of 'Atargatis' now. It rather suits me, don't you think?" Koraline further tightened her grip on Aazuria's throat, causing her to grow dizzy from the strangulation. She desperately tried to free herself, hammering her elbow back into the woman's ribcage. She reached behind her to press her nails into the woman's eyes, but Koraline seemed to anticipate her every movement. Aazuria knew that unless Visola or Sionna could fend off their own attackers and come to her rescue, she would be unconscious within moments.

Aazuria was startled when Trevain was suddenly in front of her, and his fist was flying into Koraline's face. She darted beneath the surface as soon as she was free of the woman's grip, breathing deeply. She saw that the twins were still alive and fighting. She dove down to where she had last seen Arnav. She slipped her arms around the boy when she found him and rapidly swam to the surface, carrying the boy. Once they had broken through to the air, she pressed her fingers against his jaw, checking his vitals. Finding nothing, she gasped and pressed her ear close to his nose and mouth. There was no sign of life. He was already dead. "No," she whispered. She closed her eyes, feeling powerless. She turned to Trevain in despair.

"I could not save him," she spoke softly, holding Arnav's dead body mostly above the surface in her arms. She suddenly remembered to incline her head downward, using her white bangs and wet hair to conceal her features.

Everyone was curiously peering off the side of the boat. Trevain moved towards Aazuria in the water. She assumed that he must have killed Koraline or at least knocked her unconscious, for no one was immediately attacking them for the first time in several minutes. She extended her hands to offer Arnav to the captain. She was eager to swim away before someone could recognize her identity under the paler skin, hair, and eyes.

Suddenly, a look of alarm came to Trevain's face. "Look out!" he shouted, diving forward. "No!"

Aazuria screamed at the violent impact of something colliding with her body and piercing right through her. A searing pain shot through her back. A frenetic female laugh mocked her agony; Koraline had thrown a javelin directly at Aazuria, aimed precisely at her heart.

Trevain had moved swiftly towards her within the water and pushed her aside just in time, or it surely would have hit its target. The javelin intended for the center of her torso had gone through her right shoulder instead. She moaned with the blinding pain, and felt Trevain's arms around her. She looked up at him through dizzy, blurred vision. She had let go of Arnav, whose body was now sinking. She clutched Trevain tightly, blinking and trying to focus. She was about to say his name when she caught herself.

"That's just a taste of things to come!" the blonde woman shouted. "I won't rest until I have my daughter back—and until every one of you is dead. Tell Kyrosed Vellamo that I'm coming for him!"

Aazuria flinched, wondering if Trevain knew her last name. "But he is..." She could not speak through the blinding pain. Her head spun, and she struggled to stay conscious. The world was fading, but she firmly dug her fingers into Trevain's upper arms for support. She used his strength to stay grounded and awake. Her head, neck, and shoulders which were above water were covered in a cold sweat from the severe pain. Her hand immediately moved to grasp the javelin, instinctively trying to rip the offending shaft out of her body.

"Atargatis, you bitch!" shouted Visola, bursting out of the surface of the water. The redhead grabbed the woman around her neck and dove down into the depths of the sea.

Aazuria felt a rush of relief, knowing that Visola had fought off her own attackers. She prayed Sionna was also safe. She sighed; it was over. Tears had come into her eyes without her permission because of the excruciating pain. She tightened her grip around the javelin in her shoulder, knowing she must pull it out, but finding it too unbearable to do by herself. She would surely pass out if she tried, or at least end up screaming unattractively. Instead she gritted her teeth and used both hands to break off the narrowest part of the stick which had been protruding from her body. She looked up at Trevain who had bravely risked himself in order to save her, and still held her protectively. He had even allowed the body of his friend to sink into the sea in order to save someone he believed was a complete stranger.

"You're hurt badly, Miss," he was saying. "You have to come aboard the ship and let me take you to a hospital." He found himself suddenly stricken by the idea that it might not be an injured woman he held in his arms, but a legendary creature. "Who are you?" he asked breathlessly.

She smiled through her pain. The bleeding coming from her shoulder was profuse, but she knew it was not a lethal wound. She felt a rush of gratitude. She had been impressed with the speed and vigor with which Trevain moved in the water. It had been brave of him to jump off the ship to help her, when none of his crew members had. She could not believe that she now lived with this valiant man, and that he was hers to go home to. She also could not believe that he did not recognize her—but she was glad for this.

"Thank you for saving my life," she said softly, before slipping her hand behind his head and kissing him. At first his mouth was tense and unresponsive, and he displayed surprise more than anything. She wondered with amusement if he felt guilty for cheating on her. A second later, his lips softened, but she had already ripped herself away from him and disappeared under the water.

"Wait!" he shouted fruitlessly. He submerged himself under the water, intending to follow her, but she was already too deep beneath the surface for him to see where she had gone. He looked around in every direction frantically, but the injured white-haired woman had disappeared. Only Arnav's floating lifeless body, and the bodies of several of the other attackers floated in the ocean around him.

Meanwhile on the boat, there was a silent confusion. "Did you guys see what I saw?" Edwin asked softly.

"Weird chicks fighting," said Ujarak with a clueless shrug.

Wyatt cleared his throat. "Uh... Arnav was killed by a bunch of people wearing black, but then some females wearing green kicked their asses for it?"

"They had APS underwater assault rifles strapped to their backs," Doughlas said. "Probably some military training thing... they probably came from a stealth submarine which we can't see somewhere around here..."

Everyone began peering off the side of the ship and looking for the aforementioned vehicle. The captain had just been helped back onto the deck by Brynne, and he heard the submarine comment. Trevain grabbed a towel and began to absorb the water in his hair. "A sub... that makes sense. I don't know why that didn't cross my mind."

"So Arnav is really gone?" Billy asked quietly.

A flash of rage darkened Trevain's face. "I don't know why any of us should be surprised. Three fishing trips. Three deaths. They say one man dies per week during the fishing season but this..." Everyone jumped in surprise when the captain grabbed a handful of heavy metal rigging and violently hurled it across the ship. It smashed against the metal cages with a loud clangor. "What the fuck is going on?!" Trevain shouted, as tears filled his eyes.

"Shhh," Brynne said, moving to his side. She had never been scared of the kind captain in her life, but it seemed like something had broken in him. After a moment's hesitation, she reached out to hug Trevain. He immediately softened and returned the hug. She felt how wet and cold he was, and she shivered. "You need to warm up downstairs and get some dry clothes."

"Yeah," he said. It was all he could do to stay standing. Callder may have been a freeloading loafer, but Arnav had been a brilliant young man with a future. Trevain felt dizzy with disgust, and had an urge to empty the contents of his stomach all over Brynne. She must have sensed this, because she stepped away. He realized then that he had scared her with his display of violence. "I'm sorry I cursed and yelled."

"I curse and yell in front of you all the time, Murphy," she responded. "So who was that albino chick you made out with in the water?"

Trevain shook his head, completely oblivious. "All I know is that she was on our side. She tried to stop it from happening."

"They had to be marine forces," Doughlas was saying. "That's the only explanation."

"Or they could have been..." Billy trailed off, knowing that he could not reasonably finish that sentence.

"What? They could have been what?"

"Mermaids," Billy mumbled softly.

"Don't be fucking ridiculous," Trevain said angrily. He resisted the urge to toss more large pieces of metal across his boat. He resisted the urge to scream at the top of his lungs. Instead, he allowed Brynne to guide him downstairs so that he could get warm and dry.

Chapter Twenty-Six

"My mother? My mother did this to her?" Corallyn asked. "She is Atargatis, our great new enemy?"

Sionna had finished cleaning and disinfecting Aazuria's wound, and was administering a tetanus shot to her as a precautionary measure. "It would seem so."

"I thought she was a land-dweller; I thought she was dead!"

"We thought so too." Sionna began applying a poultice to Aazuria's shoulder. She had also sustained a few injuries, but she had quickly stitched them up herself. "Coral, Elan, you girls have to watch Aazuria closely to monitor her temperature, alright?"

Elandria nodded silently in a corner, with her hands folded in her lap. She looked fearfully at Sionna and Aazuria's wounds.

"It's not a Jennifer or a Molly—it's a Koraline," Visola said gloomily, "and I let it get away."

"I'm sorry, Viso. It was my fault," Sionna said with a sigh as she bandaged Aazuria's shoulder. "I should have handled myself better. You had her until I distracted you."

"Are you kidding? You were in trouble. I'm not going to let my sister get killed if I can prevent it."

"I like assault rifles," Aazuria said weakly, her head spinning with pain. It was the most complex contribution she could manage to make to the conversation. Sionna smiled and patted the sweat off her forehead with a damp cloth.

"That's right! Let's look on the bright side of things," Visola said. "We fought three against thirty and we won. When does that ever happen?"

"Four... if you count Trevain," Aazuria said, grimacing. "He punched... Atargatis in the face for me. And he did not even know it was me."

"I do not count him. He could have prevented you from having to follow him in the first place if he had listened to you. Then he could have prevented you from getting injured if he had killed the bitch—but he just pushed her away from you and thought it would help! Was he trying to break up two kids on the playground or save his potential fiancée's life? What a jerkwad," Visola muttered, earning a death glare from her sister. "Anyway, it was a good fight. We killed at least half of them, and wounded at least ten—and now we know who Atargatis is and why she's pissed off. Frankly, I'd be pissed off too if someone took a cutie-pie like Coral away from me."

"Thanks," said Corallyn, a bit downcast. "I guess I would kind of like to meet my mother. She didn't have to start a war about it. She could have just visited and said 'Hi, I'm your mom. Would you like a cookie?' Even if there wasn't a cookie involved, I would have been okay with that."

"She still has not been informed that the king is dead. Did you send someone, Visola?" Aazuria asked, through clenched teeth.

"I did send a representative out to look for the Clan of Zalcan... but she never came back." Visola sighed. "I will try again... but it seems like a useless sacrifice. Diplomacy never works."

"The ones who got away will tell the others not to take us so lightly," Sionna said. "Atargatis has a black eye, and a few of the others have bullets lodged in them. Maybe things will be different, and they will be a bit more communicative. I think assault rifles have that effect on people."

"Viso," Aazuria whispered. "I can never repay you for the armor and weapons. I am alive because of you. Adlivun will remain safe because of you."

"Aw, shucks, Zuri," Visola said, bashfully yet proudly. "What's a right-hand-woman for?"

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Trevain trudged up the stairs after returning from his fishing trip. He was having difficulty processing what exactly had happened. All that he knew for sure was that Arnav Hylas had been killed. The Coast Guard had told them that it was just a bad season. The same thing had been happening to many other fishing boats. Two other boats had been completely lost. There was no sign of them at all, and nothing had been recovered. The press had not even heavily covered these tragedies; it was just the way things sometimes happened in Alaska. It had been that way for dozens of years. "Count yourself lucky," the man at the docks had said.

"Just a bad season," Trevain repeated bitterly, pausing halfway up the staircase. His hand on the railing tightened its grip. "Count yourself lucky!" He felt bile rising inside him as he smashed his fist into the railing of the staircase, causing the wood to break and splinter. He was immediately upset with himself, remembering that a child now lived in the house.

He tried to calm himself down, but failing, he decided to take some sleeping pills. He just wanted to talk to Aazuria and go to bed. It had been a long few days. He needed to not be awake for a while. When he reached the landing, he saw that Corallyn was sitting on a chair in front of Aazuria's room with a book in her hands. This set off alarms of concern in his mind. He moved across the corridor quickly, with a worried expression on his face.

"Corallyn, what's wrong?"

The young girl closed her book and stood up. She responded rapidly as if the sentence had been rehearsed. "Aazuria has become very ill and cannot see you at the moment."

"Does she need a doctor?" Trevain asked. "What happened?"

"My sister has already seen her own private doctor. Mr. Fiskel also gave her some of his pain-relief medication. She will be healed before long. We must allow her to rest."

Trevain stared at Corallyn with puzzlement. He had never seen her act so formal and cross. She was completely serious, and almost unblinking in the deadpan stare she gave him.

"I think I know what this is about," Trevain said with a sigh. "She's still angry at me for not listening to her and going to work."

Corallyn remained expressionless.

"Well, she was right. I should have listened. I need to apologize..." Trevain had started to move forward, and Corallyn stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"Stop. Aazuria does not wish to see anyone. She is unwell and she needs to rest."

"Coral, please. What's going on?" He reached for the doorknob with a frown.

Although Corallyn was perhaps a third of Trevain's massive size, she resolutely placed herself in front of the doorknob, and pushed her hand into his abdomen to restrain him.

"Uncle Trevain! She is extremely ill. She cannot receive you now. Please respect her wishes and go."

"Fine," Trevain said, with slight annoyance. He turned around and headed for his own room, slamming the door behind him. He ran a hand through his hair. He felt a slight pang of concern for Aazuria, but he also felt suspicious that she was not sick and just avoiding him. Yet, he wondered why she had placed Corallyn outside her door standing guard as her pint-sized sentinel.

Trevain walked across the floor to his window, and placed his hands on the wall on either side of the glass. He took deep jagged breaths, causing the window to fog up. He felt anger, not sadness. He had not been able to understand why he had lost Leander and Callder, but now he did. It had not been natural. It had been the work of men, not the sea. Arnav Hylas had been a clever, animated young man with a bright future. He would have achieved great things someday. Trevain had been tremendously fond of the kid. He needed to find out exactly what was going on, and who those women from the submarines were. He wanted revenge.

Submarines. Although Doughlas had been in the navy, and he knew about things like this, Trevain was somehow not completely sold on the submarine theory. He only wished he could come up with some other sort of feasible explanation. The image of the white-haired woman came to mind. He saw her holding Arnav up sorrowfully in the water. "I could not save him." Although her hair had been the color of snow, he knew that she was not old. It had been dark, but he remembered that her ivory skin had been perfectly smooth. As smooth as cream-colored satin. He vividly remembered her striking steel-blue eyes and the dark limbal ring around her irises. She reminded him vaguely of Aazuria.

Heck, who was he kidding? Aazuria was lovely, but she had nothing on this woman. Maybe it was the mysterious circumstance which was clouding his judgment. Being thrust into a dangerous situation together, having to fight to defend each other—it was a rather thrilling way to meet. Trevain remembered the rush of adrenaline he had felt when he punched the blonde attacker in the face to save the white-haired woman.

Atargatis. That was the name he had heard a third woman call her. He vaguely recalled the name, and had looked it up on his smartphone on the boat as soon as he had been dried off and warmed up. He found that it was the name of a Syrian sea goddess. When he informed his crew of this, Doughlas had shrugged and easily explained it. "Yeah. No big surprise, Captain. The military likes to use fancy code names like that for their covert ops. People always turn to old mythology for naming new technologies. Even new discoveries or whatever—planets, comets, spaceships, and etcetera. You know."

Trevain had nodded, for it made sense. The women in the water had just been women; strange women with weapons, but women nonetheless. Despite this, he believed that the white-haired woman was the closest thing to a sea goddess which he had ever beheld. She had been trying to protect him from the woman called Atargatis. She was his aquatic guardian angel. Something about her albino-like coloring had been unquestionably supernatural.

Beyond her appearance, there had been such an ethereal quality about her. And her kiss! Her kiss had been voracious. He had never felt such passion from any touch or caress as he had from that one modest, momentary contact. She was a confident woman, not a timid adolescent girl.

Trevain stared out of his window, lost in thought about the enigmatic lady for several minutes. It was a while before he realized what he was doing. He immediately began to scold himself for fantasizing about this stranger he had briefly seen. She had only kissed him to thank him for saving his life—even though she had still gotten badly hurt. He hoped that she was not in too much pain, wherever she was. If he had the faintest clue where she came from, he would be heading there now to make sure she was being well cared for. The look in her eyes, and the sound of her voice were both so unforgettable.

He wondered if he would ever see her again.

He drew a large X in the fog his breath had created in the window. So what if he did see her again? Would he forsake Aazuria, to whom he had grown so close, along with her sisters whom he considered his own family at this point, for a complete stranger? Was he that fickle? No—his fishing trip had been dreadful and he wished to speak to Aazuria to calm his nerves, and she would not even see him. She was the one forsaking him in his time of need, just as she had done before when Callder died. No wonder he was wishing to be with another! He knew this was faulty logic, and that his thoughts could not be justified. He immediately reprimanded himself for holding the unknown woman in higher regard than Aazuria.

Maybe I'm not ready for marriage if I'm going to spend all night thinking about the mysterious woman in the water. I don't think it would make a difference if I was married to Zuri... I'd still be mentally cheating on her right now with the silver-haired sea goddess.

Trevain cursed and swung the back of his hand into an expensive lamp sitting on a nearby night table. He watched the lamp smash to the ground, and he swore repeatedly in anger at himself and his own inconstancy. Aazuria was sick; that was why she would not see him. He was being completely insensitive to her condition. He hardly recognized the callous person he was becoming. But wouldn't three deaths do that to anyone?

He turned and walked across the hardwood floor briskly, exiting his bedroom. When he was in the hallway, he saw that Corallyn was still guarding Aazuria's room—he supposed that she would be doing so all night, or until her sister was better. He sighed, admiring the young girl's devotion. "Coral, will you do me a favor? Tell Zuri that I'm sorry; I should have listened to her. I shouldn't have gone back to work so soon."

Corallyn gave him a soldier-like nod. "I will tell her when she wakes up."

"Also... could you please tell her that I love her and I miss her?"

The young girl gazed at him for a few seconds, observing his expression. Finding only sincerity there, she allowed the smallest of smiles to barely touch her lips. It was the first time that the hard expression on her face had broken since she learned that it was her own mother who had tried to kill Aazuria. She nodded.

"She loves you too, Uncle Trevain. So for God's sake, listen to her in the future when it comes to anything regarding the water and fewer people will get hurt... uh, emotionally."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Aazuria was restless.

She had been confined to one small room for weeks. Only Elandria and Corallyn had visited her to tend to her wound; they had each taken shifts guarding her to make sure that Trevain did not find out about her impaled shoulder.

Trevain had gotten the hint that something was very wrong a few days after her injury when he saw Elandria leaving Aazuria's room with a pile of blood-soaked clothes and bandages in her arms. When Elandria made eye contact with him and her face froze in fear, he knew that the girls were hiding something. Fearing for Aazuria's health and well-being, he had headed for her room. Elandria had tried to put herself between Trevain and the door, but he would not be stopped.

Reaching around Elandria for the doorknob, he had aggressively turned it. Finding it locked, he had frowned. "Aazuria, open this door!" he had shouted. "I'm coming in! I need to know that you're okay!"

"Please do not do this," Elandria had asked him softly.

He had frowned at the quiet girl. He always paid close attention when she spoke. This was probably the first time he had heard her voice since he had asked her for advice on proposing to Aazuria. This was perhaps the only time that her silent, gracious plea would go ignored.

The pile of bloody clothes in her arms was more convincing than even her heavenly voice. "Aazuria!" he had shouted. He looked at the doorknob, and saw that it was impossible to pick the lock or open it from the outside. Even the hinges of the door were on the inside. He scowled and did the first thing which came to mind. He slammed his shoulder into the door. After doing this several times, he managed to break the door open.

Aazuria lay in bed, with the blanket pulled over her up to her chin. There was a slight blush on her face. "Trevain, what is the matter?" she had asked him softly.

"You tell me!" he said, walking over to her quickly. "Why is Elandria smuggling bloody clothes out of this room?"

"Well... it is... a female thing," she lied. Her cheeks were flushed, and she hoped that her visible embarrassment would help to validate her story. Even though she was wearing a conservative nightgown that covered the fresh bandages over her injured shoulder, she was terrified that he would somehow find out.

"Aazuria, you've locked yourself in here for almost two weeks. I'm worried. What's going on? You have your sisters guarding you like you've got some deadly virus..."

"I do. I do not want you to get sick as well," she quietly lied. She wanted to talk to him; she wanted to see how he was handling Arnav's death. She wanted to hear how he had made sense of what had happened in the water. She wanted to reach out and touch him. She could not believe he had broken her door down. "Trevain, please go."

"Tell me the truth, Aazuria; are you physically injured in some way? Because you're clutching that blanket to you pretty tightly, and I'm starting to think you may have lost a limb or something."

She laughed, realizing that she was indeed holding the blanket so tightly that her knuckles were white. The laughter caused her torso to move, jostling her shoulder and sending fresh pain through her body. She sucked in a sharp breath, and exhaled slowly, trying to keep from wincing. "I am fine. Please, just let me be alone for a while."

He saw that her laugher had caused her pain, and he pried the blanket away from her fingers. He pulled it back, and looked at her body for any visible injuries.

"See? Two arms and two legs." Her own weakness frustrated her, and she looked up at him miserably. "You had better go wash your hands before you get the bubonic plague, smallpox, cholera, or the Spanish flu."

"She means swine flu," Corallyn corrected, sticking her head into the door. "Smallpox was cured like fifty years ago, Zuri! Even I know that."

"I had forgotten," she said tiredly, "but they still have bubonic plague, right?"

"I think so!" Corallyn chirped.

"Okay, good. It might be that one, then." Aazuria groaned, turning to lie on her good shoulder. Her movements were uncomfortable and awkward. She had been running a temperature which caused her whole body to ache.

Trevain had observed the strange way she moved, and he saw the angular protrusion of her shoulder and hip through her nightgown. "You've lost weight," he accused with concern. She had been slender to begin with. "I need to call a doctor."

"No!" Aazuria protested. "Please. I have a doctor, and she said I would be fine. She also said I should be temporarily quarantined."

"Is there anything at all I can do for you?" he asked, growing more upset by the minute. It bothered him to not know what was wrong. "Can I get you any medication or..."

"I just need to be alone. I do not want you to see me when I am unwell," she said dejectedly. "Forgive me for being reclusive."

"You know... you're denying me the opportunity to take care of you when you're ill. I'd like for that to be my job."

Aazuria sighed, and looked at the ceiling with vacant eyes. "I just need time."

"There has been a lot of death in my life lately, Aazuria. I'm not strong enough to deal with another. You had better not dare..."

"I can assure you that hell is not on my itinerary."

Trevain leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Come to me when you're feeling better," he told her. "I miss you like mad."

Now, she lay in bed, staring up at the same ceiling she had been looking at for weeks. It had been a while since Trevain had broken down her door, and she wondered if she was feeling better. She had long since memorized every inch of stucco and had come to the conclusion that stucco was not very interesting; neither did it hold the secrets of the universe. She had stared at the dancing shadows around the corners of the curtains until she started to attribute characters and personalities to them. Every corner of the small room had been cemented in her brain.

When the wound had closed up, and Aazuria was positive there was no risk of infection, she had begun to move about the room and do gentle exercises. She had dismissed Corallyn and Elandria from guarding her, and she had begun to take baths on her own. She wore only extremely conservative clothing with turtlenecks and long sleeves in case Trevain ever happened to see her. She kept the curtains open, and stretched and massaged her arm and shoulder while sitting in the starlight. She knew that the bones and muscles needed more time to heal, but she could not help trying to push herself every day until she could do nothing but lie in bed writhing in pain. She frequently swallowed the maximum dose of Mr. Fiskel's prescription painkillers. Even more frequently, she exceeded the maximum dose.

Aazuria knew that if she had been in Adlivun's infirmary her injury would have already been completely healed. The rejuvenating hot springs suffused the body with all kinds of nourishing minerals while the heat improved circulation. She often felt like a complete invalid on land even when she was healthy; she was not used to having so much pressure on her legs and such a lack of buoyancy. Now the feeling of feebleness was increased fiftyfold.

Worse than the frailty was the loneliness. Aazuria could sometimes hear Trevain's footsteps as he passed by her room. Her hearing was not special like her eyesight or lungs, but she could easily discern his heavier stride in comparison to others in the house. She wanted to go to him, but she was afraid that he would somehow find out about her shoulder. She was afraid he would touch her in some casual way, and she would flinch, and he would know. Part of her liked to ask: So what if he knew? He saved my life that night. He let me kiss him even when he thought I was a stranger. Does he not deserve to know? Another part of her would always find ways to negatively answer these questions and counter every argument until she was deflated and dissuaded from telling him, or even being around him.

Aazuria now sighed. She could see the bottom half of the crescent moon from where she lay. The winter sky was incredibly clear. Sea-dwellers often named their children after stars and constellations. Orion the hunter shone brightly right outside her window, forever chasing the Pleiades. Was there any more inspiring constellation? It was over, she suddenly decided. She was releasing herself from her own mental penitentiary. She was going to stop hiding, and she was going to stop using her injury as an excuse to seclude herself like a leper or criminal in solitary confinement. Life was short—even shorter here on land, and she would not waste any more days.

She raised herself off the bed, carefully using her good arm to support herself until she was in a seated position. She tossed her legs off the side of the bed, and straightened herself until she was standing, dissolving the ninety-degree angle between her knees and calves. She swayed on her feet for a second. Grasping the furniture, she carefully walked over to the dresser mirror. She pulled her nightgown away from her shoulder and studied it in the dark reflection.

The puncture wound was not that visible. It was also not that bumpy and discernible to the touch. The only damage remained deep underneath the skin, where no one else could notice. No one else could feel it but her. As long as she pretended that the injury was not there at all, no one else would ever know that it had been inflicted.

Trevain would never know. She smiled at herself in the mirror with determination as she pressed on the wound with her thumb, and practiced maintaining the calm smile on her face and showing no outward expression of pain. She was successful. That was it—it was over, and she was healed. The decision had been made, and the documents had been stamped.

She opened her door (the broken door had been fixed shortly after it lost the battle with Trevain's shoulder) and walked soundlessly into the hallway, closing it gently behind her. She tried to tiptoe as lightly as possible down the corridor, blushing and hoping that her sisters would not hear her footsteps.

When she reached Trevain's door, she turned the knob and opened it carefully, slipping in with the liquid stealth of a lynx before closing the door behind her. She stood in the room for a minute, silently listening to the sound of his breathing.

After a minute, he sensed her presence and stirred from his slumber. "Aazuria?" he asked drowsily.

"I am feeling better," she said softly.

"Then what are you doing way over there?" he asked with a yawn.

She slowly walked across his hardwood floor, her bare feet making hardly any noise. She slipped into bed with him, and lay on her back, staring up at his ceiling. It was the same position that she was in before, but there was a world of difference—and not just because of the unfamiliar stucco. She could feel the sweet warmth and energy radiating from his large body beside her. She felt such soothing security in his nearness. It was divine just to listen to his tranquil breathing.

Aazuria knew that he was still half-asleep—she did not want to bother him with conversation or cuddling, although she had been starved for both. All that she allowed herself to do was to reach out and gingerly graze her fingers against his hand. His fingers immediately closed around hers, sending waves of heat throughout her body. She closed her eyes, with a blissful smile on her face. That had been all she needed. She was content now.

But his fingers began gently stroking the palm of her hand. They slowly, methodically travelled from the tips of her fingers to her wrist, drawing rivers and waterfalls across the sensitive skin. This kept her from the sleep that she thought she would find. The more he caressed her palm, the more awake she became; her fingers tingled with the sensation, and soon her whole body was buzzing to life. Her eyes opened, and she stared at the foreign stucco with confusion. Something had changed in the way he was touching her. Or had something changed in the way she experienced his touch?

Trevain turned over onto his side so that he was facing her. He draped his hand gently across her stomach. She held her breath as she felt his fingers lightly brush her abdomen through her nightgown. She did not understand why she was suddenly so sensitive to every small administration to her skin. It was not as though she had never been close to him before. His fingers continued to play along her abdomen until they lightly brushed the undersides of her breasts. Little prickles of electricity danced through her flesh, and it was completely unnerving. Her breathing was shallow, and she was sure he could feel the way he was affecting her in the irregular rhythm of her chest's expansions, or in her quickening heartbeat.

She felt that his lips were on her shoulder, and she closed her eyes. Although it was the shoulder that was injured, the idea of his kiss overpowered the idea of her pain. She swallowed, feeling very affected by his attentions. When she felt his breath and his lips on the side of her neck, she could not resist turning her head to face him. She looked at him with a question in her eyes which he immediately answered by capturing her lips.

Aazuria forgot everything once her lips were joined with his. She found herself turning to face him, even though it meant lying on her injured shoulder. She resisted crying out, allowing the pain to mixed in easily with the pleasure—they were two elements of the recipe to a perfectly spiced dish. Their bodies fused together perfectly. They remained there like that, entwined and kissing for an unhurried, leisurely stretch of time. Aazuria did not understand how a sensation could be so relaxing and yet so exhilarating at the same time. The only thing she knew with a similar aspect was the sea.

Trevain kissed her with the temperament of the ocean itself.

He did not seem to know it, as he pulled her leg over his and caressed the underside of her thigh. He did not seem to know his touch tormented her insides, flinging all the calm places into the tumult of a tempest. He did not seem to notice how his closeness subdued all of her strength, and liquefied everything that was frozen and hard in her self-possession. The warmth and demanding pressure of his lips against hers destroyed her cool composure. She had seen this power in his eyes the very first time she had beheld him, but she had not understood exactly what it meant.

Aazuria suddenly did not know herself. She did not know this frantic, desperate woman who was governed by bodily pleasure. She could feel his male hardness pressing against her, and it thrilled her to imagine that he felt the same way that she did. Could he? Was it possible? This was the most pleasurable thing she had ever felt. She wanted the sensations to continue forever, and she wanted more. She stared into Trevain's jade eyes, which always seemed more compelling in the dark.

"Make love to me," she pleaded. There had never been such a fine line between begging and ordering for Aazuria; she was not sure whether the words leaving her lips embodied a request or a command. She played it over in her mind, and she still could not decide. Luckily, she was far past the point of caring in the least. She felt so possessed that she might even beg if it was necessary.

He was in a state of similar need and urgency, but still just barely able to think clearly. "Have you ever done this before?" he asked her.

"No," she answered. "Have you?"

He laughed a deep throaty laugh. "You always forget that I'm almost fifty years old."

She did not know what this meant, but she assumed it attested to his great experience. She wondered why land-dwellers placed so much significance on age.

"There could be consequences," he told her. "I don't want you to regret..."

"Regret!" she repeated incredulously. She clutched his hand decisively. "I may live one more day. I may live a hundred, or a hundred thousand more days. But I will never once regret being with you tonight."

He returned the pressure of her hand, almost as if silently praying that she meant these words. "Zuri," he said in a suddenly serious tone. "Many people do these intimate things with each other and then they become strangers. I don't want that to happen between us, okay? I can't... I can't deal with that."

She nodded, surprised at hearing the emotion in his voice. "I will never be a stranger to you." She wondered who had hurt him so deeply in the past to make him so guarded. She hoped she would someday hear all of his stories. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his again.

Trevain was the first man she had met in six hundred years with whom she truly wanted to be. She did not give her heart or body away as effortlessly as he seemed to think; neither did she intend on trampling his. Her father had left a string of broken hearts behind him wherever he went, and she did not want to do the same. She knew there were repercussions to every action, and if she hurt Trevain he could someday end up being far more dangerous than Atargatis.

"If you knew everything about me," she whispered against his mouth, "you would not think this was such an easy decision."

"I want to know everything about you," he said, pressing his forehead against hers. "I know your past may be hard to face right now, and I'm not asking you to share it... but I do need something from you."

"Me too. I need you," she said softly, crushing her body against his imploringly.

He held her firmly an inch away, and looked down at her with resolve. "On one condition, Aazuria."

"Anything."

"If you want to do this with me—you must agree to marry me. I am not young anymore. My heart is not strong enough to bear losing you. It would kill me. I have already lost too much."

She stroked his grey hair tenderly. She looked into his melancholy green eyes. Her own heart broke to see what sadness he felt underneath the strong, successful man that he seemed to be on the surface.

"My time for playing games is over," he said. "I can't do this unless you give me your word."

Aazuria considered this carefully for a moment. She thought of Adlivun. She felt herself torn down the middle, divided by her love for her kingdom and her love for the man before her. She could not have both at the same time. "I could be called away at any time to attend to my other duties. If that happens I will have to go... I may have to leave for periods of time without notice. Would that be acceptable?"

"Aazuria, small things like obligations and duties shouldn't present any challenge to love. I want to be with you because I have come to care for you, and there is nothing you can do or tell me that will change that." He propped himself up on his elbow as he looked at her fixedly in the darkness. "If you believe you can love me regardless of any job or responsibility you have, regardless of how much of your time is tied up in doing other things, regardless of where in the world your life takes you and how far away from me you might be at the time—regardless of how many attractive young men throw themselves at your feet and beg for you to disown me, regardless of how miserable I get when I am so old I can no longer walk, regardless of whether I lose my boat and fishing license and get my pants sued off for..."

"Shhhh," she said, putting her fingers on his lips and smiling. "That's easy. I do love you like that. Is that really all you require?"

"Everything else can be figured out with a bit of work."

"Then you have my word," she said to him earnestly. "I will be your wife—on one condition."

"Anything," he echoed.

She smiled. "When the time comes, if the time comes—will you be open to a concept which you currently consider impossible? Will you allow a new idea into your mind, and will you trust me?"

"I will. I have learned my lesson about not trusting you," he answered. "I will listen to you, and I won't waver from now on."

"Good," she said. "Then it's settled. Can we get back to what we were doing?"

He smiled and closed the inch of distance between them, which had felt like much too far. Aazuria realized the importance of the words she had just spoken. In a delayed reaction, she felt a dam break inside of her—excitement and happiness flooded through all of her mental channels, and into the furthest reaches of her soul. She had not realized how badly she had wanted to agree to marry Trevain until she had actually agreed.

His joy seemed to overshadow hers as he covered her face in kisses. "I'm the luckiest man on earth," he whispered as he returned his focus to her mouth. She allowed herself to be wholly swept away in the comfort of his arms.

They made love all night. Her shoulder smarted like a red-hot poker was being stabbed into it repeatedly, but she hardly noticed. Her spirit was busy soaring to skyscraper-height elevations while her body was discovering that it was possible to feel uninhibited on land. She did not feel like she was on land or sea—she felt like she was flying through the air. She was freewheeling through space.

It was utterly worth the pain.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

She woke up in the morning, and found that she was naked. There was dim dawn light streaming in through the blinds. She immediately looked down at her shoulder and had a mild attack of panic upon seeing that the wound was so exposed and conspicuous. Then she remembered that her eyesight was far better than his in the dark. She felt around for her nightgown, and quickly slipped it over her head. The movement woke Trevain and he turned to look at her through half-closed eyes.

"Good morning, Princess," he said lazily. When she only looked at him with surprise, he smiled. "You said it was your nickname, wasn't it? I can see why. It suits you."

She could not resist a small laugh at this, and she leaned over to kiss him. "Good morning, Captain," she teased. When he gave her a funny look, she tousled his hair and said, "It also suits you."

He pulled her against him, burying his face in her dark hair. She snuggled against him, thinking how this was probably the best morning of her life. She wanted every subsequent morning to just as sublime. Aazuria was sure that her sisters, the twins, and all of Adlivun would understand her engagement. It was her decision to make. She would not allow it to change anything.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Trevain said, turning away from her and reaching over to his night stand. She watched as the muscles in his chest and arm rippled with the stretching motion. She wondered how he could ever call himself old. It was ridiculous—he had the body of a twenty year old combined with the humility of a man on his deathbed. In her eyes he was beyond perfect. He picked up an object and turned back to her. "This is for you, Aazuria."

She saw that he was holding out a small ring box. She felt a few ounces of anticipation creep into her neck. After giving the orders for all of her precious heirlooms to be sold; hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of irreplaceable jewels, she felt like she deserved a new treasure. As she took the box from his extended hand, she wondered about what his taste in jewelry was like. She inwardly speculated whether it would be something simple or opulent.

"The style is unusual," he was explaining, "but it was a ring that belonged to my mother. When I visited her in the hospital a few years ago she gave it to me. She told me to give it to the woman I would someday love."

When Aazuria flipped open the lid of the ring box, she had been expecting anything from the daintiest, most unimpressive ring to a gigantic glitzy rock. She had been expecting anything except what was sitting there in the velvet box. Aazuria nearly dropped it in surprise.

On either side of the diamond was a gold trident. Not just any gold trident, but one that Aazuria recognized intimately. Her first thought was that he must have gotten his hands on one of the rings that Visola pawned.

Her head snapped to look at Trevain, and she saw that he was smiling at her. She felt waves of confusion. He had said that the ring belonged to his mother, and she could see that he was being honest. She looked back to the gold patterns.

"Are you sure that this was the ring that belonged to your mother?" she asked. There had surely been some sort of mix-up in his jewelry box.

"Yes," he responded. "She wore it for decades—for as long as I knew her. Why do you ask?"

Aazuria stared at him in speechless disbelief. "Ramaris," she finally managed to whisper. "This is the Ramaris seal."

"How do you know that name?" he asked her with amazement. "My mother's maiden name was Ramaris."

"Oh, sweet Sedna below," she muttered. She had lifted a hand to press it against her chest. "Truly, Trevain?"

"Yes," he said curiously. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Aazuria had risen to her knees and was peering keenly into his face. She had seen his eyes before, but she had never recognized them as Ramaris green! She suddenly understood why she had been drawn to him. She reached out to touch his grey hair, looking for a stray strand of color.

"Hey! What are you doing?" he asked with a chuckle. "I don't have lice."

"What color was your hair when you were a boy?" she demanded.

He grinned. "You know, it's too late to back out of this engagement just because you didn't consider that any potential children of ours might have my glaring old red hair."

"Red!" she shouted, bouncing up to her knees. "Red!"

"Yep. And not just the pale orangey-ginger type. A really vivid hue that looked..."

"Like fire," she breathed. She ran her fingers through the locks lovingly. "I can imagine it so clearly. Why didn't I see it before?"

Trevain squinted, a bit puzzled by her behavior. "What's wrong, Zuri? Don't you like the ring?"

"You have no idea," she said, moving slightly away from him in awe. Pressing her hand against her chest again, she could feel the rapid pounding of her heart. She realized that she was also slightly hyperventilating. "Trevain, it is a magnificent ring. Do you know... do you know what the trident means?" To her, it meant that Trevain must be related to the twins in some way. Whether he was a distant relation or a more direct descendant, Aazuria did not know; but she had a hunch.

"I'm not well-versed on the meaning of symbols in women's jewelry," he admitted with a shrug. "I hope it's something good."

She smiled at his innocence. And of how very much he was innocent! She retrieved the ring and moved to sit beside him. "This particular style of spear is ancient. It is called the unicorn trident—it appears on the Ramaris family crest and coat of arms, and other various emblems..."

"My family has a coat of arms?" Trevain said with a large smile. "That's really neat, I didn't know that."

"The Ramaris family includes some of the bravest warriors who have ever lived," she said slowly, with honesty. She wished she could tell him that her dearest friends were descendants of this lineage. But was he ready to know? Keeping this exciting secret inside made her chest feel like it would burst. "This trident is a symbol of great virtue, power, and victory. There is no insignia I could possibly feel more pride in wearing." As she traced her finger over the intricate tridents—surely the work of Adlivun's goldsmiths—tears came into her eyes.

"Zuri, hey!" he said, putting his arms around her and kissing her temple. "What's wrong?"

"Is it possible for us to visit your mother?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he said with surprise. "I suppose so."

"Please take me to meet her, Trevain," Aazuria said, pulling away from him. She got off the bed, standing up abruptly. "Now." She gazed down at the ring in the velvet box. She had to know who had been its previous owner.

"I am not sure if that is such a good idea," Trevain said, sitting up in the bed. He was puzzled at the thoughtful, disconcerted look on Aazuria's face. "I would love to go and see her, but she is very ill."

Aazuria realized that she should curtail her excitement and refrain from jumping to conclusions. There was no history of mental illness in the Ramaris family, and if his mother was in a psychiatric facility—perhaps she was not a relative. Perhaps she had even stolen the ring, or purchased it herself somewhere. The red hair and green eyes could merely be a coincidence—such traits were common among certain pockets of land-dwellers. She had seen other red-haired and green-eyed individuals in her brief stay on land. But then there was his height—and Callder could breathe underwater! She needed to know.

"Illness or not, she is your mother. You should tell her that you intend to marry me." Aazuria removed the ring from its box and slipped it onto the appropriate finger. She held out her hand and showed it to him. "She should know about this."

Trevain shook his head sadly. "I don't know if she'll even be cognizant enough to understand that."

"Can we please try?" she implored. "I would love to meet her."

He nodded. "I'll set it up. Visiting hours are Tuesday and Thursday afternoons so we'll have to wait until after the weekend." He loved his mother dearly, but it always upset him to see her depressed and deteriorating in the hospital. For Aazuria, he would try to be strong enough to endure it.

Chapter Thirty

"Have you ever considered going blonde?" Trevain asked as he glanced over at her in the passenger seat.

"What? No." Aazuria hastily grabbed a curl to make sure it had not somehow begun to blanch. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was still dark. She wondered if he was thinking about their encounter in the water. "It would look too fake on me; my skin is too dark."

"I think it would look nice," Trevain said, as he turned off the street into the driveway of a building.

"This is the psychiatric hospital?" Aazuria said as she stared up at the rundown old building they were approaching. There were bars on the windows. "It looks so cold."

"It's not my favorite place in the world," Trevain responded sadly. "They don't offer much comfort to the clinically insane."

While Trevain parked his Range Rover, Aazuria found herself looking up at the building curiously. He walked around the car to open the door for her, and she stepped out nervously.

"Do you really believe that your mother is insane?" Aazuria asked.

"She tried to do a few strange things when we were younger," Trevain answered. "They think that she just lost touch with reality. I try not to think about it too much. It hurts so much to be apart from her, even after all this time."

Aazuria slipped her arm around Trevain's as they walked through the door. She unconsciously caressed the engagement ring on her finger. "What did she try to do?" she asked.

"She tried to drown my little brother in the bathtub," Trevain explained. Aazuria paused for a moment, looking at Trevain with horror on her face. "I know," he said, rubbing her arm. "It's ghastly. She had tried to kill herself a while before that, but we weren't sure it was a suicide attempt. Father thought it might have been an accident."

Aazuria took a deep breath and swallowed. "How did she try to kill herself?"

"She had begged my father to bring her aboard one of his fishing trips—it was shortly after Callder was born and she said she was lonely and unhappy. She didn't want to be left at home." Trevain shrugged. "I was a kid back then... maybe six or seven. I don't remember the details, just a sense of panic and fear. Mom had jumped off the deck of the boat into the freezing cold water. We nearly lost her."

"Good Sedna," Aazuria whispered softly as she entered the elevator with Trevain. She found herself moving closer to hug him gently. She buried her face against his chest, afraid of what she was about to learn. Part of her already knew what she would find, but she needed confirmation. It was too unbelievable.

The elevator doors opened, and Trevain guided Aazuria to a nurse's desk. "I'm here to see my mother, Alice Murphy."

"Go right ahead, sir."

Aazuria did not realize how nervous she was until she noticed that her hands were shaking. Before she was conscious that she was moving, she found herself standing before a door with the number 201 on it. Trevain was opening the door for her. She mechanically entered the room, allowing her eyes to fall upon the small elderly creature staring through the barred window, surrounded by bright white walls and white linens. Aazuria exhaled a breath which she had not realized she had been holding since the elevator. She did not know this woman. It seemed that Alice Murphy was just a normal, mentally unstable old lady after all.

There was no way that that tiny, shrunken woman huddled on the bed had the blood of the Ramaris line in her. Aazuria knew that she had been silly for thinking it—it had been a hopeful whim. Visola and Sionna's ancestors had lived amongst the Vikings, and the Nordic seas had been their playground. It was loosely possible that Trevain's deceased sailor father had been a Ramaris descendant, and had given the ring to his wife. More likely, it had been purchased in the same way that most of Adlivun's royal fortune was now up for sale in various Alaskan pawn shops.

"Mother, I've come to visit you. It's me, Trevain..."

The woman's head turned to face them, and Aazuria inhaled sharply. Heat spread through her neck, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood upright. She stared in shock for a moment at the aged woman's sunken features. The glass-colored transparent tendrils which framed her oval-shaped face in tired wisps. The high cheekbones, the defiant green eyes.

Aazuria's memory rapidly matched pieces of an ancient puzzle together.

"Alcyone!" she gasped, running forward and flinging herself down upon the woman's breast. She clutched the frail old woman tightly, sobbing.

The old woman stared down at her visitor in wonder. "Aazuria," she whispered. Her voice shook with age and emotion, but was weighted with dignity and eloquence. She picked up strands of Aazuria's hair between her fingers and stared at them in confusion. "It cannot be you. I must be hallucinating; you're just a divine mirage in this sterile desert."

"I am real. I am here." Aazuria could not stop weeping. She hugged the old woman tightly, as though she were embracing her own lost mother. It was several minutes before she could speak. "Alcyone! I never thought I would see you again—and to find you like this! Sweet Sedna, there is nothing wrong with you. How could you allow them to keep you in this place?"

Trevain watched this exchange with amazement as the two women displayed recognition for each other. For a moment he had felt defensive, as if the young and vigorous Aazuria was going to attack his old feeble mother. When instead, they conversed like old friends, and his mother erupted in tears and struggled to put her shaking hands around his fiancée, he began to feel clueless and confused.

"My mother's name is Alice," was his feeble contribution—a half-hearted objection that changed into an admission of ignorance on its way out of his mouth. He could plainly see that Aazuria somehow knew his mother better than he did. He could see it, but he could not understand it. He had been extremely close to his mother for his entire life, and he had never heard mention of Aazuria.

"Princess Aazuria!" breathed Alcyone, crying and touching her long-lost friend to be certain she was real. "Please tell me you have come to rescue me. How have you found me?"

Aazuria smiled through her own tears, forgetting, or choosing not to care that Trevain was in the room. "Accidents and coincidences have led me to you. I recently had to leave Adlivun..."

"Oh, but look at you darling," said Alcyone, raising her trembling arthritic hand to Aazuria's face. "You are just as lovely as ever. You have aged hardly a year or two since I last saw you—and look at me. A haggard useless crone!"

"No! No, your eyes are as piercing as the day I bid you farewell," Aazuria said, touching the woman's wrinkled cheek. "Such bright emerald green... they are exactly like your mother's eyes. Oh, Alcie! Your mother is going to have a coronary. I have to call her right away. Do you know how heartbroken Visola was when she lost you? You were her whole world."

"Oh, heavens," said Alcyone, bringing both of her hands to her cheeks as her eyes brimmed with fresh tears. "My mother is here? I've missed her every single day of this wasted lifetime. I need to see her as soon as possible! Oh, but what will she think of me? I look so ancient and decrepit..."

"She will thank the stars that she was reunited with you—and maybe she will stop being so grouchy all the time," Aazuria said with a smile.

"I have a living grandmother?" Trevain asked in confusion.

Both women swiveled their heads to look at him then. Alcyone was the first to speak. "Forgive my manners! Trevain, my boy, it's good to see you. Come give your mother a hug. How did you come to meet Aazuria? I'm sure it's an interesting story."

He had been moving forward to embrace her, but he paused, not wishing to tell his mother that he had been in a strip club, regardless of the fact that he was a grown man. He had contrived many possible stories, but now that it turned out Aazuria and his mother were old friends, the situation was further complicated.

Aazuria laughed, and held up her hand to show Alcyone the ring. "We are in love. We are engaged to be married."

"What!" Alcyone shrieked. An enormous smile instantly transformed her features and she shook her head in disbelief. "Married? Married!" she exclaimed with an incredulous look. She began to giggle at the prospect. "My boy is engaged to the princess of Adlivun! Imagine that... but wait. Where will you live? Here on land, or underwater?"

Aazuria and Trevain looked at each other. It was a tense shared look of unease and unfamiliarity. She was concerned about her secrets being revealed. He was concerned about his mother embarrassing him with her crazy talk.

"Sorry, Zuri," he began, "my mother thinks..."

"My goodness," Alcyone suddenly said. "What of your father, Aazuria? How is it that..."

"Shhh, it is all okay," said Aazuria, stroking the old woman's hand. The skin covering Alcyone's bones was paper thin. "We took care of it. He's dead."

"Dead?" she asked, blinking. Then she threw her head back and allowed a burst of laughter to surge forth from her throat. "Dead! Kyrosed Vellamo is dead! Those are the most beautiful words I have heard in decades."

Trevain stiffened. He remembered the name spoken by the angry blonde woman in the water. The people who had killed Callder, Arnav, and probably Leander, had spoken the name of this man who was apparently Aazuria's father. He began to try to assemble his own puzzle within his mind to figure out exactly what was going on. He knew that he must finally admit that one bizarre thing was indisputable; too many people had called Aazuria "princess" and in too formal a manner of address for it to be a childhood nickname.

Perhaps his mother had not lost touch with reality as much as he had been led to believe.

"So of course you will live in Adlivun!" Alcyone said, clasping her hands together and sighing happily. "We will have a traditional sea-dweller wedding, and there shall be thousands in attendance. There will be an aisle of icebergs! You two will reign as King and Queen over a new golden age and give me many adorable grandchildren!"

"Alcie... I do not believe we will be living in Adlivun," Aazuria said softly, as she glanced nervously at Trevain. His arms were crossed, and there was an expression of bafflement and displeasure on his face.

"Why not?" Alcyone asked, her smile instantly disappearing and her disposition diminishing. "You mean—you intend to live here on land? Here, Aazuria, in this awful place?" The old woman raised her finger and pointed at both of them angrily. "No—I won't allow that! You can't marry my son. I forbid it."

"Why?" Aazuria asked in surprise.

"Darling, look at me: I'm dying!" Alcyone shouted. A chill ran through Aazuria, for she could see Visola's passion mirrored clearly in the woman when she was angry. "I'm practically a corpse! I am hundreds of years younger than you are, and look at me! It is too much to sacrifice. I will not have you forfeit your youth!"

"I am not immortal, Alcie. I will age and die eventually too. It happens to all of us, just at different rates."

"Aazuria—you think you understand, but you do not. The incapacitating pain, the endless agony, the humiliating weakness of old age; it is not worth it! No man—forgive me for being callous, but not even my gallant eldest son is worth surrendering yourself for."

"But I love him," Aazuria said softly, staring into her friend's viridian eyes. "I want to spend my life with Trevain, and this is his world."

"Sedna preserve me! This world is not yours," Alcyone said firmly. "It never will be. Take it from someone who has gone down that road: I loved a man, and I bore him children... and look where I ended up! Look what they did to me, and how they repaid me for my sacrifice! If only I could go back in time to that day when I 'escaped' Adlivun, I swear to you—I would just turn around and swim back home to you and my mother."

There was a silence in the room after she said that. Aazuria closed her eyes, imagining the suffering that her friend had experienced. She could not even handle a few weeks cooped up in a comfortable room with her injury; she had no clue how Alcyone had lived through years of stark confinement. At least in Adlivun they had all been confined together—they had been able to move around the palace, and had experienced a sense of basic freedom. Sixty years ago, they had thought they were offering Alcyone a chance at a better life, and instead they had thrust her into an inferior dystopia.

"Aazuria, you are a princess—oops, my apologies—I'm a bit behind on the current affairs," Alcyone said with a bit of a giggle. "You are the Queen of an extraordinary, noble race. You cannot forsake your people to live on the land with Trevain."

"I will never forsake them altogether..."

"I love my children, Aazuria, but I never see them. All I see are these white walls, day after day. Most of the time I close my eyes and fantasize about what life was like when I was a child. I yearn for Adlivun more than I ever believed anyone could yearn for any place." She was overwhelmed with nostalgia. "Oh, Aazuria! I miss my old life. I miss my mother. I miss my auntie Sio. I miss you and Elandria. I miss Coral—Coral was my best friend. How is she? Please don't tell me she looks exactly the same as the last time I saw her. What will she want to do with an old woman like me?" Alcyone put her head in her hands.

Aazuria put her arms around the old woman, hugging her gently. "Coral loves you to death, Alcie. You two grew up together; you did everything together! A friendship like yours could never be destroyed by a few wrinkles, silly. Coral will be horribly jealous of the dangerous adventures you have had while she was cooped up in the castle with us."

"Corallyn... is my mother's childhood friend?" Trevain asked, swallowing. "The same little Corallyn that lives in my house?" It did not make any sense to him, and yet it made perfect sense. He thought of all the times he had looked into the young girl's eyes and heard her speak, and had gotten the impression that it was not the soul of a nine-year-old in that tiny body.

Aazuria gave him a small sympathetic smile before turning back to Alcyone. She spoke in an authoritative tone. "We will take you back home at once. Once you are in Adlivun your health will be restored and your lifespan will be extended by dozens, perhaps hundreds of years. Your spirits will be lifted to be amongst those who love you and those whom you love. Visola will set everything right again."

"I would wish nothing more than to go home to my family," the old woman said mournfully, "but they won't let me leave this place. Every step I make is monitored."

"You are really trapped here?" Aazuria asked with a deep frown.

"I wasted forty years of my life rotting and rapidly aging in this hellhole. I'm a 'danger to myself and others' apparently, so I need to be kept under lockdown." Alcyone made air quotes with her wrinkled fingers. "What an enviable existence!"

Aazuria rubbed her temples to soothe her growing anger. "No. No. We smuggled you out of one prison and directly into another!"

"Chin up, sweetie," said Alcyone, reaching for Aazuria's hand. "The few years in between my two incarcerations were quite lovely."

"Were they worth it?"

"No. If I'd been able to see my two sons grow up into strong young men, it all would have been worth it, but..."

"About Callder..." Trevain interrupted carefully.

"Not now," Aazuria said sharply, raising a hand to silence him. She did not feel it was necessary to tell Alcyone of Callder's injury unless he completely succumbed to his wound.

"Aazuria, my children were taken from me! They were turned against me. I think I was fated to understand the pain my mother went through when she lost me."

"She was out of her mind," Aazuria said tenderly. "She never fully recovered."

"It is the Ramaris family curse," Alcyone said sorrowfully, "to lose our children and miss most of their lives." She looked across the room at Trevain. "At least my mother knows I had no other choice but to run."

"Mom..." Trevain began, hurt by her truthful accusation. "I didn't know..."

"You didn't know that I was a fugitive sea-dweller displaced to land?" Alcyone asked sharply. "You didn't know that I could breathe underwater just as Aazuria can? I told you everything, Trevain. My good, smart boy! I told you my memoirs when you were a baby and you thought they were magical fairytales. I read you countless volumes I had collected for my personal library. I told the stories again when you were older, and you believed I was schizophrenic."

He stood in dazed silence as everything came together in his mind. The accent. Aazuria's accent which he had detected when he first met her was the same accent in his mother's voice. She looks like she's eighteen but talks like she's eighty. The familiar kiss of the white-haired woman in the water who looked nothing like Aazuria and yet everything like her. I am a fucking mermaid. His legs and the swimming pool. I am one of the fastest swimmers in the world. Her mysterious disappearance for weeks to an unknown destination, leaving no address and taking no luggage. I have been on many boats; so many kinds of boats that I cannot remember all of their names.

He gazed at her as though seeing her for the first time. It is rooted deep in your bones; the water calls out to you until it causes you physical pain unless you come to it.

"He did not know, Alcie," Aazuria said softly as she watched the realization dance across Trevain's face.

"Oh, God. You mean he didn't know that you were..." Alcyone was frantic. "I thought that since you were marrying him... Aazuria, my dear! How could you not tell him?"

Aazuria had been looking at Trevain with fear in her eyes. "I thought that he would find me to be crazy. I think I was right," she whispered.

"Mrs. Murphy!" called out a fat nurse who entered the room. "Time for your medication, dearie. Oh, I see you have visitors! Well, they're going to have to leave before you get too excited! We wouldn't want you to get overexcited now, would we?"

"God forbid," Alcyone said sarcastically. "The grotesquely bland white walls of this room are already too much excitement for me to handle. They don't glisten quite like your ice castle, do they Aazuria?"

"She's always been the funny one. I think a double dosage is in order today since she's on about that ice kingdom again. Out, out you two!" said the nurse, ushering Trevain and Aazuria out of the room.

Before Aazuria allowed the heavyset nurse to bowl her over, she exchanged rapid hand signals with Alcyone. A brilliant smile illuminated every crease of the old woman's face, and she responded in sign language, while nodding vigorously.

Aazuria smiled too, and continued signing until the nurse had pushed them out of the room and shut the door between them. Aazuria leaned on the door, thinking about what a strange thing fate was. She thought about all the coincidences that had led to her being here, and she thought of the smile on Visola's face when she would first see her daughter again. It was all she could do to keep from getting teary-eyed again.

"What did you say to her?" Trevain demanded. What he imagined he saw her sign was something along the lines of, "if she knew... burn this place down... rip it apart." But he was sure that he had misread their hand signals. He did not think that his kind Aazuria would ever—but then he did not know her very well after all.

The angry sound of his voice snapped her out of her dreamlike state. She straightened, and erased the smile from her face. She thought about the fact that Alcyone was being given medication at that very moment because she missed her home. She thought of how cruel the land had been to her friend.

"I do not wish to speak about it," she answered.

"That's my mother in there—my sick, elderly mother. I have a bad feeling that you're going to..."

"Sick?" Aazuria snapped, in the most vicious tone she had ever used with him. Then, realizing how she sounded, she brought a hand to her head and exhaled. "I am sorry. Trevain, let us not talk about this right now. I am upset and I fear I might lose my temper."

"Whatever," he responded indignantly, turning his back on her and heading for the elevator. "You're the princess."

Hearing the hatred in his tone turned her stomach over. She feared that she had lost him with all of her lies. But that was hardly her greatest concern at the moment; she had found Alcyone Ramaris.

Chapter Thirty-One

Trevain and Aazuria had driven the entire way home from the psychiatric hospital in silence. He occasionally shook his head in disbelief and sighed. She noticed this motion out of the corner of her eye, although she chose to keep her posture erect and regal.

She was angry.

The more she thought about it, the more she felt nauseous. He had kept his mother locked up in a tiny room for his entire life because he thought she was insane. All the books about mermaid lore in his library had belonged to Alcyone—it all made sense now. She had been trying to educate him, and share this essential part of her heritage, but he had been unwilling to listen. If he would not listen to years of his mother's teaching, what made her imagine that he would ever grow to accept her for what she was?

Aazuria gazed at the sea as they drove along the street to his house. Every time her thoughts drifted to the mess between her and the man driving the Range Rover, she quickly steered her focus back to Alcyone. She needed to take action. Looking forward, Aazuria managed to observe Trevain's motions out of the corner of her eye. She observed the way his hands moved rigidly and jerkily on the steering wheel. She observed the way his foot alternatingly slammed down on the two pedals. He was evidently angry too.

She jumped a little when he finally stopped the car and slammed the gear shift forward to put the car into "Park." Aazuria eyed his massive fist, clenched tightly around the head of the shifter. His veins were bulging, and each sinew was taut. Despite the latent aggression apparent in the situation, she could not help thinking about how attractive his hands were. She pushed the thought away and watched him turn the keys and rip them out of the ignition.

He waited until they had entered the house before he said what was on his mind. "You expect me to believe that you are a fucking mermaid!" His voice boomed throughout the house.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I said those precise words months ago and you failed to believe me."

"God, Aazuria. Do you seriously think... An underwater kingdom! A mermaid!"

"What is so surprising about this?" she asked impertinently.

"How about the fact that I can't comprehend such things exist at all!"

"And whose fault is that?" she asked. "We learned today that even after being presented with literature on the subject for years—carefully educated by a highborn sea-dweller, you still failed to believe or understand. What could I have done?"

"How about telling me the truth about what's been happening in the water! If you had told me exactly why you didn't want me to go to work that day—maybe a man wouldn't have died!"

"Would you have listened? I said everything I could to make you hear me, Trevain! Every time I have mentioned Adlivun you laughed at me. So I followed you to try and keep you safe, and I nearly died because of your insubordination!"

"Wow! Well, excuse me, your majesty, for not obeying the commands of your royal highness." He bowed mockingly, infuriating her immensely. "I would have acted differently if I knew you were the fucking queen of mermaids."

"That is not the technical term," she informed him in a deprecating tone.

"Do you want a euphemism?" he asked. "Should I call you terrestrially-challenged?"

"This isn't a disability," Aazuria whispered through clenched teeth. "It's a blessing. We are aquatically-gifted. I am a human being! I may come from a different country, but that does not give you the right to be so disrespectful."

"Your people are the reason that three of my men are dead!" Trevain shouted.

"Those were not my people! Those were auxiliary enemy forces."

"You expect me to just take that at face value? Not only are you the queen of some imaginary kingdom that no one has ever heard of—but you're at war with some sort of enemy. Forgive me if I'm having some difficulty processing this information; you haven't been very honest with me up until this point."

"Good Sedna, you said you would trust me!" she shouted. "This is... oh, it is impossible! I cannot take this."

"Okay, let's cool down. We've never had a fight before." Trevain moved over to the console table which was kept stocked with fresh flowers. He pressed his hand against the marble surface and stared at the blossoms in order to calm himself. "We need to talk about this."

"You are damned right about that," she retorted, "but sometimes one must act first and talk later." She turned around and left the room rapidly, heading upstairs.

"Do not walk away from me, Aazuria!" he yelled after her.

Corallyn and Elandria were already out in the hallway, having heard the raised voices. "What's going on?" Corallyn whispered. "Why are you fighting?"

"Come with me," Aazuria told them, heading directly to her room. They complied, following until she sat down on the chair before her vanity table. "Elandria, please braid my hair. Corallyn, pack our things. Just the necessities."

Both girls immediately started doing what she had asked. Aazuria stared at her reflection in the mirror as Elandria gathered her long hair together and began expertly braiding it. In the past she would have adorned Aazuria's braid with strings of pearls, or ribbons, but she could intuitively tell that this was meant to be a practical hairstyle, not a decorative one.

"Corallyn, I need to know the number to call Visola. Immediately."

"May I ask what's going on, Zuri? One minute you're happily engaged, then we're packing our bags?"

Aazuria took a deep breath. "Alcyone is his mother."

Elandria paused in the middle of the crossing two ropes of hair. She looked into the mirror to gauge Aazuria's state of mind from her expression, and grew alarmed by what she saw. Corallyn's hands lingered inside an opened drawer.

"He kept her locked up in a psychiatric facility for forty years," she added, trying to control her rage. "I am going to break her out. Tonight."

"Holy shit," said Corallyn blankly. "Little Alcie? My best bud, Alcie? She's Trevain's mother? She grew up and had babies and I still don't even have boobs?"

"Pack our things, Corallyn. And please call us a cab."

"Are you leaving, Aazuria?" Trevain asked from the door, frowning. "Where are you going?"

"Home," she answered, as Elandria continued to braid her hair.

"We cannot go home, Zuri!" Corallyn argued. "It's far too dangerous with Atargatis..." Corallyn realized that she was saying too much and closed her lips tightly.

"Atargatis," Trevain repeated. "She's the woman I punched in the face. Is she... a big problem?"

Corallyn turned to look at him, and decided that if her Aazuria's safety depended on it, she would disobey her sister. If Alcyone was Trevain's mother, then surely he was one of them—he should know the truth about everything. She thought about her own mother and her small hands clenched into fists.

"Atargatis wounded Zuri so badly she couldn't get out of bed for weeks," Corallyn said, almost on the verge of tears. "We can't go home now. Please stop her, Trevain... she's hardly in any condition to swim— how can she possibly fight?"

"Then we will go to Visola's motel. Visola will protect me," Aazuria said, standing up. Her hair had been braided, and she was ready to help Alcyone escape. "Corallyn, Elandria, gather your things!"

"A motel, Aazuria? Do you hate me so much?" Trevain asked angrily.

"I think you need to calm down and talk this out with him," Elandria signed. "The situation with his mother sounds awful, but perhaps it was just a misunderstanding. You know that he would never intentionally..."

"You did not see her, Elandria! She was so unhappy! She was so alone!" Aazuria glared at Trevain and switched to sign language. "How is what he did to Alcie any different from what father did to us? I would rather die than leave her like that."

"I agree with you, Zuri," Corallyn began, "but..."

"But? But?" Aazuria snapped. "Fine. You two can stay here. I have a responsibility to take care of my people—anyone who was born in Adlivun is a citizen of my country, and they may not be held against their will in any other dominion. I have to attend to the well-being of one of my subjects—and even if I were not the leader of Adlivun, I would have a responsibility to do so as a human being."

Aazuria left the room, walking past Trevain without giving him a second look. There was war on her face. "Zuri," he said, following her. "Please stop and tell me what you're going to do. Please don't be reckless. Talk to me; don't just rush off..."

She continued through the corridor and down the stairs, heading for the door. Trevain began to feel frantic as he followed her. He had never seen her this angry. Also, having met Atargatis, he did not like the thought that Aazuria might be in danger. Corallyn had asked him to stop her.

"Aazuria, you can't just leave... you gave me your word that we would be married. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

She did turn to look at him then. She was upset, but she still loved him and believed that this storm would pass. "We will talk when I return. I have to go." Her voice was soft yet resolute. "I'm sorry."

When her hand turned the doorknob and the door began to open, Trevain began to feel sick with worry and loss. He could not lose her! "Please don't go," he pleaded desperately. When one of her feet had stepped over the threshold, he felt as though barbed wire had been ripped across his insides. He opened his mouth to beg, but instead found himself threatening: "If you leave this house, don't you ever think of coming back!"

Aazuria froze. When she slowly turned her chin toward him, he could see how much his words had hurt her. "You said you would never restrict my freedom," she whispered. She swallowed back the bitter aftertaste in her mouth, knowing that she had made a grave error in judgment. The new life she had begun to build was already in ruins. Her chin rose proudly. "Fine then. Do you think I have no dignity? I will do as you wish. I will never return." She placed her second foot on the other side of the threshold.

He panicked and reached out to grab her arm. It just so happened to be the arm attached to the shoulder which had been pierced with the javelin. She cried out and clutched her shoulder in pain. He realized in an instant what Corallyn had meant about the injury that had kept her in bed for weeks. Was it possible that she really was the white-haired woman in the water? They looked so different. Could she have been wearing a wig of sorts?

She was gathering her composure after the bout of pain, and she glared at him. "I cannot believe you just grabbed me!"

"God, Aazuria! You're badly injured. Get back in this house right now. You are not going anywhere! I can't let you put yourself in danger. Why didn't you tell me about your shoulder?"

"Leave me alone, Trevain." She began to walk away, blinking away tears of pain that were not from the physical injury. She knew she could not allow the emotions from fighting with him to distract her from what was important. She needed to help Alcyone.

"Come back in here right now!" he shouted desperately. "I won't let you risk yourself. Come back or I—I will make you!"

Her eyebrows furrowed as she instantly pivoted. "Then make me," she said with a challenge in her voice. She walked up to him, putting her face very close to his and giving him a defiant stare. The barrier of the doorway was directly between them, and Aazuria seemed to be giving him a chance to carry out his threat. Before he realized what was happening, she had deftly taken his car keys from his pocket and had punched him in the face with her good arm.

Trevain found himself thrown roughly to the ground, back into his house. He lifted a hand to his smarting jaw, pressing his tongue against his teeth to check if they were loose. Seeing blood on his hand, he looked up at his fiancée in shock. Standing just outside the doorway, Aazuria gazed down at him with condescension.

"How dare you try and control me this way?" Her voice was laced with venom. "You said that if I came to stay with you I would be able to go where I wished. But now you seek to keep me confined, just like you kept Alcyone in that small white room—and you call me dishonest! Who is the liar among us, Trevain? You knew that all I needed was freedom—you promised me safety and said you loved me. That was all a lie. You are just like my father!" With that she left and slammed the door behind her.

"Aazuria," he said weakly, looking at the closed door. He felt like he had been robbed of air, and struggled to breathe. He felt like all of the blood had been instantly drained from his body, leaving him empty of warmth and life. "I was just a boy," he whispered. "I was twelve years old when she was taken. The doctors said she was... I didn't know. I just didn't know." He tried to lift himself off the ground, but he was too weak to stand. Falling back to the cold marble floor of his foyer, Trevain put his head in his hands. "I still don't know."

The last thing he had ever wanted to do was remind her of her father. He felt a soft, warm touch, and he realized that Elandria was kneeling beside him and embracing him. He leaned against her chest and cried. Clumsily putting his arms around her small body, he clung to her for sanity. Trevain was windswept and overturned, but Elandria was a solid anchor in the tempest. He cried for the lost years with his mother, and he cried for the fact that he was sure he would never see Aazuria again. He did not know why he had threatened her so rashly with inane ultimatums.

Chapter Thirty-Two

"Will she remember me?" Alcyone asked.

"If you have to ask that, then you have forgotten her," Aazuria said gently. The princess was dressed in plain hospital scrubs, while Alcyone wore several layers of sweaters to protect her against the cold night air. Aazuria protectively held an arm around Alcyone's frail body as she helped her to the door of Visola's motel room. "Are you ready to do this?"

The elderly woman nodded, unable to speak. She tightly gripped Aazuria's hand, betraying her apprehension. Giving her a reassuring smile, Aazuria reached forward to rap her knuckles against the door. She winced, discovering that her hand was still quite sore from its earlier encounter with Trevain's face.

A shuffling was heard in the motel room before a light switched on. They could hear someone approaching to answer the knock, and Alcyone's grip tightened.

"What's the password?" asked a sleepy but playful voice from behind the door. Aazuria and Alcyone shared a confused glance.

"It is me, Visola," Aazuria said. "Please open the door."

"I'm not letting you in unless you tell me the password."

Speechless in dismay for a moment, Aazuria tried to think of a word or phrase that Visola might favor. She stuttered as she answered, "Uh... octopus testicles?"

The woman on the other side of the door erupted in giggles as she undid the lock and bolt. "I knew I could get you to say something ridiculous, Zuri." Visola grinned as she flung the door wide open. "Why aren't you with your captain at such a late... oh, hello." Seeing that there were two visitors, Visola smiled in surprise. "Zuri, who's your frie..." Her voice descended to an open-mouthed hush.

Visola's face displayed recognition, and she took several steps backwards. There were suitcases littered all over the room, doubtlessly filled with weapons and cash. The warrior stumbled over them, barely regaining her balance. She gawked at the old woman with a mystified expression—she looked as though she was seeing an illusion from deep in a hallucinogenic trance. Her limbs felt paralyzed, her breaths became shallow.

"Viso, you had better sit down," Aazuria recommended. Visola nodded, but she had not heard or processed her friend's words. She was too frozen to follow the simple command. Aazuria brought Alcyone into the room, and closed the door behind her.

"Do you recognize me, mama?" Alcyone asked with a quavering voice. Tears began to slip down her wrinkled cheeks as she watched Visola.

"Sedna save me," Visola whispered, trying to control her emotions. She stared into the visitor's eyes, which were the only unchanged and identifiable part of her appearance. "Little jade jewels. Alcie, baby... is that really you?"

"Yes, mama," Alcyone said, her shoulders and her voice trembling with her sobs.

Visola crossed the room in an instant, wrapping her daughter up in her arms. She pressed her face against Alcyone's cheek, instantly overcome with weeping. She crushed her daughter against her desperately, as though she would never let go of her again. "Alcie. Alcie," she moaned. She had spent countless years hoping that she would see her daughter again. She could scarcely believe that the day had come, and that her fondest dream was being realized—long after she had given up hope.

"I forgot how gorgeous you are, Mama," Alcyone said, although she was crying so hard she could barely breathe. She clung to Visola with every ounce of her might as she wept. "Your hair is still such vivid scarlet! All the beauty faded from mine long ago."

Visola could feel that her daughter was distraught and feeble. She tried to find her own strength. The emotions erupting inside her were overwhelming, and she felt like she was about to collapse—but no; she was a mother again. She had to be strong. She had spent her entire life being strong, and she was not going to fall apart now. She gently guided Alcyone over to the bed to sit down, before taking a seat beside her. She placed her hands on her daughter's face and looked at her for a moment. She kissed Alcyone's cheeks and forehead before embracing her again and shutting her eyelids tightly closed.

Aazuria could not keep her own lashes dry as she watched the poignant reunion. She had single-handedly and easily managed to free Alcyone from the psychiatric facility. She had considered telling Visola beforehand to enlist her help, but she knew that the warrior would go into the place with guns blazing, eager to rip the hospital apart. She imagined that Visola would zealously kill every nurse, doctor, and innocent janitor in order to retrieve her daughter, and would make sure all that remained of the place was a pile of ash. To avoid this unnecessary carnage, Aazuria had stolen a nurse's uniform and security badge. She figured that her method would be more discreet and efficient, even if it was not as dramatic.

"How did you find my little girl?" Visola sobbed, looking at Aazuria over her daughter's shoulder. She had spent several minutes squeezing the life out of Alcyone before she remembered that her friend was in the room.

Aazuria swallowed before answering. "Trevain took me to see her. He gave me an engagement ring with the Ramaris seal and... it turns out Alcyone is his mother."

"What!" Visola cried. She let go of Alcyone and recoiled, studying the woman's face. She threw her hands up in the air, flabbergasted. "Are you serious?"

"It's true, Mama," Alcyone said with a small smile. "Trevain is my son."

Visola looked at them both for a minute before she began to laugh. She doubled over in hysterical laughter until she fell off the bed onto the ground.

"It is not quite so funny, Viso," Aazuria said, but she knew that it was.

"Zuri!" Visola said, clutching her stomach as she giggled uncontrollably. "I get it now! You fell in love with that charming bloke because you saw so much of me in him!"

"That's right, Viso," Aazuria said with a sigh, opening her palms in a gesture of surrender. "This whole situation is merely a testament to my clandestine lesbian desires for you."

Visola laughed even harder at that. "I should have known it! He's so strong, brave, and handsome. I should have seen it right off the bat!" She slapped her hand gleefully on one of the suitcases on the floor.

"Are you okay, Mama?" Alcyone asked with concern.

"No!" shrieked Visola, crossing her legs as she sat on the floor. "I just learned that the dude I've been insulting for months is my own grandson! Good Sedna! I called him so many nasty names..."

"Did my mother just say 'dude?'" Alcyone asked, cringing visibly.

"She tries to be cool," Aazuria explained. "Do you remember her fondness for slang? Sadly, that has not changed. Every time we go to land, she immediately finds the sleaziest, seediest hangout for thugs and felons with multiple convictions so she can pick up their lewd language and use it to torture us for a time period resembling eternity."

"But murderers, rapists, and conmen have the most fascinating vocabularies," Visola protested defensively.

Aazuria made a face. "She also likes to invest herself in neologisms so that she can later say that she was saying a word long before the word was officially a word, and long after it was never a word."

"That's right, and Aazuria likes to speak like a dictionary from the 1800s," Visola said glowering at her friend. "Hasn't changed it up since she learned English! It's her supremely royal way to never use contractions because she's so fancy and proper. If only everyone could fit a huge stick up their ass like you, Zuri, the world would be a better place. I've tried, but my bottom is too full of hot air."

Alcyone laughed, clapping her hands. "You two are delightful. How I've missed you bickering and insulting everyone, mama!"

"How I've missed you, baby! You're the only person who has ever appreciated my sense of humor."

"Sedna, I can't believe you're still calling me 'baby' when I look like a wizened old hag," Alcyone said, with a bittersweet smile.

"Oh, sweetie, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on," Visola said earnestly. "We have so much catching up to do—you have to tell me everything that I missed. I can't believe Aazuria is going to marry my grandson!"

"I—I do not think I will," Aazuria said emotionlessly. "We have separated."
"Separated? No, I won't allow it. You said you loved him and thus you must marry him. I can think of a million reasons why you should. One, he's my grandson; two, he totally saved your life, I mean, how heroic is that? Three, he's so tall and dreamy..."

"It is over, Visola." Aazuria held up the keychain. "Look, I even stole his car."

"Do you even know how to drive, Zuri?" Visola raised both red eyebrows.

"I figured it out on the spot. It was not that difficult. How do I give the car back without seeing him?"

"Just give me the keys. I'll take care of it."

"Thanks, Viso," Aazuria said despondently. She tossed the metal ring across the room, and Visola's hand swept the jangling pieces of metal from the air. A sad smile settled on Aazuria's face as she walked over to the second motel bed and collapsed on it. "So this is what a broken heart and punctured shoulder feels like. Rough."

"You two will get back together, dear," Alcyone said. "My son is completely smitten with you—of this I'm sure."

"He was until he learned who I really am. Then he started ordering me around and I snapped and hit him in the face. When did I become a vindictive man-abuser? This is surely your influence on me, Visola. I am so ashamed; he probably hates me."

"If you hit him then he deserved it," Visola said. "Grandson or no grandson, I've always warned you to be careful of men. This is the way they work. They get into your heart—they say or do anything to make you fall in love with them, and then once they're confident that they have you, they start to treat you like shit. At least you didn't sleep with him."

Aazuria did not respond.

"Zuri! Did you..."

"Please. We will speak about this another time. Let us focus on Alcyone's needs right now."

"That's right! My little girl. Is there anything I can get you? Soup or hamburgers or..."

"There is only one thing I need," Alcyone said quietly. "Mama, can you please take me back to Adlivun? I'm sick and tired of being on land! I feel so old and miserable. I want to go home."

Visola raised herself to her knees and touched her daughter's cheek. She examined the familiar face, and studied the woeful emerald eyes peering out from under the wrinkled skin. It was like looking into a mirror which showed the future and the past all at once. Visola felt something inside her ache.

"Whatever you want, baby. If we leave now you could be sleeping in the ice palace tonight."

Alcyone breathed a sigh of relief. "Do you know that they tried to tell me Adlivun wasn't real? I almost believed them."

"I'll prove them wrong," Visola said angrily. "When you're returned under the waves; when you're safely tucked behind ice and stone—then you'll know what's fu... er, fully real."

"Thank you, mama. I knew all would be well once I saw you again."

Visola smiled at her sadly. "Your little boy is in Adlivun, but he's not doing too well. He could probably use a mother's touch right about now."

"Callder?" Alcyone asked with surprise. "Callder's in Adlivun?"

"Yeah. He's hurt real bad. He might not make it."

"Oh, goodness. Please, let's not waste any time."

"Don't worry, Alcie," Visola said, as droplets of determination clouded her vision. "I have an amazing feeling. Now that I have you back, nothing can go wrong ever again."

Chapter Thirty-Three

Since they had arrived in Adlivun, Alcyone had mainly stayed in the infirmary tending to Callder and helping Sionna out with the other wounded. Alcyone was happier and more alive than she had been in decades, even with the threat of impending war. The numbers of the injured had been growing until Sionna had enforced a strict curfew. No one was to venture outside of Adlivun until the threat had been cleared—excepting extenuating circumstances and only if approved by Aazuria herself or one of the twins.

Visola had concentrated all of her efforts on training and preparing Adlivun's army for the worst case scenario. She even enlisted a civilian militia to inflate the numbers of the regular defense force in case they were needed. The volcanic caves of Adlivun extended in miles of labyrinths snaking through the bowels of the Aleutian Islands. It was a natural fortress where an endless supply of food was available to citizens. There were many safe refuges where the elderly, the pregnant, and the ill could stay to avoid any menace that might come. Visola organized everything to the best of her ability, but her worst fear was that her husband, Vachlan, was allied with the enemy troops. He knew Adlivun intimately, and he knew her and her battle strategies just as well. He had fought against her before, but never on her home turf.

Aazuria felt that her shoulder was showing great progress in healing after just a few nights in the hot springs. She would have felt physically rather rejuvenated by her home environment, as she always did after a brief sojourn on land, but the recent fight with Trevain still plagued her. She kept going over and over everything they had said to each other in her mind. She had not yet removed the ring he had given her. She could not accept that it was over.

Aazuria had been in Adlivun for a week when a messenger had showed up to inform them that Atargatis had accepted their terms. Corallyn's vengeful mother intended to visit them peacefully to see Kyrosed's body as proof of his death. If he had truly been killed, Atargatis said she would consider withdrawing from the area.

This was positive news, but Visola considered it suspicious. She told Aazuria to leave Adlivun and stay at Trevain's house while Atargatis visited, just in case anything went wrong. Aazuria refused. At the persistent urging of Visola and Alcyone, however, she relented to the idea of paying Trevain a visit. Her sisters were still with him as well, and she used this as an excuse. If she was going to go up against Atargatis, she should kiss and hug her sisters goodbye in case anything happened. Visola said she would come along, for she had business to attend to on land.

Now, Aazuria stood outside Trevain's door, her hair darkened with the sunlight. She stared at the door with great anxiety. She was more fearful of ringing his doorbell than she was of facing the woman who had thrown a javelin through her shoulder. Yet she knew she would do both, regardless of fear. She pressed the doorbell.

She expected Mr. Fiskel or one of the girls, but instead Trevain himself answered the door, almost instantly. Aazuria felt low. She was not accustomed to the feeling. It always seemed that the higher her elevation rose with respect to sea level, the lower her self-esteem sunk. Her pride hurt to return to a place where she had been told she was no longer welcome.

Perhaps Trevain was worth deserting her pride. She had forgotten how kind his eyes were. Now that she knew his lineage, she could see that he did resemble Visola and Alcyone—she imagined that the ladies must have flocked to him in masses when he had been a young redhead. They both looked at each other for a moment wordlessly. She wondered what he could be thinking. He broke the silence by moving forward and putting his arms around her.

"Aazuria, I was so worried. I'm so sorry for all those things I said, I didn't mean a single word..."

She closed her eyes against his cotton shirt as she listened to his heartbeat against her ear. "I am sorry that I hit you and stole your car."

"That's some swing you've got there," he said with a faint smile. "I wouldn't have grabbed your arm if I knew you were hurt—but I shouldn't have grabbed you at all. I'm so sorry..."

"It is in the past," she said, pulling away from his hug. "May I see my sisters?"

"They're not here," he told her.

"Where are they?" she asked with a worried frown.

"I was under the impression that they had gone to see you."

"What?" she exclaimed, her composure disappearing for the first time since he had answered the door. "No! They cannot come to Adlivun. They are safer here with you. Why did they leave? I need to go..." She turned around, looking out at the water.

"Aazuria, will you come in and sit down for a moment? You look like you're about to run off again. Please..."

"I hope my sisters did not go home," she said anxiously to herself. Then she realized she had been invited in to the house. She saw the desperate look on his face and she swallowed. "Yes, I will sit for a minute."

He took her by the hand and led her over to the nearest sofa. "Zuri, I know I can't unsay all the things I said... but will you give me a chance to fix things between us? I just want to get back to where we were before."

"When you did not know who I was?" she asked bitterly.

"I still don't know who you are," he admitted, "but I still love you."

She hesitated. "You really want things to be like they were before?" she asked. "You still... want to marry me?"

"Of course," he said, taking a deep breath. "Elan and Coral have been telling me a little bit about Adlivun. I am trying to believe such a place exists, but it seems so outrageous. It feels like someone is playing a huge joke on me."

Her eyes narrowed. "So many people would not lie about the existence of a country," she told him.

"Yes, but... they all say it's underwater. I have a hard time imagining that." He cleared his throat. "Were you really the woman I saw in the water the night that Arnav Hylas died?"

She nodded. "When you would not listen to me and stay home from work, I took two of my best warriors... incidentally, your grandmother and her sister, and we followed your boat to try and keep you safe. There were only three of us against thirty of the enemy, or else we would have been able to save Arnav..."

"I should have listened to you," he said softly. He looked at Aazuria and frowned. "I just don't understand—how can you be the woman from the water? You look so different..."

"You did not recognize my kiss?" she said with a small smile. "My name does not come from the ocean—it comes from the color of my eyes. They resemble the mineral azurite when I have been in the water for a while."

"The water changes them?" he asked. "And your hair?"

"No," she responded, knitting her brows. "Did my sisters not explain this? It is basically tanning; advanced tanning and blanching based on exposure to the sun. Not all sea-dwellers have this trait. Your grandmother always maintains her red hair, even in the deep sea."

"I see." His expression was thoughtful yet bewildered.

"I suppose it used to be an important adaptation, for the sake of our health. Having fair skin would have been necessary for deep water life, facilitating vitamin D absorption."

"I can't wrap my head around it," he said honestly. "Those weeks that you said you were ill—that was because..."

Aazuria reached up and grasped the fabric of her dress at her neckline, pulling it off her shoulder to expose her scar.

"God, Aazuria!" he said, moving forward. "Why did you hide this from me? I could have taken care of you."

She watched his reaction, and she could almost see him remembering what had happened in the water. He gently rubbed his thumb over her bare shoulder. Leaning forward, he pulled her close and embraced her again, kissing her forehead. "Thank you for trying to protect my crew."

"Thank you for saving my life. If that spear had landed a few inches to the left we would have been unable to argue at all."

"We would have been unable to do a lot of things," he said with a smile as he gently rubbed her back.

She relaxed into his embrace. "The truth is that I was afraid you would not understand. Land-dwellers never understand. Trevain, I want you to know that your mother is happy now..."

"What do you mean?" he asked, pulling away from her suddenly.

"You do not know? You were not informed?" she asked.

"Informed of what, Aazuria? What did you do?" he asked frantically.

She looked into his face, and saw that he was about to grow angry with her again. She exhaled slowly, looking at her hands. She knew that the best thing she could possibly do was to get up and leave now before this escalated any further, but she somehow could not pull herself away. He deserved to know. "I took Alcyone from the mental hospital weeks ago. I took her home to Adlivun."

Trevain closed his eyes and shook his head. "You kidnapped my mother?"

"Kidnapped? Trevain! You saw how unhappy she was. It was her choice to leave! She is an adult and she has rights." Aazuria waited for his response, silently praying that he would understand this. She hoped that he would remember how passionately his mother hated the land and yearned for home.

"You took her out of the country. Without telling me." He ran a hand through his hair through his grey hair in vexation. "How could you do this, Aazuria? Now I'll never see her again. Now I have no clue where the hell she is, and whether she's dead or alive!"

"Dead or alive?" she said slowly. "Good Sedna. You honestly think I would hurt your mother?"

"No, but..." He tried to regain his composure. "How do I know anything? You killed your own father, didn't you? As far as I know, you're capable of anything. You concealed so much from me—how do I know what is true and what isn't?"

Her pride was crushed by his words. "You do not." She tried to calm her racing pulse; her insides ached knowing what little faith he had in her. She was hovering on the fence between despair and wrath.

Trevain was glaring at her. "I can't believe you took my mother from me!"

These words tipped her firmly off the fence and she landed on the side where she was welcomed by a rush of pure rage which brought her to her feet. "You did not even notice she was gone! You had not visited her in years! Some compassion you land-dwellers have for your elderly! She's with her real family now."

"Her real family?" Trevain asked, slowly. "Her real family?!"

"Yes—she is with those who will never leave her to be alone and scared in a despicable little room! She is with those who love her, and have faith in all that she says and does, regardless of how insane it seems."

"Is that all?" he asked, getting up from the sofa and raising himself to his full height. He looked down at her angrily. "Are you finished insulting me?"

She saw the pain on his face, and imagined that he might feel the same way she did. "Trevain..."

"Why the hell did you come back here, Aazuria?" he asked her violently. "You said you would never come back."

She nodded. "Yes. I apologize. I will go." She looked down at his shoes, struggling to fight back her tears. "I just need to tell you one last thing."

"What is it?" he asked, swallowing the saliva in his mouth. He did not really want her to leave, and he had no idea why he was being so cruel to her. He supposed that it was partly because his pride was hurt, and partly because he believed she was going to leave anyway, and he might as well pretend that it had been his decision.

"Do you remember when my cousin came with an urgent message and I had to go away for a few days?"

He nodded.

Aazuria took a deep breath. She expected the worst. She expected him to lash out at her. "When I got home, I saw that Callder was in the infirmary. He is alive, but barely alive. He is unconscious and being taken care of to the best of our ability—your mother is helping to tend to him now. He was stabbed in the chest with a harpoon, much like they tried to do to me..."

Trevain stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. There was a long silence, and she dreaded what would happen when it ended. Finally, he spoke quietly. "My brother is alive? Callder is alive and you didn't tell me?"

"I did not tell you because he may not live. He may no longer be alive now, for all I know. He is hanging on by a thread."

"I don't care, Aazuria! You know how much I suffered! You know how much I loved my brother!" Trevain was at the point of tears, and his voice was rising higher and higher in volume. "Anything you could have told me, any hope you could have given me, would have made a world of difference! How could you keep this from me?"

Her mouth was set in a grim line. "We considered moving him to a hospital on land, but the move surely would have killed him. He is being cared for in a special hot spring cave under the Aleutian Islands."

He placed a hand on his head as he began to pace in small circles around the area he was standing. "God! What kind of person lets a man think his brother is dead? What kind of monster would pretend to be innocent when she has information which she knows will change his life for the better? I was dying inside every day, Aazuria! It was my little brother. I loved him more than anything—and you knew... all this time, you knew!"

"I thought it would hurt you more if you had to lose him twice," she whispered. "I wished I could tell you, but our head doctor recommended that I should not."

"Your head doctor? Let me guess, some charlatan that calls himself a shaman or something? Dammit, Aazuria. Where the fuck are you keeping Callder and my mother? This 'Adlivun' is not on any map or Atlas! For all I know it's some cult of crazy people... "

"How can you say such things?" she asked. "You promised me—that night I agreed to marry you. You promised that when the time came you would be open to a new concept which you currently consider impossible. If you want to see your family, why do you not come to Adlivun and verify its existence for yourself?"

"Because I'm an adult, and I don't entertain children's fantasies. You need to get Callder to a real hospital as soon as possible!" he yelled. "I will never forgive you for keeping this from me. You may be considered royalty in whatever Hicksville you're from, but here, you're just a person. You're not above the law! You are just a woman; just a stripper I thought I would show some kindness to, and you've ruined my life!"

She took a step back, wounded by his harsh words. "I never meant to cause you harm..."

"You've taken away everything from me," he told her. "Before I met you, I had a good job where I was respected. Now I can't work because my whole crew is afraid of dying. You called yourself a human being—but this, whatever you're involved with—you people are murderers and inhuman beasts!"

She nodded, trying to release all the pain and negative tension in her head. "I should not be surprised." Her tone was nasty and abrasive. "A man who could forsake his mother should be easily able to forsake the woman he supposedly wished to marry."

"Watch the way you speak to me, Aazuria!"

"Are you going to threaten me again? Go on. How do you want to hurt or control me this time? Inflict physical harm on me— and then tell me how I am the inhuman beast!"

"You're the one who punched me in the face! I didn't know your arm was hurt or I wouldn't have been so rough. Corallyn told me to stop you from leaving because you might be in danger. So yes, I would hurt you again if it meant saving you from the dangers of whatever stupid underwater thing you have going on."

Aazuria stared at him in wonder and disgust. "How can a man who is so intelligent in so many ways completely refuse to listen to reason?"

"What is reasonable about a submarine society of people who can breathe underwater?"

"Everything." She clenched her fists. "You have seen enough proof, Trevain! The evidence is in your own body! How can you be so daft?"

"I know you can hold your breath for a really long time. I know you are a really strong swimmer. I know you have convinced a whole lot of people in some commune that they have some kind of special abilities and ancestry—some kind of complex delusion..."

"You are being such an American." Grinding her teeth together, Aazuria turned and began to walk out of the house. "I will not stand here and be slighted."

"We're not finished speaking," Trevain informed her angrily. "I am American—and you are from your own special country, right? I bet you have your own flag and everything?"

"It is malachite green with a golden triple moon symbol in the center," she responded curtly. "But I will not suffer the shame of justifying our existence to you any longer. I concede defeat to your pigheadedness." She dipped her body in the most sarcastic curtsy she had ever performed; it said farewell for her, and she resumed her retreat.

"Aazuria, stop. Please don't go. I don't want to fight with you like this." He had moved to intercept her departure. He reached out hesitantly and placed his hands on her waist. "Just come home and stay with me—we were so happy for a moment and I would give anything to get back to that place and make it last."

She closed her eyes, melting at his touch and gentle tone. She was eager to agree, throw her arms around him, and ask for forgiveness...

"Let's forget all of this mermaid nonsense," Trevain was saying. "Let's not talk about all of this sea-kingdom crap and just..."

She stepped back, ripping her body out of his hands. The look on her face was simultaneously horrified and indignant. The redness of fury began to creep into her cheeks. "I do not understand why you will not believe me. I am not asking you to believe in some kind of intangible god. I am asking you to witness and accept that a nation of several thousand citizens exists. It is there. We have been established for longer than your own country! Men, women, children, and even their aquatic pets! Doctors, lawyers, masons, poets, singers, dancers, architects! All you have to do is see it for yourself. Instead you choose to stick your head stubbornly in the sand and remain oblivious!"

"Are there humans who can breathe sand too?" he asked harshly.

"Good Sedna. Your mother was not mentally ill, Trevain—but you are! You are willfully ignorant and utterly mad! We could have been together, but you refuse to..."

"Let you enlighten me with your watery wisdom? I've had enough of this bullshit, Aazuria."

She closed her eyes briefly. "I am not sure why I wasted so much time here today," she said softly. When she opened her eyes, they brimmed with tears. She quickly turned away to hide her emotion, moving away from him as she delivered one last barb. "You can fuck a woman, but you cannot listen to her!"

Trevain felt a tremor of rage run through him, and before he knew what he was doing, he had vehemently lifted his hand. He reached out forcefully to grab her. Later, he would think back and wonder if he would have had the resolve to stop himself from whatever he was about to do. He would never truly know—had he intended to physically force her to stay? How far would he have gone? He had not been in complete possession of all his faculties. This moment would haunt him for the rest of his life, and would be the first thing which came to mind every time he questioned whether or not he was a good person.

The sound of breaking glass was heard.

Trevain heard the whizzing of a bullet and he felt the impact of the projectile ripping through his body at the exact same time. Through skin, muscle, nerve, and ligament. He froze, and stared at his arm in shock.

His hand was inches away from seizing Aazuria by the neck.

The bullet had pierced precisely between the bones in his forearm, perhaps just grazing the insides of his ulna and radius. Trevain had a moment to appreciate the marksmanship before he was overwhelmed by pain.

Aazuria's world spun. She had turned sharply at the sound, feeling the distortion in the air. She was taken aback too—not due to the bullet that had gone through Trevain's arm, but due to the fact that he had actually been intending to manhandle her. She looked at him in confusion and disbelief. She did not think that he was capable of such cruelty. She had difficulty accepting that the kindhearted man with whom she had trusted her sisters would ever intend to harm her—especially over a few harsh words! But now that she knew he had Ramaris blood in his body, it was easy to understand the darker parts of his character. Also, the vicious Vachlan was his grandfather—it seemed he had inherited great rage and did not possess the experience to know how to drive it safely.

Maybe he had not been intending to grab her vehemently. She tried to convince herself of this. Maybe he had only meant to lay his hand lightly on her shoulder—he had probably had forgotten about her injury. It could all just be a misunderstanding. But she knew in her heart that her defender would not have taken such action unless she had deemed Aazuria to be in severe danger.

Seeing the blood dripping from his arm, all her thoughts immediately focused upon concern for him. She knew that the bullet had probably hit a vein, and he required medical attention to stop the bleeding. Her first instinct was to try to help heal him, and she found herself about to move forward. Instead, she reminded herself that he had been reaching for her neck and tried to make herself step backwards. The conflicting thoughts resulted in her brain sending her body mixed signals which caused her to sway slightly on her feet.

She straightened her posture, and steadied herself. She looked at Trevain numbly. "Did you wish to harm me?"

Trevain blinked, pressing down on the wound and looking to the window which the bullet had entered. There was only water in the distance—there was not even a boat visible on the water. "What the hell just happened?" It took him a moment, but upon noticing the hole in the glass, he immediately moved so that the wall was between him and the distant sniper. "Who are you people?" he cursed in pain. "I should have known that you were psychotic when Elandria first told me about your father."

Fresh crimson blood continued dripping from his arm. She wanted to ask him again if he had intended to harm her, knowing that in future memory the situation would be distorted. It was not important anymore. Aazuria found herself withdrawing a small dagger from her thigh and cutting strips of fabric from the hem of her dress. She approached Trevain, disregarding his anger. "Here, let me bandage that up for you," she said softly, touching his arm.

"Get away from me," he whispered brokenly. He could not seem to control his vicious tongue. All he really wanted to do was hold her close and apologize. He just wanted to forget the fighting, forget the bullet, and taste her lips. He wanted to carry her to the couch and make love to her until they forgot all the pain and emotional distance that had been wedged between them.

Aazuria's hands shook as she tried to bandage his arm. "I am not very good at this, but it should help to slow the bleeding. You must go to a hospital."

"You should just kill me now and get it over with, Aazuria. First Leander, Callder, Arnav. Now my mother. Everyone has been taken from me. I can see that you are going to leave me too; I will have nothing left. So go on, and make it fast. Break my heart and get it over with."

She knew that this was the moment that he needed her most. But she was not strong enough to cast aside her dignity and nationalism. She stepped away from him and nodded. "I agreed to marry you on one condition: I asked that you trust me—I asked that you allow a new idea into your mind." With great mental effort, Aazuria reached down and removed the Ramaris ring from her finger. She placed it on the coffee table along with all of her hope. "As long as your mind remains stubbornly closed, that is the only piece of Adlivun you will ever possess."

"Make it final this time," he said hoarsely. "Don't come back and dig open these wounds."

"I can assure you that you will never see me again," Aazuria said. "If Callder recovers from his wound enough to be moved, I will send him to you with a heavy military escort, several hundred warriors strong. They will arrive on the beach just outside—you may then transport him to preferred facilities with your vehicle. Similarly, if Callder dies, I will send his body to you in the same way. In either case, I will not be with the convoy." She swallowed as she repeated her decision. "You will never see me again."

She always abided by her declarations. Once decreed, it was a matter of honor to fulfill her own pronouncement. Her words would become cheap and empty; their power would be diminished if she used them carelessly—and if a woman did not have her words, what did she have? She turned to leave.

"Aazuria," he groaned, clutching his bleeding arm. "Just know that I love you."

"Love is worthless without trust and acceptance."

Right before she crossed the threshold she turned back to him, feeling pity for his injured state. She had desperately needed to gaze upon him one last time; in spite of all that had happened, she treasured the sight of him. His face still affected her body like a good meal, delivering nourishment and energy where she was deficient. She knew that she would spend her life pining for him, and wondering what she could have done differently to change their ghastly fate. She had never really loved someone before, not like this; she had never known what it was like to be romantically attached to a man. She was sure that she had made all the wrong decisions, but she did not know how to remedy anything. It was all destroyed.

She wished she could say all this to him. She allowed her lips to part, and let the words which chose to flow forth choose themselves. She had relinquished all control of the situation. "In five hundred years, I have never seen Visola show mercy to someone who tried to hurt me. There are two reasons that you are alive right now. The first is that I also love you. The second is that the woman who shot you is your grandmother."

With that she marched out of the house, and strode out of his life permanently. He never saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. She continued walking across his front lawn, and across the road which ran in front of his house. When she reached the beach, she kept going until she stepped off the land permanently. Moments after her tears had begun gushing forth, they were washed away and absorbed by the ocean.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Trevain did not know whether he wanted to go out to sea because he was hoping to find Aazuria, or because he was hoping to find Atargatis. He just knew that it was the only possible option for him. It was the only thing he knew how to do remotely correctly. And if they lost another man? He did not mind as long as he was the man.

He had called up his crew, and no one had agreed with his idea. "It's the last fishing week of the season," he had coaxed, "we won't get to fish again for months." He had pulled every string, called in every favor, and begged for them to assemble. He needed this.

Now, as they all stood on the docks, the hesitation hung in the air like a foul stench. Everyone looked as though Trevain had asked them to step into the waiting jaws of a hungry creature known to chomp down mercilessly.

"I don't know if I'm really in the mood," Doughlas said.

"It's not sex," Trevain said harshly. "It's work."

"Are you sure about this, Cap'n?" Ujarak asked, chomping on his cigar more uneasily than ever before.

Trevain turned on his men angrily. "I gave you all what you asked for! I let you take my boat and fish. And now my brother's gone. You convinced me again! Arnav was killed. This time I want to go out and catch crabs, just to relieve stress because I've lost everything. I lost Callder, my mother, and my fiancée. I don't have anything left. So give me this."

"What happened to Mrs. Murphy?" Edwin asked with concern.

"She escaped from the psychiatric hospital," Trevain answered bitterly. "She's as good as dead."

Brynne recognized this destructive behavior as more characteristic of Callder than of his older brother. She felt extremely jittery about this emergency fishing trip; it was evident that something was about to go horribly wrong. It always did lately. Going out to sea was inviting Death over for supper and expecting her not to feast on the other dinner guests. Now, with three empty place settings at the table, Brynne felt foolish about having a dinner party at all—but her captain had polished up the utensils, and Death remained on the guest list. Brynne wanted to hit him.

Nevertheless, it was true that they all owed it to Trevain to be there for him. She knew from Mr. Fiskel that he had also recently sustained a serious injury to his arm. It never snows, she thought to herself.

When all the men walked off muttering to prepare the boat, Brynne approached Trevain privately. "For what it's worth, Captain," Brynne said, putting a hand on his back and speaking to him gently, "I think that Aazuria was a lunatic to let you go."

He stood on the dock, staring out at the water vacantly. "I was really hostile to her, Brynne. I said some awful things. I was even rough with her." He rubbed his arm absent-mindedly.

"No way! I don't believe that," Brynne said with a frown. "You're the kindest guy I know. You don't have a mean bone in your body."

"Apparently I do," he said wretchedly. "I'm not this great person everyone thinks I am. I'm just a brainless fuck-up like any other guy."

He walked away. Brynne sighed and glanced after his retreating form. She sat down on the edge of the docks and dangled her feet off the side. She had never seen the reliable and mature Trevain act this way. She supposed that love and loss could turn even the most solid fortress into pudding. She could feel that he was heartbroken. She could also feel that he was hoping to join his brother.

Brynne pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging her calves and resting her chin on her kneecaps. She could not say that she did not understand the way Trevain felt. Since Callder had died, she had often entertained such thoughts. She had often wished that she could go off to sea, and be part of some "accidental" accident. She had never realized what a huge part of her life Callder had been until he was gone. She had always pushed him away and pretended she had not needed him, and she had done so knowing that he would be there smiling at her the next day. She had wasted so much time that she could have spent with him, and now she was suffering for it with no end in sight.

She could see in Trevain's eyes that he felt the same way; perhaps even worse. She vowed to herself that she would keep an eye on him closely on the fishing trip; she would not allow anything to happen to him. He would never leave her watchful care. She almost did not care what happened to anyone else, but she knew she owed it to Callder to take care of Trevain. Brynne hugged her knees tighter as she gazed out at the water. She wondered how she could never tire of looking at the sea.

"Hey, sweet pea," came a caring female voice. "I heard about what happened on your boat a while back."

Brynne was about to snap at the woman for calling her "sweet pea" but then she relented. It was rare to see another woman on the docks. It was also nice to hear a kindly voice and see a vaguely familiar face. She was not sure who the woman was, but she thought she recognized her, possibly from a local bar. "Yeah. We haven't been out to sea since then. We lost three men this year—is that crazy or what? One of them was my ex-boyfriend."

"It's been a bad season, love. I'm so sorry for your loss." The blonde woman sighed. "Did you know two boats have disappeared completely? What horrible luck. I pray for my husband like three times a day when he's fishing. It's so dangerous out there. Is there anything I can do?"

"Nah," said Brynne, waving her hand dismally. "Unless you've got a time machine."

"Sorry, sweet pea. Haven't got one of those." The woman managed a small smile. "I do have some extra rice and beans though. I was just down here delivering some food to my husband's boat. I swear, if I didn't do something about it, these men would live on potato chips."

Brynne laughed at that. "God, I know what you mean! Sure, I'll take whatever you've got. I've been in kind of a crappy mood and have slacked off on the grocery shopping."

"I'll be right back, sweet pea—let me just grab some stuff from the trunk."

Brynne smiled at the woman's generosity. Sometimes the kindness of a stranger was all one needed to lift their spirits and brighten their day.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Aazuria knelt on the carpet before her father's frozen tomb, staring up into his colorless face.

The royal mausoleum was one of the few rooms in the ice palace which was not filled with water. The bodies of ancient kings and queens were entombed in ornately carved, vertically positioned ice coffins, and preserved here so that future generations could look upon the faces and bodies of their ancestors. It rather reminded Aazuria of Trevain's macabre museums.

Barefoot, and bare-legged, wearing a sea-foam green tunic with a short sword strapped to her hip, this was the first time that Aazuria had physically faced what she had done. She had been sitting in the respectful position of seiza for many hours. Her whole body was numb. When she had first come to the mausoleum, she had tried to kneel respectfully before her father, but her body had refused to comply. Instead, she found herself doubling over until her forehead and arms rested on the carpet, as she wept. This was balasana, or more appropriately, child's pose. She was kneeling prostrate and in deference.

"Papa," she had sobbed. "Papa, you were right. What have I done?" With her forehead against the carpet, she could see the world more clearly. "It is better here. It has always been better. I should have left things as they were. If we all stayed and died here it would have been easier than going out into that awful world, with all those awful people." She had cried for hours until the carpet became soaked, and her warm tears began to freeze in a small radius around her face. "I'm so sorry, Papa." She continued to cry until there was a small sheet of ice beneath her forehead and nose.

She had not moved from this spot since she had returned to Adlivun. Once she had seen that her sisters were safe, she had come directly to this chamber to wallow in her lot.

When she could no longer rest her face on the frozen carpet, she forced herself to cease her sniveling and straighten into seiza. Aazuria felt suddenly rejuvenated. She was still on her knees, but not in the same pathetic way as before. She was on her knees not as a servant, but as an equal. Not as a beggar, but as a warrior. Aazuria closed her eyes. She imagined her organs untangling themselves from the jumbled mess in which they had been knotted, and aligning themselves properly. She imagined the natural ease with which her breath and energy traveled through her body; all the channels which had been blocked with the rocks and lumber of anguish and the caulk of vitriol opened one by one as she willed it. She sat for hours more in long solitude and reflection, until she felt healed.

She opened her eyes and saw the small sheet of ice on the carpet that had been created by her tears. She smiled at it, knowing that she had cried all the weakness and negativity out of her system. She looked up at her father's body, and she smiled at him too.

"What happened with Trevain made me question everything I knew, Father. The truth is, I have made peace with what happened between us, and I know that I did the right thing. If not for me, for everyone else. I loved you every day of my life, and will continue to love you for every day that remains—but you were a dark shadow on the brilliant light of Adlivun. Everyone stands a little more proudly, everyone breathes a little more freely now that you are gone. You were my father, and you were good to me; but for too long that blinded me to all the other elements of your character."

Aazuria gazed up at her father until she was interrupted by a sound from behind her. She turned around to see that Elandria had entered the room.

"Aazuria, you cannot stay here all day and all night," her sister signed. "It is not healthy to reminisce about things like this."

"I am feeling much more clear-headed now," Aazuria responded, also using her hands. "I really needed to come here and confront my guilt and shame."

Elandria looked up at the man her sister was kneeling before. "I think I need that too. It is funny. I see him now and I feel only sadness, pity, and regret; yet when he was alive I felt only fear of his next motion or word."

"I know what you mean," Aazuria responded. "I am sorry it took me so long to do what was needed to be done. A hundred years sooner and perhaps we would not be in the situation we are right now; preparing for war."

"Everything happens exactly when it is meant to happen, sister. Perhaps if things had been different you would never have met Trevain, and we would not have Alcyone back."

"Yes. A good thing did come from all this mess."

"Aazuria, I do not know what happened with Trevain, but he is honorable; he just needs time to adjust to our ways. There is no one that I would rather have as my brother." Elandria gave Aazuria an affectionate smile as she signed this. "Please promise me that after the war is over you will try to make it work with him."

"I do not know if I can..." Aazuria looked back up at her father pensively.

A sound pierced the silence of the mausoleum; the whizzing of an arrow.

Aazuria turned back to her sister just in time to see Elandria's eyes go wide. The silent woman placed a hand to her chest, gasping as she began falling to the floor.

"Elan!" Aazuria yelled, scrambling off the ground and rushing to catch her sister before she fell. "No!"

Elandria felt the softness of her sister's breast against her cheek. Her hand reached up to grab Aazuria's arm in a vise-grip. She looked at her sister with horror in her eyes. "Aazuria..." her voice rasped. She was too weak to use her hands, and her eyes were filled with the fear of impending death. "Forgive him."

This was all she managed to say before she slipped out of consciousness.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Aazuria felt the heavy fiberglass arrow protruding from her sister's back. It was meant for underwater bow fishing. She could not break it or remove it without causing Elandria further injury. She firmly pressed her hand to skin around the arrow's point of entry, feeling powerless to help her sister. There was nothing she could do. Elandria would be dead within minutes. She took several calmative breaths before lifting her burning eyes to see the face of the attacker.

A tall blonde woman was leaning against the door frame with a smug look on her face as she appraised her handiwork, callously gauging the degree of damage she had caused.

"Koraline," Aazuria said in a quiet voice, "how could you do this?"

"The name's Atargatis now, sweet pea. For the record, it was pretty easy. I just pulled the string and aimed."

"Elandria never hurt anyone!" Aazuria moaned in a distraught voice as she cradled her sister's body against her chest. "This is not fair. This is not right."

"At least it got your attention," Atargatis said, casually strolling around the mausoleum. She stopped when she was standing before Kyrosed's transparent casket. "Oh, lookie here. What a sight for sore eyes. My ex-lover, frozen solid in a brick of ice! So he really is dead. You really did off your pops!"

"Yes," said Aazuria, closing her eyes tightly. She felt for Elandria's pulse, and it was still there, but weak. "Please, will you let me take my sister to the infirmary? She could still make it if I hurry."

"Nah," said Atargatis, turning to Aazuria and aiming an arrow directly at her head. "I need some important information from you first."

"Ask," said Aazuria, seriously. When Atargatis just smiled at her, she raised her voice and shouted, "Ask!"

"Cool down, sweet pea. You know, you were such a pretty ballerina in your little tutu. All I want to know is exactly how you killed Kyrosed Vellamo. Every detail—tell me how much he suffered, and describe the look in his eyes. I've spent so many years imagining it that I'm rather miffed that you denied me the honor."

"If you were so angry that he took Corallyn from you, then why are you not embracing your daughter right now?" Aazuria asked furiously. "Why are you here, killing Elandria, instead of taking what you came for? This is the woman who took care of your daughter, someone who was as much a victim of my father as you were! This will not go unpunished."

"Did I ever tell you how flattered I am that you folks named her after me? Anyway, I have captured my daughter already, and she is held in custody by my men. But I want a few other things. Revenge; on Kyrosed and anyone he held dear (that includes you and the dead girl in your arms, sweet pea) and—damn, what was the other one? Oh, yes. All of Adlivun. Can I have it? Pretty please?"

Aazuria frowned. Atargatis still held the arrow pointed directly at her eye. Elandria was dying or dead in her arms; she was too terrified check her pulse again to find out. Visola had been guarding her, and obviously Atargatis had somehow gotten past Visola. Aazuria did not want to admit to herself that Visola was probably dead. If Visola was slain there was no hope at all; taking an arrow to her brain would be the best case scenario. There should have been dozens of other guards in the castle as well. It seemed that her nemesis really did hold all the cards. Would it make any difference if she surrendered now?

She thought of Trevain. Her chest constricted with grief. How foolish she was! Here she knelt, holding her dead sister in her arms. Corallyn was in the hands of enemy forces while the worst could have happened to her dearest friends, Visola and Sionna. To top it all off, it looked like Koraline was eager to release the arrow pointed at her head—and all she could think about was Trevain. Memories of his face filled her mind in full color, and she ached at the thought of never touching him again. She thought of the last words that she had spoken to him, and how awful the fight had been.

"You look conflicted. I will be nice and give you some time to think about that, sweet pea," said Atargatis gently. "Why don't we have a little story-time first? You ought to fulfill my request and tell me all about how you killed daddy! Precisely—every word and every sound."

"I... I told him that I was going to do it," Aazuria said, hugging the body of her sister against her. The body was still warm, and she could not believe that Elandria was gone. Even so, her sister's blood was seeping forth, creating a large dark stain on Aazuria's green dress and dampening her skin underneath the gown. "Father said, 'You cannot solve death with more death.' No, that was not what he said. It was, 'You cannot prevent death by causing death.' Wait, no. 'Killing me will not save your sisters from being killed.' Something like that. He said it in such a poetic way... I thought would never forget his exact words."

Aazuria looked up at Koraline with frantic eyes. "Why can I not remember exactly what he said?" she asked her enemy hysterically. "I am trying so hard to remember."

"Wow, sweet pea. You're more than a little messed up in the head, aren't you?" Koraline asked in a mockingly pleasant voice. "Don't worry, I'll put you out of your misery soon enough. Now tell me, what did you say to him in response to the words you can't remember?"

"I said, 'No, but it will give me the power to protect them.' I was wrong. I obviously cannot protect them. I have already failed. I cannot protect my sisters, or any of the citizens of Adlivun." Aazuria looked at Koraline through her dazed double-vision. "What did you do to my guards?"

"They were just guards—what do you think I did with them? I painted your pristine white walls with their vital juices. Now tell me the rest of this story! Get to the look in his eyes."

"I took my knife and I pierced his chest in the traditional manner. I told him I loved him, and I watched the sorrow on his face as he died. His eyes were like Elandria's. They both died very similarly, in my arms. My father told me with his last words that he was proud of me for doing what I felt was necessary." Aazuria lovingly stroked Elandria's hair. The thick white braid had always been a sign of the younger woman's modesty. "He used to abuse my sisters. They were glad when he was gone. I think he was glad to be gone as well. I was hoping... I believed that things would become better for Elandria and she would finally feel safe enough to begin speaking again."

"Bravo! Excellent story." Koraline lowered the arrow that she had pointed at Aazuria. She began clapping joyously. "That's all I really wanted to hear."

"Can I take her to the infirmary now?" Aazuria asked in a shaking voice.

"Let me think about that for a moment. How about no?" Koraline laughed. "It's too late for her, sweet pea. I shot her through the heart. She's gone."

"No," Aazuria whispered. She placed her palm against Elandria's cheek, trying to feel the warmth of her sister's soul. Her hands had been covered in the blood leaking from Elandria's artery, and she impressed a bloody handprint on her sister's pale face. A sob rocked her chest. "Please, no."

"This isn't amusing me anymore," Koraline said. She walked to the doorway and shouted into the corridor with enthusiasm. "Hey, boys! Get in here. I've got some treats for you."

A few male Clan warriors entered the room, dressed all in black with copious shark's-tooth adornments. If Aazuria had been in the proper state of mind to acknowledge her surroundings, she would have deduced that these were Koraline's elite forces.

"Nice work, Atargatis," said one of the men. "There will be a huge payout for this. Prince Zalcan will be pleased."

"Forget the prince. I'm more concerned about his daddy. Emperor Zalcan will be pleased," Koraline said smugly. "Can one of you boys put a collar on Princess Aazuria? I want her on a chain so I can yank her around like a little dog. That would amuse me."

"It would be my pleasure, Atargatis," said one of the men. He pulled a metal collar from where it hung against his waist and moved over to Aazuria.

She hardly felt it when the man tugged her silver hair aside brutally in order to strap two interlocking pieces of cold metal around her delicate neck. She did not notice when he placed a padlock on the shackle and yanked it to make sure it was secure. She could only stare down at Elandria, consumed by grief and anguish.

She did not hear a man's voice gruffly ask, "What about the other one?"

"I don't care what you do with the other one," Koraline said with a frown. "She's dead."

One of the warriors laughed. "There's dead and then there's dead. This one's warm and fresh. Possibly wet and sticky. Mind if I have a go at her?"

"Ugh. You men are disgusting," Koraline said, but her tone was almost affectionate. "I don't care what you do with the dead one, so enjoy yourselves. But I want to make a public spectacle of Princess Aazuria getting raped repeatedly for the next few months. That would amuse me. So don't mess her up too much."

"Thanks, Atargatis!" said one of the warriors happily. He reached out and forcefully ripped Elandria from Aazuria's arms.

"No!" Aazuria screamed, as tears flooded her eyes instantly. She tried to move to reclaim her sister's body, but the chain around her neck prevented her from getting very far. "Don't touch her!"

Koraline laughed. "This is seriously entertaining, boys." She moved forward to take the chain attached to Aazuria's neck from the warrior who had it wrapped around his fist. Pulling on the chain, Koraline dragged Aazuria across the icy floor until the princess was lying at her feet. "Does it bother you to see your sister's body desecrated? Watch! I want you to watch." Koraline cruelly slapped Aazuria across the face, causing her lip to burst open and bleed.

She slapped again and again, until Aazuria complied and turned to watch the soldier's hands roaming over Elandria's small waist. She saw another warrior push his friend aside before ripping at the bodice of Elandria's gown. She sobbed as one of the men began to unbuckle his pants and kneel over her sister. Aazuria reached up to rip at the collar around her neck, but it was futile. "No!" she begged. "Please stop, if you have any decency!" She tried to move to Elandria, but Koraline yanked at the chain, throwing her off balance.

"That's going to happen to you next," the blonde woman sneered. "Kyrosed's precious little virgin flower should suffer what her father did to so many other women. I'm going to enjoy this more than I've enjoyed anything in the past century."

"This one's not putting up much of a fight," one of the warriors remarked as he grabbed Elandria's braid and wiggled it violently, causing her limp head to roll back and forth. "I like it better when they're loud."

"Ain't much of a change, brother. I hear she used to be the silent type."

Aazuria wished for death. She was sure that if she wanted it badly enough, death would be kind and take her. She began counting down the precious hours until she died from dehydration. She would not accept any water she was offered. She had no reason to go on.

Koraline was having the time of her life. "Boys, when you're done can you grab Kyrosed Vellamo's corpse for me? I want it displayed in my bedroom as a trophy of victory. I want to wake up every morning and laugh at the fact that he is dead and I have destroyed everything he ever loved."

"Sure thing, Atargatis," said one of the men with a chuckle. "Taking Adlivun was far easier than we thought it would be."

Aazuria had to face the fact that she had lost. Once she admitted this to herself, there was a certain kind of liberation in the acceptance. She did not know if there was any such thing as the afterlife, but she needed to believe she could be with her sister again there. She needed to believe that Visola would be there. It was over for her, but perhaps it was not over. She knew her father would be there waiting—he would not be upset with her. He would hold her and forgive her.

"Oh, one more thing, sweet pea."

Koraline's voice sounded like it was far away in the distant background. Aazuria could hardly process the words through the haze of her emotions. Pain was carrying her to a place far removed from this world; perhaps her mind was already resigning itself to death. Her soul was withdrawing from her body, preparing for forthcoming moment when it would no longer be tormented.

"Are you listening to me, girl?" Koraline yanked on the chain and tried to drag Aazuria's spirit back into her body. The physical pain in her neck did startle Aazuria into consciousness for a moment, but she was optimistic that it would soon fade away. The princess was determined to be numb and unresponsive. She was over; she would soon be far away from here.

"A little while back, a pesky crab fisherman broke my fucking nose," Koraline was saying. "I believe he was the captain of a boat called The Fishin' Magician. What a stupid name."

Aazuria felt awareness returning to her in painful lumps and pieces. She focused on Koraline's face until her double vision had gone. Her nose? She saw the small, pointed nose that was so similar to Corallyn's. She tried to focus on the voice which grated her innards like nails on a chalkboard. A fisherman had broken her nose. Koraline was speaking about the one person Aazuria loved whom she hoped would escape this war unscathed.

"I tried to kill you that day, right then and there, but I didn't succeed. That foolish man saved you. I would have let him be, but he involved himself in our business. I just want you to know that he is going to pay the ultimate price for meddling with my whims."

"What do you mean?" Aazuria asked, looking up sharply.

"Your captain has a lovely surprise waiting for him on his boat right now. Perhaps we should refer to it as The Sinkin' Magician." Atargatis emitted a chuckle. She extended her finger and pointed at Aazuria unyieldingly. "No one saves the daughter of the man who stole mine from me!"

Aazuria felt her blood freeze. "He's not even a sea-dweller. He's not part of this!"

"He's part of your life. Hurting him is just another way to hurt you, and therefore worthwhile."

"You intend to hurt Trevain?"

"I don't know, sweet pea," said the blonde woman with a self-satisfied smirk. "Do you think blowing him up will hurt a teensy bit?"

"You would not dare!" Aazuria said with a warning in her voice

"I already have."

Something shattered in Aazuria's brain. She felt a floodgate open. The white-haired princess slowly rose to her feet. "You took my sister's life. You took my kingdom. You took everything and I knelt here and accepted it." The princess jerked her arm and grabbed the chain attached to her neck. "But you cannot take him." Yanking on the chain, she wrenched Koraline forward. In an instant, she had used Koraline's momentum to dash the woman's head into the floor. Aazuria rammed the heel of her bare foot into the base of Koraline's skull.

The warriors who surrounded Elandria's body had been groping at her flesh like vultures. They had been arguing over who would have her first, but now they turned to Aazuria in surprise. The woman's icy-blue eyes flashed with spikes of steel as she advanced on the men who meant to vandalize her sister. Using the chain attached to her collar as a whip, Aazuria lassoed the man who had already lowered his pants. She pulled him viciously, moving forward in time to crush his face into the sharp point of her knee. She felt his nose and cheekbone fracture under the blunt impact.

Aazuria felt two of the other warriors grip either of her arms, and one of them reclaimed the chain around her neck. "You better hope Atargatis wakes up, Princess," an elite soldier snarled. "We won't be half as kind to you as she asked us to be."

Struggling hysterically, Aazuria tried to twist free. She felt the metal collar dig into her neck painfully, bruising her sensitive skin and interfering with her breathing. When one of the warriors leered at her and grabbed her jaw to plant a sloppy wet kiss on her face, Aazuria felt her stomach turn in revulsion. However, when he shoved his tongue into her mouth, she used the opportunity to pierce her teeth deeply into the wet protrusion. She clenched her jaw and yanked her head sharply to the side in order to rip the man's tongue out. The man let out a bloodcurdling scream and recoiled as Aazuria spat out the tip of his tongue.

One of the other warriors could not help laughing at his friend. "Serves you right, mate! That should teach you to bite your tongue. Get it? 'Cause she just..."

Having freed one of her arms, Aazuria slammed her elbow into the gut of the man who had been talking, causing him to double over. She retrieved the chain attached to her collar and wrapped it around the neck of the third man, pulling it taut behind him. She used the chain to crush his windpipe until the man crumpled to the floor. Reaching into the boot of one of the injured men, she withdrew a small but sharp knife. She moved first to the man with the wounded tongue, who was writhing in pain. She hastily slit his throat before doing the same to his companions. Wasting no time, she retrieved the key to the padlock on her collar and freed herself.

Aazuria threw herself down on her sister's body with a sob. She pressed a kiss against Elandria's forehead. The younger woman's pale skin was already beginning to grow cold. "I love you," Aazuria whispered. She rearranged Elandria's blood-soaked dress to provide some decency before launching herself to her feet. She knew that she should check to make sure that Koraline was dead, but she was too fuelled by the thought that Trevain was in danger to pause. She needed to move quickly.

Aazuria ran from the room with her bare feet pounding the carpet. She quickly navigated through the castle, ignoring and vaulting over the bodies of the guards with which Atargatis had, true to her word, painted the walls. Plunging herself into the cold water, she considered heading toward the area she had last seen Trevain fishing. It occurred to her that she had no way of finding him in this vast sea. She knew the general route of the crab fishing boats, but where would he be? Would he listen to her? There was no time to think of that—only time to move forward.

As soon as she was out in the open water, a decision was forced upon her. Aazuria had to stop swimming when she saw what lay before her. She stared, forgetting how to breathe and extract her vital oxygen from the frigid liquid. Her body floated motionlessly in the dark depths as her limbs became immobile from shock. Her mouth went very dry.

There was an army waiting outside.

Aazuria's heart sank. Her eyes traveled down the line of thousands of armed sea-dwellers garbed in black battle gear. They were all holding lances and javelins, sneering at her through their visors. Their black helmets bore the crest of Zalcan, and their armor bore his emblem; the ominous shark's tooth. If there had ever been an omen of destruction, it was the contrast of that white tooth against black armor.

Dread and disbelief coursed through Aazuria's veins. It seemed impossible to her that she would feel such a huge surge of hope only to have it immediately snuffed out. There is no way around this, she thought to herself, but she did not fully believe the thought. She tried to force herself to face the bleakness of the situation, but the ranks of undersea soldiers stretching before her seemed too grim to be real. I have truly lost. I have lost everything. My father, my fiancé, my sisters, my friends... and now, evidently, my kingdom. I may lose my life, or they may keep me alive to torture me until I lose my dignity. There is not much more a woman can lose.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and was stunned to see that Koraline was beside her, grinning madly. Aazuria knew that she should have checked to make sure her enemy had been killed—not that it mattered now. The blonde woman used sign language to communicate with her.

"It seems I've erected an army between you and the man you love. What are you going to do about it, sweet pea?"

Aazuria's chest ached as she drew short ragged gasps of water. Her heart rate had doubled, and her vision was darkened. She knew that at the very least, if she was to go down she could take Atargatis with her. She still held the knife from the boot of the man she had killed; Koraline must still be at least a bit dazed from the blow to the head she had suffered. Lifting her arm to chest level, Aazuria prepared her body for one last mêlée.

Her lips parted as she mouthed an answer to Koraline. "I shall do what any sane person would do in this situation: fight."

Koraline lifted her eyebrows before she moved her hands sarcastically. "One lone woman against me and my whole army? That doesn't sound too sane to me."

"Luckily, I do not care what you think." Aazuria was about to lunge at her enemy when she saw a reflection glinting off the blade she held. Koraline noticed it at the same moment she did, and both women turned their heads sharply toward Adlivun. What had been a flash of green in the corner of Aazuria's eye was quickly blossoming into a field of green.

It was the most welcome sight she had ever beheld. All of Adlivun's infantry was up in arms, exiting the volcanic caves in droves. The men and women were wearing their traditional malachite-green battle garb, except that the material had been updated to Kevlar. The armor and helmets were emblazoned with the golden triple-moon symbol which was on Adlivun's flag. Dozens—no, hundreds of the sea-warriors on the front lines had been newly equipped with underwater assault rifles.

General Visola Ramaris was leading the charge. Her red hair ballooned out around her as she swam forward, bare-headed and grinning maniacally. Aazuria said a silent prayer, thanking Sedna for the mad genius of her best friend. It had been over fifty years since Visola's last battle, and she could see that the woman was gung ho for combat. Aazuria imagined that her friend had been informed of the approaching attack by her scouts, and had been able to rally the troops just in time. Not in time for Elandria, but perhaps in time for everyone else.

It looked like the troops were sprinkled with civilian militia to bolster their numbers. There were even children ready to launch their bodies into the fray. Her army was extremely outnumbered, but they did have the advantage of new technology on their side, thanks to Visola's unconventional efforts. Aazuria swallowed. The pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears drowned out everything else, but it was not from fear any longer—it was from witnessing the zealous thirst for battle visible on Visola's face. It was in times like these that the warrior-woman came alive, and Aazuria knew that her friend was about to create magic with her body. The princess felt a rush of adrenaline immeasurably greater than the one she had felt while dancing on stage—dancing and employing the technique in which she had been instructed by Koraline Kolarevic.

It would not be the first time that a student had bested her teacher; Aazuria was ready to dance. Trevain was in danger. She knew that she could do anything thing she needed to get to him. She would do anything necessary, and then she would go ten steps further and do everything conceivable beyond that. If it was the last thing she did, she would break through that stalwart wall of Clan warriors clad in black, and she would fight her way to Trevain.

She turned back to face her enemy and mouthed to Koraline confidently. "It appears that I am not alone, after all."

With that, Aazuria swung her arm back, and tightly gripping her stolen knife, she lunged at Koraline's face.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Visola raised her arm, signaling the troops forward. Once the infantry was heading steadily toward their attackers in the formation she had recommended, Visola broke away from their numbers. She headed directly for Aazuria to aid her in the hand-to-hand combat. Koraline had pulled a sword from her side and was expertly hacking and stabbing at Aazuria who was deftly dodging strikes and trying to deliver her own.

Many of Koraline's elite fighters did the same, rushing to join the fight and protect their leader. Visola quickly intercepted them, using her rifle to riddle them full of bullets. Once they were dealt with, floating motionlessly in the water, it seemed like no one else from the Clan of Zalcan was bold enough to approach the skirmish. She turned her attention back to Koraline. She saw that Aazuria was fighting with unusual tenacity and precision—she had not been prepared for the battle and she was not wearing armor, so she could not afford any mistakes.

Visola pointed her rifle at Koraline, aiming between the blonde woman's eyes. She made tiny adjustments for the moving target, and positioned her finger over the trigger—but she did not shoot. Koraline was doubtlessly the younger and stronger of the two women, although she looked to be older. Her height and weight were both greater than the Aazuria's, but she did not possess the speed and the experience. Aazuria had not been joking when she told Trevain that she was one of the fastest swimmers in the world; her whole fighting technique was based on speed. Visola knew that she should take advantage of this free moment to interfere before she had to focus on the main battle again, but she saw the wild look in Aazuria's cobalt eyes. She instinctively knew that this was the kind of fight that she could not interrupt.

Aazuria was fighting like a woman possessed, and this chilled Visola. She knew that there must be some reason for the noblewoman's unusually vicious strikes and the indomitable hardness of her expression. Visola feared that something had happened; she knew her princess too well to avoid assuming the worst. Visola accidentally gulped a mouthful of seawater. She could sense that something had happened to Elandria. She felt bile rise in her throat. Adjusting the rifle's aim as the women spun around each other, she yearned for it to be her turn.

It was rather poetic to watch two ballet dancers fight—Visola could see the way that their art worked itself seamlessly into their swordplay in their powerful spins and kicks. Their posture was flawless. It was natural that the way one used their body the most would be the way they became accustomed to moving. Visola made a mental note that if they managed to survive this, she would take some dance lessons herself and see if it improved her fighting at all.

Not that my technique needs much improvement, Visola thought to herself smugly. She wondered how she had found time to be arrogant in the midst of such a chaotic battle. People were dying all around her, and she was entertaining conceited internal quips. But then, Visola always had time for arrogance. She was positive that even if she was seconds away from death, her final thoughts would be private declarations of superiority. She did not think that today was the day on which she would discover the precise nature of those thoughts.

Visola nearly squeezed the trigger to fire a large caliber bullet into Koraline's brain when she saw that Aazuria was leaving the right side of her body open. Unfortunately, she was interrupted by an ambush of three warriors at once. She had lost the moment to interfere, and she could only grimace in the middle of her own battle as she saw Aazuria's mistake. Koraline had managed to thrust her sword directly into Aazuria's shoulder—the same shoulder, the very same spot where she had impaled Aazuria before. Visola could see glimpses of Aazuria recoiling and quickly switching her knife from her right hand to her left. There was an angry look on her face—Visola knew that Aazuria was conscious of her grave error. To get stabbed in the same spot twice was a surefire sign of a flaw in method. Aazuria had a gigantic blind-spot around her upper right side, and it would surely get her killed.

Having to focus on her own fights for several minutes, Visola missed most of the battle between Koraline and Aazuria while trying to protect her own skin. She swung her rifle onto her back and withdrew the heavy unicorn trident which hung from her waist. Underwater, this weapon was manageable, but on land it was almost impossible to wield. She swung the staff expertly, the way her father had trained her to do hundreds of years ago. Visola aimed at the softest, most vital parts of her attackers' bodies, shoving the prongs between the strands of shark's tooth necklaces and using her foot to press against their bodies and rip her weapon out. She gritted her teeth as she used the carcasses of the men she defeated as ladders, stepping on them for leverage in order to position herself better for the next fight.

While she was happy to embrace new technology, the old trident had sentimental value to her. The enemy soldiers were not wearing Kevlar, so it was easy to pierce their clothing. There were just too many of them. Even as she was swamped by the flood of soldiers around her, she did not fear for her own safety. She was Visola Ramaris, and she was born to fight. She was only half-focused on her own struggle, and completely focused on Aazuria. Every time she needed to look away from Aazuria's battle for a second to deliver a killing blow, she felt fear that she would turn around and see her friend's head severed. It was no secret that Aazuria was not a great warrior. She did not have as much of a zest for training as the Ramaris sisters—even the medically-inclined Sionna was a better fighter than the princess! Aazuria's expertise was grounded more firmly in the political realm. Visola finally was able to fend off the bulk of her swarm of attackers and turned to swim toward the princess.

She saw Aazuria's knife strike Koraline firmly in the throat, but the myriad strings of shark's teeth around the blonde woman's neck protected her from this blow. Surprise registered on her face, however, and Aazuria exploited this moment to ultimately subdue the woman. Aazuria plunged her knife into Koraline's gut, and the woman doubled over, clutching her bleeding abdomen. She held her stomach in a vain attempt to stop her dark blood from spilling out into the water. Koraline's mouth opened in dismay, and dark swirls of blood were emitted from her lips. This meant nothing; the enemy would not stop because their leader was down—she surely had a second, a third, and a fourth in command. That was the way the Clan of Zalcan worked.

"That's my girl," Visola signed proudly as she reached the scene, before taking some plastic handcuffs off her belt and using them to restrain Koraline.

Aazuria looked at her friend with panic still painted on her face. "Trevain is in danger! I need to go to his boat—can you spare some troops to come with me?"

Visola frowned, thinking of her grandson. "They massively surpass us in manpower. I can't spare anyone or we risk losing. The benefit of the rifles is mostly gone since our soldiers are fighting at close range. Now it's all down to pure skill, and I've got my reserves out there. They hardly have any training. We could lose Adlivun today."

"Actually, sis," signed Sionna with a smile, having just joined the fight, "look over there, and reconsider that."

The three women looked in the direction that Sionna was pointing. The most welcome sight that Aazuria had ever seen in her life was quickly dethroned by this one. Hundreds of sea-warriors clad in red were diving off boats which were rapidly arriving on the scene. They all wore the kamon of the Ningyo clan, on their armor and helmets. The emblem of a pearl-white mitsudomoe was their symbol; three spirals connected at the center. The swirls in the symbol had always reminded Aazuria of waves, but like their very own triple-moon, the mitsudomoe had complex spiritual significance to the clan. The colors of red and white had never looked so magnificent to her.

The Japanese reinforcements had arrived, led by the eminent Queen Amabie. Naclana was at the side of the illustrious woman.

The enemy forces had been flanked.

Visola's eyes began to shine with almost reptilian delight. "Well, that changes everything. The enemy is outnumbered and outmaneuvered." She kicked the wounded Koraline aside and nodded to her sister. She quickly signed a few words before returning her hands to her assault rifle.

"Go save my grandson. As long as our enemies are still breathing, I have work to do. When you return you'll find a necropolis, and I expect a bonus." Visola's green eyes were so predatory that they sent a chill through Aazuria. Even Sionna could not recognize the exuberant, battle-hungry animal that had been unleashed in her twin sister. "Go!" The red-haired warrior signed a few final, jubilant words before returning her capable hands to grip her assault rifle:

"There will be a fucking bloodbath of drowning mermaids tonight!"

Chapter Thirty-Eight

"Why are we here, Brynne?" Trevain asked, leaning against the wall angrily.

"I wanted a snack," she said, rummaging through the cupboards.

"I didn't."

"Well, you need to eat dinner," she said, with her mouth full. "We've been fishing all day."

"I'm not hungry. Look, Brynne, is there a reason you haven't left my side this whole trip? Do you think that I'm emotionally vulnerable because Aazuria left me and I'm going to fall into your arms or something?"

"Here, just relax and let me cook something good for you."

"I appreciate your concern for my health, but I already told you that I'm not hungry..."

"Hey! That's funny. Why is there sound coming from this bag of rice?" Brynne placed her ear against the bag. "Weird. It sounds like a clock."

Trevain frowned and moved over to the bag of rice to listen.

Brynne shrugged and continued gathering cooking utensils. "Reminds me of that story about the captain and the crocodile—he could always tell the crocodile was near because it had swallowed a clock, and he could hear the ticking..."

"Shut up, Brynne." Trevain pulled a knife out of the drawer she had opened and slit the bag open, causing rice to spill out all over the floor.

"Hey, Trevain! You're making a mess!" Brynne scolded. "Just because you don't have to clean anything up around here since you're the high and mighty capt..."

"Where the hell did you get this?" Trevain yelled, staring at the strange homemade bomb which was nestled in the rice.

Brynne had not turned around, and was continuing to gather ingredients. "Oh, some sweet blond lady on the docks gave it to me..."

"Dammit!" he cursed. "There's no time."

"No time?" Brynne asked in confusion. Trevain grabbed her hand and was pulling her into the next room. "What are you doing, Murphy?"

"Get in the bathtub, Brynne!"

"What? Why? I'm not into kinky..."

"Down, now!" Trevain grabbed Brynne and dived with her into the bathtub, covering her body with his and waiting for the sound.

The next second, all that they heard was—nothing. The sound of the explosion was so deafening that there was a moment of intense pain in their ears before they lost the ability to hear. They felt, however. They felt the intense pressure of the bomb exploding. They felt the unbearable heat of the explosion burning their skin and singeing their hair. They felt the bathtub being ripped from the ship, and pieces of debris colliding with their bodies. Trevain felt large objects colliding with his head and back painfully, and he felt his skin being punctured in several places. Finally, he was aware that they were surrounded by water.

It was several seconds before the heat subsided to the cooling water, and a moment later he was finally able to open his eyes. He could barely make out the scared expression on Brynne's face in the darkness. There was debris everywhere; pieces of the broken ship. His broken ship. Trevain was completely disoriented. It was difficult to figure out where they needed to swim. He could tell that sections of the boat floating near the surface were burning. He looked around for the other members of his crew, trying to get his bearings.

The flames were growing stronger. The ship's diesel was leaking from the ruptured gas tank. They could not swim to the surface, or they would be burned. Brynne's face was lit by the flickering firelight as she panicked and tried to communicate with him, but they could not understand each other. As he frantically made hand signals indicating for Brynne to calm down and stay close to him, he was met with only mystification on her face. He appreciated the need for sign language more than ever at that moment. Brynne was freaking out, and she began swimming off in one direction. He was sure that it was not where they needed to go. He tried to reach for her, but he was feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen flowing to his brain. He looked around, trying to figure out where to go and what to do. He could not help panicking as well.

Trevain tried to swim away from the flames, but he could not get very far. The burning diesel had leaked out over the surface of water for what must already be a square mile, and he could not swim that far without taking a breath. Without several breaths. He needed air badly, and finally realized that he was going to drown. He could not breathe underwater; he did not have the ability. He simply did not know how. What Aazuria and his mother were talking about—he wished it was all true, but it was not. Not for him.

He knew that he was about to die. His lungs painfully begged him to take a breath, but he knew that the moment he did, he would drown. Although he had almost wanted something exactly like this to happen to him when he had set sail earlier, he now realized that he had been fooling himself. As demented as he had been feeling, as self-destructive as his intentions, it had all been just a farce. He did not really want to die.

He tried as hard as he could to hold onto his last few moments of life.

A glimmer of white caught his eye, and he saw that an exquisite creature was suddenly before him. Long white hair fanned out around her face, and the purest eyes of blue sapphire stared at him. The lovely phantasm was smiling as she reached out to take his hands; he knew it must be an angel.

It was his angel. He knew her, although she looked nothing like before. She was his Aazuria, his mythical heroine. In the dancing glow of the oil blaze, she was simply too dazzling to be real and he knew that he must be on death's very threshold. He had heard that people often hallucinated in moments such as these, seeing what they most yearned to see. As she hovered in suspension before him, her skin and hair were almost luminous in the dark water; almost phosphorescent. Perhaps she never had been real. It did not matter—she was firmly grasping his hands, and it sent a feeling of comfort and tranquility through him. He knew that she loved him.

He could see forgiveness and acceptance in her expression. None of the turmoil between them mattered any longer in this pacific moment. In her benevolent gaze, he could finally forgive himself. He smiled at her. Although his vision was fading and the world was disappearing, he could only smile. He tightly gripped her hands to thank her for coming back for him. He could not bear the thought of letting go; he did not want to be robbed of her touch. He tried to keep his eyes open for as long as possible—he tried to keep gazing into the salvation of those unfamiliar ultramarine orbs. So this was what she really looked like, in her element. He wished he could have known her true form. It was mystical.

Trevain could imagine no better way to die. No better sight to see in the final moments during which he was capable of vision. He was wholly happy and blissfully complete. A peaceful expression descended on his face, and the captain's tired eyes closed for what he knew to be the last time.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

"So this is the troublesome female who caused all of this?" Queen Amabie mused in perfect, just barely accented English. She towered over the woman in chains at her feet. "This is the fearsome 'Atargatis?'"

The blonde woman struggled and tried to scream out insults, but the sound was muffled by the gag in her mouth. Visola smiled down at her captive with satisfaction. Although her own body was bruised and battered, she found this moment of victory thoroughly fulfilling. The battle had not continued for many more hours after the Ningyo reinforcements had arrived. Adlivun's losses had been far fewer than expected, and they had managed to capture many of the enemy warriors.

Assault rifles were magical. All in all, it had been a thoroughly successful day and Visola was basking in the glow of fulfillment. There was a large gash just under her ear from where a harpoon had nicked her, but the beautiful thing about a harpoon was that once it was thrown, the attacker was rendered defenseless and open. She had cut down at least two dozen Clan warriors this way. Their battle technique seriously needed refurbishing. Visola would not have felt like she had properly done her job unless there were trails of sticky blood leaking out of various wounds. Various nurses had offered their attention, but Visola had chosen to treasure her scratches for a little while longer as they tended to those with more life-threatening lesions. Her sister would stitch her up once she returned with Aazuria.

"This woman's real name is Koraline Kolarevic," Visola explained to the Japanese queen. "She was a dance instructor that King Kyrosed developed a liking for in Moscow about a century ago. She is Corallyn's mother."

Queen Amabie had been slowly circling Koraline, her regal crimson robes skimming the floor as she walked. With a hand on the hilt of her katana, she frowned in consternation as she examined the face of her enemy. "What a pity your attack on Adlivun should fail so miserably, girl," she said magnanimously. "You should have known better. No one has ever beaten the magnificent warrior standing before you. This is General Visola Ramaris; she has the blood of the Vikings within her."

"Aw. You sweet-talker!" Visola affectionately smiled at her friend as a rosy blush began to tinge her cheeks. "I can't believe you remember my Viking Uncle Sigarr. Really, Queen Amabie, if you had not shown up when you had, the outcome would not nearly have been as certain."

"Nonsense, my friend. You had it all under control—you will have to tell me how on earth you procured those mighty weapons."

"You'll never believe it." Visola grinned, thinking of how best to tell the story, when the door to the dungeon opened.

Aazuria entered, dressed in full formal attire. She wore her silvery hair woven with pearls as was the custom, and a rich malachite-green dress which hung off of one shoulder. (Her other, bare shoulder, had been freshly dressed with bandages once more.) The airy fabric gathered at her waist with a wide jeweled band before continuing all the way to her toes. The waistband was embroidered with gemstones in the shape of Adlivun's triple-moon symbol. The style of the garment was Grecian and stately.

Aazuria made the traditional salute across her chest before she curtsied deeply, touching the fingertips of her left hand to the floor. "Queen Amabie, I am forever indebted to you for providing reinforcements in our time of need. Please forgive me for having to leave the battle. Atargatis had placed some friends of mine in danger, and I needed to try to save them."

The Japanese queen walked forward, her arms extended in greeting. "Queen Aazuria, why do you curtsy to me? We are equals, my good friend."

"I am still but a princess. I have not yet had my coronation."

"Formalities, my dear, formalities. In the fifties when I was in trouble, your father the 'king' did not come to my rescue—you did. You brought an entire army to save me without his authorization! You have always been the Queen of Adlivun in my eyes. You have always been the one willing to make the tough calls that no one else could handle."

Aazuria placed her arms in Amabie's outstretched ones. When she looked into the older woman's wise dark eyes, she was reminded of Elandria, and she faltered. Every judgment she had ever made had been done so with her sister's guidance. Elandria saw things from a different perspective than the average person, and she had always been Aazuria's voice of reason. Make the decisions which are the safest, the boldest, and the most unpredictable. Her constant vigilance, her quiet virtue, and her levelheaded reflection could never be replaced.

She tried to feel the strength of having her arms linked with her fellow queen to celebrate their triumphant alliance. "I thank you for your confidence in me, Queen Amabie."

The Ningyo leader stared at her curiously. "And why are you not confident in yourself? Aazuria, dear friend; each victory is bittersweet. We sea-dwellers are an archaic bunch who resist change and cling fast to tradition. You listened to your people; you embraced the need for new technology and innovation! I should be imitating your example."

Aazuria gave Amabie a weak smile, allowing her hands to fall limply to her sides. She felt the first small ripple of relief run through her. "I suppose... it all turned out for the best."

"Oh, Aazuria. Do you not know what you have done? By ridding the seas of Kyrosed Vellamo, you have saved your nation. Your bravery and doggedness in doing what needed to be done is unparalleled. You will be honored for countless years to come—long after your body is entombed in ice, sea-dwellers will speak of the brave woman who killed her own beloved father so that they might be free."

In gratitude, Aazuria bowed her head respectfully. Her eyes were stung by tears as they fell upon the three ivory spirals emblazoned on Amabie's scarlet breastplate. It was the Japanese version of the Celtic triskelion; the symbol which represented man's natural balance with earth, air, and sea. It was only in moments like this one that Aazuria could grasp the meaning of such symbols. She was filled with sudden insight into why their ancestors had chosen these ambiguous kamon and emblems.

"Okie-doke. I hate to interrupt my two favorite ladies, but I need to know." Visola cleared her throat and leaned on a rifle impatiently. "Princess Aazuria, did you manage to save my grandson?"

"Yes," Aazuria answered, sending her friend a genuine smile. She exhaled in one airy gush. "Trevain is alive."

"Thank Sedna below," Visola said softly. She cleared her throat. "Well, I have some news for you too. Corallyn has been recovered. While we fought, Alcyone managed to get Elandria to the infirmary. Her wound is serious, but she may pull through."

Tears immediately flooded Aazuria's eyes. She was embarrassed to be so emotional before the imperial Amabie, and she immediately tried to regain composure and stop the droplets from spilling over. Everything that had been taken from her all at once seemed to be falling right back into her lap. She felt a second, more substantial rush of relief.

"It is over," Aazuria said, just to hear it spoken aloud. She lifted her hand to brush her tears from her white eyelashes. "We won."

"We shall always win against the dishonorable Clan of Zalcan," Queen Amabie assured her. She turned and looked to where Koraline was bound on the floor. "What kind of general wages war but never sets foot on the battlefield? Forgive my slandering, but this omnipotent Zalcan fellow must be the puny runt of his litter."

Koraline began to struggle again, attempting to scream out insults against her muzzle.

At that moment, Sionna entered the room. She saluted the other women, and curtsied deeply to Queen Amabie. "I took care of the land-dwelling female, Princess Aazuria. I am happy to report that Trevain's injuries are superficial and that he should be awake shortly. I have to return to the infirmary at once to tend to our wounded, but I have been sent to petition you for mercy. Young Corallyn Vellamo is requesting that she be allowed to look upon the face of her mother before the execution."

Aazuria considered this for a moment. "General Ramaris, please unbind Koraline's mouth."

Visola moved to do this, and the prisoner spat at her. "My name is Atargatis!"

"Honey, you only get to choose your nickname if you win the war," Visola informed her.

"Red hair. Green eyes. Big guns. Visola Ramaris," Atargatis mused from the ground. She smiled. "So you are the world famous whore."

Visola's eyes narrowed and Queen Amabie had her katana pressing against the woman's throat in an instant. "You should apologize to my friend if you know what is good for you."

Atargatis completely ignored the pressure against her throat, and even the wet feeling of blood trickling down her neck from her broken skin. "You know, Visola, you and I are exactly alike. I know that you have a daughter too, also fathered by Kyrosed Vellamo..."

"What in Sedna's name are you talking about?" Visola frowned deeply. "Look, bitch. My daughter was not fathered by Kyrosed. The mere concept of sleeping with that man makes me want to vomit. Do I seem like a spineless doormat to you? I would have castrated the creep if he ever touched me, and he knew it."

"I have a reputable source," Atargatis said. "I intimately know the man whom you betrayed."

"Betrayed!" Visola spat. "I have never..." Her sentence trailed off with a small hitch in her breathing. She had only been married once. She had been completely faithful to her husband. Visola had never understood why he had abandoned her shortly after she had become pregnant, but if he somehow believed that she had slept with Kyrosed Vellamo...

"Do you know my brother-in-law?" Sionna asked Koraline, turning to glance at Aazuria nervously. The women shared a glance of foreboding, for both harbored a healthy hate for the love of Visola's life. The man left destruction and suffering in his wake wherever he went; Adlivun had been no different.

When Koraline responded with only hysterical laughter, Aazuria frowned and turned to Sionna. "My instincts tell me that I should not permit Corallyn to meet this woman. Do you agree, Doctor Ramaris?"

"Yes," Sionna said immediately. "Let's protect her from any harmful memories. I'll go tell her."

"No!" Koraline shrieked. "You will let me see my daughter, you imbecile! You are all fools!" The blonde warrior struggled to sit up in her chains. "You really think this is over? I would not celebrate so soon!"

"And why should we not?" Queen Amabie asked.

"Because I was supposed to fail." Koraline began to cackle madly as she pressed her shackled wrists against her wound. "I didn't know, but I can see it now. They sent me ahead to test your defenses. Emperor Zalcan himself orchestrated this attack on Adlivun. He likes to send several waves with increasing numbers of soldiers to weaken a country before unleashing his final, conquering blow."

"He has done this before?" Aazuria asked softly.

"Like the ocean. The power of the ocean is not in one lone current, but in many massive waves. That is the way our leader fights." Koraline smiled through her pain. "You don't stand a chance. Zalcan will send his forces until you are ultimately beaten down. He has leaders far more experienced than I am; prominent warriors with vendettas against this atrocious northern kingdom. Guess who the next wave is led by, Visola Ramaris? The Clan's most venerated son... you may know him as the Destroyer of Kingdoms."

"Vachlan," Visola said miserably. If all of the women she respected most in the world had not been in the same room with her, she might have sunk down to her knees. Instead, she just stared ahead blankly. Sionna moved to her sister's side and squeezed her twin's hand. Visola did not respond, for she was already mentally preparing for battle with the mighty Vachlan Suchos.

Everyone was startled by a noise when Corallyn burst into the room, awkwardly holding a gun. "Is that her?" she asked, her face streaked with tears. "Is that the woman who shot Elandria? I want to perform her execution."

"No, little one," Queen Amabie said in a soothing voice. "That is not your job. Queen Aazuria will do it tomorrow before all the assembled citizens of Adlivun and my Ningyo people."

"She is my mother and I deserve the right to kill her!" Corallyn said, before lifting the gun shakily and pointing it at Atargatis.

Aazuria grabbed her youngest sister, physically restraining Corallyn and lowering the firearm. "Coral, no. Shhhh. You should not have to experience what it feels like to kill your parent. I will do it."

"Parent? She is a stranger to me, she is nothing! Elandria was my sister and my friend! Elandria was the kindest, most gentle woman who ever lived, and now she might die because of her!"

"It's not my fault," Koraline whimpered. "Sweet girl, he stole you away from me. I have been fighting for years to get you back. Please, have pity! I am but a lowly pawn."

"Why was it so difficult?" Corallyn cried. "I've been here all along, and nothing was stopping you from just coming here and meeting me! I know my father was a horrible man, but you are worse! You are worse, because you shot Elandria!"

"Dear girl, I am but a lowly pawn," Koraline said, begging for understanding. "None of this was my doing."

Aazuria felt pity spread in her chest, and briefly considered letting the woman live. It was true that Kyrosed had used many women, and many people as pawns.

"This attack," Koraline said, gasping at the pain in her abdomen. She pressed on the wound, groaning to elicit sympathy. "It was not my idea. The details were all sketched out by Vachlan. He wanted information before he led his own forces against Adlivun. Blame Vachlan Suchos!"

"So you know him?" Visola asked in a deathly quiet voice. "You know my husband?"

"Your husband?" Koraline said with a small laugh. "He may have belonged to you once, you red-haired slut. But that was over five lifetimes ago. That was before antibiotics and automobiles. That was before the fucking light bulb. He isn't yours anymore."

Visola inhaled, her fingers twitching. When she spoke, she paused between each lingering syllable. "Do you know Vachlan Suchos?" she asked slowly. Electricity seemed to cackle in the air around her voice.

Koraline smirked. "He's been sleeping with me for the last fifty years; I think I should know him."

Before half a second had passed, there was a knife buried to the hilt in Koraline's left eye-socket. The woman stared at Visola with her other eye wide open in terror as she crumpled to the floor. It had happened so quickly that only two of the women in the room had been able to register what had happened.

"Bitch," Visola muttered as she walked toward Koraline. She put her boot on the woman's face and yanked the knife out of her eye. Then she looked back to the horrified Corallyn. The young girl had sunk to her knees, and was staring at her mother's corpse in shock. "Sorry, kid." Visola shrugged as she wiped the knife clean on her soft Kevlar armor. "I know you had a better reason to kill her, Coral. Oh, well. Guess I win."

"Goodness, Visola." Queen Amabie shook her head, astonished that after centuries, Visola's temper was still so volatile at the slightest mention of her husband. "This is not the appropriate manner of doing things."

"She surely had more information about the Clan of Zalcan!" Aazuria said in dismay. "She was so chatty—we could have kept her talking."

Visola lifted her wrists out to Queen Amabie and Aazuria. "Well, here I am. I humbly submit to either of your sentences. Lay it on me. Prison, torture? Want me to scrub the floors with a toothbrush? I'm game."

Aazuria turned to look at the regal Queen Amabie, hoping that the older woman would be more strict and authoritative than she. For although Aazuria knew that Visola's disobedience needed to be punished, she could not find it within her to declare a price. She knew that she owed her life and her kingdom to Visola—she owed the woman everything, several times over.

Queen Amabie sighed. If it had been anyone else, she would have immediately issued the sternest of reprimand. If it had been one of her own people they would have been harshly penalized for such rash behavior. However, the Ningyo leader had a great fondness for Visola's skill as a warrior and her affable charm, and all she could manage was a pitying smile.

"Oh, good grief!" Sionna exclaimed as she watched the fearsome women become soft as teddy bears when faced with her sister. Yet again, Visola had proven her worth. She was above the law. She was more powerful than a queen. She could melt stone with her charm. "Viso—for Sedna's sake. We were supposed to have a formal execution to raise the morale of our people. You just made things a lot more difficult for Aazuria."

"So then you punish me, Sio," Visola challenged. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Sionna sighed, turning to glance at poor Corallyn. There was a lot that she could do—she had no doubt about that. But she was even more biased than the other two women in favor of her twin. Visola could do no wrong in her eyes, even when she had obviously done very much wrong. "I would never hurt you, Visola. Just know that I am disappointed in your behavior; I believe that our father would be disappointed in you as well. We are always expected to act in the best interest of our country."

"Excuse me, but what part of me winning a war today did you not notice?" Visola shot back.

"Love, you won a battle. As we just learned, the war is yet to come."

"Never any pleasing you, sis." Visola turned her back and briskly exited the room.

Chapter Forty

The vaulted cathedral ceiling was decorated with intricate patterns carved into ice. Soft lighting illuminated the white substance until it sparkled like stardust. All of this was viewed through a foggy filter, almost like looking through thick glass.

Trevain blinked to clear his distorted vision until the fuzzy images sharpened. Strangely, the ceiling remained as resplendent as it had been through the haze. Scenes danced across his mind and he could not tell if they were from dreams or memories. He remembered an explosion. He remembered drowning. He knew that he had died, but he did not know how long ago it had happened.

When he lifted his head from what felt like a soft downy pillow, he looked at his body and saw that the angel was with him. She was lying against him, resting—her white hair was draped out across his arms and chest. He wanted to touch her translucent ivory cheek, but he did not dare, fearing she would disappear if he did. White eyelashes fluttered gently open, barely revealing pure sapphire irises with a dark limbal ring around them.

"I prayed that I would see you again," he whispered. "I have never prayed for anything in my life, but I prayed for you to any god that would listen."

She smiled up at him sleepily though half-lidded eyes. "Good morning to you too."

He fully raised his head and looked around at the room. Everything was made of ice, even the furniture. There were ornately carved ice torches which lit the area.

"Is this heaven?" he asked breathlessly. "Or maybe Atlantis?"

"Atlantis!" she mumbled, taking offense. "That place was a dump."

Trevain was surprised when she pulled herself upright and he felt a heavy weight leave his chest. It occurred to him for the first time that all of this could be real and earthly, including the woman. It occurred to him that she could be made of flesh and blood. She was stretching and yawning now, with her eyes still closed. She was lifting a hand to rub her bandaged shoulder.

"Aazuria?" he asked, staring at her in awe.

"Mmmm?" she asked, turning to him. She frowned, reaching up to touch her cheeks. "Do I have something on my face? Pillow lines?"

He reached out and touched her white hair, letting it slip through his fingers. "You're real. This is all real. I'm alive... but how?"

"Oh, Trevain," she said, with a light laugh. She clutched her shoulder as her torso shook with mirth. "You did not drown, my love. You just held your breath until you passed out. Once you were unconscious, your body started breathing naturally again."

"My boat," he said, sitting up abruptly. "There was an explosion... is my crew okay? Everyone was on the Magician..."

Aazuria's laughter had abruptly stopped. She reached out to take his hand in both of hers. "I am so sorry. Only Brynne was saved. She was taken back to land."

"Everyone's gone," he said blankly.

She slowly nodded in response. She scooted closer to him to wrap her arms around his neck, sighing against his chest. "Forgive me. I could not get to you fast enough. She shot Elandria and... I did not know what to do. She might not make it. I lost my people by the dozens. My whole body aches from fighting and I just want to sleep for days. Maybe when I wake up Elandria will be better."

"I like that plan," Trevain said, stroking her hair, "as long as I get to sleep beside you. Elan's a tough girl—incredibly tough. I'm sure she will be fine. Why were you fighting?"

"War was waged upon us last night. A fanatical woman attacked us with a sizable army.

"Atargatis?" he asked. He rubbed Aazuria's back soothingly. "That blonde woman I punched in the face?"

"Yes. Her rage had a righteous source, but she channeled it poorly. She made a grave error when she tried to hurt you." Aazuria winced when Trevain's hand skimmed her wound. "She liked stabbing me in the shoulder, apparently. It's my fault for not being a better warrior. It never snows, but it blizzards."

Trevain gently began to unwrap the bandages to examine Aazuria's injury. He frowned when he saw the huge gash that had been stitched up, crisscrossing over an old scar. He lowered his face to plant a kiss on the bluish skin near the stab wound. "Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Getting antibiotics or something?"

"My personal doctor is the best there is," Aazuria assured him. "She gave me various needles and said that as long as I got plenty of rest I would be fine."

"Where is the monster who did this to you?" he asked as he rubbed his thumb along the swollen red skin around the lesion. "Eight of my men are gone because of her. My whole crew."

"Seven," she corrected.

"Seven?" he asked with a frown. "I thought you said that only Brynne..."

"You forget that Callder is here. He is alive, and it looks like he will make a full recovery." She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "We can go visit him if you like. I heard that he regained consciousness right after you lost yours."

He looked at her for a moment. "My brother's alive. Are you sure this isn't heaven, Zuri?"

She responded with a halfhearted smile—her own sister's life still hung in the balance. He saw her grief and he reached out and pulled her against him, pressing his face into her cheek. She allowed her body to melt into his embrace with a sigh, turning to press her lips against his. When he kissed, her it eased her mind and caused her to momentarily forget; it was blissful. She felt a void when he pulled away, and was about to protest—but she could see the questions and confusion on his face.

"So this is your ice palace?" he asked her. "It is so warm here."

"Of course," she said, resting her palm on his thigh. She could not stop touching him, for it seemed to ease the pain inside her. "It is warm inside igloos too. My family was inspired by the simple functionality of Inuit architecture, hundreds of years ago when we first migrated to the Bering Sea."

"Everyone lives in ice?"

"Just the royalty: aristocratic families, warriors, scholars, and such. Most of us live in submerged volcanic caves under the Aleutian Islands."

"Why aren't we underwater?" he asked.

She was growing impatient with his questioning. She just wanted him to hold her. "I did not want you to freak out upon waking up and stop breathing again," she explained. "I figured it was best to ease you into it."

He nodded. "So Aazuria, your age is really..."

"I am six hundred and three years old; just like I told you when we first met. I have never been fond of lying. Do not ask me to explain the biology behind why our lifespans are extended underwater; your great-aunt Sionna will have to tell you about that."

"Six hundred and three," he repeated.

"Yes, I am truly an old, old woman," she said sadly, but there was a glint of mischief in her eye. She drew circles on his chest with her fingertip. "I know that there is no possible way that such a young man like you would be interested in an impossibly old woman like me..."

"Are you mocking me?" he said, but he could not keep a smile from his face.

She moved her good shoulder in a dramatic sigh. "No, I just feel awful. I feel as though I have taken advantage of you. Trevain... am I a pedophile?"

"You!" He burst out laughing and tackled her gently back onto the bed. He followed, positioning his body over hers and kissing her soundly. When he pulled away, she smiled up at him. He noticed then that the massive bed was also ornately carved from ice. Everything was suddenly new and miraculous to him; it was like being reborn. "Tell me about your world. Tell me about your people."

She seemed ready to protest, and request that he just lie down and rest with her, but she knew that she would eventually need to indulge his curiosity. "I believe that showing is always more effective than telling," she said, pointing to the staircase carved from ice which led out of the room. "Would you like to take the tour?"

"Aazuria... there's water there."

"Of course. Much of the glacier is submerged."

"Can I really breathe underwater?" he asked her hesitantly.

"Yes, silly," she could not resist a smile. "Just relax and let your second set of lungs do what they were meant to do."

He was still doubtful. He raised a hand to his chest skeptically. "Wouldn't they go dormant—even if I do have them (which I suppose I do) from lack of use?"

"The body is magical—many of its parts can be very patient." She placed her hand on his, resting gently against his chest where he was suddenly very conscious of the possibility of having special organs. Yet he did not feel them, just as he did not feel the lungs he had used for his entire life. She smiled. "In all of my centuries of existence, I have never borne a child, and yet I believe that such a thing would be possible. I think my body would know what to do."

"Maybe I'll have to test that theory," Trevain told her with a smile.

"Please do not delay these tests," she said with a laugh, but her face quickly became serious. "You once told me that life would find a way—and it does. Your lungs know how to breathe water to sustain you should they have to, just as my body knows how to conceive. That life knows how to grow itself without any persuasion or urging on my part. It is effortless. You should try to take a breath. Just one single breath."

At her urging, he rose to his feet and walked over to the staircase. There was carpet running along the center of it so that one would not slip on the ice. He stepped tentatively onto the first stair, turning back to glance at Aazuria. He felt a rush of boldness at her calm expression, and he walked down the staircase until he was completely submerged. He held his breath for a few seconds, before gathering the nerve to attempt it; even if he did not trust himself, he had confidence in Aazuria.

When he inhaled his first breath of water, it was a revelation. The cool, refreshing liquid filled his chest in a new sensation that was close to euphoria. He continued half-walking, half-swimming down the staircase, taking deep enthusiastic breaths until he reached a corridor. He looked to either side of the lit ice-hallway, and saw that guards and other palace residents were swimming about and communicating in sign language. It looked like a normal society. A few people glanced at him, and inclined their heads in greeting.

He smiled like a kid who had discovered the ultimate candy store. He swam back up the stairs, and emerged from the water laughing. "I can't believe this! I can actually do it," he said between bouts of laughter. It was the greatest blast of excitement he had ever felt. He looked at her, his eyes sparkling with enchantment. "For the first time in my life, Aazuria, I don't feel like I'm fifteen inches tall. I feel like I have something special."

"You were special even without this ability," she said. She smiled, carefully pushing herself off the bed and clutching her shoulder as she approached him. "The joy you feel is due to the fact that this is where you originate from. Being on land is uncomfortable for we who know the freedom of the waves. You are the bonsai tree returned to the earth of Africa; this is the country of your mother. Here in Adlivun, you are more than a giant. You are a warrior; a descendant of elite Viking sea-kings."

Her face darkened, and her pale blue eyes became hard and determined. "This empire is my little bonsai tree, Trevain. My father kept it trimmed and circumscribed, but I need to find a way to change that. I want to let the magnitude of life that wants to exist, exist. I need to encourage and facilitate it, while keeping everyone safe." She began to pace across the carpet, anxiously. Her green robes, which had seemed modest when she was horizontal, now trailed behind her to reveal their majesty. "Trevain, there are those that would threaten us with their greed, hatred, and revenge. I need to safeguard Adlivun against that. People just want to live their lives in peace and freedom. I should have realized it sooner, but now I understand—it is my responsibility to protect them, and to ensure that they are able to grow and thrive. Will you... help me?"

"I'll do anything I can for you, Aazuria." He approached her, looking down at her in confusion. "As I understand, you are a princess. Well, I am yours. If I can be of any service, I will serve you for as long as I live."

She reached out to touch his hand. "I feel stronger just having you beside me. Can we lie down now? Every inch of me aches."

"Wait," he said softly. "Do you really forgive me for the way I treated you? I can't tell you how sorry I am, and how awful I feel about it. I called you names, I refused to understand, I was rough with you..."

She held up her hand to silence him. "Let us forget that. It is in the past. Besides, you were shot in the arm for it."

He rubbed the scar from the bullet gently. "I deserved it. Although it did scare the crap out of me."

"Your grandmother is my defender. She is an amazingly skilled and somewhat crazy warrior. She makes Brynne look like a bunny rabbit. You will have to meet her—well, technically you already have, twice, but you did not know her. She was the woman keeping an eye on me in the club when we first met, and then she was the woman who attacked Atargatis right after you saved me from getting impaled more accurately by that harpoon."

"That's my grandmother? But she's... young and beautiful. She looks decades younger than I do!"

"That's the gift of the sea. Just imagine how your mother feels!"

"Can you take me to see them? My grandmother and my mother? And Callder too?"

"Yes, of course." She was tired, but she could not deny the excitement on his face. "We can go right away if you like."

"Yes! But Aazuria... I just need to know. Is everything really fine between me and you? I just don't know how you can forgive me so easily."

She looked at him with puzzlement. "Of course. I bear no ill will toward you."

He placed a hand on her un-injured shoulder gently. "I still want you to be my wife. Now more than ever. I just... I don't know if I'm worthy of marrying a princess with her own ice castle and army and..."

"Trevain, when you asked me to marry you above the surface, I was indeed just a girl. There, in your world, I am nothing..."

"You were never just a girl, Aazuria," he said firmly. Then he paused, giving her a shy smile. "Although I must confess that the night Arnav was killed... I mentally cheated on you."

"You did what?" she asked, stepping back from him in confusion.

"Well, when I came home and you wouldn't let me see you—you had Corallyn guarding your room..."

"A spear had just been thrown right through my body!"

"I know that now, but back then I thought you were just pissed at me and well... I spent all night fantasizing about the mysterious woman in the water with the white hair and blue eyes. I felt really guilty for it too."

Upon hearing this, she could not prevent a small giggle from escaping her throat. She lightly smacked him in the arm. "I like myself more when I am underwater as well. You have my permission to cheat on me with me anytime. If you are in the mood for brunette, just add sunlight."

"Will you marry me in the way my mother wanted? The traditional sea-dweller wedding? Although I have no idea what that is."

Her smile disappeared instantly. Her eyes fell to the ground. "It is not so simple any longer."

"Why not?" he asked. "I will do anything I need to do to make it simple."

"Will you lead Adlivun into war?" she asked, with eyes narrowed into small slits. She crossed her arms across her chest austerely. "This nation is being threatened and attacked by another sea-dwelling clan. As king would you be prepared to lead us into battle?"

"King?" he asked.

Her eyes fell to the ground. When they finally lifted, there was something unreadable in them. Her voice was firm when she spoke. "If we marry in that manner, you will be the King of Adlivun. There is no divorce under the sea. Our marriage contract would last until one of us is dead. Are you ready for that level of commitment to a woman you barely know—and to a country you barely know?"

He observed her erect, unyielding posture, and felt the gravity of her words. Trevain suddenly understood why Aazuria had always appeared so stiff and unnatural. She had been raised in a royal family, and she had been subject to the rigorous training of an upbringing he could not even imagine. Everything odd about her suddenly made sense to him, and was suddenly ten times more endearing. He returned his focus to her words. She was asking for his full and complete dedication to her world. He did not know anything about Adlivun yet, but he knew that it was where he belonged. Aazuria lived there. Nothing remained for him on land.

"Zuri," he said with a smile, "since you stepped into my life, my old life has lost all its charm. Now that I have stepped into your world, and taken my first breath—I hardly think anything else can compare to what you've given me. You must be mad if you think I'm going back to live on land—and even madder if you think I'm ever letting you go again."

Her posture relaxed a smidgeon and her face softened. "I was so worried that you would not agree."

"King is easy—you could have asked me to declare myself as God, the Devil, or the Dalai Lama. As long as I am by your side, I will do anything," he vowed.

Her lips curled into a smile. She moved forward and slipped her arms around his waist, inclining her head upwards to kiss him. "Then we have nothing more to speak about. Others may object, but with time they will relent."

"You will have to teach me everything about your nation, Aazuria. I will feel a bit silly and unworthy to have an important position in a realm I know so little about—and where I am considered an infant."

"Nonsense. You have often called yourself a seaman! You spent all of your life working on the sea and building your empire on the water. Now you will have an empire to rule beneath the water. It is not quite so different."

"As long as you have faith in me," he said uncertainly.

"You have so much knowledge and experience to bring to Adlivun. You are introspective and humble, yet powerful and commanding—most of all, you have the most refined sense of intuition I have ever witnessed. All of Adlivun will welcome you as their king at our coronation."

"How do you still think so highly of me after all the things I've said and done?" he asked sadly. He wished for the umpteenth time he could take back all of his momentary lapses; how much more he would enjoy this moment. How much more worthy he would feel of being given this new chance at life.

"You are a real person, a real human being," she said softly. She knew that she must accept all sides of him, not just the ones she preferred. Both kindness and rage were part of the man; she had ample allotments of each as well. She laid her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes in contentment. "I still cannot believe that you are one of us. I thought that I would be separated from you forever. Even when we were at our best, when we were first engaged, I thought that I would only be able to love you for your brief lifetime. I believed I would have to live hundreds of years without you. But now that you are here, you will live just as long as I will. My impending disaster turned into a fairytale."

Trevain returned her hug gently, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I don't care much about living longer, but I'm just thankful I get to live all of those years with you. I thought I had screwed things up for good. I promise I will make up for how terrible I was."

"Of course you will. I have an army to keep you in line," she said. She did not want to pull away, but she knew that she should. She stepped back and took his hand to lead him into the splendor of Adlivun. "Let us go meet your grandmother. I should warn you in advance that Visola will probably give you some sort of threatening speech about how she would not hesitate to shoot you again. Then she will proceed to demonstrate the way her rifle works."

"I'm looking forward to it," he said, kissing her hand. He suddenly paused, holding her at arms' length and looking earnestly into her face. "Aazuria—I need to apologize for some of the awful things I said. I know that you weren't responsible for the deaths of my men. I know you tried to save Arnav, and if I had listened to you he would not have been placed in danger." He sighed. "Also, you rescued both my mother and Callder. I should not have wrongfully accused you; I know you didn't take my family from me."

"We do not have to speak of that now," she said, reaching out to caress his cheek.

"Yes, we do. Somehow, everything that came out of my mouth that day was the opposite from what I really meant. Aazuria, you have reunited me with my loved ones. In you and your sisters I have found even more family. You have given me access to a heritage more mind-blowing than anything I could have imagined. You have reunited me with all the courage and hope I thought I'd lost along with my youth."

His words and manner reminded her of the nobility she had seen in him from their very first meeting. She gazed at him lovingly, thinking that he had not really changed at all. He only saw himself differently now, and it was closer to the way she saw him.

Perhaps the issue had been his discord and disharmony with his surroundings. Perhaps now that he was where he was meant to be, all would be well. But he was still apologizing.

"Aazuria..." On an impulse, he stepped back and looked at her gratefully before bowing forward from the waist. He held the position for several seconds of sincerity before straightening. He met her eyes with an intent gaze.

"You have reunited me with myself."

The End

To continue the series with Fathoms of Forgiveness now, click here to visit the author's website: www.nadiascrieva.com.

To join the author's mailing list and be alerted when they release new books, click here.

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I Bring the Fire (A Loki Story)  
Book One: Wolves  
By C. Gockel

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Chapter One

The gas station bathroom off route 44 is completely lined with white tiles. Overhead a fluorescent light buzzes and flickers. The bathroom smells like urine and Pinesol. A toilet with a cracked seat sits on one side of the little room. On the other is an ancient sink, hanging off the wall.

The toilet is unoccupied. The sink is not. In it is a writhing wet creature about the size of a dachshund but heavier set and tailless, with short, dark gray fur interspersed with tufts of light gray. Holding the creature under a cloud of foul smelling, antiseptic soap bubbles from the bathroom dispenser is Amy Lewis.

A splash of suds comes right at Amy's eyes. Blinking, she looks up at the mirror above the sink. Her long dishwater blonde hair is wet and plastered to her head where it isn't pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her wide blue eyes have dark circles from lack of sleep — she got up early to start the trip from Oklahoma to Chicago. She's not wearing any makeup. She should not care; no one will see her out here. But she wishes she was wearing some under-eye concealer. Her nose has a large soap sud on it. Her wide lips are slightly chapped. She looks like she's been in her car for a week, not a few hours, and she looks far older than her twenty-four years.

Looking down with a sigh, Amy says, "Why, Fenrir? Why?"

Fenrir, the creature, makes a non-committal yip. Some of Amy's fellow vet school classmates insist that Fenrir is most likely a capybara, a large, tailless guinea pig-like rodent native to South America. But Fenrir's nose is far too narrow and rat-like for her to be a capybara. Other classmates have suggested that Fenrir is, in fact, a giant rat. However, her front teeth are not rodent teeth. Fenrir is a dog... and Amy and one of her professors did a DNA test just to prove it.

A few minutes ago Amy was walking Fenrir outside the gas station. Letting herself take a break from the long drive, Amy had idly watched the sparse traffic whiz by. When she felt the jerking of Fenrir's leash, it was too late. Fenrir was already joyfully rolling in something that would have been easier to identify before it had wandered onto the freeway, before whatever-it-was had cooked for a few days under a sweltering Great Plains sun.

"It's okay." Amy sighs. "I know why you did this." Animal psychology is somewhere between a hobby and an obsession for most vet wannabes. Lifting up the still soapy, still wiggling dog, she says, "You want to be a great big bad wolf. So you rolled on a dead thing to smell like your prey." It's a common behavior among dogs. And possibly rats.

Fenrir yips enthusiastically and licks Amy's nose.

"Ugh." Wincing away from the smell of roadkill, Amy sets the dog on the floor. As Fenrir tears around the little room, Amy pulls off her fleece sweater. She's just trying to wrap it around the little animal when a knock comes at the door.

"Just a minute," she calls, scooping up the animal. The knock turns to a pound.

Hurriedly opening the door, she comes face to face with a middle-aged man with a puffy face and blond, almost white hair. Fenrir immediately starts growling and tries to lunge out of her arms.

Despite Amy's ferocious guardian, the man's eyes go directly to her chest. It's something Amy is used to. She is generously endowed, which is why she tends to wear large shapeless shirts. They make her look fat, but it is better than the stares. Now she is only wearing a slightly damp tee shirt. Pulling Fenrir's wet body protectively in front of her, Amy says, "I am so sorry she's growling. Really, she hardly ever does this."

Hunching slightly over her growling protector, Amy goes to the side and makes to slip by. The man does not move.

Amy can tell from Fenrir's growl and frantic wiggling that the dog is close to foaming at the mouth. "Shhhh... " Amy says. "I am so sorry," she says to the man. "She's normally not like this."

Well, normally Amy's dog isn't actively trying to lunge at people, but Fenrir isn't precisely friendly, especially not towards males.

Outside a horn honks. The man looks over his shoulder and then steps out of the way.

As Amy walks by him, he calls out, "Are you traveling by yourself?"

The hairs on the back of Amy's neck stand on end. She turns to look at the man. He is smiling. It's a perfectly innocuous smile. She lies anyway. "No."

His smile widens as he closes the bathroom door. Fenrir makes a gurgling noise like she's choking on her own fury and nearly jumps out of Amy's arms.

Squeezing her tight, Amy says, "Really trying to live up to your namesake today?"

Amy's grandfather was a folklore buff. In Norse mythology, Fenrir was the wolf child of the Norse God of Mischief, Loki. The real Fenrir was so vicious that the gods bound him to a tree on a remote uninhabited island — but someday Fenrir is supposed to be the downfall of Odin, the head of the Norse gods himself.

Eyeing the door, Fenrir just growls.

A few minutes later Amy's in her Toyota Camry, releasing the clutch, tearing out of the gas station and on her way.

It's 768 miles from Stillwater to Chicago, mostly open road and farm land. It's about a twelve hour drive most times — and totally worth it.

The Oklahoma State University, Stillwater, is one of the best veterinary schools in the country and she's got a full ride. But she's spent every spring and summer since high school graduation with her grandparents in Chicago. There are lots of jobs in Chicago, and Amy's full-ride doesn't pay for things like rent, food, books, and the always mysterious 'miscellaneous fees' universities charge. Amy goes to Chicago to work during breaks. With occasional work as a tech for a veterinarian in Stillwater, she manages just to coast by.

Slipping a CD into the player, Amy cranks down the window. It's not so bad to have her fleece pullover off. Heat is beginning to rise off the freeway in waves. With the window down she's comfortable and the smell of wet Fenrir isn't as overpowering.

She glances over at her companion belted into a safety harness in the front seat. Fenrir's fur is starting to dry and she looks more like a rodent-like dog than dog-like rodent. As near as Amy and her vet-wannabe friends can determine, Fenrir is a mix of toy poodle and chihuahua, somehow minus a tail. Fenrir's fur couldn't decide to be chihuahua or poodle, so it's both, some places long and some places short. As it dries this oddity becomes more prominent. Her ex-boyfriend summed up Fenrir as, "Carlos meets princess, a love story gone terribly wrong."

You can't even say Fenrir is so ugly she's cute. She's just ugly. And with her less than charming personality, no one would have adopted Fenrir if Amy hadn't, which is why Amy had to.

Shifting into fifth gear, Amy says, "Well, despite the jackknifed semi in Tulsa that held us up 3 hours, and your little diversion, looks like we'll be home by midnight. Still on schedule."

Fenrir turns her panting muzzle in Amy's direction as though she's laughing at her.

After two more traffic jams, road construction, and some pit stops for Fenrir that might have been roadkill-induced, it's close to midnight and they're not even in Illinois. As Amy drives through Mark Twain National Forest, she is not the only one the road, but company is few and far between. Trees rise up on either side of her. The air coming in the open windows is humid and hot.

Beside her Fenrir whines.

Biting her lip, Amy says, "I told you... and I told Grandma, we'll stop for the night outside of St. Louis." She should have stopped earlier — but she didn't want to deviate from her plan. Get home. Get a job. Work.

Granted, that careful planning could be undone by death. Despite the coffee she's been drinking all day, she's tired. She's getting to that stage of sleepiness when reminding her brain that if she falls asleep, she'll die, is no longer working. Her brain is rebelling, reminding her if she dies she'll be asleep. Blessed, wonderful sleep.

Amy grabs a CD from the armrest and holds it up near the steering wheel — Nine Inch Nails, Pretty Hate Machine. Totally retro, but with enough angst and anger to do the job.

Glancing down quickly, she hits the eject button and pulls out her current disc. As she lifts her head, an orange light in the trees catches her eye. Almost certain it's a forest fire, she briefly turns her head. It is a jet of flame, reaching high up into the sky...

And then it is gone.

She turns back to the road and sees two small lights ahead on the road. It takes a few moments for her brain to register it's a deer's eyes.

Braking and swerving quickly, Amy lets out a quick breath as her tires skid across the gravel on the shoulder. An old memory kicks in and she turns into the skid, but not fast enough. Her car slides into a shallow ditch on the side of the road. The next thing she knows the world is turning over, her neck jerking back and forth, her seatbelt cutting into her chest and hips. There is the sound of crumpling metal from the roof, and a loud crack from the windshield as it caves inward. The glass doesn't shatter completely, but it cracks into hard splinters that knock into Amy's hands. With a cry she pulls her hands away from the wheel. And then it's just the sound of her breathing as she and Fenrir hang upside down by their seat belts.

Amy swallows. It's hard to think, her heart is beating so fast and so loud. Don't cars sometimes catch fire in the movies when they tip over? That's probably overdramatized. Or not.

Get out, she has to get herself and Fenrir out of the car. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she manages to hold onto the strap and not bang her head against the ceiling. Turning, she tries to release Fenrir. It isn't easy. Just turning her neck is painful, and the little animal is whining and twisting furiously. When she finally frees Fenrir, she realizes she probably should have found the leash first. She's got a wiggling little dog under one arm, and it doesn't make crawling out of the window particularly easy.

Her headlights are still on, so she has just enough light to assess her situation. She's actually only a few yards from the road, even though it felt like she rolled for miles. There doesn't seem to be any smoke coming from the car. Nodding to herself, she tells herself all of this is good. Someone will see her from the road and call for help.

Just as she has that thought, she sees headlights approaching. Pulling Fenrir to her chest to better control the dog and her own body's shaking, Amy walks towards the highway. A burgundy minivan approaches, slows, and then stops. Its lights go off. Amy's stomach drops.

Maybe it would have been better not to be seen. She nervously scratches between Fenrir's ears. She's being foolish. The risk of being killed by a serial killer is less than the risk of being hit by lightning, and that risk is less than 1 in 750,000. Most people are good.

Still, she freezes in her tracks.

A door slams on the opposite side of the van.

"Having some trouble?" says a voice that sounds familiar. Why should it sound familiar?

Fenrir starts to growl and jumps from her arms just as the man from the gas station rounds the front of the van.

The next thing she hears is a dull thud and a loud yelp of pain. "Nice try," says the man.

Amy has pepper spray on her keychain. Patting her pockets, she feels nothing. Her eyes widen. It has to be in the ignition. Spinning quickly, Amy bolts towards her car.

She hears footsteps behind her, and a low chuckle.

Dropping and diving through the open window, she tries to roll over to grab her keys. Before she can, she feels pressure on her ankles and the next thing she knows, she's being dragged out of her car on her stomach.

As she tries to claw her way forward, weight settles on her back and pins her to the ground. Something cold and round settles against her temple and she stills.

"Now," says the man. "You make a single peep, you struggle at all, and I'll blow your brains out."

Amy closes her eyes. She doesn't make a sound, but her brain is screaming. Someone, anyone, help me.

x x x x

Loki awakes with his cheek pressed to a cold stone slab, not sure where he is. This is not precisely unprecedented. What is strange is that he doesn't reek of alcohol and his mouth does not taste like vomit.

Blinking his eyes, he tries to focus. There is light, wan and diffuse as though from a northern window. There is a dull pain in his left temple, and the back of his neck is in agony. That is not so worrisome.

What is worrisome is what he doesn't see, feel, hear or taste. There is no magic in the room, no soft glow of light and shifting color, no slight tingle on his tongue and fingertips or murmur in his ear. He might as well be a dumb beast. No, it's worse than that. Beasts have some sense of magic in their whiskers, feathers, and flicks of their tongues. He might as well be a mortal human, blind to magic, and with no magic tricks save one.

His magical abilities cannot be taken from him. But magic can be removed from a place, folded back upon itself, held back for short periods of time in places of great power. Loki knows of only one such place in all of the nine realms. Which means...

Sitting up as quickly as he can with the pain in his neck, he looks around. The room he is in is lined with dull, flat, gray stones that stretch up to a high ceiling. The light is coming from a single skylight. He knows without looking there is a door made of iron bars to his left. There will be at least one sentry on guard beyond.

He's in his home, Asgard, realm of the Aesir, in the Tower. Again. But he can't remember doing anything wrong.

Loki hears the footsteps behind him again. He recognizes them. Loki smiles bitterly. "Thor, what is the charge?"

The footsteps circle around, and there is Thor, towering above him.

"You will be told in due time," Thor rumbles. Mjölnir, Thor's hammer, hangs at his side. But behind the shield of magic, it is just an ordinary piece of iron.

As are Loki's knives if...

Patting his body, Loki looks down. He is only in a shirt and breeches. His armor, boots and belt, and all his knives are gone.

"I don't know all the hiding places of your toys," Thor rumbles. "So I took away all the places they might hide."

Rubbing his neck, Loki winces and remembers Thor's fist connecting with his temple, and a blow to the back of his neck. "Surely I can know the charge?"

Bowing his head, Thor does not meet Loki's gaze.

Loki scowls up at him.

Thor and Loki look so alike they could be brothers. They are both red haired, though Thor's hair tends towards brown, and Loki's towards a brighter strawberry blond. Both are blue eyed, but Thor's eyes are as dark as a storm cloud, and Loki's are a pale gray. Thor has more generous features. He's slightly taller with wider shoulders, an expressive open face, prominent nose, full mouth and raging eyebrows. Loki is a bit more delicate, his chin a little narrower, and his frame leaner. Loki keeps his face clean shaven and his hair shorter — though it tends to be uneven. Thor sports a red beard, and his hair is long, though neatly groomed.

The biggest difference between them is their skin. Thor's father, Odin, leader of the Aesir, is half Jotunn, the race of the Frost Giants. Thor's mother, Jord, is full Jotunn. Despite his dominant Jotunn blood, Thor's skin is a lovely shade of gold.

Loki's skin by contrast is so pale it is nearly translucent. He does not tan. Without ointments and spells he burns. By most accounts Loki is full Jotunn. Rumors in court say his mother was Laufey and his father Fárbauti, and he was abandoned to die as a baby after they were murdered by their own kind. There are some who whisper that while Laufey was his mother, Odin is his father, and that is why he was brought to the court when Odin found him. Whatever his origins, Loki has the ability to cast illusions like a fisherman casts line — when he has access to magical energy.

While Loki was raised by the servants of Odin and Frigga, Thor was sent away to be raised by the winged Vingnir and Hlora, and only came to court when he reached the end of his twenties. Thor and Loki were almost friends once.

That was a long time ago.

"I was told only to see you here. Not to discuss the reason for your confinement," Thor says with vehemence that sounds forced.

"You've been following the rules since your brother Baldur died," Loki says, gingerly getting to his feet. Smirking, Loki says, "Don't you think if there was any real hope of Odin granting you the crown he would have announced it by now?" Poor Thor.

"Watch your mouth, Silvertongue," says Thor.

Silvertongue is one of Loki's favorite nicknames. It's better than Trickster, Fool, or simply Liar. Thor isn't terribly mad at him. Still, Loki can feel a chill of worry creeping into his bones. Last time he was in the Tower, things did not go well. Smiling despite his fear, Loki says, "I can't watch my mouth, it's attached to my face. As are my eyes, which... "

It's a gentle jibe, but Thor's hands go to the front of Loki's shirt and he's shoved against the wall so hard his teeth rattle. Too winded to speak, Loki just stares at Thor's face, inches from his own. Thor's lips are turned down and his eyes are narrowed in anger... or in despair.

Feeling dread uncoil in his stomach, Loki whispers, "Oh, Thor. Has your daddy made you do something terrible?"

Loki knows something of the terrible things Odin would compel someone to do.

Releasing him, Thor drops Loki to the floor and backs away. For a moment Loki feels sorry for him.

From the door comes a sentry's call. "Visitor to see the prisoner."

Loki blinks. There are few people who would wish to see him.

Thor says quietly, "I was told there were to be no visitors... " but makes no protest as a slender form emerges with the sentry on the other side of the door.

"Sigyn," Loki and Thor say almost at once.

The sentry's key clicks in the lock and Sigyn, Loki's ex-wife, enters.

Asgard is experiencing a 13th century European revival. Sigyn's golden hair is held back by a circlet of braided gold at her crown. She wears a draping seafoam green dress. A cloak of moss green hangs back from her shoulders. But what catches Loki's eye is a large golden pendant on a chain around her neck. He wonders what man has given it to her, and his heart sinks a bit.

Sigyn says nothing until the lock clicks behind her. "Has Thor told you the charges?" Sigyn says.

"No," says Loki, turning to the other man. Thor actually looks a little afraid. Pain and death are not things Thor fears. Loss of honor, on the other hand...

Odin has convinced him to do something very bad indeed.

"They're not against you, Loki," Sigyn says, and Loki turns sharply to her.

Lips trembling she says, "Valli and Nari have been accused of treason by Heimdall and are to be thrown into the Void."

Valli and Nari are their sons.

Loki bites the inside of his cheek. He must stay in control; he must fight with his mind... that is how Loki always wins, the only way he wins.

But his hands are already going to Thor's cloak. As he pulls Thor so their faces are just inches apart, the words he means to say in a low whisper come out a scream. "You swore an oath to protect my sons as though they were your own!"

In the hallway he hears a sentry running and shouting for help.

Thor's hands go to Loki's shirt, as though he might push him away, but he doesn't. Instead he stammers, "Loki, I... " Thor stops, looks sideways, his hands fumbling at his belt.

Loki screams again. "Look at me when you lie to me, oath breaker!"

Thor's eyes go to him. There is so much shame there — it verifies every horrible suspicion Loki has. His sons will perish, Loki will die unable to help them, and the mighty, valiant, honest Thor is to blame.

He isn't thinking clearly when he tries to twist and throw Thor. Thor's magic is partially responsible for his strength, but even without it he is bigger and stronger than Loki, more practiced at these things, and he isn't completely blind with rage. All Loki can see is red, and the only thing he can feel is his blood pounding beneath his skin too hot and too fast. Too quickly Loki is pinned on the floor, snarling at Thor and reaching for magic that isn't there.

And then Thor's body goes limp and slumps forward. Wrestling the large frame off him, Loki looks up to see Sigyn, Thor's hammer hanging heavy in her hands.

Loki's eyes go wide and his lips curl. A mortal might have died from even a non-magical blow from Mjölnir, but Loki knows Thor isn't dead. Scrambling up from the floor, he moves to take the hammer from Sigyn and finish the job.

Drawing back, she scowls. "No."

Loki wants to scream, wants to argue. His blood is pounding in his ears, his skin feels too hot and too tight and their sons are going to die. Killing another one of Odin's sons seems fitting retribution.

"He let us win," Sigyn says. "Let him live."

Clenching his teeth, Loki stifles his protest.

Sigyn presses firmly at the sides of the pendant around her neck, and the casing in front springs open. Inside is a human-style wind-up stopwatch. "Is it working?" she says. "Hoenir gave it to me; Mimir said he's been devising it since the last time you were here."

Loki is about to speak, something angry and unkind, but his eyes widen instead. The stopwatch is beginning to pulse with magic.

"Yes," Loki says, coming forward.

Staring down at it, Sigyn says, "He said that it... "

"Pulls magic from out of time," Loki says in wonderment. "I see it... how?"

"We don't have time," Sigyn says. "Your armor is at the guard station. I have a hairpin; maybe you can pick the lock?"

Loki can pick just about any lock with a hairpin, but there are faster ways. Clutching the stopwatch, he pulls the magic around him. Closing his eyes he lifts his other hand towards the door. The lock clicks and the door swings open with a creak.

Without hesitation Sigyn runs out, lugging Thor's hammer. Loki follows her into a hallway lined with empty cells. At the end of the hall is the empty guard room, a large ovoid booth set partially into a wall with glass windows on all sides.

Going forward, Sigyn says, "They found out about Valli and Nari's dream of a constitutional monarchy."

Loki's heart falls. Odin is an absolute monarch not interested in sharing his power... and most Asgardians are happy with things that way.

"You knew about that?" Loki says. He'd expressly told his sons to leave their mother out of that folly.

Glaring at him, she says, "I approve of that," and Loki looks quickly away.

As they step through the guard room door, Sigyn says, "Mimir talked the guards downstairs into letting me visit. And then he and Hoenir went back to their hut."

Loki swallows. Hoenir and Mimir have always been kind to Loki and his family, but this...

"Hoenir and Mimir will be confined to the hut until Ragnarok," he says, using the Viking word for the end times.

Glancing at him, Sigyn gives him a tight smile. This escape will spell death warrants for them all; he is not sure even Hoenir's hut can protect them. From down the corridor Loki hears the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Up ahead is a small guard room with a large window looking out at the cell block. Loki's armor and his sword, Lævatein, hang against the far wall. Entering the room, Loki and Sigyn move towards the armor as one. Without speaking, Sigyn sets down the hammer and helps Loki slip on the breastplate as he fastens his simple unadorned helmet. The helmet's most notable feature is a visor of dwarven crystal. With magic it is shatterproof, but without magic he can't trust it to protect his eyes. He flips it up.

Loki's hands never collide with Sigyn's as they finish the fastenings. They've done this many times before. As the last buckle is finished and Lævatein is on his hip, their eyes meet.

Since Sigyn opened the stopwatch, magic has been creeping into the tower. But his armor is still not fully enchanted, nor will his knives be. It's doubtful they'll make it out alive.

Loki can't speak, and Sigyn looks quickly away.

Down the hall, a guard shouts, "Come out of there! Hands above your heads."

Darting to the far corner, Sigyn says, "Hoenir said these magic eggs were yours, and they might help us... although the guards didn't detect any magic in them... "

"Eggs?" says Loki. He has no magic eggs. Going to the door, he peers quickly out and catches sight of four guards. A crossbow arrow whistles and he pulls back in.

Crouching on the floor, Sigyn holds up a drab olive green knapsack with the words U.S. Army stenciled on top. "They wouldn't let me take them to your cell — insisted on keeping them here," she says.

Mementos from his last trip to Midgard — Earth. Loki smirks. "Throw it here."

Sigyn tosses the bag. Catching it, Loki deftly pulls out one of six 'eggs'. They are thankfully not magical, and therefore fully operational in the dampened magic of the tower. Pulling on the pin at the top with his teeth, he tosses the Mk 2 World War II era grenade down the hall.

For a moment nothing happens.

The guards chuckle. One shouts. "Your magic tricks won't work here, you fool!"

Sigyn looks at him, eyes wide. Almost too late, Loki hurls himself towards her and covers her body with his. An earsplitting boom ricochets through the tower, and the glass in the guardroom window implodes and showers down on Loki's armor.

Getting quickly to his feet, Loki helps Sigyn up. Together they step out of the guardroom and towards the stairs, avoiding the bodies of the guards, Sigyn clutching Thor's hammer in both hands. Neither speaks.

At the top of the circular staircase, Loki takes out another grenade, swings the knapsack over his shoulder, and gestures for Sigyn to stand back.

The staircase has an echo. He hears more guards but can't tell how far away they are. The sound of his and Sigyn's breathing seems unnaturally loud.

"Loki, they were already taking Valli and Nari to the Center. There isn't much time," Sigyn whispers.

"Shhhhhh... " Loki says, trying to determine just how far away the footsteps are.

Close enough. Pulling the pin he throws the grenade at the far wall. He watches it bounce down the stairwell and out of sight. He hears footsteps, and breathing, and the grenade... .plink, plink, plink down the stairs. Loki pushes Sigyn back behind him so his armor will catch any shrapnel.

"An egg?" someone says. Someone else out of Loki's line of vision shouts.

There is another explosion accompanied by the sound of falling rock, groans, and screams. And then Loki hears a telltale whistling in the air. Before he can move, or even think, Sigyn's body slumps against his, and Thor's heavy hammer falls to the ground.

Lifting his head, Loki sees a guard at the top of the stairs. His face is bloodied, and he has an upraised crossbow.

A knife is in Loki's hand and whipping through the air before he even thinks about it. There is just enough magic now that when the knife hits the guard, it explodes, and the guard crumples to the floor.

Throwing Sigyn over his shoulder, Loki looks at the hammer on the stone step. It is a powerful toy — but as soon as Thor wakes up it will rebound to his hands. Cursing silently, he turns and goes as quickly as he can down the stairs.

"Put me down," Sigyn mutters into his back. "You have to save them, Loki. My boys... my beautiful boys."

He's too busy pulling out another grenade to even tell her to shut up. He hears guards mustering in the open chamber at the base of the tower. Pulling the pin just before the bottom of the stairs, he waits for the explosion and then rushes forward. Magic is thick enough in the air now for him to pull it to them and wrap them in a blanket of invisibility.

Outside the tower he sees men gathering near Sigyn's steeds. Less well protected is Thor's chariot. Thor favors attaching it to goats so he always has something tasty to eat, but the chariot is perfectly capable of flying on its own, and there are no goats today.

Loki slides Sigyn from his back and lays her on her side in the chariot. She is invisible to those around him, but in Loki's eyes she shimmers and glows, as does the arrow protruding from her back. He breaks it as close to her body as he can.

"Leave me," she whispers as he sits her up.

Glaring at her, Loki climbs into the chariot and seats himself next to her, facing the back. "To the Center," he shouts.

The chariot rises in the air with the crackle of magic. Shouts rise up, and Loki hears the thunk of magical arrows in the floor beneath them. Flames dance near his feet as the arrows catch fire, but Thor's chariot was designed to withstand lightning — a little fire from magical arrows won't hurt it.

Moments later, Loki and Sigyn are whisking forward, over and through the illusions of flying buttresses and steeples that are part of this decade's 13th century revival. There are faster ways for Loki to travel, secret ways that he alone knows. But they would leave him too drained to fight — and he can't use them to transport others.

He'll need all his power to fight soon. He lets the invisibility spell drop.

Narrowing her eyes in his direction, Sigyn says, "Must you always make things difficult? I'm as good as dead. You should have left me!"

Her lips are horribly pale, and the color has left her cheeks. She is full Asgardian, but looks nearly Jotunn. Leave it to Sigyn to waste her last breaths berating him. Smiling with brightness he doesn't feel, Loki says, "My dear, have you forgotten that among some humans I am regarded as the patron god of lost causes?" Not that he believes he or any of the Aesir are gods.

Sigyn's head lolls to the side, and she makes a sound like, "Pfffttt." She heaves a ragged breath and Loki does his best not to look concerned. "What are you planning?" she whispers, her eyelids slipping closed. "To swoop down, pick them up, and carry us all away in this bucket?"

That actually was close to Loki's plan, but he says nothing, just glares at her one more time before standing to look out of the chariot. They are close to their destination. Nearly below them is a wide plain. In it are eight circles of white stone, each about 50 yards in diameter, with wide gates and toll booths around and between them. The white circles are where the "branches" of the World Tree connect with Asgard. Not "branches" at all, they are places where the fabric of space and time tears easily, and the largest, most efficient, gateways to the eight other realms.

The white circles themselves form a larger circle around a small raised dais, its surface unnaturally dark. It is the entrance to the Void, where the Asgardians dump their trash, their spent potions, hopelessly broken magic tools, and the condemned.

Normally most of the circular gateways would be buzzing with merchants and delegates to visit and barter with the Aesir and each other. However, all the white circles and the toll booths at their peripheries are empty; instead, a crowd is gathered in the great dark circle at the center, their attention focused on the black dais.

From aloft, Loki can see Valli and Nari at the base of the dais, their blond heads bent, their hands bound at their backs. Behind them stands Odin, the staff Gungnir in his hands. A great armed host stands in a circle around Odin, Loki's sons, and the dais. A crowd of civilians from the friendly worlds mill about in a dense crowd just beyond the warriors.

"Have you forgotten the Valkyries?" Sigyn asks.

There is a stirring below among the armed host. In the distance Loki sees Heimdall, the guardian of the gates, pointing in their direction. Around Heimdall, the Valkyries, winged warrior women, rise. Bolts of fire hurtle toward the chariot from the staffs in their hands. Loki slumps down next to Sigyn.

"Actually," he says, "I did forget about them."

Sigyn takes a deep, ragged breath. Clutching the edge of the chariot, Loki tries to clear his head as they rock under the Valkyrie onslaught.

"Chariot, down!" he says. He nearly loses his seat as the chariot falls. "Gently," he cries and the descent slows. "Move to hover just above the crowd!"

As Loki suspected, the barrage of fire stops as they get close to the civilians.

"What are you doing?" Sigyn whispers.

"I can't help you," Loki says, pulling a grenade from the olive green bag. "I'm no good at healing... and this bucket will never get close enough to Valli and Nari."

He looks down. They're close enough to the ground. Smiling at Sigyn, he says, "Chariot, to Hoenir's hut!"

"What!" says Sigyn, the anger in her voice nearly blood curdling.

Loki jumps out just before the chariot takes off, and Sigyn's scream fades away. The crowd parts only enough for him to land. Straightening quickly, he holds the grenade above his head and smiles across the crowds in Odin and Heimdall's direction.

"What do you have there, fool?" someone says.

"A rotten egg," he responds with a grin.

The crowd closes in around him. From where they stand, now on top of the dais, Loki hears Valli or Nari shout, "Father!" The crowd starts to roar, but then Odin's voice rings out, "Let him pass!"

Odin knows Loki is no fool.

The crowd parts and murmurs. Loki walks forward, still smiling, still clutching the pin of the grenade. He is within a few paces of the dais when Odin thumps the black stone beneath his feet with Gungnir and shouts, "Stop." The rich velvet blackness that is Odin's magic whips out across the plain.

Loki's legs suddenly feel like lead. He feels like the gravity in Asgard has increased by ten, as though he's consumed vast quantities of magical energy, enough to set a world on fire. He blinks, takes a breath, and moves onward. It takes him a moment but then he realizes that the crowd is dead silent, and except for Odin and him, no one seems to be moving.

"Nice trick," he says. An incredibly powerful trick. Odin must be using nearly all of Gungnir's power for this. Not for the first time Loki wishes he'd never given Odin the damn thing. Loki's eyes flit nervously to the side. Just beyond the plain he can see Odin's raven messengers, Huginn and Munnin, soaring through the air, and he almost sighs with relief. Not everything has stopped.

He looks up to Odin. Unlike the other Aesir who all chose to appear closer to the age of 25, Odin appears to be near the human age of 50. He wears a patch over a missing eye; he purportedly exchanged that eye for wisdom. As Loki draws closer, he sees Odin's one eye widen, as though in alarm.

Loki blinks, and Odin's gaze is its normal steely calm. "You have something you wish to discuss?" Odin says.

Walking up and around until he stands just a pace from Odin, his back to Valli and Nari, Loki says, "Let my sons go."

"I don't think you understand how dangerous Valli and Nari have become," Odin says, his one eye unblinking.

Scowling, Loki says, "You're wrong." They aren't strong in magic, not like Helen.

"No," says Odin. "I am not." Sighing, Odin says, "You know I will do anything to preserve the safety of the nine realms."

Loki waves a hand. "Yes, yes, I know. Even allowing the death of your own beautiful son." Tilting his head he sneers. "I'm not that selfless."

"Loki," Odin says. "There are things happening now, new passages opening between the realms that should remain closed, branches from other realms approaching ours. Asgard cannot afford to be divided by this idea they have... this democracy... "

Rolling his eyes, Loki says, "It's more of a proto-democracy, hardly a threat."

"Heimdall and the Diar demand this," Odin says, thumping his spear again. "For the stability of the realms, for order, I must do what must be done."

Loki's eyes flick to the immobilized figure of Heimdall, the "all seeing god" of order. He and Loki do not get along well.

Loki looks back at Odin. How long has he carried the weight of Odin's desire to preserve the nine realms? How long has he carried Odin's secrets? How often has he, as the Christians say, turned the other cheek... after Helen?

For Helen alone Odin owes him. "Let them go," Loki whispers. "Or you make me your enemy."

Odin blinks, and for a moment Loki imagines he sees hesitation. The other man's face softens, perhaps in compassion or understanding. Odin certainly can't be afraid of Loki. For a moment everything is worth it: obeying Odin, playing the fool, letting himself be cast as the coward, the shirker. But then Odin bangs his spear down three times and Loki feels the air pressure behind him drop.

"Hurry and you might catch them," Odin says, his face flat.

With a cry of rage, Loki pulls the pin from the grenade, hurls it into the air, and rushes up the stairs of the dais. The sky is already opening up to the Void, a long tear in space time, like the funnel of a tornado twisting downwards.

Loki sees Valli spin so his back is to Nari's side, and then they are gone, sucked up into the blackness. With a cry Loki follows, dimly aware of the ring of the grenade behind him.

In the glow of starlight, and nearly spent and broken magical objects, Loki sees his sons hovering before him, their mouths and eyes open wide, Vali's hands desperately clasped around Nari's scabbard. They've never been in this place before, but Loki has. Fifteen seconds. They can survive 15 seconds in the vacuum of space. Loki tries to use the threads of magic to move towards them, for what purpose he doesn't even know. So they can all die together?

It is the only plan he has, but as he tries to implement it, something sucks him backwards.

Loki looks down in panic. A renegade branch of the World Tree, another tear in space and time has caught him... but there shouldn't be one here. He looks back up for an instant and sees his sons vanish. Were they pulled backwards by another renegade branch? Suddenly there is a flash of color, and then he is blinded by sunlight, gasping in hot, humid air and falling backwards to the ground.

He failed. His world is gone. Blackness overtakes him.

x x x x

Loki hears a voice, like a child's, say, "Zd`rastvuyte," and then, "`Kak `Vas za`vut?"

He opens his eyes. Loki has the gift for tongues, but it takes him a moment to recognize the language. A very powerful magical something is saying, "Hello. What's your name?" far too cheerfully in Russian. He looks around — he's in a forest on Earth. Instead of Russia, the stars overhead suggest the continent of North America. There is magic in a thick red glow around him like a mist. Whatever it is, the magic is very powerful. But there are no magical creatures on Midgard anymore, just beasts and humans, with their one, very weak, though intriguing, magical trick.

"Loki," he says. Whatever the Russian speaking mist is, he doesn't want to annoy it.

"You hear me, Comrade!" says the thing, still in Russian. Its voice fades; the mist dissipates.

Loki is alone on the ground. He is too filled with despair to worry about the magical Russian-speaking creature. Sitting up, he pulls up his knees, leans forward and buries his face in his hands. He sees Sigyn slumped in the chariot, he sees his sons' terror-stricken faces in the Void flash before his eyes. He remembers the way they clung together, Valli clasping his hands to Nari's scabbard.

... The scabbard! Nari's scabbard. Long ago Loki gave it to him as a gift. Nari is an anglophile and the scabbard comes from that isle. It is enchanted to protect the bearer from harm. Is it powerful enough to save its bearer in the Void? Perhaps it could suspend them in time, just as Odin did to the crowd with Gungnir?

It is such a slim hope that Loki drops his hands and laughs. But he has to believe it. Not because it's likely, but because he must believe it or he might stay here, in this spot, in this forest for a millennium.

He swallows and assesses his situation. Physically he is unharmed, but he's very hungry. Using magic always makes him famished, and resisting whatever Odin did with his staff drained Loki tremendously.

He opens the knapsack quickly and pulls out the grenades. When he stole the grenades he also stole C-rations for their novelty. He scowls. The C-rations aren't there. Belatedly he remembers discarding them decades ago. But there is something else, something wonderful. A small book, bound in white leather, the size of his palm. It is the Journal of Lothur. Hoenir must have packed it. Loki presses the book to his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut. More than a journal, it is a book of magic with maps of many of the secret back road branches of the World Tree. Having it is a small miracle.

Not that he can open space-time to travel any of those branches now. He is famished, and exhausted.

He sees a far off glow in the distance. Perhaps it is a human habitation where he can steal food. Climbing to his feet, he starts trudging towards the glow. There is the cry of a raven above his head, and for a moment he panics. But when he looks up at the shadows of the trees he sees only common ravens, not Odin's messengers.

He hears a roar not far away. He hasn't been here since the 1940's, but he recognizes it as the sound of a roadway. It will be far easier to travel if he walks along it. That thought is just through his mind when he trips over something. Nearly falling to the ground, he curses, and a spurt of flame rises from his hand to the treetops. In the flame's orange glow he sees an outcropping of stone rising at his feet.

His flame dissipates, and he does his best to walk around the rocks in the dark.

His brain, as it is wont to do, starts to scheme. After he gets to the human village and eats his fill, then what? How will he find Valli and Nari in the Void? No, not the Void, they disappeared before he did. To what realm? He'll have to search them all.

Swallowing, he tries not to let the enormity of the task overwhelm him. He is rather good at achieving impossible things. Even Odin will give him that. Scowling at the thought of the would-be executioner of his sons, he feels his body go hot.

From up ahead he hears the sound of tires screeching and some loud noises he can't identify. He's too hungry to be curious. He just steps onto the gravel on the side of the road. Concentrating, he creates an illusion of the attire that was popular the last time he was on this planet. His armor is still on. If anyone touches him they will feel it, but he will look like he belongs. With a deep breath he starts walking towards the lights of human habitation.

An automobile approaches him. It has a shape he's never seen before, trapezoidish, large and boxy. Thinking perhaps that the driver will give him a lift, he raises his hand. It slows for a moment, and Loki sees a flash of white hair, but then it speeds away. Loki scowls and keeps going, every step dragging more than the last.

Far up ahead the boxy, trapezoidish automobile slows and stops. Loki hears a voice in the distance and something that sounds like a growl and maybe a yelp.

A few minutes later he feels something. Something that makes every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It's something he has not felt in centuries, the one, small, intriguing human magical trick: A prayer.

Someone, anyone, help me.

Chapter Two

Amy lies on the ground, one side of her face pressed in the dirt, the other side with the cold end of a gun to her cheek. She can hear her breath in her ears, or is that his breath? The guy's knee is on her back. He's silent. The hand is trembling. In fear... or... she swallows... or excitement.

Closing her eyes, she tries to remember her self defense courses she took with Grandma. The first rule was to verify that your attacker's weapon is genuine.

Licking her lips, she says, "Is that a... a... real gun?"

He laughs. "You want me to take it away from your cheek, don't you? Don't you?"

He pushes the muzzle more tightly against her, and Amy screws her eyes shut.

From the grass towards the road there is the sound of a high-pitched growl punctuated by occasional whimpering.

Fenrir! Screwing her eyes tighter, Amy desperately thinks, Fenrir, please, just distract him...

From the direction of the man's van comes another voice. "Fenrir?" Amy's heart stops. There are two guys? Oh, no.

"Who's there?" shouts the man that's holding her down. The trembling of the gun's muzzle stops and steadies.

Amy hears the snap of a twig close to her and Fenrir's pathetic growl and tiny yips a little further off.

"I'm not moving this gun from her face!" the man says.

The whimpering disappears. The high-pitched growl changes and deepens.

"What the... " her captor stutters and pulls the gun away. Amy darts into the car, rolls over and tries to yank her keychain out of the ignition, but it's jammed. Fumbling, she manages to detach the pepper spray.

She hears the sound of gunshots and the man cursing. Looking out the window, she sees an enormous wolf the size of a small pony, muzzle white with foam, crouching as though about to spring. The bullets seem to have no effect on it, and Amy draws back further into her overturned car.

And then there is a shadow over the window, a dull thudding noise over and over again, and then the sound of a crack. The deep growling is gone. There is just Fenrir's pathetic whimpering.

The shadow moves away and Amy blinks in confusion. And there, just visible in the indirect light of her headlights, is the man who was attacking her. He's face down on the ground. The white hair on his head appears slick, black and shiny. Just beyond him is Fenrir, licking her tiny jaws, and wiggling forward on her belly.

A new face pops too suddenly into the window, younger, clean shaven, with sharp features. He's wearing a fedora. "It's going to be all right — ."

It's the fedora that freaks her out. Amy fires the pepper spray. In slow motion it arcs towards him in a long stream.

The stranger throws up a hand just before it reaches his face. He blinks and then screams. "Aaauuuggghhhhhh!!!!"

Jumping back from the window, he shouts, "That stings!"

Unable to bear the sound of Fenrir's whimpering, Amy scoots forward and out of the car. The man is shaking his hand. He seems to be shimmering. It looks like he's wearing a fedora, a white shirt and dark, well-tailored pants that are sort of retro looking. And it also looks like he's wearing a suit of weird armor, a sword waving at his hip.

Shaking his hand, he turns to her, "That's how you reward someone, anyone, who saves your life? Firing snake venom at them?"

He slumps to the ground, still shaking his hand. The fedora, white shirt, and black pants seem to solidify around him. "I don't know why I bothered."

A shape wriggles towards him on the ground, whimpering and wagging its body.

"Fenrir!" Amy says.

Looking in the little dog's direction, the man says, "Fenrir," his voice sounding a little far off. Still shaking his one hand, he holds his other out to Amy's dog. Fenrir tries to lick it.

Running forward, Amy holds up the pepper spray. "Don't you dare hurt her!"

The look he gives her. It is such a look of what-are-you-some-kind-of-idiot that it actually makes Amy think he really won't hurt Fenrir — or her. Also, Fenrir is licking his hand. Fenrir doesn't lick men's hands.

Fenrir is limping, actually almost crawling. Forgetting all about the stranger, Amy goes into full diagnostic mode. The angle of her leg, the way her hip is jutting... "Fenrir," she says, "You've dislocated your hip. Oh, poor Baby."

Fenrir turns to Amy and pants. She was trying to save Amy a few minutes ago... with a dislocated hip. Sitting down next to her, Amy says, "You are the best doggie in the world, thank you, thank you, thank you." Fenrir wags her body and whimpers again.

"I am so sorry about this," Amy says to Fenrir. She looks at Strange Man. "She likes you. Would you hold her front steady?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to thank me?"

"Hold her," says Amy, her brain going into fix-the-injured-little-creature mode.

Sighing, the man wraps his hands around Fenrir's torso.

"I'm so sorry about this, Fenrir," Amy says. "She may bite you," she says to the stranger.

Before he can withdraw his hand, Amy's already got her hands on the dislocated joint. It takes only seconds to relocate Fenrir's hip. The dog yelps pitifully, but amazingly doesn't bite. As soon as Amy's done, she wiggles and jumps into Amy's arms.

"That was well done," says the stranger.

"Thank you," says Amy. Her eyes fall on the man lying prone in front of her overturned car. The enormity of what has happened suddenly catches up to her. Looking down, she says, "And thank you."

"Do you have any food?" the man asks. "That would be thanks enough."

Clutching Fenrir to her chest and rubbing her sore neck, Amy looks towards her car. She has a cooler in the back seat if she can get it out, but... Her eyes fall to the man on the ground.

"I don't think you have to worry about him," the stranger says.

Amy's eyes widen and she squeezes Fenrir a little tighter.

The stranger is silent. Somewhere an owl hoots.

"Your first time to see a corpse," says the stranger softly. Amy looks quickly at him. "No," she says, "I've seen plenty in the anatomy lab."

He stares at her for a moment. His face is young, he can't be much older than she is, but his expression is weary. "Do you have food in your automobile?" he says.

Amy blinks at the non-sequitur. "Yes, in the back seat. In the cooler."

"Cooler?" he says.

Nodding her head towards the car, she says, "Just the cheap Styrofoam white box you get at the convenience mart... "

The stranger stands up quickly and goes to her car. Amy's not really paying attention to what he's doing. She thinks she hears a car on the road. Running up out of the ditch she just catches sight of a car's retreating rear lights. She almost swears. They didn't even stop!

Putting Fenrir down, she goes back to her car and crawls through the window. The stranger is already pulling the cooler out of the backseat. It takes a while, but Amy finds her iPhone.

She tries to dial 911 but gets the no-service message.

Scowling in frustration, she stares at the man on the ground. She doesn't want to stay here, not with the dead or dying man — oh, God, should she check if he's dead? Will she be charged with manslaughter if she doesn't? Will Strange Guy be charged with murder?

Crawling out of her car, she feels for a pulse. She can't find anything and is both relieved and disgusted by the fact that she is relieved.

She has to get out of here. She begins frantically patting down the dead man's body.

"What are you looking for?" Strange Guy says.

Amy glances up to see him sitting on the bank of the ditch, a box of Life cereal between his knees, Fenrir sitting in front of him. He throws a handful into his mouth and tosses a piece to her dog.

He looks so much calmer than she feels, and it's not fair. She begins patting down the man again.

Not finding what she's looking for, she murmurs, "They're not here."

"What?" Strange Guy says.

Amy looks up at the minivan. Getting up from the ground she runs around the corpse and out of the ditch. She lifts the latch on the passenger side door. It's open. Maybe his keys are in here. She can drive the minivan to find help.

Stranger's voice comes from close behind her. "I don't think you should go into that man's automobile."

Ignoring him, Amy opens the glove box. There's a narrow folio in there, long and leather bound.

"Don't," says Stranger, and his hand is suddenly coming from behind to grab it from her. But it's too late. Amy's already opening it, and pictures are spilling out. There are pictures of women in there, but mostly of children. For an instant the pictures shake in Amy's bloody knuckles, and then she screams.

The man behind her says something, a curse or a swear or an exclamation. Whatever, he sounds shocked and horrified and the photo album bursts into flame.

Amy drops it, and the man says, "I'm sorry... I didn't... "

Some sense finally coming back to her, Amy begins to stamp out the fire with her foot. The people in the pictures... their families will need to know.

When the last of the flames are out she backs up — right into Stranger Guy's chest. He feels weird, too hard. She's in shock. Obviously. He brings a hand to her shoulder; it is warm and comforting and normal.

In the distance she hears sirens — maybe the car that drove off didn't belong to an ass after all. Stranger starts to pull his hand away. "Don't," she says, turning to him and looking up. He is really tall, maybe 6' 3" or 6' 4". She's not afraid of him anymore. She presses his hand more tightly and wills him not to go.

His jaw goes tight. And then he says, "All right, I won't."

When the man had a gun on her, she was terrified. But now, after seeing the pictures and what she almost did not escape... Her whole body trembles. The sirens in the distance get louder. Clutching Stranger's hand to her face, she begins to cry. She's safe now, she knows it. The words, "I am so afraid," are on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't say them.

"I know. I know," the Stranger says. And in the pit of Amy's stomach she can feel it. He does understand. He does know.

x x x x

Loki is about eleven years old. He is in Asgard. Odin is off on a campaign in the realm of the dwarfs and Loki's snuck off to play with Hoenir — Odin discourages Loki's visits to Hoenir's hut when he is home. Odin claims he doesn't want Loki disturbing Hoenir while he works. Hoenir never seems to be disturbed by Loki. In fact, Hoenir always seems happy to drop whatever he is doing when Loki comes about.

At the moment Loki and Hoenir are squatting in the grass outside Hoenir's hut. The hut is in a meadow between a copse of trees so high they completely shield the rest of Asgard from view. The trees are a gift from Frigga, Odin's wife and Loki's adoptive mother. She calls Hoenir's hut an eyesore.

Unlike all the other dwellings, buildings, and monuments in Asgard, Hoenir's hut isn't touched by any illusions that would make it conform to the current fashion for Egyptian architecture from the Old Kingdom. It looks as it always has. Made of rough wood, it leans slightly to one side. The chimney is made of natural stone and is crumbling slightly. The roof is thatch, and there are always little creatures peering out from the straw. Sometimes the creatures are recognizable, sometimes they are Hoenir's own invention — squirrels with bird beaks and peacock tails, snakes with butterfly wings, and birds with cat faces. These creatures are real, unlike the illusions created by Loki and Odin.

The hut normally has a glow about it, golden white, the color of Hoenir's magic. All magical beings have a color to their magic, but one can never see one's own color. Loki's been told, though, that his own magic is white, blue, orange and red — like a flame Mimir says. Or, as Odin says, because Loki is too fickle to pick a shade.

Loki isn't thinking about magical color, or paying attention to the denizens of the thatch. He is peering over Hoenir's shoulder and through a magnifying glass, a magical device Hoenir is holding over a small twig.

Hoenir, like Odin, doesn't look particularly youthful. He is balding and is a little round around the waist. Next to Hoenir is the severed head of Mimir the giant, propped up on top of an overturned crate. Like Loki, Mimir is wearing a wide brimmed hat to shield him from the sun.

Since Hoenir is mute, Mimir speaks for him. "Now you see, Loki, the magnifying glass captures and concentrates sunlight and turns it into heat."

Loki bends closer to the ground. He can see the concentrated beam of light Mimir speaks of. He waves his hand through the beam but only feels a disappointingly faint amount of warmth. The normal yellow golden glow of Hoenir's magic isn't present though, which means the glass needs none of Hoenir's magic to work. That is something, Loki supposes.

"The way a magnifying glass captures, concentrates and transforms sunlight is very much like how magical creatures capture, concentrate and transform magic," Mimir intones.

Loki nods at Mimir's head. Loki knows about magic. Most men of Asgard don't deign to toy with it, believing it makes them unmanly. But Odin and Hoenir are both powerful magicians, and Odin is king, and Hoenir is — Hoenir is Hoenir. Loki respects him as much as Odin. And he wants to be like them. At eleven he sees and feels magic everywhere, and is nearly as good at creating illusions as Odin. Loki gets the feeling that most people are uncomfortable with that, but Hoenir and Odin encourage his ability.

Looking back down to Hoenir and the magnifying glass, Loki asks, "May I try?"

"Ummmm... " says Mimir. "That might not... "

Hoenir hands Loki the magnifying glass.

Just as Loki takes the worn wooden handle in his grasp, he hears a loud shout, "Loki! Loki! Loki!!!"

Standing up in shock, Loki sends the concentrated beam of light dancing across the grass and the overturned crate Mimir sits on. In its wake, flames flare to life.

"Helllllppppppppp!" shouts Mimir.

Dropping the glass, Loki jumps over and pulls Mimir from the rising flames.

"Wow," Loki says, momentarily forgetting the shouting that distracted him. "That magnifying glass has powerful magic!"

"Ummm... no... " says Mimir. "Thank you, Loki. Turn me so that I face Hoenir."

Loki does as he is bidden and instantly regrets it.

"Hoenir, you had to expect that would happen if Loki touched the glass!" Mimir says, his voice so accusatory Loki feels pain on Hoenir's behalf.

Stamping out the flames, Hoenir just raises an eyebrow in Mimir's direction.

"What? He should know!" says Mimir.

Hoenir shrugs. Mimir says, "Pfffttt to what Odin says."

"Loki! Loki! Loki!!!" come the shouts again. Dropping Mimir on the ground, Loki spins around. "What was that?"

"What was what?" says Mimir, eyes staring at the sky.

"The voices calling my name!" says Loki. He doesn't recognize them. They sound almost like a chorus.

From Mimir there is silence. Loki looks to Hoenir. A quiet look is passing between the man and the severed head on the ground.

Blinking, Mimir says, "I suppose we might expect you to hear them early... "

"Hear what?" says Loki.

"Close your eyes, Loki," Mimir says. "What do you see?"

Loki tilts his head. Magic. He smiles. Closing his eyes, he finds he does see something. "I see the village by the lake from our camping trip this spring."

"Are you sure?" says Mimir.

How could he forget the place? Odin, Hoenir and Loki had gone camping on Earth. Their trip had been interrupted by some humans. It was the first time Loki had seen the creatures. In person they were smaller and more pathetic than he could have imagined. It seemed horribly cruel that Hoenir and Odin hadn't gifted them with magic.

The humans had spoken to Hoenir and Odin at length, and then Loki had been sent home under the watchful eyes of Huginn and Munnin, Odin's ravens. Nothing more had been said of the incident.

The scene behind Loki's eyelids changes, and he gasps. He sees something more. "I see a man with skulls around his belt!" Loki swallows. The skulls are too small to belong to adults.

"Do the voices in your head... do they say anything else?"

Loki's eyes open. "Yes, they say the giant's body has knit itself together, and he has sent a messenger from his fortress. In the morrow he will come to claim his sacrifice."

Hoenir's jaw drops. Mimir's eyes go wide. Swallowing, Mimir says, "Loki, the giant calls himself Cronus. I don't think he is the Cronus; he was Greek, and Odin, well, Zeus, well... Odin sort of... "

Loki's brow knits together.

Licking his lips, Mimir says, "Anyway, Cronus is not Aesir or Jotunn, but something other. He has been terrorizing humans for generations. Last fall, Hoenir hid the boy that Cronus chose to be a sacrifice as wheat in a field — and Cronus found him. Odin disguised the boy as a swan, and Cronus found him yet again. Fortunately, Odin was able to kill Cronus."

Loki nods. Of course, Hoenir wouldn't have been able to kill Cronus. Loki's never heard of Hoenir killing, or even hurting, anything.

Swallowing, Mimir says, "Or so we thought. If what your peasants say is true, Cronus was able to reassemble himself and seeks to claim his sacrifice again."

"Odin must come back!" Loki says, looking to the skies. He was sure he saw Huginn and Munnin, Odin's raven messengers earlier. If he gets their attention they can alert Odin.

Mimir sighs. "Loki, Odin is busy saving multitudes of children. He cannot come back for just one."

Loki swallows. In his head the voices rise again. "Loki! Loki! Save our son! Save our children!"

Loki starts walking to the Center and the World Gates. "I have to go." He feels as though the voices are pulling him by a thread.

"You won't be able to use your tricks of illusion against him!" Mimir says.

"I'll think of something," Loki says. He has to. The voices in his head...

He hears footsteps, and then Hoenir is at his side, Mimir in his hands. "You always do," Mimir says.

Loki blinks and Mimir winks at him.

Loki, along with Hoenir and Mimir, arrives at the village well after nightfall.

Even though Loki is only eleven, he is nearly as tall as the tallest man in the village — though that man is broader in shoulder, and probably stronger. The humans smell less than pleasant. Their clothes look like rags. Many are missing teeth, and some have horrible scars. He is horrified by them, and at the same time, when they look at him their hope is palpable. It makes Loki feel older, wiser, and more powerful than he has ever felt before.

And the boy that is to be sacrificed, Jonah... he is so small, he hardly comes up past Loki's waist. His eyes are so wide, frightened, innocent and trusting; Loki simply has to succeed.

Loki scans the horizon. As he does, the old man, who had talked to Odin and Hoenir last year, says, "We have tried to fight him, but our weapons bounce off, and he is terribly strong."

Loki blinks. Loki can't make weapons bounce off of him, but he knows it takes immense concentration. A surprise to break Cronus' concentration is needed.

A boathouse on the bank of the lake catches Loki's attention. He looks at the small stature of the humans and, to his own wonderment, he does think of something.

"Jonah," Loki asks, "can you swim?"

The boy nods.

Standing taller and trying to look important, Loki begins to tell Jonah, Hoenir, Mimir, and the assembled villagers his plan. When he is done, Jonah is quaking with fear.

Loki bites his own lip. He is very nearly a child himself, and he can relate. Kneeling down, he puts a hand on Jonah's shoulder. "Don't worry. All the time you are with Cronus, I'll be there with you."

Next to him, in Hoenir's arms, Mimir says, "Wait, now — " but Hoenir slaps a hand over his mouth.

In the morning before Cronus arrives, Loki casts an illusion over Jonah so he looks like a fish and commands him to go swim in the lake. Loki knows that Cronus will eventually see through the illusion, but he needs to buy the village men some time to enact their part of the plan.

As soon as Jonah is in the water, Loki goes off to meet Cronus. Cronus isn't tall for an Aesir, Vanir, or Jotunn, but he can see why the villagers think him a giant. Compared to the humans, he is immense. He has white hair and a face that is disturbingly pleasant, almost baby like in its roundness. It is in stark contrast to the belt of children's skulls that hangs at his waist. The belt is terrifying, but what is more frightening is the blanket of magic that hovers over him.

Cronus doesn't get angry when the villagers don't bring Jonah forward. He just smiles. And then he says, "I think I will go fishing." With that he turns around and walks to one of the boats on the shore. That was faster than Loki anticipated. Racing after Cronus he shouts, "Wait, I'll come with you."

"Of course, Little Giant," Cronus says with a laugh.

When they get in the boat, Loki says, "Let me row for you, Sir."

Narrowing his eyes, Cronus says, "Very well, Little Giant."

Loki takes the oars and proceeds to row in the wrong direction... as slowly as he can.

Smiling again, Cronus says, "You'll have to row faster than that, Little Giant, if you want your death to be an easy one."

Loki sits bolt upright and nearly drops the oars.

Laughing, Cronus says, "Oh, come now, you're a little bigger than I like, but you are very pretty. You don't think I'd let you get away?"

Fear unravels in the pit of Loki's stomach; it's all he can do not to quake in his seat.

With a wave of his hand, the oars fly from Loki's grasp and fall at the bottom of the boat. With another wave, Cronus sets the boat in motion again — this time in the right direction. Loki swallows. The sun is bright, and its cheerfulness feels like a mockery of Loki and Jonah's plight.

Loki tries to confuse Cronus by illusioning schools of fish beneath the boat, and it does work somewhat. Cronus sees the fish, slows the boat, and drops the net that sat at the boat's stern. But after a few empty hauls, he sees through Loki's scheme. He weights the net down and dredges along the bottom.

By late morning he has Jonah in the net, and as soon as he lifts him into the boat, the illusion drops. With a gasp, Jonah runs to sit by Loki. Taking the smaller boy's hand, Loki squeezes — not sure who he's trying to reassure.

Cronus just smiles at them, waves a hand and the boat heads toward shore. As soon as the boat hits ground, Loki waves his hands and an illusionary wall of flame rises up in the middle of the small craft, a few hands lengths away from Cronus' nose. Pulling Jonah from the boat, Loki yells, "Run!"

They tear as fast as they can through the shallow water, out of the bright sunlight, into the boat house. Cronus, in a frenzy, follows right behind. He is nearly on them when his head runs straight into the trap Loki had the men set for him, a spear at just the right height to hit a full-grown Aesir, Jotunn or Vanir squarely in the head.

Dazed, Cronus takes a step back. "Now!" screams Loki. From the shadows village men come forward with axes. One presses an axe in Loki's own hand.

Loki has received a warrior's training. And he has killed animals in the hunt. But now, when he needs it most, he seems unable to fight. He just stands frozen. The human men do not hesitate. They begin furiously hacking at Cronus' limbs with their axes, and the boathouse fills with the thick smell of blood. Loki sees a leg separate at the knee. Almost instantly it reattaches. Loki's eyes go wide and Cronus laughs.

"Think you're clever, Little Giant? I disguised how quickly I can heal from your brother, Odin! But I don't want you to get away."

With a roar he heaves one of the villagers through a wall.

Loki's mind uncoils. He doesn't know if it is fear or bravery which sets him in motion. "Keep going!" Loki shouts to the remaining villagers, running to the wall and grabbing several iron nails.

A villager separates the other leg with an axe, and this time, Loki stabs a nail into the severed knee, preventing a clean bond of the severed flesh. Cronus gives a cry of rage and tries to bend down to remove the nail, but the humans sense his weakness and redouble their efforts. An arm falls away, and again Loki is there, stabbing another iron nail into the wound.

They can't get to the head before all the limbs are severed and the joints secured from reattachment. Cronus is unaffected by loss of blood, and he manages to throw a few more villagers off of him with the power of his mind alone. But at last, when he can barely move, when he's just a torso and a head, he looks at Loki and his eyes open wide. "You," he says. And then he sneers, "Plan to flush me down the river like you did your brother?"

Loki feels like he's been struck. He wants to demand to know what Cronus is talking about but then a villager's axe falls down on Cronus' neck and his eyes go blank.

Loki falls back gasping. He starts to shake; he's not sure why. He's safe now... safe...

Chapter Three

Sheriff Ken McSpadden sits in his office, the driver's license of Thor Odinson in his hand. It's an Oklahoma driver's license, just like Amy Lewis' license. The picture on this license is definitely the man who saved Amy Lewis by killing Ed Malson — a name that was soon to go down in serial killer history.

On his computer monitor Thor's license information is displayed again. It took a while to pull the record up. They had some computer problems first.

Thor's social security number checks out... but that's a little weird, too. Like the license details, before Thor's social security number cleared they had computer trouble, a flicker, an error... and then... everything was okay.

Thor's got a clean record as far as the criminal databases are concerned. McSpadden tried Googling him, too — but all he got was a comic book character.

Leaning back in his chair, McSpadden taps the armrest in agitation. It's not the comic book name, the computer glitches, or the girl's story about a wolf distracting Malson that's really putting him on edge. It's Deputy Patches, the station cat.

Patches is a very fat cat. Sometimes the officers affectionately refer to her as a bowling ball. She's famously lazy, but right now she is rubbing her head vigorously against the edge of his computer monitor. McSpadden puts the license down. Patches begins batting it with her paw, and then chewing its edge. Abruptly she hops down from the desk and begins chasing an imaginary mouse around the room.

McSpadden sighs. Patches hasn't been this excited since they found that crazy carpet at the edge of the road. Darn thing kept rolling and unrolling, and then it would levitate a few inches off the ground before collapsing. Patches had scratched and rolled over every part of it until the thing was covered with fur.

Nix that. She had been more excited by the monkey paw. McSpadden's dogs had found it while he'd been out coon hunting with the boys. The dogs had formed a circle around it and growled up a storm. McSpadden picked it up and put it in his pocket. It had been a long evening, he was hungry, and he found himself wishing for a pastrami sandwich. Not five minutes later he and the boys discovered the hiker — dead for days, a rotting pastrami sandwich miraculously not eaten by scavengers in his hands. That's when McSpadden remembered reading a horror story back when he was a kid about a monkey's paw that granted its bearer's wishes — but at a price.

McSpadden feels a chill run up his spine at the memory. He wouldn't have put two and two together, but after the carpet incident and all the damn unicorn sightings in Mark Twain National Forest, he had the sense to bring the paw back to the station and call it in. Patches had thrown a hissing fit. She has a sense for these... weird things. Some of the boys call it magic.

"Yo, Colbert!" McSpadden calls through the open door.

Deputy Colbert tears himself away from CNN and comes into McSpadden's office. "Give this back to Thor," says McSpadden.

Colbert opens his mouth to speak, but McSpadden points to Patches. She hops up onto McSpadden's desk again and starts rubbing her head against the computer.

Colbert's eyebrows go up at Patches' unusual display of activity. Nodding, he takes the license and leaves the office, wisely not saying a word.

McSpadden picks up Patches and carries her outside. It's 4 a.m. and still dark. He walks over to one of the cars in the parking lot and sets Patches down on the hood. She sprawls out and does what she normally does best. She sleeps.

Feeling a little more confident and a little less watched than he did inside, McSpadden pulls out his cell phone. He clicks on a contact he's never actually met, but he's all too familiar with.

After three rings the call's picked up on the other end. "Laura Stodgill here, U.S. Department of Anomalous Devices of Unknown Origin. McSpadden, what do you have for me in your vortex of weirdness?" Her voice sounds sleepy and a bit disoriented.

"You mean this shit isn't happening all over?" McSpadden says.

Suddenly sounding very alert and awake, Laura says, "I can neither confirm nor deny that. What do you have?"

"The question is who do I have," McSpadden says.

Laura sounds distressingly nonplussed by that response. "Does he or she have pointy ears or green skin?"

"Uh... no," says McSpadden.

"Speak English?"

"Yes," says McSpadden.

"Do you have a picture?"

"On my phone, sending it now," says McSpadden. He actually took it by accident when they first brought Thor and Miss Lewis into the station. Damn camera button was too easy to hit — he has hundreds of pictures of the inside of his pocket.

"Got it," says Laura, "Sending it through the proper channels. Now tell me everything that happened."

When McSpadden is done, Laura says, "Get his signed statement and go through the usual rigmarole. I'll be back to you within a few hours. Don't treat him like a criminal... he may be one of the good guys, and even if he's not, you really don't want to tick him off."

"What?" says McSpadden, but Laura's already gone.

x x x x

Loki sits in a small room in the sheriff's station. Next to him is the comely wench of the extraordinary bosom who he had rescued — and the dog inaptly named Fenrir. At his feet is the knapsack. His sword is invisible at his waist. Killing the man-beast they've identified as Ed Malson would have been far cleaner with his sword, but since swords have fallen out of fashion here on Earth, it raises too many questions. Hence he settled for beating him to death with a small log.

The snake venom and hunger made him irritable, and he'd slipped out of character right after rescuing Miss Lewis. But now he sits with his shoulders slightly slumped, his face schooled into an expression of solemness and a bit of intimidation — just like a 25ish year old man who had never killed someone and found himself in a police station would look.

He's not sure a human 25 year-old would be eating from a bag of Ghirardelli 60% dark chocolate chips — a gift from Miss Lewis — but he is so very hungry and these chips are so very good.

He looks over to Miss Lewis. Her knuckles are bandaged, but she still is tapping away at the little device called an iPhone. She's called her grandmother in Chicago and is now "texting agents of insurance." He's learned a lot about her from the things she's babbled to the police so far. Primarily that she is of no import to this world whatsoever.

But he heard her praying, three times. Before he killed Malson when she was begging for help, when she commanded Fenrir to distract him, and afterwards, when he wanted to leave before the police arrived — he heard her asking him not to go, and telling him how afraid she was.

He understands her fear. He thought the memories of Cronus were buried deeper, but something about Malson — his sadism, his white hair, even his baby like features, brought the memories to the surface.

He shakes his head. He hates remembering himself as so helpless and vulnerable.

Scowling, he pops another chocolate chip in his mouth. Why did he hear her prayers? None of the Aesir, or Loki, for that matter, hear all the prayers sent to them. Only some filter through. Odin believes that only requests relating to the receiver's higher purpose are heard. So she's important to Loki, in some unfathomable way. Maybe just to see that he eats something?

He looks down at the chocolate in his hands. He's too weary to World Walk right now. He might as well be here. Maybe he'll learn something about how their latest technology impacts criminal investigations. It will be very helpful if he and his boys are forced to stay on Earth for a while and need to rob banks to support themselves. Bank robbing was very lucrative for Loki in the 1940s. Granted, it was more bank burglary — no humans were harmed, or even noticed his presence. Hoenir is fond of humans, and Loki wouldn't purposely upset Hoenir.

But would his sons even accept burglary? Valli might... he is a bit twitchy, but since Nari infected him with his idealistic zeal for political reform even Valli might be repulsed by the idea of a life of crime... unless Loki somehow managed to convince him it is for "the greater good." How could any children of his be so fatally idealistic? Where did he go wrong? He warned them Odin would turn a blind eye to all sorts of mischief unless it threatened the throne.

For a moment his boys' faces, frozen in that instant in deep space, hover before his eyes and he blinks. He can do nothing right now.

To distract himself, he looks over Miss Lewis' shoulder. The small device called an iPhone has no resemblance to a phone at all. It is, in fact, a small computer that has phone-like capabilities — it doesn't work everywhere, apparently. Last time he was on Earth, computers occupied whole rooms and had to be tediously programmed with punch cards. The boxes on the sheriff's desk are impressive enough, but this one fits in her palm. It has a calculator in it, a location device, a camera, music, flickering little games, and a way of connecting with other computers all over the world through a thing called the Internet. All these "apps" interface with a tiny keyboard that disappears and reappears at her touch. It's fascinating, and the sort of thing he could ordinarily be very distracted by.

A noise at the office door catches his attention. He looks up to see Deputy Colbert walk in. "Here's your driver's license... Thor," he says handing Loki a little card. Loki takes it and taps it against his knee; he can feel the deputy's suspicion in the air. It's actually Miss Lewis' card; Loki has made it look like it belongs to his current alias: Thor Odinson. Choosing the name of his sons' betrayer was just a little game — to tick Odin off, to test the humans, and to give himself a quiet laugh.

It turned out to be not such a great idea. Thor Odinson, that bastard, is apparently a hero in a "comic book" and "movie franchise" and they thought he was lying. Hence, stealing Miss Lewis' ID after they'd "photocopied" it — whatever that meant — and proffering it to the sheriff with an apologetic smile and a smooth excuse of "thought I lost it in the scuffle." The fake social security number he gave them wasn't enough.

They ran the license and the social security number he provided through their computers. It was an interesting challenge, making the computer screens appear as though his alias' info checked out. Fortunately, Loki can project his consciousness — even create immaterial doubles of himself if he wishes to. He hovered over their shoulders while they used their devices to pull up Miss Lewis' info. He was able to create the same screens for Thor Odinson. The magic involved put the station's cat in a happy tizzy, but he's sure the humans are oblivious to the reasons for the cat's joyful frolics.

As Colbert leaves the room with a small nod, Miss Lewis turns to Loki. "I heard you tell them that you... " Taking a breath she licks her lips. "... don't have a permanent address. And I want you to know, if you need it, my grandmother has an apartment over our garage that isn't occupied. You're welcome to it... until you get on your feet."

Loki blinks. What an utterly naive, far too trusting offer. For some reason it puts to mind a childhood story about a wolf, a little girl and her grandmother.

... But he isn't really the wolf, is he?

Trying to keep the bemusement from his features, he says, "Thank you... Miss Lewis."

She flushes, and looks down at her phone. "You can just call me Amy."

Loki raises an eyebrow. And then, taking a purposefully loud breath, he says, "I will consider it." Smiling softly and as non-threateningly as he can, he adds, "Is there food there?"

Glancing back to him, Amy smiles... just a little, and says, "My grandmother will feel it's her duty to make sure you're positively stuffed."

Well, that sounds promising. But he doesn't want to seem too eager. He looks at the device in her fingers. "What are you searching for on your iPhone?" he asks.

"Oh," she says, turning to it. "I'm trying to find bus schedules. My car isn't going to be repaired for at least a week, and I can't stay here."

What a wonderful device! "That information could be useful to me as well," says Loki. "Perhaps I can lean over your shoulder?"

"Sure," says Miss Lewis — Amy — and Loki watches with fascination as she navigates through the iPhone's many screens.

He jerks his head up with a start when Sheriff McSpadden and Deputy Colbert come back in. Colbert has the cat in one arm.

"We're going to need to get your statements. Miss Lewis, you can stay here. Mr. Odinson, will you come with me?"

They're going to question him. He isn't surprised by this; he spent a little time with the police in the 1940s. Humans have fallen so far since the early days when they'd just throw you a party when you killed a monster. But it can't be helped.

Nodding, he scratches his leg and uses it as a distraction to grab his knapsack. Cradling the chocolate chips in the other hand, he stands. "Of course."

As they leave the room, the cat perks its ears in Loki's direction. Walking down the hall, he hears Amy say, "He's not going to be in any trouble, is he? He saved me." It's a bit touching, actually.

The room he is taken to has no windows, only a single table with a small gray mechanical box on it, and a mirror that undoubtedly is a window to another room. McSpadden inclines his head towards a chair, and Loki sits down. He's not afraid. The sword is in easy reach, he has enough magical energy left to make himself invisible if he needs to, the lock on the door is a non-issue; and actually, he's very curious.

Before they begin to talk, the sheriff presses a button on the small box on the table and says, "We'll record this whole conversation." Loki watches with fascination as two little wheels in the box start to turn, and the man says, "You kids, never seen a cassette recorder before... "

The question and answer session that follows goes as well as these things can. Loki fabricates details of "Thor's" past from his last journey to the realm.

And then they get to the immediate present.

"So, after the trucker you were hitching a ride with kicked you out of the cab, you heard Miss Lewis call for help?" says the Sheriff.

"Yes," says Loki.

"She says Malson said he'd kill her if she opened her mouth," says the Sheriff.

For a moment, Loki thinks he's being cross examined and feels the corner of his lip start to tug upward into a cruel smile. But then he realizes McSpadden's body language is still non-confrontational. He seems almost... confused.

Loki schools his features into a look of sympathy. "Yes." He blinks. "She thinks she saw a wolf, too. But... " he shrugs. "There was only her little dog. She is understandably distraught."

"Yes," says McSpadden. "The wolf... "

There is a knock at the door, and McSpadden excuses himself from the table. The door opens and Colbert is there with the cat. "She's clean, but Patches didn't like the dog. Thought you might like her... "

Before Colbert can finish the sentence, the cat launches itself out of his arms and walks over in Loki's direction, tail swishing madly back and forth.

Loki's eyes go up to the two men in the door. Both of their mouths are slightly agape.

"Do you want me to stay?" Colbert whispers.

They know the cat senses magic! But how have they even come in contact with magic before? Loki closes his eyes a moment. Of course. The same branch of the World Tree that sucked him here from the Aesir magical dump. They've had other things drop in... possibly very unpleasant things.

Loki looks back to Patches. Holding out a finger, he says, "Here, Patches, no need to worry. The Sheriff and I are just having a little chat." Patches approaches Loki slowly. She sniffs his finger carefully, and then rubs her head against it.

Loki looks up to McSpadden. The Sheriff straightens. Loki restrains a smile.

"I'll be alright, Colbert," says McSpadden.

Loki tilts his head. As the door closes and McSpadden sits down again, Loki projects a warm cloud of warmth around his hand. As he expects, Patches' caution quickly evaporates. She begins purring and rubbing her head and body against his fingers.

With a smile Loki reaches down and puts her on his lap, settling another warm bubble of air around her. Patches lies down on his knee and begins purring loudly, kneading her claws, and staring in McSpadden's direction. Cats are utter whores for a warm lap.

Loki can't restrain his smile. "You have more questions?"

x x x x

In the interrogation room McSpadden's phone buzzes with a text message. He looks down. It's from Laura Stodgill. He carefully peeks at it beneath the table.

Positive match. In discussion as to what to do. Don't make him angry.

Well, that's comforting. Tilting his head, he looks back up to Thor.

"... and so you are on your way to the Dakotas to take part in the oil boom," says McSpadden. It's plausible; in fact, out in the main lobby CNN has been running a show about just those very jobs this evening. McSpadden scowls — is that a coincidence?

"That's right," says Thor. Popping a chocolate chip into his mouth, he smirks slightly. It's a smirk that says, I know you know I'm lying, and it doesn't bother me at all. In Thor's lap Patches is rubbing her head against his stomach, purring so loudly that McSpadden knows the tape recorder is going to pick it up.

On the one hand, he's glad she's not hissing. On the other hand, he can't even imagine he's in charge of the situation here.

Before Patches came into the room, Thor had every appearance of a vaguely disoriented, slightly frightened young man who had almost inadvertently saved a young woman from terrible tragedy. As soon as Patches started acting up, he seemed to pick up exactly on what was going on. Apparently he decided a facade wasn't worth maintaining anymore.

Now Thor sits straight up, eerily light blue eyes focused down on McSpadden. McSpadden isn't a small guy at 6' 2", but Thor's got a couple of inches on him. Thor isn't cocky, not like a petty thief. No, he's confident, like he knows he can get up and leave at any moment; he's just playing along because this is some sort of amusing game to him. Before the weirdness in McSpadden's neck of the woods he would have written Thor off as crazy. Now with Laura's response, and Patches' response... McSpadden sighs. Ah, for the good old days.

"I don't suppose you have any idea how the pictures caught on fire?" McSpadden says.

Thor's jaw goes hard. "They were very disturbing."

Which isn't an answer but is definitely true. McSpadden had gotten to the point in his job where he thought he couldn't see anything worse than he already had. He'd been wrong.

"Well," says McSpadden. "We'll need to type this out, and then have you sign it and then... "

Thor raises an eyebrow.

... and then normally it would be McSpadden's call to decide whether the guy should stay or go.

Frustrated, McSpadden turns off the tape. Thor blinks and bends over to look closer at the cassette player. It's the first time since Patches came in that he looks even slightly less than in complete control.

Thor looks up at McSpadden and straightens. "You have no say over my being allowed to stay or go, do you?" says Thor.

McSpadden rubs his eyes. He should lie, but frankly, he's a little fed up — fed up with not being in charge of what went on at his station, and fed up with the Department of Anomalous Devices of Unknown Origin for not filling him in on what the Hell is going on.

"Nope," McSpadden says.

Thor cocks his head. "Thank you for that bit of honesty." He reaches a hand into the bag of chocolate chips, and then scowls down at it. Picking it up, he peers inside and the scowl intensifies.

And suddenly McSpadden has a bit of a quantum leap. Maybe The Department of ADUO won't talk to him, but maybe Thor will.

"I was told to be nice to you, though," McSpadden says.

Thor looks up.

Standing up, McSpadden says, "While we get this and Miss Lewis' statement typed up, you're welcome to have breakfast with us."

Thor's eyes widen. "I would appreciate that, Sheriff."

McSpadden smiles at his own guile. "Just bagels and cream cheese — maybe some lox if Sherrie is feeling like going all out." Patting his stomach he says, "Gotta fight the stereotypes."

Thor just blinks at him.

"Come on," says McSpadden, opening the door.

Thor puts Patches down and walks with McSpadden towards the break room, Patches at their feet.

"I don't suppose you can tell me where you're really from?" McSpadden says.

A mischievous smile comes to Thor's lips. "I already have."

McSpadden can sense he's not going to get any more of an answer than that. Instead of pressing he says, "Could you at least tell me when the weirdness will stop? The carpet was kind of funny, but the monkey's paw... "

Thor stops walking, and his eyes widen. "You found a monkey's paw?"

McSpadden nods.

Shaking his head, Thor says, "I knew there had to be at least four of them... " He eyes McSpadden. "What did you do with it?"

"Gave it to the proper department," says McSpadden.

Thor's jaw goes hard. "And you'll give me to the proper department?"

McSpadden's stomach drops. He swallows.

Thor's eyebrow quirks. "You mentioned breakfast?"

McSpadden nods and starts leading him down the hall again. "I suppose I shouldn't worry about the unicorns... "

"Unicorns? There shouldn't be unicorns." Thor says.

McSpadden shrugs. "We've had a couple of sightings. I suppose they are harmless enough."

Thor stops abruptly and takes McSpadden's arm so quickly McSpadden spins around. Expression very serious, Thor says, "Sheriff McSpadden, in deference to your honesty with me I will tell you this. Unless you are especially pure, never, never, think a unicorn is harmless. If you value your life."

"Uh... ." says McSpadden looking at the hand.

Dropping his arm, Thor turns his head and sniffs. "Do I smell smoked fish?" Without waiting for McSpadden to take the lead, he heads straight to the break room and McSpadden jogs to keep up. Miss Lewis is already sitting there with Colbert. She's reading over a statement in front of her. Her dog, Fred, or something, starts growling at Patches and the cat takes off. Amy looks up at Thor. The man's face suddenly takes on the look of bewildered young man again and he nods at her. "Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yes," she says, smiling softly and then turns back to her statement.

"I'll get your statement for you in a few minutes," says McSpadden.

Thor looks at McSpadden and gives him a wink.

McSpadden blinks. Thor is definitely dangerous. Clenching his jaw, McSpadden remembers the half burned pictures from Malson's van... and other things they'd found in the back.

Being dangerous isn't the same as being evil. Turning on his heel, he leaves the room.

When he comes back Colbert and Miss Lewis are gone. Thor is sitting with his feet up on the table, munching on a bagel with lox. Patches is on the ground, pawing at his lap.

"Where — " says McSpadden, looking around the room.

"Miss Lewis had a bus to catch," says Thor.

"Well — " McSpadden starts to say, when his phone starts to buzz with another text.

He picks it up. It's from Laura. He clicks on it.

Word on high is he's the good guy. He's free to go. Jameson furious.

McSpadden scowls. Jameson is the director of ADUO — how can anyone be higher than him?

Thor's voice comes from just over McSpadden's shoulder. "Well, that is interesting."

McSpadden jumps away fast and turns. He almost draws his gun.

Thor takes a bite out of his bagel and looks towards the window, his face vaguely contemplative. "The good guy," Thor muses aloud.

McSpadden goes over and picks up Patches. She is utterly uninterested in his phone — so the message from Laura is not just enchanted... or magical... or whatever. Wiggling out of his arms, she hops to the ground and runs over to Thor.

Smirking at McSpadden, Thor picks up a bottle of water off the break room table and takes a swig. "Sheriff McSpadden, I thank you for your hospitality, but waiting for my statement at this point would be superfluous."

"Uh, I gotta keep you here until you sign it," McSpadden says, straightening. "Procedures and all that."

Rolling his eyes, Thor says, "Remember what I told you about the unicorns."

And then he disappears. McSpadden looks around the break room. The bagels, cream cheese, and lox are all gone, too. For a brief few moments Patches does an impression of a whirling dervish, running like mad in circles. Then she stops abruptly in a beam of morning sunlight, licks her back once, and promptly lies down and goes to sleep.

x x x x

Loki makes himself and all the food in the break room invisible. Holding the bagel he is eating between his teeth, he stuffs the rest into his knapsack, right in front of McSpadden. Patches hops madly around his feet. He's a little worried she'll try to follow him, but when he runs for the door she doesn't pursue.

He exits the station, the door swinging on empty air behind him. He glances at the sky. Not a raven in sight — Odin's messengers or otherwise, but he remains invisible anyway. Seeing Amy and Deputy Colbert in the distance, he runs to catch up. His hunger is nowhere near sated, and it takes more effort than he expects.

Amy is just stepping up the bus' steps when he can't bear the strain anymore. He drops the invisibility and gasps for breath. Fortunately, he's behind Amy, the deputy has already turned away, and the bus driver's facing away.

Amy spins with a start.

"Thought I'd take you up on your offer," he says, swallowing and trying to appear pathetic and non-threatening. The effect may be slightly undone by his heavy breathing.

Her mouth opens. For a minute he thinks that maybe his illusion of Earth fashion has dropped, but he looks down and it's still there. Then in his mind he hears, Please don't be a bank robber or anything. The fact that he hears her is disturbing; the fact that she's praying that he doesn't rob banks is very disturbing.

"All right?" he says slowly, not sure if he is agreeing not to rob banks, or asking if her offer is still good.

She swallows. "Do you need me to buy you a ticket?"

He winces.

The bus driver says, "Buy it for him online when you sit down! We've got to get a move on!"

"Okay," she says. From a shapeless bag on her shoulder, Fenrir gives a happy yip.

"Is that a dog in there?" says the bus driver.

"No!" say Amy and Loki in unison, quickly hurrying up the steps.

As they settle into their seats which are a might bit cramped, Amy complains about being in a "cattle car." Loki says nothing. He actually thinks the vehicle is fairly amazing. It's not one of the litters of Odin's wife, Frigga, and the seats are not proportioned for someone his size, but even with his legs splayed wide, one knee awkwardly out in the aisle, it is much more comfortable than a horse.

His brain churns with questions. Why did Odin's spell leave him so drained? And how did he escape it? How is he the good guy? Could they possibly mistake him for the real Thor? And unicorns... How in the nine realms are they slipping over here? They certainly didn't come from Asgard's orbiting garbage heap.

He closes his eyes. He should pull out his book and look for branches of the World Tree in the vicinity of Chicago.

Instead he falls asleep.

Chapter Four

Maybe it is the steady hum of the engine. Maybe it is that there are people all around. Or maybe it is just exhaustion. Whatever, even though Amy wouldn't think it possible, in the bus, just a little before St. Louis, she dozes off. She wakes up with a start, vague memories of darkness and Ed Malson in her mind.

She takes a breath. Fenrir pushes her nose out of the bag in Amy's lap and licks her hand. Amy pats the dog's head. She is safe. Thor Odinson saved her. She rubs her eyes. His parents must be lunatics for giving him a name like that. Lunatic parents may be something they have in common. Thinking about Thor, she blinks. Wincing from the pain in her neck, she rolls her head to look at him across the aisle. Her eyes widen. Thor's head is bent down against his chest; his eyes are closed. He's shivering, his lips are moving, a scowl is on his brow. She can tell instantly he is having bad dreams, too.

But that isn't what's making her eyebrows touch her hairline.

He's wearing armor. What looks like the handle of a sword is poking out of the knapsack that sits on the floor between his feet.

Another passenger walking by looks down at him and blinks and then walks back to his seat, a confused expression on his face.

Amy's heart starts to beat fast. This is too weird. Not just that he is wearing armor, but that he was dressed like a rock-a-billy, hipster, wannabe when he got on the bus. Where did he stow the extra clothes? Not in the little bag. But she saw the armor before, didn't she, when she hit him with pepper spray?

Her train of thought is interrupted when Thor whispers something strange and guttural. Fenrir pushes herself out of the bag, runs across the aisle, and hops into his lap.

Amy looks up and down the aisle. No one seems to have noticed. She looks at Thor. His eyes are blinking open. Fenrir pants on his face and his head jerks up, in surprise or because Fenrir's breath has been especially bad since the road kill incident.

Raising an eyebrow, he puts a hand on the wiggling Fenrir. "Hello beast that looks like a dog," he says in the proper East Coast tones she first noticed in the police station, when the shock of everything had started wearing off.

... or maybe the shock didn't wear off. He's wearing armor.

The Art Institute of Chicago has some suits of armor from the middle ages. They look like barrels with metal tubes for feet and arms. What Thor is wearing is very different. It fits like a second skin. It seems to be a dull metal that picks up the colors around it — it almost blends into the seat. There is a chest plate, and some interlocking horizontal strips about the width of a finger that fall to his belt. The same thin strips rise up his neck. There are more plates around his legs and arms, between them more of the interlocking finger-width pieces of metal.

Thor glances at her. His eyes open a little bit when he sees she's awake, and then he looks back to Fenrir, who has rolled over on his lap. Wrinkling his nose and scowling a bit, Thor gingerly scratches Fenrir on the chest with a finger.

Thor is very pale, and at the moment very scruffy, his hair is disheveled, and it looks like he hasn't had a shave in days. His face is narrow, and his features are somewhere between sharp and delicate. He's definitely not unattractive, but you wouldn't mistake him for the rugged actor who plays his namesake in the "Thor" movie franchise.

She stares at him. As he scratches Fenrir, the armor makes no sound at all. She would expect the metal to clink or something.

Turning to her, Thor scowls a little bit. "Is something wrong?"

Amy opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

"Yes?" he says tilting his head.

Biting her lip, she points at him. "Ummm... " she says. "You're wearing... armor. Kind of weird SWAT meets elven Lord of the Rings armor."

His eyes go wide and he looks down. Almost to himself he says, "Well, that's never happened before.."

"Am I still asleep?" Amy says. "Is this a dream?"

He looks at her and the corner of his lip twitches. Tilting his head he says, "You are dreaming." Reaching down into his knapsack and pulling out a bagel, he says, "Close your eyes. Enjoy the comfort of this magnificent vehicle."

That doesn't help the moment feel real. "It's a bus," she says.

He scowls a little. "I know that."

"It isn't magnificent," she says. And it brings back bad memories of other bus rides she's had to take.

He blinks. "Go to sleep. When you awake, I will be wearing the normal attire you saw me in earlier."

"It wasn't normal."

"What?" he says, brows rising.

"It was totally retro, 1950s-esque," Amy says.

His mouth twitches. "Was it really so conspicuous?"

"Well... " Amy says. "Sort of... I mean some people wear that kind of thing, but it isn't precisely normal."

He stares at her a moment, and then he says, "Go back to sleep. When you open your eyes I'll be totally retro again."

Amy settles back against the seat, takes a breath, and closes her eyes.

Someone says, "Is that a dog?!" in a very accusatory tone.

Amy's eyes bolt open to see an older man glaring down at her lap. Her fingers tighten around Fenrir. "Ummmm... " she says.

The man backs up. "Oh, I must have been mistaken."

Amy looks down. In her lap is a shaggy gray teddy bear that looks immobile — but she feels a wiggling Fenrir in her fingers.

Amy looks across the aisle. Thor is wearing retro clothing again. "You are dreaming," he says softly.

Staring at the seat in front of her, Amy scowls. "That is the logical explanation."

She doesn't feel safe anymore. She has this horrible feeling that she didn't escape Malson, that she is dying in a ditch somewhere and her brain is making up this long dream to save her from the pain.

"Close your eyes," he says.

She doesn't want to know if this is real or not. Squeezing her eyes shut, she says, "I'm not opening them until we reach Chicago."

"Shhhhhh... ." he says softly. "When you wake up, things will return to normal, and when they're normal you'll know you're safe."

His voice sounds so confident, so sure, as though he knows exactly how she's feeling.

x x x x

The villagers pick up the pieces of Cronus' body. They laugh and smile. Loki is still sitting on the floor of the boathouse, arms wrapped around his knees. Hoenir and Mimir haven't entered yet. Both of them would have been useless, of course.

A villager comes up and hands Loki a flask of something. Patting Loki on the shoulder, he flashes a smile missing several teeth. "Well done, Loki! Drink this."

Loki takes the flask; it smells strongly like alcohol. Loki's had watered down mead before, but not often. Frigga's handmaiden, Eir, is talented in the healing arts. Eir has Frigga convinced that alcohol is particularly harmful for young developing minds and livers.
Odin says in his day everyone drank. Brusquely taking the flask, Loki takes a long swig.

It burns, and he has to fight hard to keep it down. The man laughs again. "We are burning his body, building you a throne, and will kill a calf in your honor! Come! Celebrate with us."

He pats Loki on the shoulder and offers him a hand up. Loki accepts and tries to hand back the flask.

"You keep it!" says the man. "You've earned it."

Loki looks down at the flask. He knows as soon as he exits the boathouse, Hoenir will take the drink from him. That seems unmanly. Tipping the flask back, he proceeds to drain it, even though tears run down his cheeks and some of the liquid runs down his chin. When he's done, he wipes his chin and hands the flask back to the villager.

Eyes wide, the villager says, "You are a god."

Loki smiles triumphantly. Suddenly humans are streaming into the boathouse, men, women, and children. They throw their arms around Loki and then hoist him onto their shoulders. Warmth spreads through Loki, and he sees Hoenir and Mimir over their heads and waves happily.

Soon the bonfire is roaring, and Loki is sitting on a rough chair that is too wide for him. They call it a throne. He would call it branches, but he smiles, and the villagers smile, and it's all like a wonderful dream. He calls the little boy Jonah over to sit with him, and the villagers seem to think that is hilarious and fantastic. They bring over some weak beer; Jonah accepts it readily, so Loki does too. Nearby Loki hears Mimir say, "Well, I suppose one little drink won't hurt him... "

Soon after, there is food and more beer, and then there is music and dancing around the fire. Hoenir and Mimir try to pull Loki away, but Loki tells them something to the effect of, "in just a minute," and dives into the dance with the villagers. Someone must have thrown some new kindling on the fire just then because the flames seem to rise halfway to Asgard. Or maybe he is just drunk. But he is happy. And after today, and the boat, and Cronus, and staring into the faces of the humans around him who are so kind, so fragile, so mortal, and who love him so much it is almost a physical pain...

Someone hands him another flask. Hoenir is nowhere in sight and he takes a long swig. He spins around the fire with the humans and the flames leap.

It is dark when someone says, "Loki, our God of Gods!"

Laughing and quite drunk, Loki stands upon the throne. "No!" he shouts. " I am the God of Fire!" The fire chooses that moment to send a shower of sparks into the air. The villagers howl in delight. "The God of Spirit," he says, shaking the flask. The villagers laugh again. "And... " A group of three young girls standing near him giggle. It's not like Loki hasn't noticed girls before, but at that moment it seems for the first time he really sees them. They look so soft, so inviting... and what they are inviting him to isn't so vague and abstract anymore. "... girls," he says. Jumping from the throne, he takes a spinning step in their direction. A piece of wood in the fire breaks with a thunderclap, and the villagers gasp.

A heavy hand comes down on Loki's shoulder, stopping his spin. Somehow he knows without looking who it is, and the dream-like quality of the night comes crashing to an end. He feels his cheeks going red with embarrassment. He also feels an odd sense of relief, as though if that hand weren't there he might spin so fast he'd leave the ground.

The music stops. A hush comes over the villagers. Only the fire is still crackling. Odin's voice rings through the night. "The God of Mischief is more like it!"

Loki's legs crumple beneath him, and there is some laughter from the villagers that sounds far off and uncertain. Before he hits the ground, Odin catches him. Hoisting Loki up in his arms, Odin cradles him like he would a babe, or a woman. Loki scowls. And then he realizes if Odin did throw him over his shoulder like a proper warrior, he would probably throw up.

"Come on, Loki," Odin says, not unkindly. "We're going home."

Loki smiles and waves at Jonah, and the villagers, and the girls. He is embarrassed. A little. Or maybe a lot. He is too drunk to properly gauge the emotion.

And Odin coming to spoil his schemes is so normal... he suddenly knows at last he is safe.

x x x x

When the bus drops them off at the intersection of Canal and Lake Street, Loki's head immediately turns to the south east and downtown. Chicago is hot, sticky and tall. Very, very, tall. Across a dreary parking lot and the river, skyscrapers tower. It's all he can do to keep from gaping. Every single building seems to be as tall or taller than the Empire State Building. And nearly all of them seem made of glass. Some of the windows are darkened, but others are bright mirrors that reflect the large white clouds in the Midwest sky — they seem to Loki to be gigantic moving canvases. And to think they're all solid, and real, not dependent on illusions like the buildings of Asgard.

"Yes," says Amy. "Lovely parking lot. You can see the pollution on the horizon. But it's Chicago. What can you do?"

Loki blinks. There is a bit of haze low to the ground, but... "It's cleaner than I remember," he says. And it is certainly cleaner than Victorian England. For a place that doesn't have a Void to dump the garbage from their misspent magic, Chicago is doing rather well.

"Huh," says Amy. "Let's catch a taxi."

She holds out a hand, and a white vehicle that is very similarly shaped to the chariot of her would-be-abductor screeches to a stop.

As Amy and the driver wrestle her bag and a rather large trunk into the back, Loki slips into the interior. It is blessedly cool inside. He stops and peeks between the seats to the front. The dashboard is alight with glowing numbers. One is clearly the time, another is the temperature, but all the others are completely incomprehensible. He blinks. Computers are everywhere.

The buildings, the computers — Earth is turning into a place that is almost magical. It temporarily makes him forget about the hunger that is beginning to gnaw at his stomach and the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. Odin's spell to stop time drained him more than he thought possible — how Loki resisted it is a mystery.

He shakes his head. He won't solve that puzzle now. Leaning forward, he tries to get a better view of the numbers on the dashboard.

The driver and Amy slip into the car and put on their seat belts. "814 N. Hermitage," Amy says and the cab driver steps on the gas so fast Loki falls backwards in his seat. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Amy staring at him with a look of pure confusion on her face. Even Fenrir is cocking her head in his direction. For a moment he thinks that his illusion of totally retro clothes has fallen again, but he checks, and it's still there.

As they speed away from the center of the city along Chicago Avenue, the buildings get noticeably lower. Many are also noticeably older — two and three story row houses of stone and brick that are visibly sinking into Chicago's soft soil. These familiar buildings are interspersed with newer abodes with tremendous windows that can't be sensible for temperature regulation or for warding off potential intruders. It really is a good thing that Asgard put a stop to the Jotunn plans for a new ice age on Earth — and took care of the troll situation.

As they drive further west along Chicago Avenue, shops and restaurants begin to appear. Many of the names are in Spanish, and Loki notices a great many people who seem to be of South American descent walking among the natives of European and African origin.

They turn up a green, leafy street. About a third of the houses seem to be very new, a third are old and decrepit, and a third look old but lovingly maintained.

Amy says, "This is good," and the cab stops so fast that Loki braces his hands on the front seat.

The cabbie, who had been so solicitous when Amy got into the cab, doesn't do much more than throw Amy's bags on the street after she pays him. As he speeds away, Loki watches as she tilts the trunk up and tries to drag it while simultaneously trying to heave a large cylindrical cloth sack.

It occurs to him that he's probably supposed to help. He is from Asgard. Centuries ago, Asgardians would occasionally take humans as servants. It never works the other way around... But plenty of Asgardians have mocked Loki for his lack of pride before.

"May I help you?" he asks solicitously.

Shaking her head, she says, "No... that's okay... I can manage it." Dragging the trunk along the ground, she bumps into the curb and nearly topples over. The trunk and the bag fall to the street.

He tilts his head. She seems to know her Norse mythology, so he says, "Don't be such a Valkyrie." The winged warrior women are always so touchy.

"What?" she says. Apparently his gentle jibe didn't translate well. Rather than explain, he just bends down and grabs the trunk by both ends.

"Don't... " she starts to say, coming forward.

He swings it over one shoulder with ease.

"It's heavy," Amy says, touching his free arm before he can move away.

She stops and looks down. He looks where her hand is. She feels his armor, even if she can't see it. Her gaze meets his and her brows come together.

He's saved from having to say anything by the sound of a woman's voice. "Amy! Amy!"

They both turn to see an old woman coming down a narrow walk from an old brick two-story house of the lovingly maintained variety. Ivy climbs nimbly up the walls and spills out over the yard.

Loki tilts his head. He isn't used to the elderly. Their wrinkled papery skin and white hair remind him pleasantly of gnomes, but the old have a brittleness to them that gnomes don't share. Aging seems such a terrible affliction.

The old woman is wearing a dress that wouldn't be out of place last time Loki was here, but she wears the same leather-like shoes with stripes and laces that Amy wears.

She wraps her arms around the girl and Fenrir begins yipping up a happy storm.

"I'm so glad you're home! Don't ever travel alone again! Take a plane, take a train, take a bus!" the old woman says.

"Oh, grandma, it was a freak incident... "

Pulling back, the woman says, "Don't go quoting me statistics about lightning strikes and how unlikely this is ever to happen to you again. It happened once! That's enough."

"Grandma... " says Amy.

But the old woman is coming towards Loki, arms outstretched. "You're the man who saved my darling granddaughter!"

Loki's eyes widen. She'll embrace him. Loki's not squeamish about physical contact with humans, unlike some Asgardians... Asgardians like Heimdall, that stuck up stickler for protocol and station, but she'll feel Loki's armor. Picking up Amy's remaining bag, he says, "Careful, I don't want to drop these on you."

She stops and closes her hands together. She beams at Loki. His head roars with the sound of She's all I have left in the world, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Loki blinks. More human prayers in his head? But the saving of lives is done. This is so very odd.

Despite the torrent in Loki's mind, all the old woman says is, "Oh, yes, of course." But she continues to smile at him, and something in his gut constricts. He's always thought of prayers as a weak trick, but he's beginning to think they're deceptively powerful. He's not sure he likes it.

"Thor, this is my grandmother, Beatrice," Amy says.

Shaking her head, Beatrice says, "Such an unusual name. My late husband would have loved it." And then turning she says, "I hope they lock up that horrible Malson man and put him away forever."

Loki looks at Amy. Apparently she hasn't been entirely truthful with Beatrice. Catching his gaze, Amy winces and holds a finger to her lips. Loki raises an eyebrow. There was a time on Earth when even grandmothers would have reveled gleefully in stories of heroics, no matter how gory.

Up ahead Beatrice says, "Come inside out of the heat!" and waves them both up the narrow walkway. "I can have food on the table in thirty minutes. Everything's ready; I just have to heat it up."

Mouth watering at the word food, Loki follows them in. Looking very uncomfortable, Amy says to him, "Um, if my bags are too heavy you can put them down... "

He's tired. He's hungry. But they're not heavy. "Where do you want them?" he asks.

Amy jumps a little at the sound of his voice. Being hungry always makes him cranky; it's beginning to show, evidently.

"This way," says Amy. He follows her up a narrow staircase to a small sleeping room.

Setting them down on the ground, he says, "Whatever your grandmother is cooking smells deli— "

A tiny ping rings through the room.

He stills at the sound.

Ping.

There it is again, and the most infinitesimal of pressures on his back. Scowling, he spins around. Amy has her fingers outstretched, a guilty look on her face. It takes him a moment but he puts it together — she pinged his armor with her finger.

"What do you want?" he says, the words coming out harsher than he intends.

Backing up a little, Amy looks down. "To know I'm not dreaming."

Loki sighs and rubs his eyes.

Ping. Ping.

He feels a light pressure now on his lower arm.

He opens his eyes and Amy has her fingers outstretched again. This time she doesn't look guilty. Just confused.

"You shouldn't go ping," she says. "I have to be dreaming."

He stares at her a moment, beyond irritated. He's saved her life, sat through a tortuously long questioning session, carried her bags for her — and he's hungry. Yet she has the gall to question her good fortune, to question him, and to ping his armor.

He suddenly has the desire to be a little cruel. "You're not dreaming," he says. Dropping the illusion he stands before her in his armor. "Does this help?" he says with a smile.

"No!"

The sound of footsteps on the stairs makes the girl turn her head. "Change back," she says. "Don't frighten my grandmother."

Loki would rather not frighten anyone who will feed him. He slips back into the illusion of "totally retro" clothing.

Beatrice comes around the corner, a stack of linens in her hand. Loki smiles benevolently at her.

"Amy, why don't you show him the spare room?" Beatrice says.

Taking the load from from her grandmother, Amy says, "This way."

As she leads him out of the house, Loki looks up at the sky. He sees no sign of ravens, the spies of Odin. He doubts Heimdall can see him. Heimdall has to know where to look first. Just in case he puts on his helmet, disguised as a fedora, before he follows her across the tiny lawn and into an alley behind the garage. Amy unlocks and lifts the garage door. Inside, off to one side, is a large vehicle. It reminds him vaguely of a Jeep.

Amy leads him past the vehicle to a door. She unlocks it and says, "It's a little inconvenient," and then leads him up a flight of stairs. Every step upward the heat becomes more and more oppressive.

Loki lets the illusion of Earth clothing drop again. It's a game, and she started it.

At the top of the stairs she turns around and jumps at the sight of his armor. She does have one of the lovelier bosoms Loki has seen on this or any other world, and the bounce does rather nice things. He smirks.

Thrusting the pile of linens at him, she says, "Here." And turning around again she walks into a medium-sized room. There is a bed in one corner, and a couch. "The shower is that way," she gestures towards a door, "And the swinging door takes you to a kitchenette. I think there are glasses. There isn't any food, though. Do you need me to show you how to turn on the air conditioning?"

That's it? No more questions?

... Air conditioning?

He is a Frost Giant, and the room is rather uncomfortable, even if his armor does have some temperature control.

"I would like help with the air conditioning," he says.

She walks over to a boxlike thing in the window, plugs it into the wall, and shows him how to operate the dials. And she hands him some keys, and walks towards the door. Just before leaving she turns. "See you in about 20 minutes."

He tilts his head and looks down at his armor. He blinks. "You're not bothered?"

Her eyes go wide, and she looks down. "I'm probably going crazy and dying at the bottom of a ditch somewhere, but you know, this is an interesting dream, a better dream than that reality, and you're responsible, so I'm grateful and I'm just going to go with it until I wake up... " She swallows. "Or not wake up... or whatever."

Well, now he actually feels like a heel. And a little foolish. Really, she's quite lovely and just his type. Although he's currently not in the mood, he certainly has no issue with indulging in passing carnal pleasures with a human. No use burning bridges.

Going forward, he takes her hand. "Miss Lewis," he says in his calmest, most reassuring, most courtly tone — he is in armor, no use disguising his origins anymore. "You are not dying. You are home, you are safe, and the gentleman from the forest is no more. I do regret that my lapse in control has caused you to doubt this. If I believed it were prudent, I would offer to erase your memories and allow you to forget seeing Fenrir as a wolf, the portfolio pictures bursting into flames,and my armor. But memory erasing is a tricky business, and... "

He looks down at her hand. It is shaking. Pursing his lips, he says, "This is not reassuring you."

"Not at all," she confirms.

"Damn." With a sigh he makes to kiss her hand. It is a courtly gesture, one he would bestow on a lady in Asgard had he distressed her accidentally.

To his shock, she rips her hand away before it even touches his lips. "That really doesn't help," she says.

Eyes wide, Loki holds up his hands. "No offense meant."

Scowling and looking away, she says, "See you in a few minutes." And then she turns and disappears down the stairs.

Tilting his head, Loki turns in the direction of the shower, thankful that he knows what one is.

He's just rinsing his hair when he sees the red mist again. It wraps around him in the shower, and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. The child's voice comes again in Russian. "The petty bourgeois are keeping the grander house to themselves and leaving you the meaner accommodation."

Blinking the water from his eyes, Loki restrains a shudder. "I'm grateful I don't have to rob banks again for food and a place to stay," Loki says. Stepping through the red mist and out of the shower, he grabs a towel.

"My Josef robbed banks, too," says the child voice. "For the revolution." In a voice that sounds slightly ashamed, it adds, "And food... and soft ones."

"Josef?" says Loki. Obviously, the mist wants to talk to him, and Loki isn't so foolish as not to comply.

"He woke me. He touched me. But he wasn't like you. He couldn't hear me."

Slipping on his breeches, Loki says, "You have a corporeal form?"

"Yes," says the mist, its voice sounding fainter, the red magic ceding to pink.

"Where are you?" Loki asks.

"It is impossible to know position or momentum with certainty," says the voice, barely audible now, the mist almost invisible.

Leave it to a magical creature to stumble over the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. Magic really was just expanded quantum theory.

"Yes, that's true," Loki says, trying to remain patient. "But you can think of your position in relative terms to mine and then give an estimate of location... "

There is no response. Loki exhales heavily in frustration. He is very curious. But he doesn't have time for this right now. He needs to eat and sleep to give himself enough energy to open a gate to the World Tree. He needs to find Valli and Nari.

He slips on a shirt that was in the pile of towels and sheets. Stepping out of the bathroom, he looks at his armor and sword laid out neatly on the bed.

Beatrice is going to touch him. He just knows it. He goes to his knapsack, pulls out his book and slips it into his pocket. Closing his eyes, he briefly projects his consciousness out of the small room, through the roof, and into the sky. There are no ravens in sight.

Jaw tight, he heads for the stairs.

Chapter Five

Thor, the weird maybe figment of Amy's imagination, shows up for dinner wearing a chambray shirt that used to belong to Amy's grandfather. Her grandfather was a tall man, but it still barely comes to Thor's waistband. He's rolled up the sleeves so they don't look too short.

He's shaved and his hair is clean and combed back from his eyes. It's disturbing, but he of the inappropriate King-Arthur-esque come-ons cleans up nicely.

She shakes her head. Remember the armor, Amy. Remember the ping when you flicked his back.

Remember he saved you...

She sighs. She is probably just imagining all of this. It's too much to think about, so she focuses on the spread on the table.

Beatrice has pulled out the stops for Amy's rescuer. Amy's grandmother is of Ukrainian descent, and the table shows it. Stuffed cabbages, sausages, boiled potatoes, and homemade sauerkraut. Amy prefers to eat vegetarian, and in deference to that her grandmother has also laid out some cheese sandwiches and mushroom soup with dumplings.

Thor sits down with a big smile and proceeds to eat everything. He doesn't eat fast, doesn't shovel food in his face, but he's like a machine. He just keeps going, and going, and going.

Her grandmother asks him questions, and he answers quickly and vaguely and turns the conversation back to Beatrice. He asks all the right questions about the neighborhood, and Beatrice is happy to expound on how it had once been predominantly Ukrainian but now is filled with yuppies and Mexican "foreigners" — Beatrice doesn't quite catch the irony in her being from the Ukraine and a foreigner. Thor doesn't comment.

He seems so much like the nice, kind of shy awkward guy she remembers from the police station. Beatrice seems utterly enchanted by him. It takes nearly half an hour for her to turn to Amy and say, "How did your final exams go, dear?"

Putting down her sandwich, Amy says, "Oh, great, Grandma. I think my exam for Equine Theriogenology went really well." Her grandmother looks at her pointedly, and then tips her head in Thor's direction. Amy belatedly remembers it's not nice to use words people probably don't understand. Licking her lips she prepares to explain theriogenology is the study of animal reproduction when Thor says, "Oh, really? Was the curriculum theoretical or practical? I'm no expert on theriogenology myself, equine or otherwise, but I have had the opportunity to be present for a foaling here and there. And my friend... Homer... was always hatching odd things."

Amy blinks. "The class was theoretical and practical... "

"Oh, excellent," says Thor. "It's so lovely watching foals clamber up on their wobbly little legs, isn't it?"

"Yes," says Amy, her mouth threatening to pull into a smile.

"Did you grow up on a farm?" Beatrice asks Thor.

"No," he says. "But there were stables nearby." Helping himself to the last of the stuffed cabbages, Thor says. "What are in these cabbages? They are delicious!"

Beatrice giggles like a young girl and Amy restrains a sigh as her grandmother begins to tell Thor exactly what's in them. Instead, going to the stove, Amy ladles another bowl of mushroom soup for herself. Actually, listening to her grandmother talk about ground pork and seasonings is beginning to make her feel like this isn't a dream.

Didn't Dream-on-the-bus Thor tell her she'd know she was alive when things became ordinary again? And maybe Armor-in-the-garage-attic Thor was just another dream? She hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in days now. Maybe she drifted off to sleep when she came out of her shower and lay down on her bed? Of course! That must be what happened.

She's just going back to the table when the CD player, which had been playing some mellow shoe gazing electronica, switches to her grandmother's Glenn Miller CD.

Thor sits up straighter as the opening bars to "In the Mood" comes on. "I know this song," he says.

Sighing, Beatrice says, "I learned to dance the Swing with this song."

Thor grins. "So did I!" Setting his napkin on the table, he stands, bows slightly and holds out a hand. "Beatrice?"

Beatrice puts a hand to her mouth. And then she smiles and says, "Oh, why not? But let's go to the living room. There's no space in here."

Taking Thor's hand, she leads him to the other room and Amy follows.

"No dipping or throws!" Beatrice says, "Remember, I'm old!"

"Nonsense," says Thor, putting a hand on her back as they step in front of the fireplace. "You don't look a day over 65!"

Beatrice laughs and holds up her hand for him. "I'm closer to 85, young man!"

Taking her hand in his, Thor pauses. "No, really, I meant it, you don't... " The look on his face is genuinely perplexed. But then he blinks, says, "Good on you!" and they begin to dance. Thor is very gentle for such a huge guy and Beatrice smiles from ear to ear — if she feels anything weird beneath Grandpa's old shirt Thor's wearing, she's not showing it. Amy leans against the mantle and just watches. She hasn't seen Grandma this happy since Grandpa died, and it makes her a little misty eyed. Even if this is all in her head, for Beatrice's sake, she doesn't want it to end.

And then it almost does. The light in the living room flickers and goes out, and there is an instant of darkness. But then, all at once, every single candle on the mantle lights up. Amy jumps, as her hair nearly catches fire.

"Oh, candles! Lovely!" says Beatrice.

Thor smiles at Amy. "Thanks for lighting those!"

Amy decides not to say anything. Aren't hallucinations part of sleep deprivation?

As the music winds down, she just follows her giggling grandmother and Thor back into the kitchen.

Breathing a little heavily, Beatrice sits down and smoothes her hair.

Thor slides into the seat across from her and starts helping himself to the last of the boiled potatoes and sausage.

"You are too much fun to be Thor!" Beatrice declares.

Thor's body stills, a spoon full of potatoes hanging in the air. "Oh?" he says. His voice has just the barest hint of an edge to it, and Amy tenses. "Who am I then?"

Something mischievous enters Beatrice's eyes. "I'd say you're more a friend to Hoenir than you are a Thor."

Thor puts the potatoes down. "Friend to Hoenir... "

Winking, Beatrice says, "It's a kenning, young man. You can Google it later."

"Google?" says Thor.

"I'm a very tech savvy Grandma!" says Beatrice. "I email my granddaughter every day! It's so wonderful."

"Email... " says Thor.

"Kenning?" says Amy.

Looking at Amy, Thor says, "A kenning is a conventional poetic phrase used in place of the name of a person or thing. For instance, storm-of-swords means battle."

Beatrice blinks, "Very good! How about whale-road?"

Putting a potato in his mouth — the whole thing, but it really isn't that big a mouthful for him, Thor smiles, chews a moment, swallows, and then says, "The sea!"

The next half hour or so consists of Beatrice throwing kennings at Thor. Thor gets all the old obscure ones, like gore-cradle for battlefield, and battle-flame for the light on a sword, but he misses the new ones, like beer-goggles. When Amy explains it he laughs heartily. He doesn't get surfing-the-net either; when Amy tries to explain that one, he only looks befuddled.

Thor's cleaning up the last of everything on the table when Beatrice says, "Well, I think I'll offer you dessert and then call it a night." She looks at Thor's plate. "Unless, of course, you still would like more meat and potatoes... "

She's just being polite, of course; anyone can see it.

But Thor nods vigorously. "I could eat more meat and potatoes if you've got them."

Beatrice blinks at him. "Well... I do have a cold smoked ham in the fridge I was thinking of serving my church group... "

Smacking his lips, Thor says, "That sounds delicious! I love ham!"

Beatrice stares at him, then shaking her head, gets up and says, "I forget how much young men can eat!"

Amy helps her grandmother put a huge ham on a serving plate in the middle of the table. Beatrice hands Thor a carving knife — and a loaf of bread for good measure, and then excuses herself. As she is leaving, she turns and says, "Friends of Hoenir are always welcome in this house."

Thor smiles. "Well, Hoenir is a lovely man. I'm sure any friend of his is exceptional."

Beatrice laughs. "Hoenir's friend did put the gods in their place on more than one occasion," and Thor looks absolutely befuddled again.

Beatrice leaves the room, the old floorboards, and then the stairs, creaking as she goes up to her room.

An awkward silence settles on the table. Thor rips off a piece of bread, looks down at his plate and says, "Friend of Hoenir... "

Amy whips out her iPhone and Googles it. She sits up straighter. "It's Loki," she says. She swears the lights flicker just a bit. At her feet, Fenrir makes the same noise she makes when she spies a rabbit.

She looks up and sees Thor staring at her, as though gauging her reaction.

Amy doesn't move. She feels like pieces of a puzzle in her brain are falling into place, but the picture that is forming is too weird and too impossible to be real.

He looks down at his plate. "Hoenir was a good friend. From the beginning... even willing to risk his life... " Thor stirs the food on his plate, but says no more.

x x x x

Loki is 12 years old. A mist is settling over the gardens outside the palace in Asgard. It is early evening, and he runs as fast as his legs can carry him down dark garden paths, his breathing loud in his ears.

He doesn't stop until he gets to Hoenir's hut. As he bangs at the door, a little gray mouse with eight black insect legs and no tail drops down from the eaves on a silvery trail of spider silk. Loki loves spiders. Ordinarily he'd pet the little creature, but now he's too flustered to even raise a finger to it.

The door opens and golden light spills out. Hoenir is wearing an apron and gloves of the kind falconers wear. He steps silently aside and Loki bolts in.

Loki never knows what he'll find when he comes into the hut. On the outside, it looks like a single room just a few paces wide, but on the inside it has many rooms, and is much larger than it looks from the garden. He never knows which room he'll step into. Sometimes it's a sitting room with comfy chairs and a roaring fire, sometimes an enormous library grander even than Odin's, sometimes a kitchen, or sometimes, like tonight, he enters a workshop. There is a long workbench as high as Loki's chest and some tall chairs next to it. From the ceiling hangs a large lamp-like thing that glows orange and nearly touches the bench top.

Mimir is standing on his neck by the lamp. "Ah, Loki, we were just about to do a hatching. Would you like to select an egg for us?"

Hoenir gestures towards an enormous basket, as big as Loki, filled with eggs, all rather long and oblong instead of the regular shape of a bird egg. Loki finds one that is about twice the length of his outstretched hands and about half as wide. It is leathery and soft.

"Excellent," says Mimir. "Why don't you bring it here and set it beneath the lamp."

Hoenir leads Loki to a tall chair close to Mimir and the lamp. Loki climbs up on it and puts the egg beneath the light. The lamp gives off a lot of heat.

The three of them sit staring at it for a long time. At last Mimir says, "So, Loki. What brings you to our hut at this time of night?"

Loki shrugs.

For a few moments Mimir says nothing, and then he says, "So have you seen baby Baldur? I'm not such a fan of babies myself, but Odin and Frigga's child... why I've never seen such golden curls on a newborn. And even his cries sound musical."

Loki scowls. "His curls aren't golden. His hair is thin and black and straight. And his cries sound just like every other baby's cry. They're loud and I wish he'd shut up."

"Now, now," says Mimir. "I've seen Baldur, and he most definitely has golden curls, and rosy cheeks and... "

"No," says Loki, staring at the egg. He thinks he sees it moving. "His hair is black. And his skin is pale and nearly blue... like mine. He looks more Jotunn than Aesir. And there's magic all around him... gray magic, so dark it's nearly black."

What Loki doesn't say is how just being around Baldur makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. How he feels a chill just being near the baby.

"Did you tell Odin what you see?" Mimir asks quietly.

Loki can only swallow.

"Oh, dear," says Mimir, and Loki glances up to see Mimir looking at Hoenir. Hoenir looks very distraught.

"I'm afraid to ask... " says Mimir.

Loki stares as the surface of the egg rips apart and a tiny hole appears. "Odin told me to leave the palace and never come back."

It was the only time Odin has ever screamed at him — usually there have been maids and governesses for that. Loki has taken his designation as "God of Mischief" rather seriously. Mimir and Odin have stressed the Aesir aren't really gods — more gardeners of the World Tree, but Loki likes his moniker. It's great fun to make an illusion of a snake in a laundry basket and then explain it to Odin as his "sacred duty." Such things never fail to make Odin chortle.

But telling Odin what Baldur looked like to him... that had not gone so well.

Beside him he hears Hoenir scoot back in his chair. The egg starts to shake.

"What sort of creature's in the egg?" Loki asks. He doesn't want to talk about Odin or his exile from the palace.

"A hadrosaur," says Mimir, his voice soft.

"One of Hoenir's creations?" asks Loki.

Mimir raises his eyebrows, "No, well, only distantly. It was created by evolution."

Loki wonders who Evolution is but asks the more pressing question. "What is a hadrosaur?"

"It is a sort of herbivorous dragon," says Mimir.

Loki puts his hands down on the counter and rests his head on them. The egg starts to shake some more; a tiny hole splits into a tear.

The tear splits down the side of the egg, and then a tiny dark green head peeks out. The creature has eyes set in the side of its head; its mouth is slightly agape. Its teeth look strangely sharp for a herbivore — maybe they're just baby teeth, sharp for splitting the egg's leathery shell?

"Wait a minute... " says Mimir.

Loki and Hoenir lean closer.

Blinking hawk like yellow eyes, the head emerges on a long ungainly neck, followed by two tiny little arms with little hands and long sharp claws. Powerful hind limbs follow and a long thick tail.

"That isn't a hadrosaur," says Mimir.

The little creature tilts its head towards Mimir, then catches Loki's eye. Seemingly changing its mind, it looks back to Hoenir.

"No!" Mimir screams.

Hoenir backs up, but too late. The creature springs from the counter and sinks its claws and teeth into Hoenir's arm. Hoenir stares at it wide-eyed as though in shock.

"Loki! Stop it! Stop it! " Mimir shrieks.

Jumping forward, Loki grabs it by the neck like he would a snake. He pinches its jaws on either side, pushing the gums into the creature's own sharp teeth. It releases Hoenir with a hiss and thrashes in Loki's hands.

Mimir sighs. Loki holds it at arm's length. "What should I do with it?"

Putting a hand on his chin, Hoenir looks around the workshop, seemingly unconcerned with the blood dripping from his arm.

Loki readjusts his grip so one hand is on the neck and the other is wrapped around the creature's writhing torso. It really is quite interesting. He squints to get a better view of its tiny, razor teeth when the door to the hut bursts open.

Odin stands in the door frame for an instant. Then he walks over to Loki with quick strides that leave Loki paralyzed with fear.

Ripping the little dragon from Loki's hands, he wrings its neck and throws the lifeless body across the room. Hoenir's eyes open in horror. When Odin speaks, the hut's windows rattle. "A velociraptor! I thought we discussed this. Never. Again!"

"We thought it was a harmless hadrosaur," Mimir says. "We were hatching it for the elves — "

Odin grabs Loki by the collar and shakes him so hard his teeth rattle "It's your fault," he says. Heaving Loki against a wall, Odin says, "What did you expect, Hoenir, inviting this little agent of chaos into your workshop? He should never come here!"

Loki can only gasp for breath. With a sneer Odin tosses him to the side.

"He can't help what he saw!" Mimir shouts as Loki falls to the floor.

Hoenir runs between Loki and Odin, and Mimir says, "You can't kill Loki, Odin. Not really. Not without killing Hoenir, too."

With a cry, Odin tips over the workbench. Mimir's head lands with a crack and then goes rolling across the floor. Laughing maniacally, Mimir says, "Oh, come now, don't be paranoid of Hoenir and Loki's friendship! They can't help it."

"Shut up, Mimir!" Odin roars.

"I won't shut up! We don't agree with how you treat him! Calling him the God of Mischief! You trivialize him!"

"I'm trying to give him a childhood! Doesn't he deserve that?" Odin yells.

"You're trying to control him!" Mimir shouts. "But as soon as he sees something you don't like... "

Odin goes stomping in Mimir's direction. Next to Loki, Hoenir meets Loki's eyes and then looks towards the door. Loki nods. As Hoenir runs between Mimir and Odin, Loki darts out into the night.

The last thing he hears as darkness falls upon him is Mimir saying, "It's not just chaos that gives birth to monsters."

Hours later Hoenir comes for him. In one hand he carries a lantern with a flame that he holds aloft. In the other hand he has a lantern hanging at his side, but where the flame should be is Mimir's head.

"Come with us," Mimir says. "Odin will recover, but you'll be staying with us for a while."

Loki scampers up from where he'd been huddled on the ground. He's relieved, terrified, and confused. He says nothing that night. But a few days later, when he is sitting in Hoenir's kitchen, he says to Mimir, "What did you mean, Odin trivializes me?"

Mimir sighs. "Nothing, Loki. I said it in anger. Odin is very good at what he does... tending the branches of the World Tree, and keeping things running smoothly. I should not have questioned him in that way."

"I like being the God of Mischief," Loki says. He does. There is a freedom in being a mischief maker; he can skirt rules and expectations. Sometimes he does it for fun, but sometimes he does it because it feels right. Like when a group of boys were saying cruel things to Sigyn, a girl Loki fancies. He sidled up beside her and made it appear as though both he and Sigyn were Valkyries with wings and flaming spears. To most male Aesir pretending to be female, even a Valkyrie, would be shameful. But it was so much fun as the boys ran away to shout, "What's wrong! Afraid of girls?"

Mimir says nothing for a few moments. But then he says, "Loki, about Baldur... It is alright for a man to be enchanted by his newborn baby." Sighing, Mimir says, "And... Odin grieves for him."

"But he's not dead," says Loki.

Mimir does not respond.

x x x x

"I don't remember doing anything for Hoenir except causing trouble," Thor says, the words tumbling out suddenly after a long silence. His eyes flick up quickly to hers.

"You don't remember doing anything... " Amy blinks. The puzzle pieces that fit together in her head, they're just crazy. He isn't Loki. The police let him go, he has a clean record, he's got a social security number that checks out, for heaven's sake. They're obviously playing a little game here. She can play along. Raising an eyebrow, she says, "You're Loki now, not Thor?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, but his eyes are glued to hers and there is a wicked glint there. "So you say," he says.

Shifting her eyes back down to the iPhone she says, "Here it mentions you saving Hoenir while he was held captive by some dwarfs."

"That never happened — it was Lopt who rescued Hoenir," he says, too forcefully to be funny.

Tapping her screen with her thumb she says, "According to Wikipedia — "

"Wikipedia?"

Amy feels a chill go down her spine. "How can you know what a kenning is and theriogenology and not know what Google or Wikipedia are?" She shakes her head. He is really good at this game. She blinks.

Or wait. Maybe he was raised by one of those fundamentalist religious groups that home school and don't allow modern technology? She remembers how shy and polite he was at the police station. Even his awkward clothes. Yep. Rural religious fundamentalist home school escapee. It all makes sense.

Smirking at her he takes another bite of ham. "We don't have Google or Wikipedia in Asgard," he says.

Okay, now the game is funny again. "Uh-huh," she says.

"So really," he says leaning toward her from across the table. "What are they?"

Amy smiles. "Wikipedia is an online encyclopedia that everyone can contribute to."

His eyes widen and a happy smile plays on his face, as though he's just worked out something monumental. "Online means the internets?"

She does not snort. But it is a near call. "Yeah, the internets."

Brow furrowing, he says, "If anyone can contribute, doesn't that put the authenticity of the information in question?"

She smiles and looks down at a picture captioned, Loki as depicted on an 18th century Icelandic manuscript. "Yeah, you wouldn't believe how unflattering the first picture of you is." It really is hideous.

With a scowl he holds out a hand.

She passes over her iPhone.

His scowl deepens and he says, "The artist makes me look like a dwarf!" His irritation seems so genuine, she almost laughs aloud.

"And they gave you such a big nose."

He pushes the iPhone back to her. Without taking it she says, "The picture of you and Sigyn isn't so bad." It isn't a good likeness of the guy in front of her, but at least it isn't ugly.

He stares down at the iPhone.

"Scroll with your finger," she says.

He blinks. "Is any sort of special concentration needed?"

It takes her brain a little while to comprehend the randomness of the question.

Leaning forward, he says, "It's like magic, isn't it? Don't I have to picture what I am doing in my mind?"

She purses her lips. "No," she says softly. "You just have to move your finger."

Swallowing, he gingerly puts his finger on the surface of her iPhone and then drags it down. Smiling, he says, "It works!"

His joy seems so real, it makes Amy's eyes widen.

And then his smile vanishes. "Ah," he says. "My 200 year imprisonment. It wasn't as bad as depicted here. There was snake venom, but no snake, and I was shackled but could walk around a bit." Squinting at her phone he says, "This looks nothing like me. Nice likeness of Sigyn, though... although I don't remember the Bible-esque robes being in fashion then... "

Holding the phone up he smiles wryly at it and says, "Ah, yes, memories."

And that's a little too much. Who knew homeschoolers could be such great actors? She takes the iPhone from him. "Okay," she says. "Enough of this game."

Shrugging, he says, "You started it." And then he picks up his fork and starts to eat again.

Amy looks down at the iPhone and the Wikipedia entry on Loki. "Says here you are a shape shifter."

"Um... " he says.

She glances up and he looks distinctly nervous.

She grins and reads aloud, "Loki gave birth—in the form of a mare—to the eight-legged horse Sleipnir. Says the dad was some special stallion... "

Putting his fork down hard, he says, "Now, how can shape changing even possibly work? We are all formed by immensely complex instructions coded into our cells and by the environment. It's hard enough to just create simple elements, and so energy consuming. But for living things, the concentration, the imagination involved... How could anyone — well except maybe Hoenir and I'm not sure about that — ever hope to match the splendid complexity of all the subtle interactions — "

Grinning wider, Amy says, "I'll say you have a little experience foaling."

He rolls his eyes and she snickers.

Glaring at her he says, "It's not true."

Amy snickers, "Of course it's not true."

Narrowing his eyes, he says, "I can only create illusions of other forms."

Amy blinks, Fenrir barks, and across from her is a woman with Thorish strawberry blond hair wearing Amazonianesque armor that is more of a glorified girdle squeezing in an impossibly small stomach and supporting enormous breasts.

The woman gestures to said breasts and says in a voice that sounds exactly like Thor's, "I mean, if I had these, would I ever leave the house?"

Amy stares at her hallucination for a fraction of a heartbeat, and then she bursts out laughing. She laughs so hard she convulses around her middle and hits her head on the table.

"It wasn't that funny," says Thor.

Rubbing her sore head she says, "No, no, no, it's just, this dream is too wacky happy and unoriginal for me to be dying in a ditch somewhere. I'm at home and I'm hallucinating and I'm going to be fine."

"Unoriginal?" says Thor, back in his more Thor-like form.

Snickering at how scandalized he sounds, Amy stands up and stretches. "I'm going to go to bed, or slip from REM to Stage 1 sleep. Why don't you go now... if you're even here."

He stares at her a moment. Turning to the food on the table, he says, "May I take the ham?"

Shrugging, she says, "Go ahead." She looks towards the living room. Flickering light is coming through the door. "I should put out the candles even if I am only dreaming." Just to be on the safe side.

"Good idea," he says. "How did you light them so quickly? Electricity?"

Turning back, she points at her head. "With the power of my mind."

Brow furrowing, he says, "Don't toy with me," and waves a hand. Beneath the table Fenrir barks.

Amy turns around; the other room is dark. She peers around the corner; all the candles are extinguished. She's not even bothered anymore.

She looks back at the table. Thor is already standing up with the plate of ham in one hand, and the loaf of bread in the other. He's not smiling.

"Pleasant dreams!" she says.

He nods at her. "Likewise."

She shrugs. "They already are!"

After Thor's out the door, she heads up the stairs to her bedroom. To her surprise, her grandmother is standing on the landing in her pink nightgown, looking towards the door Thor just exited.

"Sounded like you had a lot of fun chatting with Hoenir's friend," she says, eyes narrowing to slivers.

Amy just snorts.

Chapter Six

Amy has more dreams later that night. They aren't as pleasant and she has trouble falling to sleep again. In desperation, she pulls Fenrir up near her pillow. Still, she doesn't go to sleep until the very early morning. When she wakes up, it is to Fenrir whimpering by the door. She blinks at the light and then does a double take. It must be nearly noon.

Amy gets up quickly, dresses, and heads down to the kitchen. Beatrice has her apron on and is leaning over the sink washing dishes. She smiles up at Amy. "Good morning, Dear."

Thor is sitting at the table, in his retro outfit, a Chicago Transit Authority map spread out in front of him. How did he get invited to breakfast? Or brunch, or whatever.

"Good morning," he says. He looks like the guy she remembers from the police station. A little rumpled, shoulders not quite square, expression soft. The sort of shy guy who filled her with trust. He doesn't look like the mischievous guy in her dream last night, the one who turned himself into an Amazon, or the guy in the armor.

She blinks as she lets Fenrir out the back door. The kitchen is flooded with warm yellow light. Thor is complimenting Beatrice on her cooking; there is a bowl of freshly scrubbed strawberries on the table; the room smells like coffee, bacon and toast.

... and it feels even more dreamlike than Amy's dream of Thor the Amazon.

"Amy? Amy?"

Beatrice is suddenly standing very close to her.

"Are you all right?" her grandmother says.

"Yes," says Amy.

"Sit down," says Beatrice. "I'll get you some coffee."

"No," says Amy. "I'll make some myself."

She goes to the cupboard and takes out a cup. It crashes to the counter but doesn't break. Amy shakes her head and rights it. She lifts the coffee pitcher off the base and starts to pour. The stream of hot fluid bounces around, some spilling on the counter. She wipes it up quickly with a dishtowel and goes to sit at the table.

Taking a sip, she notices that her grandmother's and Thor's eyes are on her.

"I'm alright," Amy says.

Her grandmother tilts her head. "You've had quite a shock."

"I'm alright," Amy says again, more forcefully this time.

"I'm sure you are," says Thor. Turning to Beatrice he says, "Thank you for the map — and of course, for breakfast."

Picking up a cup Amy knows contains chamomile tea, Beatrice nods, "You're always welcome at this table, of course." There's something about the way her eyes are narrowed and the way she peers over the cup that tells Amy something isn't quite right.

Thor doesn't seem to notice. "I think I better go now," he says with a warm, sunny smile. He stands up from the table, the Chicago Transit Authority map and a tiny white book in one hand. "Oh," he says suddenly. "You must have dropped this last night. I found it on the floor." He puts her driver's license on the table and slides it towards Amy. She doesn't remember taking it out of her wallet since the police station.

A few minutes later he's gone. Amy scowls. "Did you invite him in?"

Beatrice nods and looks towards the door. "It's better to make sure he's always invited."

Amy stares down at her coffee. What does that mean?

Tilting her head, Beatrice pulls the tea bag from her cup. "Of course, it is nice to be able to cook for someone again," she says brightly.

Amy reaches over and grabs her license. "I need to get ready for an interview at a new temp agency." The one she used to work for went out of business.

Beatrice blinks. "Are you sure that's wise? You don't seem quite yourself."

Amy stares at her coffee. She isn't herself. But she just has to get over it. It's not like this experience is completely new; it is just extreme. She's dealt with creeps before. What woman hasn't? She'd been felt up on the 'L' one time — and had elbowed the guy so badly he'd sputtered and nearly puked. Some really lovely gentleman had followed her home from the bus stop one night and she'd unslung her backpack, screamed at him like a banshee, and chased him away.

She puts her head in her hands. She didn't escape this time. She was rescued. It turns out maybe there is a big difference. And if she hadn't been rescued... She screws her eyes shut and starts to sob.

"There, there," says Beatrice.

"Grandma," she says. "If it wasn't for Thor... " she can't talk about the pictures, can't say what she saw in them — or them bursting into flames. That part was real, the fire, wasn't it?

She takes a big gulp of air. She isn't sure of anything anymore. "Should I have invited him home?" she says. "He, he, he... " What? Has featured prominently in some weird dreams, or... "Maybe I trust him more than I should because he saved me, but he could be crazy, too." She shakes her head.

Beatrice's hand stops. "Oh, I don't think you or I have anything to worry about from our guest." She looks around the kitchen, "Other than that he might eat us out of house and home. Always better to invite him to the party, though... "

"Grandma?" says Amy.

Beatrice blinks. "Oh, nothing."

Amy stares at her grandmother for a few moments. She looks tiny and frail. But she's not — or she wasn't.

Beatrice's parents put Beatrice and her two brothers on a boat to the free world back in 1940, just before the Nazis invaded. Before they left they'd already lost family members and friends under Soviet rule — some disappeared in the middle of the night, others simply died in the great famine of the early 1930s.

Beatrice lost her entire world. Amy feels like her world has changed forever, that she's lost something precious — but compared to Beatrice, Amy has lost nothing.

"How did you do it, Grandma? When you got on the boat... "

Beatrice blinks. "What?"

Swallowing, Amy looks down at her hands and plays nervously with her fingers. "I was just wondering how you kept going... after you lost everything."

Beatrice sighs and looks down at her tea. "You just do."

Standing up, Amy wipes her face. "I'm going to get ready to go."

Beatrice looks at her for a moment and then nods.

Amy manages to get ready for her interview, and she gets out of the door with plenty of time to spare — even though leaving her home shatters her sense of security.

What she doesn't manage to do is drive. She stares at her grandmother's Subaru Forester, keys in hand, and decides she'd rather take the bus. She's not sure if it's because of the rollover, or if she just wants to stay around other people.

As she walks out to the front walk and heads towards the 'L', she sees an older man, perhaps in his 50's, buying an ice cream from one of the Mexican ice cream bicycle carts that frequent her neighborhood. He's got a stern square jaw and is completely bald on top. Amy notices him because he's wearing a gray suit despite the heat. The suit looks too nice to belong to an old timer from the neighborhood, but he isn't young enough to be a yuppie. As she walks by, he tips his head at her over his drumstick ice cream cone. Not wanting to be rude, she nods back.

x x x x

Loki consults the CTA map and his book. The location is right.

The building in front of him looks to be about 100 years old. It has not been maintained very well. The facade of brick and cement is crumbling. Cutting straight through the heart of the building is a covered brick alleyway that leads to a dismal inner courtyard. There is a decorative iron gate that is rusted and blood colored. Loki scowls — it is strange that mortals tend to erect physical gates where World Gates reside. Another strange bit of human magic? He tilts his head; fortunately the iron gate is now open and won't be in his way. Beyond the iron gate, on the far wall of the courtyard in peeling paint, are the words, "Graphic Arts Co." Set into the walls are boarded up doors and windows covered with graffiti.

Loki looks around. He sees a few men down the street unloading a small van. They don't seem to notice him. Loki has altered his Midgardian attire considerably. As he walked here — only a few short miles — he observed the natives and gradually modified his clothing. He now appears to be wearing a gray tee shirt, breeches of a thick blue fabric, gray shoes with laces and stripes, and dark glasses. And he appears to have a black rectangular bag slung over one shoulder.

He is actually wearing his armor, with his helmet on, visor down. Over one arm he's slung his army knapsack filled with the two remaining grenades, some of last night's ham and bread, and a large bottle of water he nicked from a store on the way.

Moving beneath the overhang towards the iron gate he closes his eyes. An instant later he is invisible to anyone who looks in his direction.

Loki walks until he feels a shiver snake its way up his spine. The World Gate is here. He can feel the tug of magic in the place where time and space are weakly defined.

He begins to murmur a childhood rhyme he used to recite to his children. It isn't a spell, per se; but it helps him focus his mind. Lifting his hands, he closes his eyes and begins to imagine pulling back a heavy curtain. The gate opens surprisingly easily, and a swirling vortex of color spins before him.

Loki steps forward...

... and feels stone beneath his feet. He takes a deep breath, drops the invisibility spell to conserve magic, and opens his eyes to the bright white-blue sunlight and silvery hues of Alfheim, land of the Elves. He looks down; beneath his feet is a silver road. That is right. The realm is right. But...

Scowling, he spins around... On both sides of the road is dense forest. On one side of the road the tree trunks are light lavender; the undergrowth is sparse and dotted with blue and yellow flowers. On the other side the trunks are deep indigo and nearly black; the undergrowth is dense and dark. Above the dark trees is an ominous swirl of dark gray magical clouds. He is certain he sees eyes peering at him from beneath the dark branches.

Unsheathing his sword, he switches to the tongue of the Dark Elves and says, "Don't even think about it." Just to be on the safe side he concentrates his magic towards the undergrowth and imagines the molecules there swirling and dancing together. There is a burst of flame, just as he intends, and a curse from his onlooker. He hears stirring in the undergrowth as the Dark Elf disappears into the forest.

Letting the flames dissipate, Loki consults Lothur's journal. His jaw goes tight and his brow furrows. It's colder here than in Chicago, but he feels himself getting hotter beneath his armor. He should be so close... but the entrance point is wrong.

Narrowing his eyes, he lets his consciousness fly to the air. He sees what he is looking for, the palace of the queen of the Light Elves about 100 miles down the road. Once this World Gate would have dropped him right outside her door, but the branches of the World Tree grow, and as they grow, they shift.

It is said the elf queen, like Odin, Heimdall, and possibly Hoenir, can see all that happens in the Nine Realms if she wishes. She may be able to tell him where his sons were deposited. Since Heimdall and Odin aren't likely to be helpful at the moment, and Hoenir will be difficult to reach, the elf queen seems like Loki's best option.

Most of the way the road abuts the dark forest. The Dark Elves won't harass travelers on the road by day; but by night it will be another matter.

There are other ways to get to the elf queen's palace besides the road. If he takes those ways, when he emerges on the other end, he won't be helpless, but he will be much weaker, very tired, and ravenous. Not a way to make a good impression, and definitely not good if his reception is less than welcome.

He lets his consciousness sink back into his body. There is a part of him that wants to instantly go forward. The information he needs is so close... and he is strong again. Yesterday it was easy to be patient, he was too weak to be otherwise. But now, it is a struggle not to be impetuous.

He takes a sharp, frustrated breath and considers his situation. If only he had a carpet or...

Sheathing his sword, he turns and steps back to where the World Gate has shut. Closing his eyes he begins to tug at the gate again until it is open as wide as it will go. Furrowing his brow and concentrating to keep it open, he quickly measures the width by pacing the length. It is just wide enough.

Nodding to himself, he is just about to leave Alfheim, when a flash of something white on the light side of the road catches his attention. Turning towards it he scowls.

Sure enough...

Unsheathing his sword, Loki stands before the semi-open World Gate and glares at the unicorn emerging from the wood. What it wants in Midgard Loki can't imagine, but it's not coming through Loki's gate. Hoenir would never hear the end of it if he let such a vicious temperamental creature loose in a major Midgardian metropolis. Lifting his sword high like a spear, Loki says, "Don't you think about it either."

The beast lowers its head and snorts. The air between it and Loki shimmers with heat. With a curse, Loki forces the excited molecules to quiet. Lowering the sword, he pulls a knife from his belt and hurls it in the beast's direction, but the monster vanishes and the knife explodes harmlessly against a tree.

Narrowing his eyes, Loki shouts, "You'd taste good on an open spit!"

There is no sound. Loki doesn't turn his eyes from the forest. Rather than risk being gored in the back, he makes himself invisible, carefully backs up through the World Gate... and promptly collides with the iron gate on the other side. He feels like Thor has just heaved him against a wall — in anger, or worse, enthusiasm. Loki doesn't curse, but it's a near call.

He lets the World Gate dissipate, turns around and surveys the situation. There is a plate on the gate that looks like it may have had a locking mechanism at one point, but now it's partially rusted through. Instead, the gate is held by a simple padlock on a rusty chain. It takes hardly a thought to make the padlock spring open. He pushes at the gate gently, but it's hanging so low on its hinges that it scrapes the ground. A tiny push isn't going to do it. Loki grasps the metal plate and lifts. Pain shoots up his hand and he lets go. There is a loud clang as the last bit of the ancient plate falls to the ground. He does curse.

Someone shouts something from an open window.

Scowling, Loki lifts the gate again — this time using one of the great rusting vertical iron bars. It opens easily enough and he slips out of the alley and onto the street.

He walks down the block until he finds a vehicle that he thinks will suit his purposes. A Mercedes-Benz emblem is on the hood; he recognizes it from his journeys through Nazi Germany. What's more important is that, as odd as the shape is, sleek and low to the ground, it has a visible stick shift. Most of the cars don't. Loki's last attempt at navigating a human vehicle didn't end well, and he's afraid of trying to master a new and more difficult technology on short notice. He puts a hand towards the lock, reaches out...

The car begins honking. Loudly.

From down the street he hears a man's voice. "That's my car!"

The car is calling to its master! Humans have crossed the divide between makers of machines to makers of living things!

A window opens. "Shut it up!"

Loki is invisible. He does not need to run. But he does anyway.

x x x x

When Amy turns up Beatrice's front walk it is still light out and the Mexican ice cream bicycle cart is still wheeling up and down her block, its bell ringing cheerfully.

She really should have stopped by the vet clinic and the restaurant where she normally hostesses over breaks. She doesn't want to risk coming home after dark though. Not yet.

She feels like she is covered with a second skin of pollution, dried sweat, and grime. Chicago in summer. She sighs.

As soon as she is inside, she heads to the shower. When she is clean and feeling human again, she curls up with her iPhone on a big chair in the living room. She frowns at her phone. There are several missed calls. One from Chris, a guy she briefly dated. Chris is very nice, on a track to success, and a good, solid person. Someone Beatrice would like and Amy should like, but couldn't. She thinks of their awkward fumblings in bed that never quite worked for her and blushes. Chris said she'd get it with time... she swallows. In the end she'd just made herself unavailable. He deserves someone better.

She scrolls down and sees her vet-wannabe friend Andrea called. Andrea will be sympathetic and probably make her laugh. Andrea will probably press her to see a shrink... but after she's done with that they can talk about their Equine Theriogenology course and everything will be good. Suddenly possessed not just with the desire, but the need to call Andrea, Amy puts the phone to her ear. That's when Beatrice walks in.

"It's been awfully quiet today," says Beatrice, sitting down on the sofa.

Putting down her phone, Amy looks up at her grandmother.

Reading the unformed question on her lips, Beatrice says, "I guess I just expected that the police would call. Or maybe the press... "

Amy blinks. "Please don't call the press, Grandma." The last thing Amy wants right now is flash bulbs and interviews.

Beatrice snorts, and Amy smiles. Good, strong, private, Ukrainian Beatrice wouldn't want that.

"I don't think I'd worry," Amy says. "The police have my contact info. And they kept Thor and me for a really long time. They let us both go — the evidence was pretty... " Amy trails off.

"Oh, my!" says Beatrice. "I forgot. I have to go buy a new ham for my church group. Do you think you'll be okay if I go out?"

"Sure, Grandma," says Amy. She's actually looking forward to calling her friend Andrea. She might tell her some of the details she didn't tell Beatrice.

Beatrice gets up a little stiffly and heads towards the front door. A few minutes later, Amy hears the door slam and picks up her phone. She's just about to dial the number when there is a knock at the back kitchen door. Fenrir dashes towards it, and Amy scowls but gets up and follows.

Thor is standing right outside on the stoop.

Amy remembers her conversation with Beatrice earlier when she questioned Thor's trustworthiness. For a moment she hesitates, but then Fenrir does her happy dance, wagging her whole body and hopping on her feet. Fenrir doesn't like anyone, except maybe Beatrice and Amy. The whole reason Fenrir's name is Fenrir is because man-hating-bitch-from-Hell is too much of a mouthful, and you can't say it in polite company.

Amy tilts her head and looks at her ecstatic little dog. Pursing her lips, she opens the door.

"Amy," Thor says as Fenrir twines around his feet. He's wearing clothing that looks more decade appropriate, and she wonders how he got it. "I need your help."

Amy's brow furrows, waiting for him to explain. He lifts his hand to push back his hair, and she notices his hand is bleeding.

"Oh, wow! Your hand," she says. "Come in. I'll get the first aid kit."

He looks down at his hand as though puzzled but doesn't protest, just steps into the kitchen.

"Better wash it out in the sink," she says going to the cabinet for the first aid kit. "How did you do that?"

"Rusty gate," he responds.

Looking over her shoulder as she pulls down the kit she says, "I hope you have a tetanus shot."

He blinks as he puts his hand under the sink. "Tetanus?"

Raising an eyebrow, she says, "Tetanus, it's a disease caused by bacteria; it's also called lockjaw. A very bad way to die."

"Oh, a bacteria... I am safe from that." He lifts his hand up and stares at it. There is a huge gash running down the middle of his palm. "It's really not as bad as it looks," he says.

Shaking her head, Amy takes his hand. He doesn't resist.

"It's not going to heal very well. Every time you bend your hand it's going to open again," she says, staring down at the cut. "I have some Nu-Skin; it's a liquid adhesive bandage. It's probably your best bet."

"It's not necessary," he says.

"It is necessary... " Amy stops. The cut is melding itself back together before her eyes.

She gasps. "How?"

"Just a little concentration," he says. "I can heal myself quite well. Unfortunately, I can't do it for others."

Amy is suddenly aware that they are standing very close, and that she barely knows him. She should back away, but instead she pulls the hand closer to her, fascinated. The skin on his hand is fresh, new, and unmarred. She lifts her eyes to his face.

He smirks. When he speaks his voice oozes bitterness. "There's something in my nature, maybe it's a manifestation of my selfishness, my self-centeredness... but I can't heal anyone else, no matter how I might wish to. Even Thor, though he detests magic, has exceedingly good healing skills."

"What are you talking about?" Amy says quietly.

"Come on, Miss Lewis," he says. He's so close she can feel his breath against her hair when he speaks. "You already have discovered who I really am. And I've given you ample proof."

"You're crazy," she says, finally dropping his hand and backing up. "Or I'm crazy."

He takes a step forward. "No, you're not crazy. The wolf, the armor... " he smirks again. "The lovely lady you found yourself talking to last night. All real... or perfectly serviceable illusions."

Amy feels her back hit the wall. "No."

He grimaces. "And the picture folio catching fire and the candles last night were probably me, too — but I didn't mean for those to happen."

"Stop it," Amy says, moving sideways to the kitchen door. "Just stop it."

"No," he says, moving forward and catching her wrist. The clothing he is wearing seems to shimmer, like heat waves above a road on a hot day, and there he is in his armor again. "I need your help," he says, his face very close to hers, and Amy can see his blue eyes are so pale they're almost white. "And you owe me."

"I don't owe you anything! Let me go!" Amy says, trying to twist her hand from his grasp. When that doesn't work she tries stomping on his feet... but he's not there.

From behind her his voice comes again. "Your life is worth more than a bed, some ham, and stuffed cabbages, Girl. You do owe me, and you will pay up."

Amy spins around. He's blocking the door from the kitchen to the living room.

She spins around again to run out the back door but he's already standing there, his head canted forward, a scowl between his brow. "I really do not want to hurt you. I need your cooperation, my sons' lives — "

"I won't!" Closing her eyes, she shouts, "Fenrir!"

From the floor comes a happy yip. She scowls down at the dog. When did her brave mutt become so unreliable?

"Just hear me out," he says through gritted teeth.

"No!" Amy says. "You. Are. Crazy."

"What do you want... Loki?"

Amy turns her head. Beatrice is standing in the doorway, purse in her hands; she is trembling slightly.

"Grandma?" says Amy. "I thought you were going to get a ham... "

Not taking her eyes off Thor... or Loki, or whoever it is, Beatrice says. "I forgot my wallet. What do you want, Loki?"

Straightening, mystery weird guy says, "A car ride."

Beatrice swallows but then juts out her chin like she does when she's about to complain to a store clerk. "You could have just asked."

"To Alfheim," he says.

"Oh... " says Beatrice. "Land of the Elves. Oh, my."

Amy runs to her grandmother and grabs her shoulders. "Come on, Grandma, let's go."

"No," says Beatrice, her eyes still on whoever it is. "You are worth more than a few cabbage rolls, Dear."

"Grandma," says Amy. "This is crazy, he isn't... "

"Amy," Beatrice says, meeting Amy's eyes. "He just changed his clothing into armor, and I saw him shape shift last night. We don't want to be in his debt."

"Good point, Beatrice."

Amy turns her head. Loki, Thor, or crazy fundamentalist home schooling escapee is walking towards them.

Shrugging, he says, "I'm sorry to be so insistent. Really, I've had a lovely time with the two of you. But I've recovered, and I can't dally anymore."

"Will you bring me back?" says Beatrice.

"Grandma!" shouts Amy, shaking her head. Beatrice brings one hand up to her shoulder and squeezes Amy's hand.

Bowing, he says, "Of course."

Beatrice narrows her eyes. "Do I have your oath?"

Whoever it is stops. He stands up straight. For a moment he says nothing. And then, tilting his head he says, "That is too broad a promise. You have my oath that I will do everything in my power to bring you back safely. More than that — " He lifts his hands and lowers his head, eyes locked on Beatrice.

"Grandma, you don't drive!" says Amy. The only reason Beatrice has a car is because the ten-year old Subaru in the garage belongs to Amy's grandfather and Beatrice doesn't have the heart to part with it.

"But I can," says Beatrice. Turning, she nods at the crazy man. "I will do it, Loki."

Crazy man beams. "It actually might be good fun for you. The Light Elves have nothing against humans."

Shivering a little, Beatrice smiles. "Might be worth it to see Alfheim, before I die."

"There's no such thing as elves!" Amy says.

"On Earth," says Crazy Guy. Bowing in her grandmother's direction, he says, "Beatrice, you are a true lady. If you were a few hundred years older — "

Beatrice's smile drops. "Stow it, Silvertongue. How long will this take?"

"This is crazy, Grandma!" says Amy, dropping her hands. Her grandmother doesn't even meet her eyes.

"About a day," he says, face going serious.

"Take what you think we'll need from the refrigerator. I'm going to get ready," says Beatrice. She turns around and starts walking towards the stairs.

Amy glares at Crazy Guy. "I'm not letting her go alone anywhere with you!"

"You're more than welcome to join us," he says, going to the fridge.

"You fucking jerk!" Amy hisses. "Taking advantage of an old woman like that!"

Loki-Thor-Crazy Person scowls over his shoulder at her. A rag on the counter bursts into flames. Amy's eyes widen. She looks at Crazy Guy. He is staring at the fire with eyes wide as hers. Turning to her quickly, he says nervously, "I didn't do that!"

Frantically pushing the burning rag into the sink with a stray fork, Amy douses it with the faucet. "Of course you didn't. That would be impossible," she whispers.

She's got to convince Beatrice not to go with this guy. As soon as the flames are out, she runs up the stairs and finds Beatrice packing a small overnight bag in her bedroom.

... and she gets nowhere with her cajoling, arguments or pleas.

"I said I will drive him and I am going to drive him," her grandmother says.

"But it's crazy! You can't drive to Alfheim! Alfheim doesn't exist!"

"Then maybe we'll drive a bit and come home," says Beatrice.

"He's a lunatic!"

Putting a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste in an overnight bag, Beatrice smiles. "A charming lunatic."

"So was Ted Bundy!"

Zipping up her bag, Beatrice blinks at Amy. "Who was he?"

"A serial killer!"

Beatrice's eyes go hard. "Do you really think Loki is a serial killer? Really?"

Amy remembers the picture in the van going up in flames, and Thor... Loki... nearly stammering, I'm sorry... I didn't mean...

Shaking her head, Amy closes her eyes. "No, but that is not the point."

Putting her bag on the floor and wheeling it out into the hallway, Beatrice says, "Well, then what is your point?"

"This is madness."

"I said I would drive him," says Beatrice, beginning her agonizingly slow descent of the stairs.

Strong, independent, stubborn, Ukrainian. She hasn't driven in years — Beatrice behind the wheel is probably more dangerous than Thor-Loki-whoever.

Swallowing, Amy shouts, "I'm driving!"

Chapter Seven

A few minutes later they are standing in the garage in front of the Subaru. Fenrir is dancing happily next to them. It is not a great city car, but Amy's grandfather liked fishing and escaping the city on weekends. Thor-Loki-Whoever-It-Is is carrying a cooler. He is back in a tee shirt and jeans, a black messenger bag over one shoulder. He is looking at the late afternoon sky. "We'll have a few hours of daylight left."

Amy rolls her eyes. "This is crazy," she mumbles, hitting the unlock button on the Subaru's remote.

The SUV beeps, and Whoever-It-Is jumps. "Will it accept me since I am with you?"

Amy looks at Beatrice. Beatrice looks at Amy. Fenrir cocks her head at the man who may or may not be Thor.

"Yes," says Amy. "It was just saying hello."

"Hello, Car," says Thor, leaning tentatively forward.

Amy's eyes go wide, but she says nothing as she slips into the driver's seat and hits the back door release. Thor puts the cooler and Beatrice's bag in the rear, closes the back door, and helps Beatrice into the back seat. All very chivalrous. He also closes the garage door after Amy pulls forward. For a moment Amy considers hitting the accelerator and leaving him there in the alley, but she doesn't. She'll just play along, this will come to nothing, and maybe on the way home she can drop Thor off at a hospital where he can get professional help.

As Thor slips into the front seat, her foot goes to the non-existent clutch and her hand goes to the non-existent stick, but of course it's an automatic. For a moment they go nowhere.

Thor shakes his head. "This new advanced transmission system seems more trouble than it's worth."

Amy decides to say nothing. She just puts her foot on the gas and heads to the gas station to fill up the tank — because Thor insists the journey is about 200 miles. And then she heads towards Peoria and Randolf streets, just a mile and a half away. It's an area known for overpriced restaurants, not elves.

The building Thor directs her to is not a restaurant. It's one of the ancient warehouse buildings just south of Restaurant Row. There is an old iron gate that is thrown open, and a dark dirty alley leading to a neglected looking courtyard.

"Go in here," says Thor, pointing to the alley.

"Are we allowed to do this?" says Amy. It doesn't look like a regular alley. There is an archway above the entrance. "I don't think we should go in there. It looks like private property."

"For Heaven's sake, you can say you're just turning around," says Beatrice.

"Grandma?" says Amy.

"Go," says Beatrice.

Amy pulls into the alley, just up to the iron gate, and Thor says. "Stop here!"

Opening the door, he turns to them. "In a moment, I'm going to get back in the car. As soon as I do, pull forward. It's very difficult to keep the gate open."

Thor gets out and goes a few feet more into the alley. For a moment he bows his head and stands motionless. Then he flings out his hands as though pulling back a curtain. He moves quickly to either side, raising his hand, as though pulling the imaginary curtain back a little further.

Behind her, Beatrice is leaning forward. "Maybe this is crazy, Amy, but it can't hurt to indulge him, can it?"

Amy sighs and rubs her eyes. For the first time since this episode began, she feels genuinely sad for him. He did save her life. He's obviously mentally ill, probably schizophrenic, and he can't help that.

She takes a breath. She needs to get him to a doctor. They have treatments for schizophrenia now that are much better than in the past. He saved her life and she does owe him.

She blinks. She saw his armor, and the wolf, and the fire... maybe she needs drugs, too?

Ahead of her, Thor turns around quickly and runs back to the car. Opening the door he jumps into his seat. "Go now!" he shouts, shutting the door.

Amy sighs. "Here goes nothing," she says pulling forward. She hits the gas gently and drives forward... and the front of the car disappears.

"What!" screams Amy, putting her foot on the brake. "Oh!" says Beatrice.

"Just go!" yells Thor.

And Amy isn't sure why, but she hits the accelerator. Maybe it is her disbelief that propels her, because she certainly wouldn't have driven forward if she actually believed her car had dematerialized in front of her.

As the car goes forward, the dashboard, and then the steering wheel, disappear under her hands, and Amy is alone, surrounded by all the colors of the rainbow for the briefest of moments, her foot on the pedal of what would be the gas pedal if...

... and then her foot is on the gas pedal, behind her Beatrice is screaming, and next to her the man who still might be crazy is bracing his hands on the dash. "Stop!" he shouts.

Amy hits the brake.

Thor-Loki-Whoever, Beatrice, and Amy all take a deep breath. Fenrir whimpers.

"Have you recovered from your shock?" says Whoever-It-Is.

She had let the wheel go a little bit, and they might have run off the road. Amy turns her head to him. He's wearing armor again.

Her hands are shaking. "No," Amy says. "I really don't think so." Her eyes go to the window. Outside is a road, only a little wider than the alley — definitely not made for two way traffic. For some reason she isn't surprised it is yellow brick. On either side of the road is a dense forest. But... she peers either way. On one side it is dense and foreboding. On the other side it is open and light, and she has the urge to crack open the cooler and declare it time for a picnic right away.

He takes a long breath and rubs his face. "How can I help you recover?"

Amy looks around. "Can I get out?"

Thor-Loki-Whoever looks at the sun. "I would say yes, but it would be best if we reach our destination before sunset."

Amy looks towards the dark wood and then looks back to her grandmother. She is looking in the same direction.

"That side doesn't look friendly, Loki," says Beatrice.

"Exactly," says Thor-Loki-Whoever-It-Is, his voice grim.

Amy puts her foot gently on the gas. "Loki," she says. He really might be Loki.

"Exactly," says the man sitting next to her, and this time she can hear the smirk in his voice.

Amy wills herself to breathe and keep her eyes on the road. Which is hard. She wants to stop and look. The trunks of the trees look lavender on the light side, the leaves almost blue. On the dark side, the tree trunks look so purple they are nearly black.

"There was color when we... crossed," says Beatrice. "Like a rainbow — "

"Yes," says the man who actually might be Loki. "Time acts like a prism at the edge of the World Gates."

"The rainbow bridge," says Beatrice quietly.

Loki tilts his head. "I believe that humans did call it that once."

"The light," says Amy. "The light here is different." Everything seems a little bit blue.

"The star that is this planet's sun is much older. I believe you would call it a white dwarf," says Loki.

"Oh," says Amy. She blinks. "We're on another planet."

"Yes. In a whole other solar system," says Loki.

"My, my," says Beatrice. Amy looks in the rear-view mirror and sees her patting Fenrir on her lap. "My, my."

For a few minutes, Amy drives in silence, too overwhelmed to speak. Beatrice must feel the same because she says nothing. After a while, Amy hazards a glance over at... Loki. His mouth is set in a firm line, his eyes focused far ahead. He looks handsome, noble even.

"Can you drive faster?" he says. The question sounds genuine, not like he's second guessing her driving skill.

Amy looks down at the speedometer. She's going all of 20 miles per hour. "Can I expect any oncoming traffic?" The road is narrow and straight, and there are a few rolling hills that could be dangerous.

He closes his eyes. "There is none for at least 30 miles."

Amy glances sideways at him. "How do you know?"

He tilts his head and then blinks. When he speaks he sounds slightly awed. "Astral projection. The concept has entered your vocabulary in the last sixty years. Even though you're incapable of it."

She's on another planet, on a yellow brick road; astral projection doesn't seem like that much of a stretch of the imagination. "Good enough," she says and hits the accelerator.

For a few minutes, no one says anything. She glances and sees Loki's eyes focused on the road, his mouth a thin line. She focuses directly ahead, her brain churning.

"Why so solemn?" says Loki suddenly with joviality that sounds a little forced. "From you, Amy, I would expect it, but from you, Beatrice — "

He turns towards the back seat and then says softly. "She appears to be asleep."

Amy peeks in rear view mirror. Beatrice is slumped slightly to the side, her head bent, her eyes closed. Amy looks at the clock in the car. "Yes," she says. "She normally takes a nap this time of evening."

"This isn't exciting to her?" says Loki.

Amy tilts her head. "It is exciting, maybe so exciting she needs a mental break... and... " Amy bites her lip. "People tend to nap a little bit more as they get older, and then not sleep so well at night. That doesn't happen to... your people?"

"We don't get old," says Loki.

"Oh," says Amy. She tilts her head. "Lucky." She goes back to focusing on the road. Another planet... and Loki said something about time bending at the edges of the World Gate so —

Loki sighs loudly. "Come now, there will be plenty of time for silence when you're dead, and I'm... " He waves a hand dramatically, "Gagged with wire or stuck in a cave. Surely you have questions for me?"

Amy's eyes widen. "Sorry, I'm just over here quietly revising everything I thought I knew about the universe."

He chuckles. "What a novel way of expressing it."

And then Amy has a thought. "Astral projection isn't one of your powers in the myths, but it is in the movies and comic books."

"I'm not sure I'm clear on how comic books and movies differ from myths," says Loki. "Except in the medium."

"Well, myths exist for the purpose of explaining the universe and imparting moral values," says Amy.

"Don't leave out entertainment," says Loki.

"Okay, and entertainment," says Amy. "And comic books and movies, well, the type of movie and comic book we're discussing, are for entertainment."

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Loki turning towards her, puzzlement on his face. "They don't impart moral values or attempt to explain the universe?"

Amy is about to say no, but then she blinks. "Actually... I guess they do. But in a more round-a-bout way."

"Myths aren't exactly straightforward," says Loki.

"Touché," says Amy, scowling at the road in front of her.

"... or completely accurate," he mutters.

Amy smiles. "Yeah... no shape shifting. Right. Are you Thor's brother? In the comic books you are."

There is a snort. "No."

Amy grips the steering wheel and narrows her eyes. "What about Sif's hair." It's probably the most famous Loki myth. Sif was Thor's wife. Loki cut off her hair as a prank and paid dearly for it, if she remembers right.

She can hear the grin in his voice when he says, "Snip! Snip!"

"Really?" Amy says, twisting her hands on the steering wheel. "Why?" It sounds positively childish.

"To prove that she was a lying, cheating whore."

"How does cutting someone's hair prove they're a whore?" says Amy, gripping the wheel more tightly.

"It is the traditional punishment for female adulterers."

Remembering the story as her grandfather used to read it to her, Amy scowls. "So you sneak up on her in a glade and cut off her hair and that is supposed to prove she is a ho?"

There is a moment where the only sound is the hum of the engine. And then Loki erupts into what can only be described as cackles. "I didn't sneak up to her in a glade. I facked her!"

Amy's eyes go wide. "Facked?"

"Am I getting the verb right? Fac, from the Latin, 'to do'. Oh, wait, no that isn't right. I fuck — "

"I understood!" says Amy. She glances at him, her mouth agape.

He is blinking at her, smiling, looking very pleased. "It was really very selfless of me. No one really appreciates that. Everyone knew she was a whore, but no one else was brave enough to bring it to Thor's attention. Well, except Odin, but he went about it in this convoluted way where he disguised himself as an old man... " There is a snort. "... like that was difficult. And told Thor to his face, but as a stranger. I delivered proof."

She thought he was handsome? She thought he looked noble? Amy's lips curl up in disgust. "Wasn't Thor, like, your best friend?"

There is silence again. Amy glances over and immediately looks back at the road. She swears his eyes are glowing. "No," says Loki, and the air seems to ripple with his voice. "No, not then. Not at all."

x x x x

Loki is close to 50 earth years old. He and Thor, not much younger, are waving goodbye to a group of happy human peasants who are jumping up and down and waving at them. The humans haven't changed since Loki's first visit here. They are small, dirty, smelly, and lacking many teeth. But their love is still palpable — which keeps Loki from sneering at them, or picking disdainfully at the troll guts sticking to his armor.

Said troll lies dead behind Thor and Loki. It was a particularly large creature, nearly as big as an Earth Asian elephant — they had a few in the gardens of Asgard when Indian clothing and architecture were in vogue.
"Heimdall! Bring us home!" Thor shouts to the sky.

There is a flash of light, a blur of color, and then Loki and Thor are facing Heimdall in the great circle of Midgard's World Gate on Asgard.

"Four times!" roars Thor with a smile on his face. "Four times I've been to Midgard troll hunting and not once did I find a troll. The one time I bring Loki, this beast — " he gestures with his hand towards the felled troll. "— this beast sets upon us immediately."

"It is a fine trophy, my Lord," says Heimdall, and his voice holds only reverence. Since Thor's return to court, Odin's bastard son has done nothing but make friends. Mostly because Baldur the beautiful, crown prince, son of Odin and Frigga, has taken a shine to his "big brother" and declared Thor "fitting to be in a court among Gods." Baldur possesses a type of magical glamour that not only makes him beautiful, but allows none to gainsay anything he says. Even Frigga has decided she likes Thor now.

Before Loki knows what is happening, Thor swats Loki's back with his hand. Stumbling forward, Loki barely manages to keep his feet. "From now on you come with me on every troll hunting expedition, Loki!"

"Lovely," says Loki, scowling down at the troll innards on his armor. Not that he doubted it would be otherwise. Just before this trip Odin informed Loki that his job as retainer now was to accompany Thor on all his quests.

"We should tell Baldur!" Thor declares, pulling Loki by the arm away from the World Gate. "We'll invite him to come with us on our next adventure."

Loki's stomach twists and he scowls. He detests Baldur. He detests that everyone thinks Baldur is beautiful, brave and wise. He detests that they think Baldur is good. And he detests that Mimir has suggested that the reason for this seething dislike is jealousy... and that there may be some truth to that.

Loki would never be accused of being ugly, but his 'fair countenance' is almost an insult in itself. He doesn't look as roughly hewn or as square in the jaw as a typical Aesir, or even Jotunn. He's only of average height, and he's too thin, despite the fact that only Thor's appetite is a match for his.

And Loki's not considered brave. He's simply not much good at feigning battle lust or interest in killing trolls. If he wasn't ordered by Odin to watch after Thor, he would have spent the last few days in the library — he'd really like to master astral projection.

Finally, absolutely no one would consider Loki wise. He has too much fun with his magic. Loki knows he shouldn't take such delight in making himself appear like a Valkyrie upon occasion, or pulling the occasional flower from Odin's nose, but he just can't help himself.

Looking for any way to avoid a run in with Baldur, Loki says, "Shouldn't you go home to see your wife Sif first?"

"No, no, no," says Thor, walking briskly towards the palace, now under the illusion of Roman Golden Age architecture. "She'll understand. She is a fine wife, Loki, and doesn't begrudge me a bit my adventures and traveling — this is just a bit more of the journey."

Loki raises an eyebrow. She doesn't begrudge it probably because it leaves more time for her whoring. Sif is so easy with her affections, even Loki is uninterested in her.

Thor smiles and looks sideways at Loki. "But perhaps you'd just like to see your Lady Sigyn?"

"She is not my lady," says Loki , feeling heat rise to his face. Are his affections so obvious? Sigyn left the court for a few decades to live in the realm of Alfheim — the stay has given her an interesting perspective on a foreign culture and on Asgard's own. She is a rather fascinating companion for conversation. And she still seems to fancy Loki, maybe because Loki occasionally protected her with his magic when they were children, or maybe because she hasn't been steeped in court gossip — Loki does have a bit of a reputation. It is pathetic, but her genuine warmth towards him makes Loki go absolutely soft inside. And although he protests her decline of his physical advances he actually rather respects her for it. How many times after a physical conquest has he decided the prize was too dull to be worth keeping? Even Freyja for all her beauty and charm was rather a bore after a while.

Loki blinks. Perhaps Sigyn does know his reputation.

"She hasn't hooked you yet then!" yells Thor, slapping Loki's back again jovially. Loki tries not to wince; it takes effort. "But she will!"

Loki keeps his eyes forward. The idea of being hooked by Sigyn is strangely not as unsettling as it should be.

They veer away from the palace proper to Briedablick, Baldur's hall. As Briedablick comes into view, Loki scowls again. He's heard the place is quite beautiful to others' eyes; everyone tells Loki it glows. All Loki can see is the dark swirl of Baldur's magic around the massive gray stone structure as they approach. As usual, when he is around Baldur, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

A few minutes later they are ushered into the foyer by a servant who bows and says, "I will go inform my master you are here, Thor." Tipping his head first to Thor and then Loki, he leaves.

From down the hall in the opposite direction of the servant's departure comes a feminine squeak and a rough male gasp.

Thor's eyes go wide. "The servant went the wrong way!" he says delightedly.

Rolling his eyes at Thor's childishness, Loki says, "So it would seem." Tipping his head in the direction of the exit, he says, "We should go."

Another male grunt echoes in the foyer.

Snickering like a little boy, Thor doesn't move. "Who do you think is sampling Baldur's beauty right now?"

Loki's jaw tenses and he stares at the large man before him. Despite the fact that Baldur likes Thor, Loki doesn't hate him. Thor is loud, gregarious, and far too trusting. But he actually complimented Loki on an illusion he cast to confuse the troll they killed — it is nice to have his abilities are appreciated for once.

And Thor isn't stupid, no matter how he tries to hide his brain on occasion. They had a decent conversation about Troll nesting habits as they started out on their quest. Loki thinks he could actually like Thor, if he were to let himself. Even Mimir has said that Thor has the potential to be Loki's ally and true friend... and Loki can see that happening, if he just plays along and is nice.

But he can't quite do it. Smirking, Loki says, "Well, I think we can safely assume it isn't his mother."

Thor tilts his head, his childish grin fading.

Lifting an eyebrow, Loki crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. "But other than that... really it could be anyone."

"I think you insult Baldur and a great many virtuous women," says Thor, a furrow settling in his brow.

Loki should stop, should apologize. Instead, he lets the truth slip from his lips. "Oh, I suppose the old men are probably safe, and probably the livestock, too." His lips quirk. "Maybe."

Thor steps forward, his face going a little red. "End this jest now, Trickster."

And Loki should, because Thor, like everyone but Loki, is blind to Baldur's shortcomings. Thor doesn't see how Baldur's charms, illusory though they are, are irresistible to all of Asgard. Thor doesn't see how Baldur abuses them.

Loki shouldn't test Thor this way, shouldn't set himself up to lose a potential comrade. There is a loud grunt from down the hall. Thor turns his head, momentarily distracted.

Loki should apologize. But he can't.

There is the sound of a door creaking. And then there is the sound of soft feminine footfalls. Thor, looking in the direction of the footsteps, smiles. It isn't a friendly smile.

Curious despite himself, Loki lets his gaze go down the hall... and sees a rumpled Sigyn emerging.

Loki's mouth drops. He feels like he may throw up.

Thor pulls away from Loki to let Sigyn pass. Her eyes go up to Thor's and her face reddens. And then her eyes meet Loki's.

Her face crumples into a look of confusion and sadness. "Loki... I... "

Loki's mouth goes to a hard line, and he looks away from her.

From the corner of his eye, he sees her bow her head. Turning, she runs out the door.

Thor laughs lowly. "You should see your face."

Loki hears a grinding noise... it's his own teeth. He is suddenly angrier at Thor than he is angry at Sigyn or even Baldur. Sigyn was obviously charmed by Baldur's glamour, like everyone else. Baldur was just an ass, like always, and Loki expected no better from him — nor can Loki retaliate against the crown prince.

But Thor... Loki had hoped better of Thor. He had hoped for the bastard's friendship — some loyalty, some understanding. Loki uncrosses his arms and steps away from the wall towards the larger man. The air between them seems to shimmer. Thor narrows his eyes and his hands ball into fists.

At that moment Baldur comes down the hall. "Oh, brother! Loki!" Baldur says, and both Thor and Loki turn. Baldur is adjusting his shirt. Loki has seen paintings of Baldur, he knows what other people see, a crown of golden curls, tanned golden skin, blue eyes on a face chiseled like a roman sculpture, broad shoulders and height nearly as tall as Thor's. Loki sees a tangle of light brown hair, a slightly pudgy face with narrow hazel eyes and a soft body only as tall as his own.

"Loki," says Baldur, smirking slightly, though Loki has no doubt he appears to be smiling benevolently to Thor. "I think you know Lady Sigyn?"

"No," says Loki. "Not well."

He shoots a sidelong gaze toward Thor, daring him to contradict him.

Thor says nothing. But he smiles, a knowing, cruel smile.

That smile changes everything.

Later that night at the banquet, Loki stands behind Odin at the table, behaving like a truly proper retainer — albeit a slightly drunk one. Thor is boasting of his exploits to a crowd of happy admirers. In a far corner, Sif has her own admirers. Sigyn is nowhere to be seen.

Odin, deep into his cups, slams his goblet down on the table. The clang is drowned out by the sound of Thor's laughter further down the table. Glaring in the direction of Sif, Odin snarls. "I have warned him about her. He is becoming a laughingstock!"

Pushing back from the table, Odin growls and stands from his chair. "I can't watch this."

Pursing his lips, Loki says, "If you permit me, sire, I'll take care of it."

Snorting, Odin says, "Good luck." And then the giant man turns and storms from the hall.

As soon as Odin has left, Loki walks over to Sif.

"Here to grace me with your silver tongue, Trickster?" the lady asks.

A reputation can be a helpful thing. Loki smiles. Very shortly afterwards he is in Sif's bedchamber.

After the "lady" falls asleep, Loki trims her golden locks. Gathering them in his hands, he ties them in one of her own ribbons. When Thor returns home Loki is waiting for him at the front door.

As he throws the shorn locks, the traditional symbol of an unfaithful wife, at Thor's feet, Loki smiles as sweetly as he can. "You should see your face," he says.

He completely expects the beating that comes next.

What he doesn't expect is for Hoenir and Mimir to be so unsympathetic when he comes crawling to the hut for help.

"You did what!" Mimir screeches. Loki winces from where he lays atop Hoenir's workbench, the self-satisfied smile slipping from his lips.

Hoenir slaps a hand down hard on a rib he is repairing. Loki's eyes go wide. Hoenir is actually scowling at him. Hoenir never scowls at him.

"I gave Thor proof of his wife's infidelity," says Loki, and Hoenir's hand comes down hard on another rib.

"You're supposed to be helping me fix that," says Loki lifting his head.

Hoenir just raises an eyebrow.

"You're lucky to be alive," says Mimir. "Do you know what you would do if someone slept with your wife?"

Raising an eyebrow, Loki drops his head on the bench. "As I don't have a wife and am unlikely to acquire one — "

"I'll tell you what you'd do!" Mimir says, voice trembling. "You'd cut him up into little pieces, that's what you'd do."

Loki blinks... there is something in that, something he can't quite place. He raises his head.

Mimir's face is livid. "And then you'd take all those pieces and flush them all down the — "

"Mimir!" Odin's voice rings through the hut.

Loki's blood goes cold.

"Don't talk about that, Mimir," and Loki blinks because he almost thinks he hears worry in Odin's voice. But a few moments more and Odin is leaning over him. He doesn't look worried. Oddly, he doesn't look as angry as he did after Baldur's birth. He looks more... disgusted.

"You told me he was turning into a laughingstock," Loki says. "I told you I'd take care of it, and I have. I delivered proof that — "

"Sif has told everyone you used your magic to sneak in on her while she slept," says Odin.

"And people believe that?" says Mimir. "From that trollop?"

Odin's eyes don't leave Loki's. "What matters is what Thor thinks. He believes his wife. Which is lucky — otherwise you could be tried for treason."

Loki swallows, his brow furrowing. He was only obeying orders. The fickleness and duplicity of royalty.

"— but he is only requesting your banishment," says Odin, his eyes narrowing.

The breath catches in Loki's throat. Odin doesn't mean banishment to Alfheim, Jotunheim, Vaneheim or any of the other civilized worlds. He can only mean Midgard. There is a very small part of him that wants to accept that fate, sees it almost as an open door from a cage, but his rational mind tells him what he would be accepting is a short, painful life, and death by plague — or in his case, more likely hunger.

Odin's lip curls up. "Fix this, Loki." He stares down at Loki for a few moments more, and Loki feels himself shrinking. And then Odin turns and strides from the room.

Loki looks at Hoenir. He doesn't meet his eyes. He looks to Mimir, and the head winces. "You owe Sif, Thor and Odin a very big apology."

x x x x

Staring at Amy, Loki feels the heat of Thor's first betrayal, that first cruel laugh, itching beneath his skin. How could he have trusted Thor after that?

Beatrice's voice startles Loki out of his dark reverie. "So did you get Thor his hammer, Sif the golden wig, Odin Daupnir and Gungnir — and the boat for Frey?"

"Daupnir, Gungnir, boat?" says Amy.

Loki smiles a brittle smile. "Daupnir is a lovely little ring. The boat is called Skidbladnir. It has a clever way of folding into time so that all of it that remains in real-time can fit in the palm of your hand."

Amy's face lights up, "It sounds kind of like the TARDIS!"

"Tardis?" says Loki, somewhat amazed that she seems to have grasped the concept at all. Humans usually didn't.

"It's a phone booth," says Beatrice.

"Bigger on the inside than outside," says Amy. "And it can travel through space and time too. Can Skidbladnir do that?"

Loki blinks. "Humans have such a vessel?"

"No, no, no," says Amy. "It's just a story." She frowns a little. "Just the way you described Skidbladnir, I thought it could be true."

Slightly disappointed, Loki says, "Other than its compactibility, Skidbladnir is just a boat. We used it for camping trips. Until Odin gave it to Frey, chief of the Vanir."

"What about Gungnir, the spear that can hit any mark?" says Beatrice.

Tapping his chin, Loki says, "I did give that to Odin, but that was a different... adventure." Another one of his under-appreciated acts of self-sacrifice. Really, Odin should have appreciated what Loki did for Thor. It's not like sleeping with Sif was any great prize.

"Did the dwarf sew up your lips?" says Beatrice.

"Grandma!" says Amy, sounding absolutely scandalized. The gifts to Odin, Thor and Sif were made by two rival clans of dwarfs in a contest. The prize was Loki's head. At the last minute Loki convinced the winner that since only his head had been promised, it couldn't be detached at the neck. Said dwarf chose to sew up Loki's mouth in lieu of decapitation.

He's not sure exactly why Amy sounds so disapproving, but he senses an opportunity for comedy, or at least shock value.

With just the barest bit of concentration, he creates an illusion of wire stitches over his lips. Turning to Amy, and Beatrice he says, "Mmmphhhff!"

Beatrice sits back in her seat, hand over her mouth.

Amy gasps. "How can you even joke about that?!"

Loki tilts his head. The serious answer, the truthful answer, is how can he not? Joking about pain is the only weapon he has. It is the way he thumbs his nose up at the universe. The way he proves he is unbroken, and if not the god of mischief, then at least mischief's master.

But that isn't the funny answer.

He creates an illusion of himself in the backseat next to Beatrice and lets that projection say, "Don't worry, m'lady. I am not offended by my joke."

"Ahh!" says Beatrice looking frantically back and forth between the illusion of Loki and Loki's real self.

The car almost swerves off the road. "Don't do that without warning me!" says Amy.

"Mmmphhhff," says Loki's real self, still feigning the stitches.

"Don't you people believe in proportional punishment?" Amy shoots him a glance that looks angry, hurt and scandalized all at once.

Loki tilts his head. In the scheme of things, that physical agony was small. He had done a wrong. He paid a price. It was logical. There were other pains, other slights that were random and unjust. They hurt more. But he cannot think of them, much less speak of them. Instead, he lets his astrally-projected self lean forward and whisper near her ear. "But if I hadn't had my lips sewn shut I wouldn't have learned the art of astral projection — out of sheer desperation to wag my tongue."

Beatrice snorts.

Loki lets the illusion of himself and the stitches fade. "And if Thor hadn't had the opportunity to hold me down while the stitches were put in, he might not have felt that he'd recovered his honor and we might never have become friends."

Amy shoots him a look that communicates both revulsion and disbelief.

But Thor and Loki had been friends, hadn't they? They'd both risked their lives for one another. And for a long time Thor's friendship had surely helped ease Valli and Nari's dealings with other Asgardians. They had been known more for Thor's patronage, and less as Loki's sons.

In the end what good had it done them, though? Even, brave, noble, supposedly honest, Thor had caved to Odin.

Loki clenches his fists. He cannot believe that Valli and Nari have met their ends. They are somewhere, alive, if not well, and wherever they are he will find them. Loki is very good at finding lost things, and the more impossible the task, the more likely it is he will succeed. Even Odin gives him that.

"So... " says Amy, eyes focused on the road ahead. "Can you tell us what we're going to do when we find gala drill?"

"Gala drill?" says Loki. A party and a drill? He scratches his ear... Did he hear right, or lose the thread of magic? Something tickles in the back of his mind

"You know, elf queen, in the books?" says Amy.

"And movies!" Beatrice pipes in.

"Ahhh... a name from a new myth," says Loki, the tickle becoming an itch. There is something about the name that feels almost, but not quite right.

Amy blinks. "I guess, maybe."

Shaking his head, Loki says, "No king or queen of the elves would reveal their true name. It would mean sacrificing too much of their power." Lifting his eyebrows, he tilts his head. "And believe me, power isn't something elven monarchs are keen on relinquishing."

Amy leans forward in her seat. She isn't wearing the figure-flattering shirt she wore the other day. What she is wearing now is baggy, and goes too far up her chest. Loki has no idea why someone with such astonishing breasts would want to hide them.

"Uh... .is she going to be unhappy to see us here?" Amy says, looking nervously out the window.

"You and Beatrice? Oh, no, you are fine. The elves resented Odin's orders to withdraw from your realm. They saw it their duty to play an active role in shaping human culture. They'll be delighted to see you. Me, on the other hand... " He puts a hand to his chin, and taps contemplatively. "I will need a disguise."

"The elf queen can't read hearts?" whispers Amy quietly.

Startled by the question, Loki turns to her. "Actually, the elf queen can read hearts, or minds rather. I'm sure that she'll see through the disguise, but it will confuse her court, and give her plausible deniability should Odin pay her a visit."

"You're on the outs with Odin already?" says Beatrice.

Choosing to ignore that question, Loki says, "As for what I want with the elf queen... I want a simple exchange of information."

He sees Amy's eyes lift to the rear view mirror and realizes she and Beatrice are exchanging a glance.

Let them wonder. He has been more than accommodating.

Amy squeezes Car's steering wheel. "What sort of disguise?"

Loki tilts his head. "The best disguise is like the best lie. As close to the truth as possible." He concentrates. His armor with its magical camouflage is too fine to belong to just any ordinary soldier. He dulls it to steel, painted dark gray. His hair he changes to brown, his chin and nose he broadens, and he increases his height and the width of his shoulders.

"Whoa," says Amy, "you were big enough already."

Unable to resist a chance to jest, Loki smirks. "Yes, yes, I was," he says in a deep, husky voice.

Amy tilts her head. "What does that mean?"

Before Loki even has a chance to purse his lips at her disappointing inability to grasp that little bit of sly innuendo, Beatrice hits him on the back of the head.

That's more like it!

"Argh!" Loki screams, feigning pain. He turns and smiles at Beatrice. She scowls at him.

"Oh, my God," says Amy.

Loki smirks at her. "I'm not really a god, but I'll pretend to be one for you."

Beatrice hits him again. "Argh!" Loki cries, but he is unable to suppress a wide grin. There's nothing like a bit of comedy to take one's mind off a daunting quest.

"Was that an allusion to penis size?" Amy says, hands tightening on the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white.

Loki's smile drops. Cringing in genuine distaste he says, "Must you be so anatomical?"

Amy is silent for a moment. Dipping her chin and scowling, she begins to chant. "Penis, penis, penis."

Beatrice whacks him over the head again.

"... penis, penis, penis... "

"Hit her, not me!" Loki cries.

"... penis, penis, penis," says Amy, looking angrier and angrier.

"You started it," the old woman replies.

Huffing, Loki says, "To return to the previous topic — "

Amy stops her chant.

"Thank you," says Beatrice.

"I will not try to disguise my Frost Giant nature, but I will go by the name of Fjölnir Thorsbruter. It's a common name among Frost Giants in Thor's legion, and won't raise suspicion."

"You look like a Frost Giant now?" says Amy, looking him up and down.

"Of course," says Loki, slightly vexed.

"You're not blue. In the movies Frost Giants are blue."

Loki stares at her, completely at a loss for what she could be talking about.

From the backseat comes Beatrice's voice. "Oh, my, how lovely."

Amy's eyes go back to the road. They have just come over a gentle rise, and now in the distance beyond cultivated fields, orchards, pasture lands, and a wide river, Alfheim's only city in the domain of the light elves is on full display.

"It's beautiful," Amy says.

Loki gazes at the city in the distance. Set into the side of a mountain, it sits beside the border road. The city's architecture is reminiscent of human European architecture from the 12th century. The entire city is made from white stone. Thick walls and ramparts with small slitted windows encircle more buildings with the same small slitted windows. There are peaked tile roofs, all in green. At the center of the city, rising up above the other buildings, is the castle proper. Dark green ivy climbs along walls; trees with lavender leaves lift their crowns alongside the buildings.

Loki hasn't been here in over a hundred years. Squinting, he looks hard for any changes in the scenery, but even the ivy and trees within the city gates remain exactly as he remembers them. Absolutely nothing has changed.

"I suppose it's quaint," he says. He's not sure how the humans can be impressed. Chicago, with its riot of styles from only the last century or so, displays more variety of architecture in a single block than the whole city of Alfheim. And Alfheim's city is so small. It is only a few miles wide and the tallest tower can't be over ten stories.

"Like a fairy castle," says Beatrice, her voice awed.

Loki snorts. "Well, technically — "

"Are those dinosaurs?" Amy says, looking out at the fields.

Loki follows her gaze. A few hadrosaurs dot the pastures, and two are being ridden in neat formation along the city's main wall. From afar they look a lot like the velociraptors Loki hatched so long ago. They have powerful hind legs and smaller forelimbs. They do not walk on their hind limbs exclusively though, and their mouths are beak-like. They also get much larger than velociraptors — up to the size of a bus.

"Yes," says Loki.

He blinks. He's a bit surprised English has a word for dinosaur. Loki doesn't know English particularly well. He uses magic to translate languages. On Asgard they call it "The Gift of Tongues." Humans might call it a "spell," but it's more a state of mind. Loki doesn't fight the magic that flows through Amy and Beatrice that wants to interact with the appropriate neurons in his brain's speech centers.

The trick has its limitations: if there is no corresponding word between languages, translations become difficult. But now there is a common English word for dinosaurs! Fascinating. Staring at the creatures, he realizes there is even an English word for specific dinosaur species. "Specifically, hadrosaurs, harmless herbivores," he adds. Harmless unless they step on you, of course.

Tensing at the wheel, Amy looks nervously to the dark forest still on their left. "I don't have to worry about T-rexes or velociraptors, do I?"

Loki's mouth drops open. "You know what a velociraptor is?"

"I've seen Jurassic Park," says Amy. Voice rising tremulously she says, "Are there velociraptors here?"

"No," says Loki. "No... .nasty creatures though, I'll give you that."

Amy turns her face quickly to him. She doesn't look relieved for some reason.

Puzzling over that, Loki looks out at the road and his eyes go wide. "Look out for the hadrosaur dung!"

Amy hits the brakes and they screech to a halt just in time.

"It's the size of a dog!" says Beatrice.

"It looks like bird poop," says Amy. "White... but really lumpy. I wonder if I could get a sample and take it back to school? We have a thermos, don't we? I have a friend from undergrad in the micro lab at UIC. We could compare the genome of the hadrosaur dung bacteria to the bacteria in bird guano. If elves were on Earth at one time, there is a possibility that the bacteria might share a common ancestor!"

Loki blinks.

"We probably don't have time for that, Dear. Right Loki?" says Beatrice.

Loki stifles a laugh at Beatrice's conspiratorial prompting, but he's more impressed than repulsed. It's something Hoenir would do — at this point Loki is quite inured to dung collection. Pursing his lips he says, "Maybe later. For now, perhaps you should drive more slowly? We are close enough to the castle for it to be safe after dark."

"Right," says Amy, steering the vehicle so it straddles the dung.

Loki hopes none gets on the axles; it is quite foul smelling. He sighs. Elves. No appreciation for any type of evolution.

Chapter Eight

Amy is glad for the chance to slow down. It gives her a chance to look around. As they cross the neat fields of what looks like wheat, she can see little thatched cottages. She catches sight of goats, sheep, small shaggy horses, chickens — and sometimes hadrosaurs. From afar their scales are reminiscent of tropical birds, deep, almost iridescent green, with spots of red and yellow.

As they drive along, people — well, they look like people — come out of their little homes, take one look at them, and rush back inside. If they didn't seemed so terrified Amy would probably stop the car and get out — no matter how much Loki might protest.

They are just a few miles from the city proper, when two knights come riding up the road towards them. She thinks they are knights anyway. They are wearing armor like the kind she is accustomed to from the Art Institute, are seated on shaggy little white horses, and are carrying lances. Their faces and ears are covered, so despite their proximity she can't see if they're Elves.

"Um... " says Amy.

Loki, now looking like a very pale Conan the Barbarian, looks at the door. "Where is the window crank? I'd like to address them."

"The button," says Amy.

"What button?" says Loki.

"Switch," says Beatrice.

"Ahhhhh... ." says Loki.

"Wait, I have a better idea," says Amy. Pressing a button on the side of the door, she opens the skylight.

"Perfect!" says Loki smiling broadly. "I love this machine." He looks at Amy, an expression of deep earnestness on his now broad barbarian face. "Do you think it could ever love me?"

Unsure if this is another one of his jokes, Amy just stares at him.

From the backseat, Beatrice says, "Loki dear, they're jostling their sticks."

Loki looks out at the knights who are raising their lances. "Just give me a minute," he says, and then he stands up next to Amy. It puts his hips rather too close to her face. Her cheeks go hot and she's on guard instantly. She's really glad he's busy talking to the knights; otherwise she's pretty sure he'd have a bit of innuendo to throw her way just now.

A knight gives a yell, and Amy blinks and straightens. The knight is pointing at her car with his lance.

The words coming out of Loki's mouth seem smooth, almost musical. But the knights raise their lances and then both of them are yelling at Loki. Amy starts gauging the feasibility of a three point turn. The sun is slipping down on the horizon, and Loki has warned against the wisdom of traveling the road at night, but...

From the direction of the castle eight more knights come riding out on horses, followed by knights on hadrosaurs at the rear. The giant creatures move relatively slowly, but they are intimidating. Loki is still talking, and the knights are still waving their lances.

Hand going to the gears, Amy gets ready to switch into reverse. "Loki! Should I turn around?"

Pulling himself back into the car, Loki smiles broadly at her. It's even more disconcerting than it should be since he's changed his appearance to be more Conan the Barbarian-esque. Her brain is having a little difficulty wrapping itself around the concept that it is still the wiry guy with red hair in there. She wants to pinch his cheek or something, to verify everything is real, but the timing is a little inconvenient. And he'd probably misconstrue it as flirting. He's still in the middle of the front seat and way too close to her.

"No, no, we're fine!" he says, his voice still his own. Amy's not sure if it makes the Conan thing better or worse.

"Nothing to worry about," he says. "They're just giving us an escort."

As he says that, the first two knights run around their car, turn around and turn their lances on them again. In front of them the other knights bring their mounts around so their steeds and their lances are perpendicular to the road.

"See," says Conan-esque Loki. "Nothing to worry about."

"Oh, dear," says Beatrice, summing up Amy's feelings exactly.

Falling back into his own seat, Loki-Conan waves a hand forward. "Go ahead!"

Amy checks the rear view mirror. Going backwards doesn't seem much of an option. She puts her foot gently on the gas and drives through the gauntlet. There is a bridge just ahead of them, and a river as wide as an eight-lane highway beneath. Amy notices on the side of the river near the castle the water reflects the sky. On the side of the bridge where the water drains into the dark forest, the river is a muddy snake of churning brown and black. She follows the river's path into the dark forest with her eyes to where it seems to split into tributaries.

"The Delta of Sorrows," says Loki softly. She looks over at him and he's shaking his head, one side of his mouth curled up in a crooked smile. "Luddites and hypocrites," he mutters.

Amy blinks and focuses her attention ahead. The knights are falling into formation behind them.

"The first fork in the road past the river, take a right turn toward the castle," says Loki.

Amy swallows and nods. As they get closer to the castle, Beatrice says, "Oh, my, it's even lovelier up close."

And it is. It's hard for Amy to keep her eyes on the road. The tremendous white wall on her left is covered with dark green ivy. Blue flowers are interspersed with the leaves.

"Yes," says Loki. "You have to hand it to the elves, they can make even man-eating plants picturesque."

"Man-eating?" says Beatrice.

"Let's say you wouldn't want to try and scale the wall by climbing the ivy," says Loki.

"Oh," says Beatrice. "It is so pretty, though... I wonder if it would keep the squirrels away from the bird feeder outside our kitchen window?"

"Grandma!" says Amy.

"It's difficult to get clippings of the stuff," says Loki. "It bites."

"A shame," says Beatrice.

Before Amy can say anything, Beatrice lets out a gasp. They're closing in on the main gates of the city, and for the first time can see within. More knights are riding out, but others are holding back a crowd.

Amy pulls the car through the gates, into what seems to be a market square with brightly colored tents for stalls interspersed with lavender-leafed trees with white bark. Great buildings of white stone look over the square. They are able to see the people of the realm up close for the first time. They are slender, and not terribly tall. Most appear pale, but Amy sees every shade of skin tone. They seem to all be blessed with delicate, doll like features, and there is no mistaking the pointed ears.

"Elves... " breathes Amy.

Conan-Loki snorts. "You expected trolls?"

Neither Amy nor Beatrice bother to respond. A moment later the sun slips completely from the sky, and all around them great orbs of green light rise into the air until they reach a height just above the great wall around the city. The car's headlights become brighter.

From the crowd there is a collective, "Oooooh."

"Clever car," says Loki, patting the dash.

The elves in the market push against the knights holding them back and begin to smile and wave at Amy, Beatrice and Loki. Amy hears shouts rising up in the crowd. In the corner of her eye she swears she sees an elf raising his fist at the knights.

Amy cranes her neck for a better view, but Loki says, "Keep driving. The hadrosaurs can tip us over." He looks over his shoulder. "Or step on us."

That does wonders to focus Amy's attention.

They follow a knight through the market, and between buildings that are a few stories tall, the knights on hadrosaurs close behind them. In the glow of the orbs the white stone looks green. Some of the buildings have wide windows. Behind her Amy hears Beatrice say, "Oh, that looks like a dress shop, and that looks like toys maybe... Oh, my, the people are just darling."

Amy wishes she could look, but trains her eyes on the knight leading them. She tries to keep track of the way they're going. It's dark, and a little difficult to tell for sure, but it seems to be one main road that switches back on itself as it makes its way up the mountain.

They make a few more switchback turns and come to a street that has walls on both sides. On one side the wall is covered with the ivy and flowers.

"Oh, the shops are gone," says Beatrice.

"We're nearly on the palace grounds," says Loki.

The knight in front of them holds up a hand. Abruptly, the ivy on the wall slithers away like a mass of snakes and a metal gate is revealed. Beatrice gives a startled cry, and Amy swallows.

The gates swing open with a loud, metallic clang, the knight shouts, and Loki says, "Drive in."

Amy's foot is already on the gas. She eases through the gates. Up until this point they've been driving on a steady incline up the mountainside, but before her the ground plateaus. There are trees, bushes, and masses of tall flowering plants. The road leads to what can only be described as a palace — it rises up at least ten stories. Its delicate towers and walls crawl with more ivy. Above the road hover the green orbs. All along the road are elves standing at attention, wearing what looks like chain mail. From the palace more elves are coming. Even at a distance, Amy can see they are not wearing armor of any kind. Male and female, they wear clothing that looks medieval, but Amy's pretty sure that human medieval clothing did not glow.

The knight in front of them barks an order. "Time to get out," says Loki.

He turns to them, his features sharp. "Remember, I am Fjölnir Thorsbrutter." He tips his head. "If Odin finds out I am here, it will be difficult for me to return you to your realm."

Amy hears the back door open. "I don't know if I'd mind staying," says Beatrice as the retinue of elves in glowing gowns draws to a halt in front of them. "My, my." With that she climbs out of the car.

Loki looks at Amy, his eyes wide.

"Don't worry, Amy says. "I don't want to stay anywhere that doesn't have antibiotics." Or a good laboratory. What fun was dung if she couldn't analyze it?

Mouth grim, jaw hard, Conan-Loki says, "Smart girl."

An instant later he is standing outside on the golden road, smiling broadly.

Amy slips the key from the ignition and watches him. He's like a chameleon, and not just in the way he changes his physical appearance.

Stepping from the car, she takes a breath and pockets her keys and attached pepper spray. The air is cool, clear and untainted by the car's air freshener or vents. The sun may be gone, but everything still smells like sunlight and grass, and floral smells she can't quite place. She looks up past the orbs. The stars are bright, but the Big Dipper is nowhere to be seen. Her mouth drops open, and then she smiles at the wonder of it. She is on another world.

Smile still in place, she walks around to where Conan-Loki and Beatrice stand. One elf, a man dressed in subdued black who looks no older than Amy, is talking to Loki. The other elves are thronged around Beatrice.

"You human!" says a young man in a sing-song voice to Beatrice. His hair is golden and long. He is wearing long robes of dark blue velvet with embroidered stars that literally sparkle. He turns to Amy. "You, too! Come to feast!"

"First, clothes!" says a woman. Amy blinks. At her side is an elf woman with skin dark as ebony. She wears a dress of emerald green, cinched tightly at the waist, low cut on the front, with gold brocade along the neckline that seems to project its own light.

Small hands go to Amy's arms and pull her forward, but then a heavier arm drapes over her shoulder. Conan-Loki's voice whispers in her ear. "I told them I was accidentally drawn into your realm, and that I rescued you, and this is how you are repaying me. The only detail I've changed is my name. Fjölnir. Thorsbrutter. Don't forget."

Before Amy can even respond, Loki's arm is gone, and he's stepping around the crowd to the elf in black.

As the lady in emerald scoots up to Amy, Amy turns her head to see the man in blue, arm-in-arm with Beatrice.

Touching Beatrice's hair lightly, he speaks with an oddly lilting accent Amy can't place. "You like most beautiful gnome I have ever seen."

Amy's eyes bug out, but Beatrice just giggles and smiles.

"My name Belladal," says the woman next to Amy in the same lilting tones as the man.

"Amy," says Amy, trying to keep her eyes on Conan-Loki, walking ahead of the throng, towering next to the elf in black.

"Aaay Meeee," says Belladal.

"Aaay Meeee," say the other elves in unison.

Amy turns her eyes to them for an instant. Beatrice and Amy are positively thronged now. She smiles and they gasp. "You many teeth for human!" says Belladal. Confused, Amy blinks. Turning her head she tries to find Loki, but he and the elf in black are nowhere to be seen. Before she even has a chance to process that thought or be afraid, great wooden doors ahead of them open and light spills out of the palace.

She hears the elf man next to Beatrice exclaim. "No, no, no! You not 85! Humans not live that long!" She can't hear Beatrice's response. Her eyes are nearly blinded by the golden light in the palace, and elves in much simpler attire are running out of the doors singing or maybe talking in musical tones.

"Dresses! You get dresses!" says Belladal. "Elves like humans. Not see so long! You like dresses! Music! Feast! Happy! Happy! Happy!"

"Happp—eeeee!" sing the elves.

And Amy isn't sure if it is magic, or just that everything is magical, but she begins to feel her heart lift, and her lips pull into a wide grin.

Beatrice slips her arm into Amy's as Belladal glides into the palace ahead of them, her dark skin warm and glowing in the light. Following the elven woman with her eyes, Beatrice shakes her head and whispers to Amy, "the elves have Negroes, too. I never would have expected that."

Amy squeezes her eyes shut and resists the desire to facepalm. Beside her Beatrice doesn't seem to even notice. She's chattering away with the elven man.

Amy sighs and opens her eyes. At least Beatrice didn't say anything about Belladal getting a position of lady or princess elf through affirmative action. She smiles ruefully; some of the magic of the place must be rubbing off after all.

x x x x

An hour or so and a magically altered dress later, Amy's standing in a great hall. Lining the wall are tapestries that glitter, glow and almost seem to move. A giant orb of gold is suspended in the air. The floor beneath her feet is white polished stone. To one side of the room are large ornately carved doors that lead, she's told, to "big feast... little wait only." Music that sounds like harps and flutes is floating through the air, but she can't see any musicians. She looks around the room a little anxiously. She hasn't seen Loki since they entered the palace.

Fenrir isn't here either. During the dressmaking session an elf woman had taken the dog away — Belladal said it was "so small beast no smell like dead things." Amy would have protested more, but it was true, her little beast still stunk. Fenrir's supposed to be back in time for the feast, though. Looking around again, Amy pats her skirts and feels the comforting lumps of her key chain and pepper spray beneath the fabric.

At the other end of the hall Beatrice is sitting down on an elaborately carved wooden chair, a throng of elves around her. Grinning ear-to-ear, she looks beautiful. Her dress is palest rose with an elegant princess neckline. Her white hair is lifted up in a bun that is crowned with pale pink flowers. It occurs to Amy that Beatrice must seem far more exotic to them than Amy herself does. No one in the hall looks older than 25.

Amy looks down at her own dress self-consciously. It's very pretty, creamy with emerald green trim. But the neckline is painfully low and wide. She's afraid if she bends forwards she might spill out. She tried to ask for something more discreet, but her protests were met with laughter. "Why hide best feature?" Belladal had said. And then Belladal's expression had contorted to one of genuine curiosity. "Are you wet-nurse?"

Remembering that comment did nothing to ease Amy's self-consciousness now. The elves, male and female, crowded around her speaking in their musical tones and staring at her breasts doesn't help either. Different ideas about propriety, obviously. None of them seem to speak English the way Belladal or the elf man in blue are able to, so commenting on her embarrassment doesn't help.

Figures clad in black and gray emerging from a small door at the side of the hall catches her attention. It's Loki at last — still looking like a pale version of Conan the Barbarian. The elf in black is next to him. Grateful for a chance to escape her ogling little throng, Amy casts a smile around her, looks apologetically in the direction of Loki, and then back at them. The throng seems to understand because a narrow path opens up before her. She bolts through it without a backwards glance.

Loki catches her eye, says something to the elf in black, and then tilts his head towards a hallway off to the side. A few moments later Amy is there beside him. His armor is still the dark gray he changed it to in the car, and he's donned no other finery. His face is uncharacteristically pensive.

"What's wrong?" she asks, and he blinks.

"Nothing," he says. "I will be granted an audience with the queen during the feast." Her brows furrow slightly. She thinks they are alone in the small hallway, the noise of revelry at their backs, but she's not quite sure. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leans close to him. "Are you worried she'll know who you are?"

Smiling a little sadly, he says, "I'm certain that she will. That isn't what disturbs me."

"Well, what then?" says Amy, a hand almost unconsciously going to his arm.

Not meeting her eyes, his lips quirk slightly, his expression looks sad instead of happy.

"I find myself nervous about the answer to my question," he says.

"You never told us what the question is," Amy says.

His eyes narrow, though the quirk of his lips doesn't disappear. "I try, as much as possible, to push it from my mind. If I think of it I might go mad." He looks so distraught, Amy has the urge to give him a hug.

Stepping back, he takes her hand. "But where are my manners? You look lovely."

From the great hall there is the sound of horns.

"Nice breasts," says Loki, barely audible over the din.

Amy's jaw falls. Every time she feels the slightest bit of sympathy for him, he just has to go and ruin it. "Did you just say nice breasts?"

He quirks an eyebrow. Leaning in he says, "Actually, I said nice dress."

Amy blinks and reddens; how foolish of her. She's about to apologize when still holding her hand, his eyes drift down and his mouth stretches into a leer. "But now that you mention it... ."

Her hand connects with his cheek a moment later with a satisfying smack.

Rubbing his cheek, he just grins at her.

Amy points at her eyes and says, "Focus."

The grin vanishes. "You're right, I can't be seen to be fraternizing with the help." He smirks. "Who knows, the queen may want to take advantage of my silver tongue."

"Huh?" says Amy, not seeing any connection.

The smirk vanishes.

Amy blinks.

Patting her shoulder, Loki sighs. "If I ever need to capture a unicorn I'll be sure to let you know."

Conan-Loki's inappropriate leers are immediately forgiven. "I would love to see a unicorn!"

Putting a hand to her back, he guides her towards the hall. "And I'm sure one would love to see you." As they step into the great hall, Loki says, "Dinner has just been called. I will see you later."

The elf woman who had taken Fenrir away during the dressmaking session approaches, Fenrir at her feet, bathed, groomed and looking — well, almost like a dog. "This way," the elf woman says.

Eyes going wide, Amy says, "You speak English!"

The elf blinks at her, as though surprised to be understood. "Yes. But secret, please?"

Amy tilts her head, curious. But all she says is, "Of course." She turns to look at Loki but he's already gone.

x x x x

As the rest of the guests are herded into the dining hall, Lionel, the steward, leads Loki to a small antechamber dimly lit by dancing fireflies. It's furnished only with a tapestry on one wall, and two chairs facing one another, a low table in the middle. It is exactly the sort of thing Loki would have expected.

Closing the door behind them, Lionel presses his ear to it as though listening for something.

Loki tilts his head. Lionel meets his gaze, nods, and then moves quickly to the room's only window and draws the curtains. Putting his finger to his lips, Lionel moves to the opposite wall and draws back the curtain. Pressing against a few of the white stones in rapid succession, Lionel backs up. The stones seem to dissolve, as though made of sand, revealing a dark narrow passage.

Lionel gestures with his hands for Loki to enter.

Loki does not move. "Where are you taking me?"

Lionel is small and thin even for an elf. He swallows. "The queen will speak a few words at the feast, and then she will retire to her chambers. She will meet you there."

Loki stares at him for a few uncomfortably long heartbeats. Not because he doesn't believe Lionel's words — Loki can't read hearts, but he has a sense for lies. It is the truth, but still unbelievable. Loki is nowhere near the queen's station, whether a member of Thor's personal legion or as Odin's retainer... former retainer. Having him in her chambers would be scandalous, but it would explain the secrecy; and a secret passage would make perfect sense.

"If you like, I will go first," says Lionel.

"I would like," says Loki. Lionel may not be lying, but he wouldn't put it past a monarch to leave a surprise without their retainer's knowledge.

Lionel bows his head. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a dull olive orb. As he lifts it, it lights from within, casting the same green glow as the orbs outside the palace. And then Lionel steps into the dark passageway, Loki following.

Loki hears the tapestry fall back into place, and a sound like pebbles sliding together. When he looks behind him there is a seemingly solid wall.

After a few paces, the passageway changes to a stairway. The steps are low and narrow. Loki touches the walls. They are dry and cool beneath his slightly warm damp fingers. He can feel his pulse quickening. This is it. Soon he will know where his sons and Sigyn are, whether they are alive or dead.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to calm himself as best he can.

They have gone a few flights when the scent of stone and dust gives way to the smell of green living things, pine and sage maybe. It's not unpleasant at all. Loki suddenly has an overpowering sense of deja vu. He blinks. Prophecy is completely beyond him. He is over 1,000 years old. He may never have been in this stairway, but he has been in ones like it. Surely.

And yet... the fragrance. He takes a long breath. He is just anxious.

In front of him Lionel draws to a stop. Loki can't see what he does with his hands but the wall falls away, and they step from behind another tapestry into a living area. The smell of pine and sage is stronger, and there is also the smell of meat and fresh bread. There is a chandelier above that looks like a mass of long silver leaves. There are no candles or orbs set in it: the whole thing glows, casting a glow like moonlight. Below it are two chairs, and a table laden with food. Nearby Loki can hear the sound of falling water.

"Her Majesty's chambers," says the steward. He gestures to a seat. "Please, sit and eat your fill."

Loki's mouth is watering, but he doesn't sit down. He tilts his head to the sound of water. In his mind he pictures a living wall of lichens, a small spout emerging from it, and a stream of water falling into a semi-circular pool set flush in the floor. Turning, he walks quickly from the little room, Lionel at his heels, saying, "Stop! Wait!"

He steps into the next room over and draws up short. There are the wall and fountain just as he imagined them.

"Sir," Lionel says, "you are to wait in the other room."

Loki doesn't move. And then he sees it, magic, the same color as moonlight, spilling from behind his back.

"Leave us, Lionel," says a feminine voice as smooth and sure as water over rocks.

Loki and Lionel both turn. The elf queen approaches them. She wears a simple circlet on her brow. Her ears peek out from straight black hair. Her eyes are almond shaped, almost like a human from the continent of Asia, but they are nearly as light as Loki's own. Her features are fine, delicate and almost painfully symmetrical, like all of the elf race. She is as slender and willowy as a reed — not precisely his type, but undeniably beautiful.

Loki has seen her several times before. He's always looked at her from a distance, or from over Odin's shoulder as a retainer. She's never met his eyes before. She does now. Loki has the peculiar sensation of coming in from the cold to find a warm and welcome fire.

For some reason he almost says "Gala" aloud, but holds it back. Strange to be affected so by a silly human myth.

He tilts his head. This feeling of belonging, is it a trick of her magic?

"Yes, my Queen," Lionel says, drawing Loki from his reverie. Bowing quickly the retainer leaves the room.

"Loki, son of wildfire and the green and peaceful isle," says the elf queen.

He hasn't heard his heritage described that way before, but he doesn't argue. Bowing, Loki lets his disguise drop and prepares to kneel.

"Please," says the elf queen holding out a pale hand. "Don't."

Loki straightens. There is something in her voice, fear or apprehension; he can't tell.

"Why are you here?" she says coming forward, magic swirling in the air so much it warms his skin. She cannot possibly be afraid of him, her magic is so much stronger.

"I mean you no harm, your highness. I come only for an exchange of information."

"What information do you wish to give me?"

Loki tilts his head. "A pathway, from your realm to Asgard."

"I know many of those," she says dropping her eyes and moving quietly as a shadow so they are no more than a foot apart. That closeness should strike him as odd — but it doesn't, and that is truly odd.

"Ah, but this is a very strategic one, your highness. Right from the heart of your realm to just behind the throne of Odin himself."

The elf queen's eyes shoot up to his and then she looks aside and walks away. "I already know of such a pathway," she says.

Loki feels the first prickle of worry. "But this, your highness, this one... ." He licks his lips. "It is very near, but so small you would never find it unless — "

"The one inside our wine cellar," she says.

Loki's eyes go wide. He feels as though the wind has been knocked out of him. He brings a hand to the chest plate of his armor and feels the press of his book tucked inside there. The queen's eyes follow the movement, and for an instant he thinks he sees something cruel and predatory flash in them. But then the look is gone, and her features again are cool and distant.

"Someone already bartered that piece of information to me... long, long ago," she says, her eyes dropping to the small pool in the floor.

She looks sharply at him, and then comes forward again. Tilting her head she says, "But I would hear your question anyways."

It takes a moment for Loki to process her words. No barter? No exchange? When do gifts ever come freely?

"Tell me," she says. And again she is very close, too close for decorum, and again it is a fact that hovers at the edge of his consciousness, something that should strike him as uncomfortable and off, but the feeling of her proximity is completely different. It's like a warm fire.

He closes his eyes. He sees Valli and Nari as children, with Helen — who he also lost. He cannot think them lost, too — or Sigyn, gone like his Aggie. "My sons, my ex-wife, Sigyn, I want to know where they are, " he says softly. She draws back, just a bit. Maybe he isn't speaking softly, maybe it just sounds faint over the angry pounding of his own heart.

"I don't know," she says, her gaze firm on his. "I cannot see everything. I am sorry."

She's not lying... and yet...

His next breath is too hard and too loud. He wants to turn away, but doesn't think he can. Valli and Nari's faces and the blackness of space flash before him. His sons... his beautiful sons.

The elf queen takes his arm, and that act of comfort is scandalous, ridiculous, coming from a queen. Not that he hasn't gotten women far above his station to do things far more scandalous — but not without trying.

"Come sit down," she says pulling him towards the chairs in the other room.

"I should go," he says. He doesn't know where.

"Odin does not know you're here," she says.

That is pure truth.

He lets himself be led and sinks down into the chair. She doesn't move away. Rubbing a hand on his shoulder she says, "Loki, Loki, Loki," as though practicing the word. Her touch is oddly familiar.

Almost unconsciously he takes her hand in his and she comes around so that she stands just to the side of him, very close. She leans down so their eyes are level; locks of her black hair fall down over her shoulders. "If I cannot give you the knowledge you need, at least let me give you comfort," she says, her face close to his.

When Loki jested with the human girl earlier about the elf queen taking advantage of his silver tongue, it had been just that, a jest, and nothing more. The queen was not known to take lovers casually, if at all. Even Baldur had tried and failed.

And yet... Loki looks at the pale skin where her neck meets the junction of her shoulders. He has the feeling that if he ghosts his lips there he knows exactly what sound she'll make. He looks at her lips and thinks he knows exactly how they will taste.

He pulls her closer and she doesn't resist. When he kisses her it isn't like a first kiss, laced with excitement and uncertainty. It's like comfort and homecoming. He needs those things.

And she tastes exactly as he thought she would.

Afterwards, when he feels a brief bit of peace, it feels natural to fall asleep with his arms draped around the elf woman he hasn't called anything less formal than "your Majesty." He dreams of a younger Alfheim, with a brighter, yellower sun, of gazing out the window of the palace at a mortal peasant man come to visit. The human smiles at Loki and it's warm, good humored and yet it fills him with dread.

His eyes snap open. He hears fast footfalls, and then the sting of sharp cold metal at his throat.

He looks up. The elf queen is there, holding his own blade against his neck with one hand, his book in the other.

This is not good.

x x x x

The dining room is as grand as the other halls of the palace. More tapestries, another glowing orb in the ceiling, and a great table still piled high with food — even though the diners are mostly done.

Amy sits back in her seat, pleasantly full. Near her feet Fenrir whines. Amy glances around. All eyes in the hall are trained on Beatrice, who is recounting the story of her life. Taking advantage of their lack of attention, Amy slips a piece of cheese to Fenrir.

The queen came into the hall a few hours ago. From a raised dais at the end of the table she bid Amy and her grandmother greetings in English nearly as perfect as Loki's, before addressing her own people and then taking her leave.

Amy was asked a few questions during the meal by Belladal, but Beatrice very quickly became the star of the show. Now Beatrice is telling the story of her life, how she was born to a formerly wealthy clothing merchant in the Ukraine. She has described her parents, her family and her friends in greater detail than Amy has ever heard. Amy is as enraptured as the elves are to hear previously unheard stories of her family's history. The tale is interrupted frequently by the elf man in blue translating for the rest of the table.

Beatrice comes to the part of how her family and friends were persecuted after the communists took power, and the elves hiss before the translation even starts. Startled, Beatrice, a few seats down and across the table, meets Amy's eyes. Next to Amy, Belladal says, "We know of these communists. Killers of kings, queens, lords and ladies... but not only just! Kill common people, too."

"Yes," says Beatrice nodding gravely at Belladal. "They caused a great famine."

"This we know not!" says the elf man. The whole hall goes silent, as though they are hanging breathlessly on Beatrice's words. When she finishes describing the Holodomor, the famine induced by Stalin that killed nearly 2.7 million people, the elf in blue begins to translate again. Amy notices he doesn't just address the people at the table, he also addresses the servants in the background.

For some reason it makes her stomach feel heavy.

At one point Belladal leans to Amy and whispers. "Your grandmother. So brave. Journey to lawless land no king. No queen. Much danger!"

Amy puts the crystal goblet in her hands down on the table. There is a sweet liquid within it — she's pretty sure it's alcoholic and wishes she could just drink some water. She is the designated driver after all. "We do all right," she says to the elf woman.

Belladal's eyes go wide. "If you not saved by Frost Giant... " She shakes her head. "No king. No queen. Is... is... discord... .chaos."

Amy scowls a little. "Well, no... " But Beatrice has begun to speak again and Belladal's head turns away. At Amy's feet Fenrir whimpers.

"I have to take her out," Amy whispers to Belladal.

Belladal looks like she is about to get up, but the servant elf Amy had spoken to briefly is by Amy's side at that instant. "Don't worry," says Amy. "I'll go with her."

Belladal nods and returns her gaze to Beatrice who has just begun her story of her voyage to America. Amy wishes she could stay for it, but part of her also wants to flee the hall as soon as possible.

The servant leads Amy and Fenrir out of the dining hall and Amy finds herself close to a place she remembers from earlier — the restroom. There is a group of elves in drab garb with an orb like the ones that line the ceilings and hover in the sky. But this one is brown and murky. As Amy watches, they take the orb into the restroom.

Drawing to a stop, Amy tilts her head. "What are they doing?"

The elf woman next to her bites her lip. "The orb magic water... used up. They empty. They refill new magic water."

Amy's eyes widen. "Are they flushing it down the toilet?" Despite the quaintness of the elf architecture, they do have flush toilets, thankfully.

The elf woman bites her lip again. "Yes. But don't worry. Dark water goes down to delta. We get drinking water and fish up river."

Fenrir begins tugging at the leash, and the elf woman pulls Amy down the passageway. Amy follows obediently, but the image of the river churning brown and black towards the dark lands is heavy in her mind.

A few paces later, they are stepping out into the cool night air onto a path of worn stones. The green orbs hover in the air, and light blue fireflies dance around them.

"What is your name?" Amy asks.

"Dolinar," says the elf woman.

"Dolinar," says Amy. "Do elves live down river?"

For a moment there is just the sound of Fenrir's leash in the grass, and Dolinar's and Amy's footfalls. And then Dolinar says quietly, "Yes. But only thieves, murderers, traitors... and those who will not obey the life price."

The night air suddenly feels very chill. Clutching her arms to her chest, Amy says, "That's wrong. Even if it's criminals down river, poisoning them is still wrong."

Dolinar looks quickly to the palace, and then back to Amy. Pointed ears trembling, she whispers, "Yes, I think so, too."

They stare at one another a moment. It occurs to Amy that even dressed in plain servants' garb, Dolinar looks more noble than Amy ever will. Dolinar's hair is a deep walnut brown. Her eyes are hazel, and Amy is sure she sees light flickering in them. Her facial features are so delicate, and so perfect; her body is as small and poised as a ballet dancer.

Dolinar looks away from the palace and into the darkness. "My life mate works in stables. You say you are studying to be animal doctor. Want to see animals?"

Amy's eyes widen, and she starts walking into the darkness and direction of Dolinar's gaze. "Let's go!"

A few minutes later they are approaching a building that is at least four stories tall. Through narrow windows Amy sees the glow of green orbs. There is an enormous door at the front, but Dolinar leads her around to a small door in the back.

As soon as they enter the stables, Dolinar runs forward. Out of the shadows an elf man in drab pants and a simple shirt comes forward. His hair is long and blonde, his eyes are brown. He takes Dolinar in his arms and they begin speaking quickly in their own tongue.

It's touching, but Amy's eyes almost immediately go down the row of stalls. Her mouth opens. On one side of the stable are horses. On the other are hadrosaurs. The dinosaurs sit on their powerful hind limbs, their front limbs pulled up, and their beak-like snouts turned on their long necks and tucked against their bodies. They look like nothing so much as roosting birds.

Feet moving of their own accord, she approaches one of the sleeping dinosaur's enclosure. The creature untucks its neck, brings its large snout around and blinks yellow eyes. Between its eyes and its colorful, nearly iridescent scales, it looks like a giant parrot. A small gasp comes from Amy's lips.

"She gentle," comes a man's voice from behind her. He says something in elvish and then Dolinar says, "You may touch her, if you wish."

Amy doesn't have to be coaxed. She holds out a hand. The hadrosaur brings its snout forward and sniffs. Then walking forward on its large hind legs, it drops its snout and begins rubbing the side of its head against Amy's fingers. Up close, its scales are actually more like feathers, and they are soft as a chick's down. Amy bites back a laugh of pure wonderment. She doesn't doubt that the moment is real. She can smell the familiar smells of horses and straw, but there is also the smell of the hadrosaur, very akin to a bird. The animal is making soft huffing noises, and Amy catches the odor of its breath, warm and thick with the smell of half digested vegetation. It's wonderful. Magical.

Suddenly, everything that has happened — her horrible sickening run-in with a psychopath, her fear, the horrible sensation that her life was just a dream, the elves Amy is beginning to suspect are charming fascists, Loki frightening her in the kitchen, and his terrible come-ons, it is all worth it. Even if she can't breathe a word of this moment to anyone except Beatrice; she will know it happened. The universe seems to be grinding along with such beautiful perfection, and Amy's part may be insignificant, but it is still wonderful.

She rubs the hadrosaur's head and finds a small opening. She smiles; it is the animal's ear. She scratches just behind it and the hadrosaur lets loose a deep, pleasant, lowing noise.

"She like you," says Dolinar.

Amy doesn't say anything. Just continues rubbing a few minutes more, feeling the exquisite, alien and yet familiar softness of the creature's scales. She can feel her pulse racing just from the sheer joy of it. This perfect moment, it is all Loki's fault, and that thought almost makes her laugh.

The hadrosaur abruptly pulls itself further upright, shakes its head, and then tucks its snout against its body again.

"Now go back to sleep," says man.

Smiling, Amy turns to them. "Thank you so much... " She blinks at them standing arm in arm. Her brain disconnects from the moment she's just experienced. Tilting her head at the lovely couple she says, "How come you speak English?"

Squeezing the man's hand, Dolinar steps forward. "We do not speak English. We use magic to translate. My life mate, Liddel, and I study magic in secret."

Face very serious, Liddel draws closer to Dolinar. "We would like to learn more magic. We are both hard workers and we were wondering... "

"We have to leave," Dolinar says quickly. Amy's eyes widen and she steps back.

Dolinar swallows. "We haven't paid the life price. "

Overwhelmed and confused, Amy says in a small voice, "Life price?"

"I am pregnant," says Dolinar and Amy's eyes flash between the two elves. "But no one in family has died so it is not allowed. Balance of elves and other creatures will be disrupted... ."

Charming fascists indeed! "They aren't going to kill your baby?" Amy gasps.

Dolinar and Liddel blink at her. "No," says Liddel. "They will take him away."

"Oh," says Amy. That is better — but not by much.

"Fjölnir," says Dolinar. "The Frost Giant you came with, we see his magic, he is very powerful... maybe more powerful than queen."

"Would he take us as apprentices?" says Liddel. "Just me for now, but later... "

From outside there come loud shouts and the sound of horns. Liddel's eyes widen. "It is the royal messengers. They may be angered if they know I've let you both into Queen's stables. Hide!"

Dolinar takes Amy's hand and pulls her and Fenrir towards a hadrosaur stall. She opens the latch with trembling hands as Liddel walks to the main door, shouting something. Amy, Fenrir and Dolinar swing into the stall next to an oblivious hadrosaur, and Dolinar shuts the stall door just as the main door of the stables swings open, and green orbs float in above.

There is much shouting and whinnying of horses. Amy scoops Fenrir up and wraps her hand around her dog's muzzle before she can bark. Wiggling in her arms, Fenrir makes muffled yipping noises anyway.

Outside the stall door, someone says something that sounds like a question. Amy hears Liddel responding. The stall door rattles.

Turning towards Fenrir, eyes wide, Dolinar points a finger at the dog's mouth just as her muzzle slips through Amy's fingers. Fenrir opens her mouth, the stall door rattles again, and Amy's heart misses a beat. Her dog's jaws open and shut, Amy can see her tiny lungs heave... but then no sound comes out. Amy looks at Dolinar... the elf woman's brow looks damp and she brings a finger to her lips.

Fenrir blinks and starts rubbing her muzzle.

The door of the stall shakes, and then someone says something, and Amy hears footsteps going away. Heart pounding in her ears, she lets out a breath and settles into the shadow of the hadrosaur, still sleeping peacefully.

Amy's not sure how long it is before the elves leave the stable; it feels like an eternity. She hears the sound of livery being readied, and hooves marching out into the night. At last, the stall door swings open, and Liddel's form appears. Looking perplexed, he says, "The messenger and an armed escort is going to the World Gate. It's strange so late in the evening."

"World Gate?" says Amy. "World Gate to where?"

The elves turn to her and look at her as though she has asked a silly question. "To Asgard."

Amy's heart leaps to her throat. "I have to get my grandmother... I have to get my car... " She runs forward and takes Dolinar's hands. "I don't know if Loki needs an apprentice, but I'm sure he'll let you come with us."

"Loki?" say Dolinar and Liddel in unison.

Amy puts her hand to her mouth. The one thing she wasn't supposed to do and she's done it!

The elves look at each other and whisper back and forth in their own language. Liddel puts a hand on Amy's shoulder. "We thank you for your kindness. Perhaps it would be better for you if you come with us to the Dark Lands."

Amy looks between them. Their eyes are wide and sincere.

"No, no, he's really not that bad," Amy says. "He saved my life... and he's kind, a little pervy,... but... "

The elves exchange glances.

"Please don't tell!" Amy says. "Just please don't tell."

Liddel's eyes narrow. "We will tell no one."

Narrowing her own eyes, Dolinar smiles slightly... and it's not a kind smile. "Let the queen deal with the breaker of worlds."

Chapter Nine

Loki pulls his neck back instinctively from the sharp bite of his blade. He just needs a moment's distraction. He glances around the room. Perhaps if he set the curtains on fire...

Hissing, the elf queen steps forward and he feels the point nip at his skin again. His eyes return to the shining piece of steel.

"You should not be awake," she says. That answers a question at the back of his mind. She'd enchanted him. He searches for something pithy to say, but before he can open his mouth, she shakes the book and shouts, "My lover's book. You have it! Why?"

The book is Lothur's journal. Hoenir gave it to Loki centuries ago. Shocked by the question, Loki just stares at her dumbly. She wears only a dressing gown tied loosely at the waist. Her eyes are narrow and too wet, her mouth open and slightly turned down. He tries to parse the emotions he is seeing: anger, sadness, disbelief.

"Can you read it!" she says, pricking the blade beneath his chin. He feels the warm ooze of a trickle of blood.

Loki scrambles backwards on his elbows, the sheet falling away from his bare chest. "Gala—," he starts to whisper.

"How do you know that name?" the elf queen shouts, sword shaking dangerously in her hands. "Only she knew that name!"

Loki blinks. How does he know it? Amy told him... but it's more than that. She lowers the blade a fraction. "Can you read the book?" she says her voice a low hiss.

Staring at the gleaming steel, he says, "Yes."

"Prove it!" she says, throwing the small, ancient volume towards him.

Loki's heart nearly stops as the book tumbles through the air and opens like a bird. Heedless of the blade, Loki throws up his hands and catches it as gently as he can. Glaring at her, he pulls it to his chest.

"Read," she says. Taking a step forward, she brings the blade to his neck again.

He blinks and looks down. The book has fallen open. It always opens to the same place; it's a passage Loki knows well. He makes a move to turn the page, but the elf queen says, "No, read that page. I know that page."

Loki looks up at her and then down at the book. He doesn't like reading this passage. There is something about it. It makes his heart fall and a lump form in his throat. He reads it anyway, maybe because of the sword in the queen's hand, or maybe because with it open in front of him, he can't turn away.

"And I have dreams of my love, who was not my love, but was. Her father said words low against me, so low that it caused her heart to flame."

Swallowing, Loki tries to banish the imagery that dances in his mind. The passage is too real. Not like a story, more like a memory.

"Keep going," says the elf queen.

With a deep breath, Loki reads. "And the flame of her heart spread to the utmost ends of her limbs. My love died in flames... "

There is a loud clang. The vision of flames in Loki's eyes vanishes. He looks up to see the elf queen has dropped the blade on the ground. She stands before him, her shoulders slouched, her face empty. "Only my lover, and Lothur, could read that book," she says.

Loki looks down at the pages. There was an entry at the very beginning where Lothur said he'd enchanted the volume to be readable by no one but himself. But Loki could read it; he'd always assumed that Lothur was a touch mad.

Suddenly very curious, Loki says, "But my lady, you have the Gift of Tongues. You must be able to read it."

Shaking her head and not meeting his eyes, she says, "No. No, I cannot." Swallowing, she meets his gaze, her eyes red, her ears trembling slightly. Despite the rude awakening, Loki has an inexplicable desire to go to her and comfort her.

He resists on principle. Tilting his head, he says, "This book was a gift. I did not steal it from... " he lets his words drift off.

"Loka," she says. "Loka... she died over 2,500 years ago. I betrayed her to Odin."

That is long before Loki's time, but he feels a ripple of anger on Loka's behalf. Loki shuts the book sharply.

The queen meets his eyes. Her jaw goes hard. "I sent the royal messengers to Asgard moments before you awoke." Turning quickly she says, "Gather your armor and meet me at the pool. We have only a little time to find your sons, and for you to make your escape."

Loki looks around the bedchamber at his blade lying on the floor and his armor strewn about like a jigsaw puzzle. Cursing, he rolls out of the bed, pulls on his breeches, and then yanks a sheet off the mattress. Spreading the sheet out, he tosses his armor onto it, then gathers it up by the corners, throws it over his back, and grabs his sword.

As he paces into the other room, he has half a mind to run the elf queen through with his blade. But she's standing over the pool. It's casting white light on her face, and the murderous thought is subverted by curiosity.

He goes to where she stands and looks into the water. Instead of their reflections he sees the front of Hoenir's hut, its door flung open to the night. Hoenir and Sigyn are standing there and Loki's eyes widen.

"This is a few days ago," says the queen.

There is a flash of light outside the hut, and there are Valli and Nari, falling to the ground and gasping for air. Loki squats to the floor in front of the pond and holds out his hand as though to touch them, his mouth falling open in hope and relief. In the pool, Hoenir and Sigyn run forward and pull Loki's boys into the hut. "They're alive," he says running a hand through his hair. "They're alive." He feels lighter. Like laughing aloud, like picking up the queen and spinning her around, faithless witch and betrayer though she may be.

The elf queen begins to chant. The scene begins to move too quickly, like a human film played too fast. Dawn glows on the horizon beyond the hut and Heimdall appears with armed guards. Valkyries swoop and land to encircle the small dwelling. Loki scowls as Odin walks onto the scene and stands just within the circle of guards, about ten paces from Hoenir's door. Loki can't hear the words, but he sees Odin's lips moving.

Heart beating too loud in his chest, Loki watches as Heimdall goes forward. He is accompanied by Skaddi, a Frost Giant like Loki and the self proclaimed "goddess of justice."

The Valkyries begin to raise their spears, lightning flashes on the scene, and all eyes turn. Thor appears. Guards fall back to let him pass. He goes and speaks quietly to Odin and Heimdall. Heimdall scowls and Thor walks forward, turns so his back is to the hut, and holds up his hammer.

Loki's mouth falls open. "He's protecting them. Thor is protecting them!"

The guards don't move, but Loki sees them scowl. Heimdall is saying something to Odin, and Loki can tell without hearing that the gatekeeper is shouting. Loki sees a few Valkyries pound their spears. He can see them shouting, too. Someone shoots a bolt of fire; it seems to go into the sky...

But then at the top of Hoenir's roof, there is a burst of flame. A swarm of butterfly snakes take to the air, birds with lizard heads take wing. New flames lick at the foundations; Loki doesn't know how they even got there.

Thor turns and tries to rush into the hut, but Heimdall and Odin hold him back.

Loki's eyes widen. "What is happening, what is happening!" Loki shouts. In the scene in the pool Thor holds up his arm, and Loki sees the sky darken. Thor's calling rain. Loki has never been so grateful he gave Thor the damned hammer.

The queen chants more quickly. The scene in the pool is smoky and obscure, but Loki sees the flames leap, even as the rain begins to fall. The flames surround the hut like a curtain. He can't make out doors, windows or chimney. Odin pounds Gungnir into the earth in front of the hut and leaves it there upright.

The scene is moving incredibly fast. It's early morning there in the pool... and the curtain of flames is falling. He sees the downpour is now a drizzle

Gungnir is gone... and Hoenir's hut is not there. Where the hut stood there is only charred ground.

Loki stares at the pool, not really seeing it. He feels as though a weight was briefly lifted from his body and then hurled down upon him. He puts his hands to his head, runs his fingers through his hair, scraping his nails against his scalp with such force it hurts.

As though from a great distance he hears the crackle of fire, and screaming — his mind supplying the details of Valli , Nari, Hoenir, Mimir's and Sigyn's brutal ends?

And then another sound comes. Loud and insistent — the sound of a car calling for its master. Loki blinks... Amy and Beatrice... he has an oath to keep to them.

He wants to stay, he wants to fight Odin and his legions — not to win, to die. Helen, Aggie, now Valli, Nari, Sigyn, and even Mimir and Hoenir. He squeezes his eyes shut. It's because of him, somehow it is all because of him. Loki knows there is no afterlife, no Valhalla for the valiant, no Hel for the meek. And that is good, he wants the release of nothingness.

The car calls again — it sounds so close, and the way its call echoes through the palace it sounds almost as though it is inside. Taking a sharp breath he opens his eyes. He doesn't break oaths.

That thought is the thread of strength that makes him stand up. He looks around. To one side is the receiving room he entered by last night, to the other side is the elf queen's bedroom, now in flames. She stands in front of him, haloed by the fire, her face calm. "Once again you leave me for a mortal," she says.

Loki has no time for her games. Narrowing his eyes he says, "How long do I have?"

"I will give you five minutes to leave the palace grounds before I send the guards after you. After that you're on your own."

Loki tilts his head. In the receiving chambers he hears the crackle of more flames.

"I cannot afford to let Odin think I allowed you to escape," says the queen.

"Of course not," Loki hisses. For a moment the air between them shimmers. Loki wants to see her smooth beautiful body burst into flames. But another part... another part of him feels sorrow, pity and guilt that he cannot understand.

The queen's face is as unworried as a Greek statue, and that's a shame. Such a beautiful face would be more beautiful with emotion on it — even if the emotion were anger or hatred.

"You don't have time for this," the elf queen says. "Run."

Loki stares at her a heartbeat more. And then securing his makeshift pack over his shoulder, he backs away from her into the receiving room. The door to the secret passage is open, the covering tapestry nowhere in sight.

Loki runs.

Chapter Ten

Maybe it won't be so bad if the elves alert Asgard, and presumably Odin, that Loki is in Alfheim. Maybe Odin will just take Loki, send Beatrice and Amy home, and be on his way.

Or maybe he'll leave Amy and Beatrice in Alfheim forever.

Amy swallows. The truth is, no matter what mercy Odin might grant to her and Beatrice, Amy's worried about Loki. Twisted and perverted as he may be, if it weren't for him she wouldn't be alive — or have ever seen a hadrosaur.

Hands shaking, Amy drives up the road to the elf palace. The sky has turned overcast. There is no starlight, just the light of the green orbs that seem to be the elven version of street lights. A light drizzle is in the air. At the top of a staircase of long low stairs, four elf guards stand in front of the wide front door. As she gets closer, they cross their spears. It will take a long time for Beatrice to get down those stairs... and Amy still has to find her.

Biting her lip, Amy stares at the guards. And then she is struck by inspiration.

Pressing a button on her keychain, she lets the car alarm shriek. The guards visibly jump.

From the door the elf in black who had spoken to Loki emerges. "What going on?" he says.

Turning off the alarm and switching into 4 wheel drive, Amy sticks her head out the window. "My car, he wants to come in — we hurt his feelings leaving him out all night and now he's worried about Fjölnir and Beatrice!" Hitting the gas, she edges to the stairs. Craning her head out the window, she adds, "Please, open the door! He'll be good if you just let him in and we find them."

The elf in black says something to the guards again. They eye the car warily but open the doors. The man in black runs inside.

Slipping back into the driver's seat, Amy puts her foot on the gas and bumps up the steps.

She hits the horn as soon as she gets into the foyer and then jumps out of the car. Pressing the alarm button again, she says, "Don't go near him! He might bite!" Then she runs around the car towards the dining hall and her mouth falls open.

The elf in black is leading four other elves who are carrying a large chair between them. On the chair slumped over asleep is Beatrice.

Looking visibly worried, the elf in black says, "She drink too much our mead. Beastly chariot not angry?"

Amy's mouth forms a small 'o'. "I think he'll be fine if we just put her inside and he can see she's alright."

Shaking his head, the elf in black says, "We not mean insult. Not know chariot have feelings."

Trying to keep a straight face, Amy says, "It's okay, I'm sure he'll understand... " She looks at her grandmother snoring softly. Maybe it's for the best she won't be awake. She has a feeling this will be a rough ride.

x x x x

Running down the steps of the secret passage, Loki has no idea how he'll manage to round-up Beatrice and Amy in time to escape the grounds in only a few minutes.

He bursts into the first private receiving chamber, still lit by fireflies. And then he hears it again. The car... it sounds so close. Could it be?

He runs through the door, down a passage, and around a corner, and his eyes go wide. The car is parked in the foyer of the palace. Some elves and Amy are securing Beatrice in the back seat.

"That's good," says Amy. "Get out, please. Don't make the car mad. He doesn't know you, thank you, that's good... now we need to find Fjölnir... "

She turns around and her eyes fall on him and go wide. "Lo — Fjölnir!" The car gives a happy little chirp. "Car is so happy to see you!"

Loki blinks for a moment. She's lying; he can feel it.

Raising her voice above the murmuring of the crowd that is rapidly forming, she says, "Car wants to go home, so we have to go. Now." She hops into the driver's side, and motions to Loki to get into the passenger's side. He hurries to comply, throwing his sack of armor and sword on the floor of the back seat in front of Fenrir and a gently snoring Beatrice.

Before he's even closed the door, Amy's sticking her head out the window saying,"Thanks for everything, everyone!" The car starts to move and she says, "Oh, sorry! Car is anxious! Long, lonely night for him! Got to go!" She pulls all the way into the car, turns it around, and heads towards the door and the stairs. The car gives a few more happy beeps.

Loki stares at her, stunned. It was all lies. Brilliant lies, on her part and possibly Car's. How did she know?

"They sent messengers to Asgard, Loki," Amy says, as they bump down the front steps of the palace. "I'm not sure... but I thought maybe we should leave."

"Good thought," he says. He owes this girl more respect than he's given her.

A look of confusion crosses her face. "Where is your armor? Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

But in some ways... she is really so naive. Normally, he might make a joke, but he feels too empty. "Drive as fast as you can; we don't have much time."

Scowling at the wheel, she says, "Why? What happened? "

"Just drive," he says.

"Did you get your answers?" she asks.

"Just drive," he says. "Please!"

There must be something in his voice, because she hits the gas. It's still dark outside. There is the soft patter of rain on the car roof. Ahead, a long shadow is covering the gate of the palace. Loki's heart skips a beat. At his feet is the army knapsack. Reaching into it he pulls out a grenade.

"The gate!" Amy cries. "It's open but the vines are down. Can they hurt the car?"

Loki has no idea. Before he can say anything, the girl says, "Is that a grenade in your hand? Use it!"

The top window opens. Loki's not sure how, but he doesn't have to be told twice. "Stop Car!" he shouts.

The car screeches to a halt and he stands up in the rain. Blinking to clear his vision, he flings the grenade at the curtain of vines. Pulling back into the car, he pushes Amy down so they are both protected by the dash. There is a boom, the car shakes, but the window does not shatter. They both sit up to see a large hole in the curtain, but long tendrils are already snaking down to close it.

Hitting the gas without even being asked, Amy grumbles. "I don't want to be stuck here with these pointy-eared fascists!"

He looks at her for an instant. She is wearing clothing finer than she probably has ever worn or will ever wear again. Her hair is upswept, with crystal flowers woven into it. She looks radiant and beautiful, and if she stayed here the elves could help her remain so for a time... in her own realm she'll be doomed to fade and age so quickly. Yet she wants to leave. Part of him wants to smile at her, but he can't. His face feels frozen into a slight scowl and a frown. He has a lump in his throat that has nothing to do with her.

He hears a rumble of hooves and heavy feet behind them. "That will be the guards," he says. He looks up; the top window is already closed. He touches his wet face and looks at the pavement shining beneath the green orbs.

Amy's eyes go to the rear-view mirror. "What? Why are they following us? They seemed fine letting us go... maybe we should stop?"

Loki feels the car start to slow. "No, do not stop! It's a ruse — the queen cannot let Odin think she let us go too easily."

The girl speeds up a little but her eyes dart to the mirror again. "They're closing in fast... " Turning her attention back to the road, she swallows. "I can't go much faster than them on the hairpin turns, especially since the road is wet."

"Go as fast as you can," Loki says, bracing himself as she makes a sharp turn.

"I am, I am!" Amy says, a frantic note in her voice. Car's wheels screech and Loki hears the shouts and hooves of the rapidly approaching cavalry.

He scowls. He needs to put on his armor, but their pursuers are catching up to them too fast. Reaching up, he taps the overhead window that now is closed. "Car, open up."

Amy looks at him, eyes wide. The window slides open, and Loki stands up.

"What are you doing?" Amy shouts, her voice just audible over the sound of the rain, the hoof beats of the elves' horses, and the lowing of the hadrosaurs.

Not responding, Loki turns to face their pursuers.

"Halt now!" one cries in the elf tongue. "By order of the All Father!"

They don't shoot at him, though some carry bows. Odin must want him alive — he won't let that happen again.

Loki thinks of the brief flare of hope he had when he saw Valli and Nari in the pool disappearing into the hut, and then the cold realization just moments later when he saw the flames. Let the elves feel the hollow cold of his heart.

Car makes another sharp turn, and Loki is nearly thrown out. Righting himself, he focuses on the rain falling on his pursuers, and the water rivulets running down the cobblestone street. He sees the magic between the water and himself and he pulls on it, tugs at it, imagines the magic stilling the water, calming it, deep at the molecular level — so the water's spinning hydrogen atoms lock together and crystals form on the ground and in the sky.

Horses scream and the hadrosaurs bellow in terror as the rain turns to snow, and the road behind Car turns to ice.

"What's going on?" says Amy.

Loki falls panting back through the open window.

"Ice... you turned the road to ice... " Amy says, eyes in the mirror.

Turning his head, Loki looks back. Where there had been at least a dozen elves on horseback before, and two hadrosaurs, now there are no dinosaur mounts, and only four horsemen are left — but they are pulling out lances and looking very determined.

Rain is streaking in through the open roof.

Amy glances at him, eyes wide. "You probably broke the horses' legs."

"Not enough of them," Loki says, lip curling upward.

"You can't do that!" Amy says. "It's not the horses' faults!" She twists the wheel as they take another sharp turn.

He stares at her a moment in disbelief. And then his disbelief turns to rage, red and hot beneath his skin. "Fine," he says. "I won't use ice this time." He stands up again.

"What — "

He can't hear the rest of what she says. He looks back at the horsemen in the rain. "Stop now, Loki!" one calls. "You'll never get through the main gate!"

Loki lets his rage loose in a scream. What he expects to happen, happens. Magic rips the water molecules apart into oxygen and hydrogen, and excites the hydrogen atoms to the point where they burst into flame. But it should have just been a little spark in the air before the horses' eyes. Instead a wall of flame forms between Car and the riders, as thick and as high as the flames that overcame Hoenir's hut.

Loki falls back into the car, his eyes wide. Amy is silent, but he sees her hands shaking.

He hardly feels as though he's exerted any energy at all. He looks over his shoulder. The flames still burn — he can't see beyond them. Something is wrong. He's not that strong. "Gala... " he murmurs to himself. "It must have been the queen's doing."

"What?" says Amy.

"She wants to let me escape," Loki says almost to himself. "But needs it to look like an accident... "

The flames behind them make the window in front of them reflective for a brief moment. Loki catches sight of his face, slightly blue in the strange light. For an instant he is looking at his daughter Helen's face, or half her face. He shakes his head. Is he going mad with grief?

Car's wheels screech, and Loki's body bangs into the door as they make another sharp turn. And then they're at the marketplace. Car's horn lets out a loud alarm. Some elves part and run in front of them.

"Ummm... " says Amy. "If she wants us to escape, why'd she lock the front door?"

Looking at the closed doors of the heavy metal gate, Loki's heart falls. He doesn't know any trick to open it — he can move small things with his mind, but this is too large, too heavy, and too fireproof. He looks down at the bag at his feet. There is one more grenade, but it won't be strong enough... his jaw tightens. He reaches into the bag, and says, "Car, open your top window again!" Loki doesn't remember when it even closed.

Hitting the brakes, Amy gives him a funny look. But the window opens. Standing up, Loki pulls the pin and hurls the last grenade. He pulls back into the car. Amy's already ducking. Loki presses himself down as far as he can, his chest pressing against Amy's back.

The blast goes off, and the car rattles. Loki and Amy both lift themselves up. The gate is closed.

"Oh," says Amy, her shoulders sagging.

Loki closes his eyes. "I won't be taken alive," he says. "Not this time. I'll fight to the death."

There is a loud creak.

He opens his eyes and blinks. There is a shimmer of magic the color of moonlight, and then the gate creaks again and swings open. In the open way stands the elf queen, or more likely an astral projection of her, considering she floats above the ground.

In her own language she says, "Be gone from my realm, and set no more of my people aflame — or not only Odin will hunt you!"

Loki blinks. He didn't create that inferno... did he?

"What did she say?" Amy says, hunching over the wheel.

In front of them, the projection disappears. "She wishes us well and bids us be on our way," says Loki.

Amy puts her foot on the gas. "It sounded more like she was angry."

"Mmmm... " says Loki settling back into his seat. "Go quickly as you can. The armies of Asgard will be upon us quickly."

"Armies?" squeaks Amy, turning out onto the lane that will take them to the Border Road.

"Don't worry," Loki says. "I'm sure you'll be able to convince Odin that you were deceived by the God of Lies and he'll spare your lives."
Car's lights become even brighter and Amy speeds up. Her voice shaking, she says, "I would rather you not die either."

Loki looks over at her, his mouth still frozen in a frown, his brows still knit together. He brings destruction to everything he touches, and everyone he loves. He wants to die.

Amy casts a worried glance in his direction.

He cannot die now. He has an oath to keep.

Without a word he turns in his seat and begins to rummage through the makeshift sack for his armor. Beatrice is still asleep, but Fenrir eyes him curiously.

He's got his shirt on and is awkwardly attaching his breast plate when Amy turns onto the border road. She steps on the gas and they surge forward at what feels like dizzying speed. They're still in a relatively populous region; farmlands line the road on their left. They don't have to worry about dark elves just yet.

He tilts his head. Over the elf queen's lands, the sky is just starting to lighten.

He's sure it must be taking all of Amy's concentration to remain on the road, but then she begins to speak. "You were blue for a few moments when the fire started. Is that your natural color? I thought Frost Giants only turned blue when they were cold."

He freezes, his hands on the buckle of an arm guard. "I don't turn blue." He isn't Helen.

"You looked blue," says Amy.

"That was a trick of the light," Loki says, his voice coming out nearly a hiss. He doesn't have time for this inane chatter.

"You looked good blue. Not like in the movies with pointy teeth and a giant horny head," she says her words running together as though she's just speaking to hear herself speak. "More like — "

"Be quiet," he snaps.

"I thought you weren't sensitive about your Frost Giant nature?"

"Frost Giants are not blue!" he says. "I should know. I've been one for more than 1,000 years!"

"Huh," says Amy.

"The forest is approaching," says Loki, turning his attention to the mail links that cover his right elbow. "If you hit anything or anyone just keep going."

"Just because the queen thinks the elves over there are bad doesn't mean they are!" says Amy, slowing down as they slip into the forest.

Looking up, Loki blinks at her, surprised how much of Alfheim politics she's managed to divine in such a short time. Ordering her isn't going to work. He sighs inwardly.

"No, they're not," he says quietly. "I've had dealings with Dark Elves before. But trust me, any Dark Elf that would choose to attack Car merely for transversing the border road isn't one you should stop for. Under any circumstances."

Amy swallows and her hands shake even more violently.

Loki turns back to his armor and curses. The plate that covers his upper left arm is completely missing. He grabs the piece for his forearm and attaches it best he can, without the anchor of the upper section.

It's only a few minutes later when a shadow seems to fall on the land in the East, and the wind and rain outside them pick up.

"Ummm... " says Amy.

"Thor," mutters Loki, narrowing his eyes. Is Thor Odin's puppet once again? Or is he here for some reason of his own? To beg forgiveness maybe? Not that Loki could give it.

A streak of lightning turns the realm bright as day.

"What are those shadows in the sky?" Amy says.

"Valkyries," Loki says, the word spitting out of his mouth. His mouth twists. "Not here to beg forgiveness after all."

"Forgiveness?" says Amy.

"We have a few minutes," says Loki twisting to reach into the backseat "Concentrate on the road," he says. "I need to eat something."

x x x x

Amy is trying to concentrate on the road. Rain and wind are whipping through the sky. It might be her imagination, but both seem to be getting stronger.

She shivers. Her back is still damp from where Loki leaned over her as the grenades went off. Her eyes dart over to him. He's still wet, armor half on, stuffing peanut butter into his mouth with a spoon, a liter bottle of Coca Cola open in his lap. He hasn't spoken to her since grabbing some food. How can he be eating? Her own stomach is heavy with fear, and her mind is swimming with everything that's happened this evening: the elves, the hadrosaurs, and seeing Loki in a lovely robin's egg shade of blue. Trick of the light or not, it had been strange, lovely, and as magical as the fire, the ice, or his astral projections.

She takes a shaky breath. Loki says he's over 1,000 years old. She can't even imagine that.

Whoever's chasing them is likely just as old or older than him, possibly more powerful...

That's too much to think about. Taking a deep breath, she glances in the rearview mirror. Beatrice is thankfully still asleep. Fenrir is awake, her nose darting from side to side.

Amy looks at the clock on the dash. Fifteen minutes ago Loki said, "It's Thor." It feels like an eternity, and like only a heartbeat. Tightening her grip on the wheel she speeds up.

Lightning rips across the road just 50 yards in front of the car. A humanoid shadow is haloed in its light. Amy screams, hits the brakes, and tries to dodge it.

"Keep going!" Loki yells. His hand shoots to the wheel and holds it straight. Whoever it was hits the car and sinks below the hood. The car bumps sickeningly.

"Hit the gas!" Loki says.

But Amy's foot is on the brake. "No," she says. "We hit someone! We have to stop." Even if it is a criminal.

"He's fine!" Loki says, "Go!"

"No, I can't," Amy says.

Something bangs against the back window of the car. Amy turns and screams again. There is a huge mouth filled with sharp teeth attached to the flat plane of the back window. Fingers with suction cups are at its side.

She hears the sound of a thunk as Loki drops his bottle of cola.

"Drive!" shouts Loki twisting and crawling into the back.

Amy floors it. She looks in the rearview mirror. Loki obscures most of the view, but Amy can see the thing is still there. It doesn't seem to have eyes or nose... just that huge maw.

"Car, open the back window!" Loki says.

"What?" screams Amy.

"Just let Car do it!"

Amy hits the button at her left and the window begins to drop. Over the sound of the wind comes a horrible noise like lips smacking, and then there is a gurgling noise and an inhuman scream.

"Roll up the window!"

Amy doesn't have to be told twice. She raises the window, and Loki pulls back into the front seat, his sword in his hand, something dark and black at the point.

Another bolt of lightning rips across the road.

"Next time I'll just keep going," Amy says. "I'll just keep going."

Looking at the ceiling, Loki says, "There isn't going to be a next time. Thor and the Valkyries are almost upon us."

Amy bites her lips. "What do I do?"

"I'm going to try and make us invisible," Loki says, his voice very calm. "You'll still be able to hear everything... but you'll only be able to see things outside of Car, you won't even be able to see anything inside, not even yourself. I'll need you to keep driving though. Can you do that?"

Amy nods. "Yes... I think so." Not because she thinks she can, just because she doesn't like the idea of what may happen if she can't.

The words are hardly out of her mouth when everything in front and behind her starts to fade from view.

Her foot hits the brakes. She hears the sound of tires on pavement, the thump of rain on the roof, the engine. But she can't see the car, Beatrice, Loki, even herself... She takes a ragged breath.

Loki's voice comes from her right. "It's disorienting."

"Yes!" Amy shouts, maybe just to hear her own voice.

Loki's voice sounds tight. "You must keep driving."

"I can't see the dash, the steering wheel or the pedals!" Amy says.

"You don't even look at those," Loki says, his voice sharp.

That's true. Amy licks her lips, feels the sensation of her tongue, cool and wet against her skin. "I can't see myself... it's almost like I'm not here."

There is a moment of heavy silence. "How can I help?" Loki says, sounding like his voice is coming through gritted teeth.

"Would you touch me?" Amy asks before she's even thought about it, and she almost wants to bang her head on the invisible steering wheel for making the suggestion.

In a voice that is surprisingly clinical Loki says, "You're going to feel my hand on your thigh; it's the best place for me to touch you without obstructing your ability to drive."

Before she even has a chance to react, she feels his hand on her leg, large and warm, and as long as she doesn't look down, seemingly solid. And it does help; she's too grateful to worry about the implications of it. She puts her foot down on the gas and holds the steering wheel at 3 and 9 o'clock.

"Very good," Loki says, giving her leg a pat. It shouldn't be as encouraging as it is.

Amy nods and bites her lip. She's just getting to the point where she's feeling a little more comfortable when bright lights like lasers shoot down on the road and forest in front of them sending off sparks in every direction, lighting up weird hominid shadows as they do.

The shadows leap from the trees on the dark side of the forest. Amy screams again, puts her foot on the brake, and almost runs them off the road, but Loki's hand is suddenly on the wheel, holding it firm. "They're magical flares," he says. "They won't hurt us. Try to dodge them if you can, but keep us on the road!"

Shaking, Amy puts her foot back on the gas.

"They don't want us dead," Loki says as though the words are a revelation to himself. "They're just trying to flush us out."

Amy blinks. "The sparks will hit the car, and they'll see them bounce... "

"Exactly," says Loki, his hand on her leg again.

"I think I can do this." says Amy, speeding up. As long as she doesn't have to worry about the blasts killing them, she feels much better. Also, they're scaring the crazy shadow things away. And that's good.

Amy zigzags through the flares that are falling down on the road.

At one point she thinks they're going to roll over, but a few minutes later, the road ahead of them is clear. She looks in the rearview mirror, all the flares are bursting on the road behind them.

Loki pats her lap. "Well done."

Her heart is in her ears, and she's panting, but she laughs aloud. "We did it!"

The words are barely out of her mouth when she hears a loud clang. Sparks cascade over her head and down the sides of the car like a waterfall. "Uh-oh," she says.

"Drive!" says Loki.

Amy floors the pedal, but up ahead and behind them shapes are falling from the sky. Another flare is fired directly towards them from in front; it explodes on the windshield, and suddenly the car and everything inside is visible again — but Amy can't see the road at all. She puts her foot on the brakes, gently this time so they don't skid.

She looks to her side. Loki is next to her. His face has a sheen to it, his mouth is open, and she notices he's breathing heavily. He's not looking at her. His eyes are focused on the road ahead of them.

Amy follows his gaze. About 100 yards ahead of them are women carrying spears, standing around an enormous man in front of a chariot without a horse. In the enormous man's hands there is a hammer that is glowing with the pale blue white of lightning.

Loki takes a deep breath, and his voice comes out low, malevolent, but tinged with something desperate. "It is the mighty Thor."

Uh-oh.

Chapter Eleven

"What do I do?" says the girl.

Loki stares at Thor in front of his golden chariot. Valkyries stand beside Thor and are blocking the road behind Car. More are alighting along the sides of the road.

"Drive forward," he says. "Slowly. When I tap the roof, stop." Knocking at the top window, he says, "Car, open up."

"You know... " the girl begins to say.

"What?" he snaps, not bothering to look at her.

"It can wait," she says, gripping Car's door as the window above slides open.

Loki stands up. Heavy but sparse drops of rain fall on him. He can see trees waving madly in the distance, but around him the air is nearly still. They are in the eye of the storm.

Around Car, Valkyries raise their spears, but they do not fire. In front of him, Thor stands up straighter. His eyes meet Loki's, then go over Car, before coming back to meet Loki's gaze again.

Neither Loki nor Thor say anything. When Amy has brought Car within a few paces of Thor, Loki taps the roof. She obediently stops the vehicle.

"Well met," says Thor in the Asgard tongue.

Loki does not respond.

Thor licks his lips and looks distinctly uncomfortable. "I bring grave tidings — "

"If you mean the fire that consumed Hoenir's hut, and all within, including Sigyn and my sons, I already know," Loki snaps.

Appearing genuinely hurt, Thor takes a step forward. "Loki, I did try — "

"To save them," Loki says sharply. His body sags and he looks away. "Yes, I know that, too." It occurs to him how devious it was for Odin to send Thor on this particular outing. Thor is possibly the only Asgardian Loki will hear out at this point. And Thor does have something to say; if he didn't, Loki would be dead by now.

It's uncomfortable standing half in Car, half out. Loki's legs are at odd angles, so he slips onto the roof and sits there, legs dangling into the inside of Car below. The roof buckles a little at his weight, Amy gasps, and Fenrir yips, but Loki ignores them. "Spit it out, Thor. What do you want?"

Thor straightens. He takes a deep breath and appears almost to go a little green, as though he has just been asked to eat something extremely distasteful. "I have been sent... to beg you to return."

Loki stares at him for several long heartbeats. Then he bursts out laughing. The sound seems brittle and hard even to him. Waving at the Valkyries, Loki says, "You came to beg me... at spear point?"

Thor doesn't back down. Raising an eyebrow, he smiles slightly. "It would seem I needed their help to find you."

Loki sighs. Once he might have warmed to that; now he feels only emptiness. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Thor."

The slight smile on Thor's face vanishes. "Nonetheless, everything I say is true. Loki, my father needs you to come home. "

Loki's lip curls into a sneer. "And he would have the gall to ask me after killing Hoenir, Mimir, Sigyn and my boys!"

Scowling, Thor takes a step forward. "It wasn't like that! The fire — "

"Wouldn't have happened if he hadn't tried to execute my sons!"

"Let me finish!" Thor's voice rips so loudly through the darkness of the stormy dawn that Car reverberates. Lifting his hammer, Thor shouts, "My father tried to stop the flames — but even Gungnir couldn't halt them. Something is growing in the nine realms, something that is twisting magic and time and will pull the World Tree asunder." Thor swings his hammer for emphasis and a stray bit of lightning sprays off into the trees. There is a loud crack, and a small scream from Amy. The Valkyries shift on their feet.

Stepping back with one foot, Thor's face contorts into something like disbelief or revulsion. "My father believes only you can stop it." Loki crosses his arms. Of course Thor would feel ashamed if there was some threat to the realms he couldn't resolve with a few pounds of his hammer.

Not that Loki believes this little story. "Would saving the realms involve me remaining in a cave doused in snake venom for a few centuries?"

"It isn't like that!" Thor says. "You will be absolved of all wrongdoing in this matter. This is the truth!"

Absolved? As though he was the one who needs absolution. His sons, Sigyn, Mimir and Hoenir are dead. Loki grits his teeth and feels his eyes get hot. Thinking about them all gone — his body feels hollow, as though he is an empty shell.

He takes a deep breath and pulls himself back into the moment. Absolution is a farce. As soon as Loki returns to Asgard, there will be some dire punishment, and this time there will be no Sigyn to tend to him. Loki rolls his eyes at Thor's naivete. When will Thor realize Odin is as capable at lying as Loki, perhaps more so? Anything to "protect" the realms, or rather, his own power.

"Lovely," says Loki, tapping his fingers on Car's roof. "But I'm afraid I have to refuse." Shrugging, he points down at Car and says, "I have some mortals I have sworn to return to their own realm. You know I always keep my oaths."

Thor scowls. "Father said that you could slip between the realms... " He walks around the car towards the driver's side — as he does so, the Valkyries raise their spears a bit higher. Loki scowls at them and then turns his attention to Thor. Odin's son is now peeking in the driver's side window. Thor smiles and waggles a finger at Amy as one might waggle a finger at a pretty bird in a cage. In the back seat Fenrir growls warningly.

Looking up, Thor raises his eyebrows and says brightly, "She is a pretty thing, Loki. And just your type." Raising one hand to his chest, Thor makes groping motions with his fingers in what is probably a universal symbol for large breasts. "I suppose the old woman in the back is her kin. Convince them to come back to Asgard with you. Keep the girl as your plaything for a decade. When she withers she can remain your servant, a much better life than she'd have in her own realm."

Somewhere a Valkyrie's spear must fire accidentally because Loki sees a flare of orange flame in the periphery of his vision. His sons are dead. As are his ex-wife and two best friends. Thor dares talk of playthings? Loki is too furious to speak.

"What did he just say?" says Amy in English, her voice sounding indignant.

Loki looks down at her. She is staring hard out the window at Thor who is waggling his finger at her again and smiling like an idiot. It is probably innate contrariness that makes Loki translate. "Oh, he's just suggested I bring you home to Asgard and keep you as a plaything and servant. Perhaps you'd like to answer?"

Eyes going wide, Amy's brows draw together and she springs up through the window in the roof between Loki's knees. Facing Thor she says, "You can tell the God of Blunder he can take that idea and shove it up his great big Viking butt!"

Loki blinks. Well, that was absolutely priceless. The corners of his lips pull up.

Thor's face goes completely red, his lips curve into something between a frown and a grimace, and his brows draw into one line. The hand holding his hammer starts to tremble.

"Actually," Loki says, keeping his gaze fixed on Thor, "Thor understands English well enough."

"Oh," says Amy, sounding not at all brave. Putting a hand gently on her head, Loki pushes her back into the car.

Thor is breathing deeply, but Loki nor Car nor the girl are dead. Odin must want Loki very badly.

In English, Thor says very slowly, "You can tell your whore that my orders are to bring you back to Asgard alive. Father will not care about her puny little mortal life."

Head darting out of the car again, in a voice that is plaintive rather than angry, Amy says, "I am not a whore!"

Putting his hand on her head not so gently this time, Loki pushes her back inside. With a smirk he says, "She has my oath of protection. You'll have to kill me first."

With a bellow, Thor swings his hammer in empty air like a toddler having a tantrum. Something cracks in the distance, like lightning hitting tree branches. Loki smiles. He hears the Valkyries at the dark side of the forest give angry cries.

In Car, Amy starts pulling at his leg. "Loki!" she whispers.

"Not now!" he snaps down at her.

In the distance he hears more cracking in rapid succession. Thor looks away. Someone shouts, "Dark Elves!"

"Loki!" says Amy.

He scowls at her. But she gives a ferocious tug at his leg. Letting himself be tugged into Car, he finds his face just inches from hers. Her eyes are wide with fear — and so help him he's about to make her more afraid with the words at the tip of his tongue. But before he can even breathe she says, "Do elves have automatic weapons? Because that sounds like automatic weapons."

Loki's eyes go wide. He looks towards the dark forest. Something hits the side of Car and there is the sharp clang of metal on metal. In the dark forest there are loud angry popping noises getting closer. Valkyries from the left side of the road are streaming past Car to the dark side. Car makes a sharp beep.

Turning back to Amy, he sees her hands are already at the wheel.

"That does sound like automatic weapons fire," he says. He hasn't heard it since World War II.

Amy hits the gas. Loki puts a hand on her leg and says, "I'm making us invisible again!"

From the backseat Beatrice says quietly, "Oh, the elves have fireworks." Loki looks back at her; her eyes are still closed. Everything around them begins to shimmer as his spell takes effect. He hears Thor yelling orders.

Loki looks at the shimmering Amy, now steering them around Thor's chariot. "How do you know what automatic weapons sound like?" he asks.

"I live in Chicago," she says, as though that is explanation.

Her shimmering form hunching over the wheel, Amy says, "Elves have guns?"

"No," says Loki. More gunshots go off, and the car shoots forward. "Not that I know of."

"Oh, what lovely fireworks," says Beatrice.

An explosion goes off in the distance behind them and something whizzes past. Amy jumps beneath his hand. Loki follows the whizzing shape with his eyes and turns his head. "That was just another flare."

He turns around. "Thor's broken off from the rest and is pursuing us!"

Car shoots forward.

x x x x

It's like a video game Amy tells herself. The flares aren't going to hurt them. No one dies if they get hit.

"Veer left," Loki says. Amy veers left and a bolt of blue shoots by the car. She's not sure how long she's been driving since the Valkyries were overtaken by dark elves. It seems like forever, but it's probably only a few minutes.

"We're almost at the gate," Loki says. "Slow down."

"How will you open it?" Amy says, putting a foot gently on the brake. "Will you have to get out of the car?"

"Of course I'll have to get out of the car," Loki snaps. "Stop here!"

Amy stops so quickly she bumps the steering wheel.

Loki's hand leaves her knee, and she is suspended in absolute nothingness.

"Car, open up the top hatch!" Loki says.

Amy doesn't try to argue with him. She just searches blindly for the button in the door's armrest. Another flare goes by. She hears what sounds like feet on the hood of the car, and then the only sound is the wind. She can feel rain coming in through the open sunroof and she shivers.

There is the sound of quick steps on the hood again, and then Loki's voice is very close to her ear. "Drive forward!"

Amy does. She sees the rainbow of the gateway again, and her body and the car come into view bathed in early morning light. Dark bricks surround her on either side and she smells garbage and urine and thinks that an alley has never smelled so sweet. She looks up. Loki is half on the hood, half on the roof. His head is above her, looking in the direction they came, a sword in his hand. Glancing in the rear view mirror she sees Beatrice sleeping, the seat behind her Grandmother just coming into view.

Amy smiles and breathes out a long breath of relief. The car is almost through when it suddenly jerks up and backwards, the back wheels seeming to leave the ground. Lines of light surround it on either side. Loki swears. Amy looks back in the window and sees a huge hulking Thor-like shadow seeming to emerge out of nothing behind her. It looks like he's pulling the car backwards by the bumper.

Loki scrambles across the roof towards the back of the car. Amy doesn't think. Shouting "Loki, hold on!" she throws the car into four wheel drive, then reverse, and hits the gas. There is a loud thud. Amy can't see the back of the car; it must still be in Alfheim. But she feels it when the back tires hit the ground and bounce. Heart suddenly very loud, Amy puts the car into first gear and pulls forward but meets resistance.

She looks back. Light flashes in a wide vertical circle behind the car. There is a loud clang, and Loki jumps down off the car and stands in the middle of the circle shouting something in a weird slavic-sounding language. His sword is gone, but in one hand he holds what looks like a tiny book. She thinks she sees Thor again, but then the circle collapses on itself and there's just Loki swaying on his feet.

Turning, with wavering steps he comes around the car. Amy hears the scrape of metal on pavement, and then Loki climbs into the passenger side, sword in his hand.

Beatrice is rubbing her eyes. Fenrir is standing on top of her, looking out the backseat. There is no Thor, but the last six inches of the rear of the car is just gone.

Closing the door and hanging his head, Loki says softly, "Will Car be alright?"

Amy looks back at the missing rear end, and over at Loki. "You know... it's just a machine."

Loki turns his head to look at her. "How can you say that?"

Feeling like a heel, she turns to the steering wheel. Her hands are shaking so much she doesn't really want to go anywhere for a few minutes.

"Dude!" comes a loud voice from outside the car.

Raising her eyes, she sees three guys with spiky hair in hipster clothing standing directly in front of them in the alley. Their mouths are open. The middle one's got a bottle of something in his hands. It falls to the ground and lands with a crash.

Somewhere a police siren wails.

Swallowing, Amy revs the engine a bit. The hipsters move to the side. She pulls out into the alley and heads home. Thankfully, they don't run into any police. She's sure driving with a hole in the back of your car is some sort of moving violation.

Loki says nothing the entire way. He just slouches over in the seat, his breathing ragged and uneven as though he's extremely tired or might weep.

It's still mostly dark out when she backs into the garage, and she doesn't see any neighbors about. Beatrice says, "Oh, my, are we home already?"

Before Amy's even parked, Loki jumps out of his seat and walks out of the garage.

"I'll be right back, Grandma!" Amy says, following him.

She catches him just a few feet outside of the garage. "Loki," she says putting a hand on his left arm that doesn't have any armor on it. He stops but doesn't look at her.

Jaw tight he says, "I think you should know, I have tangled the branch of the world tree we came through. Neither Odin or Heimdall will be able to follow it and find you — " He stops, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and disappears. For an instant Amy feels him beneath her hand, warm and solid, but then that's gone, too.

Fenrir barks in the garage. Amy just stands staring in the empty alley, feeling hollow and empty.

Chapter Twelve

It's nearly 9:00 PM, three days after Loki disappeared. Amy is just coming home from a shift as vet tech at a clinic up on the North Side. She only gets about eight hours a week from the clinic, and she has managed to get another four as a hostess at a restaurant, but jobs are surprisingly hard to come by this summer.

As Amy climbs the stairs with Fenrir scampering at her feet, she sees Beatrice's door ajar, the light on. She peeks in. Beatrice is sitting on her bed. The dress from Alfheim is hanging on her closet door. It still glows.

Beatrice must hear her because she turns to Amy, a little girl smile on her face. "Would it be wrong to put on our dresses occasionally and throw tea parties?"

Amy blinks, feeling her eyes get wet. Beatrice's memories of Alfheim are only good. Despite Amy's decidedly more mixed experience, she understands what Beatrice means. "I'd be happy to join you for tea," Amy says.

Beatrice sighs and relaxes. "I'm not just going senile. It was real, it really happened!"

Amy stares at the dress.

Beatrice sighs. "Still no sign of Loki. He left his sword." She turns to Amy. "That must be a sign he will come back?"

Amy bites her lip. She is worried it might be a sign of something worse, something self-destructive. "I hope so," she says. Loki in some ways reminds her of the worst frat-boy she's ever met, except with magic. But there is a part of her that believes he's good, and noble even. She remembers the way he stood up to Thor when that big overgrown oaf suggested keeping her as a pet. And Loki did save her from Malson. And then the way he danced with Beatrice... She swallows. Hopefully he's out there, and okay.

Amy looks at Beatrice's beautiful dress and then down at her slightly stained blue scrubs. Suddenly realizing how much she smells like ill cats and dogs, she says, "I'm going to go take a shower."

Beatrice nods.

When Amy comes out of the shower, Beatrice's light is off. With Fenrir by her side, Amy curls up in her own bed and tries to read a book. She's exhausted, but she's still having trouble sleeping. After an hour or so, she turns off her light. She lies in the dark gazing at the ceiling for far too long, but she must eventually drift off because she lifts her head at one point and Fenrir says in a deep masculine voice, "Amy, get up."

Amy stares at her little dog. Fenrir is lying down at her feet, her ears cocked, seemingly staring at a point at the end of her nose.

Amy blinks. It must be a dream — if Fenrir spoke it would be with a girl's voice. At least I'm sleeping, she thinks. With that sleep-induced logic at the forefront of her mind, she lies back down and closes her eyes.

"Ahem!"

Amy opens her eyes. Where her little Fenrir was lying at the end of her bed, there is now a giant wolf sitting on its haunches.

Amy screams, scrambles backwards, and hits the backboard of her bed so hard her head bounces. She tries to jump out of her bed, catches her feet on the sheets, and promptly falls flat on the floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry," says the wolf in a voice that is still masculine, but also familiar... and slightly slurred.

Amy turns her head. "Loki?" she asks cautiously.

The wolf raises a paw to its mouth and snickers. Putting the paw down, it says in a loud voice, "I am the spirit of Fenrir!" Letting loose a howl, it lies down on the bed, rolls over on its back, and closes its eyes. From tail to nose it completely fills the bed. Amy's mouth opens, and the real Fenrir runs over and starts barking at the wolf.

From the door comes a knock. "Amy?"

"It's alright, Grandma. I think it's just... Fenrir."

The wolf blinks its eyes open. "Actually, you were right the first time. Sort of. I think I'm more Loki's subconscious."

"Loki's subconscious?" says Amy.

"Loki's subconscious?" says Beatrice through the door.

Rolling on its stomach, the wolf says, "Yes, that tiny, tiny, little part of him that doesn't want to drown in his own vomit in your backyard."

Amy springs up and opens her bedroom door. "Grandma," she says. "I think Loki is in the backyard."

Beatrice looks past Amy and says, "Who were you talking to?"

"The wolf."

"Wolf?" says Beatrice.

Amy looks back. The bed is empty.

"Never mind," she says, turning and running down the hall. She hears Beatrice following more slowly behind her.

A few moments later Amy throws open the kitchen door. Sure enough there is Loki sprawled out on the lawn on his back, an arm thrown over his eyes, his attire flickering from armor to street clothes and back again. She sees something wet glistening on his chin and winces. Magical frat boy indeed.

Behind her she hears Beatrice tsk-tsk. Her grandmother walks right by Amy and out onto the lawn. As she goes over to Loki, a light in the neighbor's house goes on. A window opens and said neighbor, Harry, a sixty five-ish year old man who's lived there forever, says, "Beatrice, I saw that bum pissing in your bushes! Want me to call the cops?"

Amy sags. Whatever hope she had for nobility in Loki is flushed down the drain. Or peed into the hedge.

"No, no, no! That's alright, Harry!" Beatrice shouts. "We know him."

"What's that he's wearing?" Harry shouts. Several other lights down the block go on.

Beatrice taps Loki with a foot, then looks up at Harry again. "Clothes, Harry! Clothes!"

Loki begins to cough.

"Amy!" Beatrice says. "Help me roll him over!"

Startled out of her reverie, Amy runs out and helps Beatrice roll Loki onto his side. He smells like a wino, and up close she can see he hasn't shaven, probably since Alfheim.

"Ugh," says Amy.

Beatrice turns her head and winces.

Fenrir, Amy's Fenrir, moves closer and licks his face. Which is probably a testament to just how disgusting whatever is on his chin is.

"Eww... " says Amy.

Beatrice puts a hand over her nose and her mouth and kicks Loki in the ribs with surprising force.

Loki's eyes flutter but don't open.

"Get in the house, Loki!" Beatrice says.

"Grandma," Amy says, "I don't think that's going to work."

Beatrice kicks him again. To Amy's surprise, Loki rolls over onto his stomach and pulls himself up onto his feet, but he tips dangerously.

"You get under that arm," says Beatrice resolutely. "I'll get under this one."

Together they manage to get Loki across the lawn and up the stoop. They've just stepped into the kitchen and Amy's head is bent over when Beatrice screams and drops the arm she's holding.

Loki falls to the side and crashes on the floor. Amy looks up and there is wolf Fenrir sitting in front of the kitchen sink.

Grabbing her grandmother, Amy narrows her eyes. "Couldn't you have just made yourself look like yourself!"

"That would be needlessly straightforward," says the wolf.

"Wha – wha – wha -" says Beatrice.

"It's alright, Grandma," Amy says, patting her back. "It's just Loki's subconscious."

Tilting its head, the wolf says, "Shouldn't you move him to the couch?"

Amy looks down at Loki lying on his side on the floor in a semi-fetal position.

"Should we, Grandma?"

Eyeing the wolf carefully, Beatrice says shakily, "No, it'll be easier to clean up if he throws up here."

The wolf puts back its ears, bobs its head, thumps its tail and opens its eyes wide.

"No," says Beatrice, the self-assuredness back in her voice.

Straightening, the wolf sighs. "It was worth a try."

The real Loki mutters in his sleep.

Wincing, Amy says, "What happened?"

"He went on a three day bender," says Beatrice, her voice very dry, a scowl settling on her features.

"Why?" says Amy, walking over to get a dish towel. The spittle or whatever it is on his chin is grossing her out.

"They killed his sons... and Hoenir, Mimir and Sigyn," the wolf says.

Amy looks up from where she is about to wipe Loki's face.

She looks over at Beatrice. The hard lines in her grandmother's brow have softened.

The wolf settles down on the floor with a whimper. "Gone now like Aggie and Helen."

"Helen?" says Amy.

The wolf stares at Loki, his voice far off. "You know her as Hel."

"And Aggie... " says Beatrice. "Angrboða?"

Turning its eyes to Beatrice, the wolf snarls. "Her name was Anganboða, bringer of joy! Do not call her by the name Baldur gave!"

Beatrice puts her hand to her mouth and steps back.

Snarling, the wolf says. "Baldur destroyed her! Called her a troll and a witch. Even Odin spoke ill against her." The wolf's voice takes on a sing-song quality. "Because no one would ever gainsay the words of Baldur the Brave."

And then dropping its head down, the wolf that is maybe a figment of Loki's imagination puts its paws over his nose. "She saw Baldur for what he was. What she saw in Loki... " The wolf whimpers.

x x x x

The great hall of Odin's palace is filled with golden firelight and the buzz of conversation. Loki stands just to the right of the thrones of Odin, Frigga and crown prince Baldur.

Loki's lips were released from the dwarf wire just a month ago, and he isn't quite healed. Small circles of white scar tissue dot his upper lip and chin. As proficient as he is with magic, the wire itself was magical; the scars are slow to heal and difficult to cover with an illusion.

Odin has commanded he be here. Asgard is receiving King Frosthyrr from Jotunheim, land of the Frost Giants. Loki has never been to Jotunheim — not since Odin rescued him as an infant during a campaign, anyway. He doesn't know Jotunn customs, and the scars on his lips don't speak well of his treatment in Asgard. He has no idea what his presence is supposed to accomplish.

Now as they wait for their guests to enter, Loki scans the hall. He catches Thor's eyes. Thor smiles with too many teeth and raises his hammer. Loki looks away.

He sees Sigyn in a distant corner and looks away again. Hoenir is standing near her in the shadows. Mimir is with him. For the occasion Mimir has been mounted on the end of a long staff. Loki contains a wince. Mimir loves being on the staff point. It gives him a better view. It also is a quite gruesome sight to the uninitiated. Loki wonders how Hoenir convinced Odin to allow it.

Catching his gaze, Mimir smiles brightly at Loki and lifts his eyebrows. It's a Mimir rendition of a wave. Loki nods in his direction.

Horns announce the Jotunn's arrival, and the hall goes quiet. Great double doors opposite the thrones open up and the Jotunn delegation marches in. King Frosthyrr is just one of many kings of Jotunheim squabbling for control of that realm. The civil wars on Jotunheim have given Frost Giants a reputation for primitive savagery, but you would not know it from looking at King Frosthyrr or the lords and ladies accompanying him. Their armor and clothing are fine, their bearing regal. But whereas Odin's palace is bathed in warm colors — oranges, reds and golds — the Frost Giants wear whites, silvers and blues. The giantesses wear jewelry of cool crystal. Like Loki, to a one they are pale, their skin almost translucent.

At the head of the procession marches King Frosthyrr with his daughter, Princess Járnsaxa. Odin has instructed Baldur to pay special attention to the princess. Loki notices with some disappointment that she is actually quite lovely. Her pale cheeks are rosy, her eyes blue and sparkling beneath dark blonde locks. She is smiling perhaps more than a princess should, but overall... Loki sighs. Why does Baldur always get the pleasant tasks?

He looks over at the crown prince. To his surprise, Baldur's eyes are riveted at the far end of the procession. Loki blinks, and then he sees what has caught Baldur's attention. A giantess stands there, her attire somewhat more modest than her companions. She has the darkest hair Loki has ever seen, falling behind her shoulders like a black curtain. Her features are delicate and fine except for wide generous lips. Tall, and voluptuous without being fat, her bearing is as regal as a queen's.

She is the most beautiful woman Loki has ever seen; and next to her, Princess Járnsaxa is only plain.

He shifts on his feet and finds her eyes on his. Her gaze quickly drops and wanders over the royal family beside him, and then it comes back to Loki. She smiles slightly as though they are sharing some secret joke, and then the man standing next to her whispers something in her ear and she frowns and looks away.

Loki stands transfixed for a moment, Odin's words to King Frosthyrr are an unintelligible murmur at the edge of his consciousness. He looks to the crown prince. Baldur's eyes are still riveted on the giantess.

If she has the attention of the golden prince, she is a lost cause. Loki looks away, but over the next few hours his eyes keep going back to her.

Much later in the evening, after the feasting is mostly done and the festivities are turning to dancing, Loki eyes are still wandering to the giantess. He's learned her name is Anganboða. She is unmarried; the man she was speaking to earlier is her brother. Now she stands between said brother and Baldur. Loki scowls.

Thor's loud voice bellows over his shoulder. "What's wrong, Scar Lip? Won't anyone dance with you?"

Loki glares at Thor. "I simply have not asked anyone."

Thor's eyes sparkle and he smiles wickedly. "And you think anyone would give you that honor?"

Loki feels his blood go hot. Without thinking he says, "I bet you six months of your princely stipend that the very first individual I ask will be unable to refuse me."

Thor's smile drops. "If I win I get your stipend for same."

"Done," says Loki, smirking despite the fact he has no idea how he's going to pull this off. His eyes pass over the room. The only woman who might dance with him is Sigyn, but he recoils at that idea. And then he blinks, and recalling his wager, he turns and walks, nay nearly skips, over to Hoenir and Mimir. Bowing low before the staff that Mimir is mounted on, Loki says, "Mimir, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

Before Mimir can even respond, Loki pulls the staff from Hoenir's hands and starts moving towards the floor. Behind him Loki can hear Hoenir snort. At the top of the staff Mimir says loudly, "Well, it's not like I can refuse, is it?"

Across the room Loki sees Thor's face go red. Loki smiles with all his teeth and steps with Mimir into the line of dancers, twirling the staff as he does so. From the crowd he hears laughter and cries of "fool," but imagining what he'll do with six months of a princeling's allowance more than makes up for it.

"I say, Loki," says Mimir. "This actually isn't half bad. I can see so much this way. Spin me again!"

Now that Loki's technically fulfilled the requirements of his wager he could quit, but seeing Thor's furious glare across the hall is just too priceless to let go. He dances with Mimir, spins him, dips him, catches the staff on his foot, and tips it back up into his hands.

"I say," says Mimir, "dip me again! I didn't realize the frescoes on the ceiling had changed. I miss being able to bend my neck... "

Loki grins, even though the hall is filling with raucous laughter at his expense. The music gets louder and faster. The torches start to flicker madly, the fires in their pits send sparks shooting up into the air, and then the laughter takes on a nervous edge and someone screams.

"Or maybe we should stop," says Mimir.

The music is slowing anyway. Loki tilts Mimir back for a final, proper dip and as he bows, Mimir's staff in hand, he hears curses and shouts, but above it all the sound of one set of hands clapping.

Loki looks up and there is Anganboða not two paces away, clapping happily. "Well done!" she says, smiling at him. He does not smile back. She is so beautiful and so close. He wants to go to her, to smile in return, but she has the eye of Baldur and he knows who will win in such a contest. The effort it takes to stifle his natural impulses makes his lips twist into a frown; his body flushes with heat and rage.

Screams rise in the hall. Anganboða turns, and Loki follows her gaze. Sparks of fire are jumping madly from candles and the fire pits. Loki's mouth opens in surprise, and his rage cools a bit just as the sparks subside.

"Oh, dear," says Mimir.

Baldur and Anganboða's brother are suddenly at her side, steering her away.

Loki watches them go, his face a mask of indifference. And then beside him he hears Odin's voice. "I grow weary of playing politics. I need a drink. Come with us, Loki."

Loki turns and there is Hoenir and Odin. A drink sounds like a very good idea.

Away from the party, in Odin's own rooms, one drink turns into a few. Loki manages to lose all the money he won from Thor in a wager over a chess game while he is only slightly drunk.

... and then he proceeds to win it all back — and a rather nice guest house thrown in for good measure, while he is incredibly, mind-bendingly drunk during a second chess match.

His head is lying on the board and he hears Mimir nagging with Odin somewhere far, far, far, off in the distance. "It's your fault! You should never have played him while he was so drunk. You had to know with those odds he'd win! Now look, you're all drunk... Hoenir, don't animate the chess pieces! You know they'll squabble and cause all sorts of trouble — and you haven't given them mouths! You've doomed them to die!"

Loki hears Odin guffaw and Hoenir snort. Loki manages to raise his head. The chess pieces are sliding at each other and not paying attention to the rules of the board at all. He drops his head again.

"Come on, Hoenir," says Mimir. "Let's take Loki home... you're less drunk than he is... Well then, heal yourself... I don't care if you don't want to be sober!"

Loki feels a hand slap his back, and then suddenly his head stops spinning and the world comes into focus. The chess pieces are knocking one another off the board, Odin has his hand on Hoenir's shoulder, and they're both laughing hysterically. Mimir's staff is propped against the wall. For his part, Mimir looks extremely put out.

Loki sits up and meets Odin's unblinking eye. Odin points his finger at him and laughs, "Ha! You get to be the responsible one for once! Take Hoenir home or I'll lift my eye patch and give you a fright!"

At that Hoenir snickers with such force he falls off his stool. The stool promptly hops backwards and begins to scamper around like a small dog.

"Loki, let's go before Hoenir animates something dangerous," Mimir mutters.

Suddenly noticing the wide array of weapons decorating the walls of Odin's private chamber, Loki gets off his chair and slides one of Hoenir's arms under his shoulder. With the other hand he grabs Mimir's staff. They leave Odin talking with the chess pieces, idly patting Hoenir's stool.

"Well, that was just like old times," Mimir says as they make their way down a long hallway past Odin's guard. Loki can't be bothered to respond. Hoenir is heavy. Also, Loki is watching for signs that he will throw up.

Loki decides to cut through the guest wing of the palace. There is a servants' corridor and exit that will let them out closer to Hoenir's hut than the front or back entrance. He is passing through some long unremarkable corridor when he hears a female voice echoing down the hall. "For so long you have said my honor was my most important possession, and now you want me to give it away to some so-called-golden prince so that you may rise in power!"

It takes a moment for Loki to realize it is Anganboða's voice. And another moment more to comprehend what she is saying. So-called-golden prince? She is not smitten? He must have heard wrong. He finds himself stopping, his hands tightening on Mimir's staff. There is a sound like a slap and then a door slams. Loki watches as Anganboða's brother strides off down the hall in the opposite direction, passing by another servant as he does.

That servant meets Loki's eyes. In his hands, Mimir whispers, "There really is nothing you can do at this point that won't make the lady's situation worse."

Loki frowns but continues slowly on his way.

By the time he reaches the small door that exits to the garden, he doesn't think his mood can get worse. There is a lantern by the door that he gives to Mimir to hold in his teeth, and then they step out into the night and Loki realizes it's raining. Soon Loki is wet and chilled and Hoenir is getting heavier and heavier, and less and less cooperative. It would be better if Loki could swing him over his shoulder, but he also has to tote Mimir along.

Loki thinks of Odin warm and drunk and happy in his rooms and scowls. He hates being the responsible one.

Head bent over, he continues on. The rain picks up, and they're just turning into a walkway lined with long hedges when Mimir mumbles through the lantern handle in his mouth. "'ook!"

Loki looks up; a hooded figure is pressed against the hedge. Whoever it is doesn't seem to be aware of their approach until they are nearly upon them, and then the figure turns. The hood spills off and Loki and Mimir are facing a very red-eyed Anganboða.

"What are you doing here?" he says, the words harsher than he intends.

"Is it any of your business?" she says.

Loki stares at her and he knows. "You're running away," he says. At least temporarily. From Baldur. Maybe from her family.

She doesn't deny it.

He twists his hands on Mimir's staff. Choosing to run away in the rain, probably without a plan, or without really knowing where she was going... She's obviously a bit mad.

The right thing for Loki to do, if he values his position at court, is to convince her to go back to the palace, grit her teeth, and allow Baldur's "affections."

He holds out Mimir's staff to her and says, "You can come with us." Apparently Loki can only be responsible to a point.

She takes the staff, looks up at Mimir and says, "Would you like me to take the lantern?"

"Yesh!" says the head, dropping it from his mouth into her hands.

It was quite nice of her to think of Mimir that way. For some reason it irritates him. Swinging the nearly unconscious Hoenir over his shoulder, he begins to walk away. A few paces later he turns back. Anganboða hasn't moved.

"You need not worry about your honor. You have my oath it is safe with me," Loki says, the words spilling out before he even thinks about them.

She tilts her head and then says, "I trust you." And she does. Loki has a rather keen sense for disambiguation. She's definitely mad.

Heaving a breath, she says, "But it doesn't seem to matter what you do, it's what people say you do... "

"Ahem," says Mimir. "Consider me your chaperone."

Looking up at the head, Anganboða's lips part. Those very wide, generous lips. Loki can't help but stare.

Why did he just make an oath to protect her honor? Scowling, Loki says, "Come on, Hoenir's heavy," and starts walking again. This time she hurries to catch up.

"Did you have any plans?" Loki gasps out as they trudge along. "Since you have chosen to run rather than accept the suit of Baldur the Beautiful, Wise and Brave."

"Is he those things?" Anganboða says.

Loki turns to her. Rain has plastered her raven locks to her face, and he realizes what he took for a cloak is actually just a blanket, probably stolen from her rooms in the palace. She is very desperate.

Turning her eyes to the muddy ground she says, "I look at him... and I see a golden prince, but when I turn away, from the corner of my eye I see something quite different. Something I don't like, something dark. When I hear his words they sound sweet, but when I replay them in my mind they are cruel." She laughs and there is something frantic in it. "Yet everyone says he is beautiful, wise and brave."

Loki turns to her, mouth open. No one else has ever doubted Baldur. A knot in his stomach uncoils with a force so strong it hurts.

"I must be mad," she says softly. "And yet... he bartered for my honor with my brother... am I worth so little that a man can do that and still be good?"

"No, my lady," Loki says.

She turns to him and smiles softly, and he finds himself silently vowing that if Baldur ever lays a finger on her, ever hurts her, he will make him die a slow and painful death.

They turn round a hedge and step through the large trees that shield Hoenir's hut from the rest of Asgard. "What a meager abode for Odin's brother," Anganboða says out of nowhere.

Loki blinks and shoves Hoenir against the door. "Hoenir is not Odin's brother. Whatever made you think that?"

Hoenir grunts, the door gives way, and Mimir is overcome with a minor coughing fit.

Following him in the door, Anganboða says, "But the three of you... you're brothers, surely... "

"We aren't related," says Loki.

Mimir's minor coughing fit turns to a major coughing fit. Loki looks at him sharply, wondering what's amiss. Mimir says nothing, just turns very red.

x x x x

"Brothers," the wolf mutters nonsensically. "She was mad... but I still loved her. And Sigyn... " It whimpers again.

Amy looks down at Loki. Beside her, Beatrice kneels down, too. Surely losing your children, best friends and wife warranted a little sympathy? She touches the cloth gingerly to Loki's chin, the reek suddenly not bothering her as much. Underneath his unshaven face she begins to see that nobility again.

"So sad," says Beatrice with a sigh.

Loki's eyes flutter open. "Where am I?" he asks, rolling onto his back.

Leaning over him, gently brushing his cheeks, Amy says, "You're safe. You're back with Beatrice and me."

Loki's eyes go over to Beatrice and then rove down Amy's body. He mutters something. Even though it is in a strange foreign language, it sounds heavy with gratitude.

His eyes close again and Amy says to the wolf. "What did he just say?"

Blinking, the wolf says, "Oh, he said 'By the World Tree you have nice tits.'" And then it pops out of existence.

Amy leans away, just a little bit horrified.

Beatrice shakes her head ruefully. "Well, he's not the god of niceness." Standing up she says, "I'm going to bed."

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning when Amy comes into the kitchen Beatrice is already there, and so is Loki. Beatrice is buzzing around the stove; Loki is sitting at the table, hunched over a cup of coffee and a half eaten plate of eggs. His hair is wet like he's just come out of the shower, but he still hasn't shaved. He isn't in his armor. He's wearing one of her grandfather's old tee shirts and a pair of Grandpa's utility pants that fit Loki like capris.

He doesn't raise his eyes when she comes in, just stares at a point on the table next to the sugar jar.

"Hi," Amy says.

Loki doesn't move or speak. But Beatrice says, "Good morning, Dear." And then her grandmother takes a cup of tea and goes and sits down next to Loki at the table.

Amy pours herself a cup of coffee and joins them.

Loki doesn't do anything, just sits hunched over, as though inhabiting his own dark world. It's frightening, and sad.

Swallowing, Amy says, "You told us what happened."

Loki's eyes shoot up to hers. For a moment Amy thinks they are completely black, but she blinks, and they're that eerie light gray color again.

"You told us last night," Amy says. Or his subconscious did. It doesn't seem worthwhile to go into the whole wolf Fenrir thing. "I'm sorry about your family, and your friends."

Loki looks away.

Beatrice shakily puts down her teacup. "I hope you won't do anything... rash... "

Amy blinks. A three-day bender seems pretty rash to her.

Loki's eyes slide to Beatrice and then he smirks. "Are you are referring to Ragnarok, Beatrice?"

"It had crossed my mind." Beatrice's eyes are steady, but her hands are shaking on her teacup.

Amy's heart stops. If she remembers Loki's Wikipedia entry correctly, he's the one who leads the dead in the battle against the Norse gods at Ragnarok, the end of the world.

Loki snorts, and then he begins to laugh quietly. Playing idly with his fork he says, "Oh, if only I could hop aboard the ship Naglfar and lead the armies of Hel against Asgard, I would, definitely. But there are no armies in the realm of Hel. Just my daughter's corpse, and the corpses of her maids." His smile drops and he looks away. "There is no Hel for the meek, no Valhalla for warriors slain in battle. Those are just dreams you humans use to console yourselves during your fleeting lives. There is just nothingness."

"You don't know that!" says Beatrice, fingering the cross hanging around her neck.

Loki looks up at her and glares. And then he stands from the table and walks out the door. Beatrice and Amy watch him walk into the garage. Amy looks around the kitchen. Nothing is on fire. For some reason that makes her sad.

x x x x

Sitting with her laptop and checkbook on the kitchen table, Amy's looking at her bank accounts trying not to feel depressed. It's the evening after Loki's return. She had a temp job in the afternoon, and now she's obsessively reconciling her checkbook, calculating how much she has earned and how much she'll need to earn to have enough money to pay the school fees her scholarship doesn't cover, and to make a down payment on a new place to live in the fall.

Hearing a knock at the door, Amy looks up. Through the window she sees Loki wearing the same clothes he had on earlier.

Grateful for the distraction and relieved that he looks sober and shaven, Amy walks over and opens the door. Face almost expressionless, Loki says, "Miss Lewis, it seems I will be a guest of your world for awhile. I was wondering if... " He looks away. "If you might help me get acclimated to your world's current magic... technologies."

Amy's stares at him. That seems so healthy and proactive. "Wow. Good for you," she says, too shocked to move from the doorway.

Shrugging, he says in a flat voice, "If I'm going to see Odin kneel before me while I hold his testicles in my hands as all of Asgard burns, I have to start somewhere."

Amy's mouth drops.

Straightening, Loki says, "I will make it worth your while somehow, I give you my — "

Amy waves a hand. "No, no, no. It's okay... of course I'll help you if I can; you don't owe me anything." She'll just take that Odin's testicle thing and Asgard burning thing as a slight bit of hyperbole brought on by grief.

Loki tilts his head and his expression softens just a bit.

Her brow furrows. "Is there any place you'd like to start?"

Loki's eyes go over to her laptop on the kitchen table. "Computers and the internets. The last time I was here I had some access to ENIAC — but things have come so far since then."

Amy blinks at him. ENIAC? Shaking her head she steps aside and motions for him to come in. "Have a seat. I'll get us something to drink."

"Thank you," says Loki, walking over and sitting in front of her computer. As she turns to the refrigerator, he's staring at the blank screen of power save mode.

Taking out a pitcher of freshly made peach tea, she pours two glasses and turns around. Loki has one finger hovering above the keyboard and he's staring at her bank account information.

"Whoa," says Amy, going to the table and closing that tab.

Loki looks at her, brows slightly raised.

Wincing, Amy says, "You probably shouldn't have seen that."

Loki holds up two hands. "I just touched it and — "

"No, no, no... it's okay." She grabs her checkbook and then brings the two glasses of tea over to the table. Handing him one, she takes a sip of her own. It's not as cold as she expected. "Drats, I'll have to get some ice," she says.

Holding out a hand to her, Loki says, "Sit down and allow me."

She hands him the glasses. He gives her a twisted half smile and frost climbs up the outside of both. "Here," he says, handing one back.

Amy finds herself smiling... more than she should. Is she being flirty? She shouldn't be flirty. He just lost his family and his best friends and that would be inappropriate. She schools her face to neutral. Is it her imagination or is her pulse a little quick? Just knowing about his family... he doesn't seem so much like an obnoxious flirt anymore. He has children, he's —

Loki clinks his glass with hers which snaps her back to the moment. She takes a sip. "It's perfect," she says, staring over her glass at him.

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Where should we start?"

Realizing she's staring, she spins back to her computer. "Well, I guess, first... this is a mouse." She toggles the wireless mouse she has next to her iMac. Remembering his confusion over Car, she says, "It's just what it's called... it's not actually alive."

Loki holds out a hand and she hands it to him. Eying the mouse he murmurs, "Hoenir would have fun with this." Expression hardening, he says, "How does it work?"

Amy has some experience teaching techie neophytes. She expects hours of back and forth, and obvious questions that make her want to tear her hair out. That doesn't happen.

Loki grasps the point and click concept immediately. They move quickly from mice to the internet, and he begins asking questions that are too technical. He accidentally calls up the browser's options and gets a menu she has never seen. He clicks on something, and when the page of gobbledygook comes up, he recognizes it immediately as the code for the page.

That's when she looks down and sees it. "Um... " she says. "Loki, your fingertips are blue... " It's that lovely, robin's egg shade she had seen before, and it almost seems to be alight from within.

He looks down and his brow furrows. He takes a breath and the color fades away, like a wave draining from sand. Turning to her, his expression sharp, he says, "It is just an illusion."

Amy can't help it; she puts a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay."

Turning back to the computer he says dryly, "I blame you for putting the damned idea in my head."

Removing her hand and taking a deep uncomfortable breath, Amy says, "Okay, maybe we should go next to Google. It's an internet site that can tell you just about everything... ."

Once Loki has access to Google, it quickly becomes apparent that Amy isn't so much helping as holding Loki back. She gets up and lets him explore 'How the Internet Works' and 'Static Versus Dynamic Web Pages' by himself.

Beatrice comes in, they all eat dinner together, and then Loki is at the computer again. When Amy goes to bed, Loki is still there, the screen flashing from one page to another. His eyes look very dark, and she swears his skin has a blue cast but decides not to say anything.

The next day when Beatrice goes to fetch Loki for breakfast, Amy clicks on the browser's history — just out of curiosity. She's not sure what she expected to find, but she doesn't expect to find a whole bunch of entries on something called Schrödinger's cat, the Heisenberg uncertainty principle, quantum computing, random number generators and something on financial derivatives. She backs slowly away.

At breakfast when she asks him what he was browsing the night before, he just smirks and says, "Magic."

x x x x

With the help of Google, Loki fixes the ceiling fan in her grandmother's room — turns out the problem was actually in the fuse box. During his first week with them, among other acts of computer wizardry, Loki cleans up the hard drive on Beatrice's PC — something Amy would have thought impossible since her grandmother seems to open every attachment and click on every link she's ever gotten in an email. And he also manages to get a nasty virus off of nosy-neighbor Harry's computer — Harry's on Beatrice's email list. Sometime that first week he also hooks up the television, the DVD player and the stereo so that all share one remote, something Amy never managed to do. After that Amy finds herself regularly watching TV with Loki late into the night. He lies on the couch, feet propped up on one end. She sits on the EZ-boy chair — she starts sleeping better there than anywhere else.

Overall, Beatrice and Amy are both really impressed by the way Loki immerses himself in modern technology and modern life. But there are some incidents.

x x x x

Amy comes home just after lunchtime during Loki's second week with them. She had a job as a hostess at a local restaurant that morning. Beatrice meets her in the backyard, water pot in hand. "He's in the kitchen," Beatrice says. "I think you need to talk to him. We just don't do that!"

Puzzled, Amy heads into the kitchen. Loki is wearing her grandmother's apron... which is a little odd considering it is pink and far too small... but that isn't what really grabs her attention.

"Why is there a dead pig on our kitchen table?" She's been around enough dead animals in vet school to recognize it without most of its skin and to not be disgusted — even if she is mostly vegetarian.

Loki looks up from where he is leaning over said pig with a very big cleaver. His brows furrow. "It has come to my attention that I am, in Beatrice's words, 'Eating you out of house and home.' I am trying to do my 'fair share'."

"By butchering a pig... "

"It is a free-range pig, much higher quality than you would get in the the grocery store. Also, it is freshly slaughtered. It will be delicious... even you will want to eat this bacon." He smacks the pig's hindquarters and smiles.

Tilting his chin and rubbing the back of his cheek with a bloody hand, he says, "Though tonight I think we should eat the head. I make a delicious sweetbread." He looks at her, holding up the cleaver in a way that is kind of psycho-esque. "What?"

"You cook?" she says. That is probably the least important question in her mind, but somehow it pops up first.

He rolls his eyes. "Odin was always sending me out to babysit Thor when he went adventuring. Thor was a prince; a bastard, but a prince... I got to cook."

Amy looks at the dead animal stretched out and filling the whole kitchen table. "Where did you get the pig?"

He blinks at her and then leans down and starts sliding the knife under the pig's skin. "From a butcher on Fulton. I read about it on the internet and went this morning."

"You don't drive... did you take this thing on the bus?" She had taught him how to use the bus and left a pass out for him. The one time Amy tried to teach Loki how to drive, he turned the Subaru into a load bearing part of the garage wall. Amy doesn't know how he can build her a personal website on 'server space' she didn't know she had and hook it up to 'RSS feeds' on veterinary medicine but can't manage to put a car in reverse. It probably relates somehow to him setting the toaster on fire, though.

He looks up at her. "You know they wouldn't let me?" He shakes his head as though amazed. "I carried it back. I got a lot of stares. You'd think people never had seen a hog before."

Amy can hear the neighborhood gossip mill grinding in her head. Trying not to think about it she says, "How did you pay for it?"

He blinks again.

Oh, no. "Did you steal this pig?"

"I have no money. Of course I stole the pig," he says.

"We don't do that!" says Amy.

He stares at her. Then frowning and crossing his arms, cleaver still in hand, he says, "Do you want me to return it?"

Amy looks at the partially butchered animal and rubs her eyes. "No, just tell me where you stole it from and give me your oath that you won't do it again." She tells herself she'll send the butcher compensation. Somehow. Anonymously.

"Fine... you have my oath, while I reside at your house, I will not steal another pig — "

"Anything," says Amy.

He glowers at her.

She glowers right back even though she feels a pang of fear. "It could attract attention and the police."

Narrowing his eyes, he uncrosses his arms and rolls his eyes. "Fine, you have my oath I will not steal while I reside under your roof."

Amy decides that is the best she is going to do. Later that night, despite her better judgment, she tries some pig cheek — it just smells so good. It is delicious.

x x x x

It is near the end of the second week when the second incident occurs. Amy is just coming home late from her hostessing job. There is a light in the living room. She follows it and finds Loki kneeling in front of the TV cabinet fiddling with the remote.

Without thinking, she puts her hostess apron with the $66.73 she got in tips from takeaway orders on the coffee table next to her laptop. It was a long day, she made hardly any money, and she has no idea how she's going to pay all her expenses at this rate. Settling into the EZ boy, she just sighs.

Loki flops down on the couch. "I've hooked the television up to your computer. We can watch YouTube, Netflix, Hulu... "

"Whatever," Amy says.

Without looking at her, Loki points the remote at the TV and some strange menu with cute icons comes up. He selects some talk on YouTube about Higgs Boson particles. Physics really isn't Amy's thing, but it is interesting — until it isn't. Amy finds herself drifting off into sleep, Loki talking in the background, something about, "Humans can't see magic, but you've found all these ways to look at it indirectly. I really can see why Hoenir is so fond of you... "

She jerks awake when the program ends. The strange menu comes up and Loki flips to Netflix and Star Trek TOS reruns.

Spock's making eyes at some incredibly elegant woman, and Amy's just drifting off to sleep again when Loki says, "She's scrawny."

"Mmmm... " says Amy.

And then out of the blue Loki says, "You know, Amy, you really are just my type, but I don't even feel like having sex right now."

Amy bolts upright. Loki isn't even looking at her. He's just lying on the couch, head turned to the television screen. Her heart rate goes from racing back to normal. For a moment she'd felt like her sanctuary was going to collapse on her.

Staring at the flickering light without even seeing it, Amy feels exhausted again. "Sex is overrated," she says. Sex is a tease. Your body convinces you you want it, and then during it you hardly feel like you're even there, your mind wanders, the sensations become muted. Once it's over you're left feeling incomplete, and empty, wondering why you'd bothered in the first place. And then your partner describes it as awesome. She huffs at a recent memory and stares at her fingernails on the arm of the chair.

"Ordinarily I'd take that as a challenge," Loki says, not moving.

Amy's cheeks flush. "Glad I can be here during your time of personal growth."

"This isn't growth," says Loki, his voice flat.

He isn't looking at her; he hasn't even moved. And then she remembers him laughing about getting his lips sewn shut, and flirting with her in Alfheim. Where did the Loki that could laugh about his own torture go? She's been enjoying his company these last few weeks; he's been mellower. There have been no horrible pick-up lines; she feels so safe she falls asleep with him in her living room. But the reason he's been so mellow, the reason she feels so comfortable — it's because he's depressed, isn't it?

She swallows. And why shouldn't he be? He's lost everything.

The images on the screen stop. "I'm bored with this show," says Loki. He flips back to the cute icon-y menu.

Suddenly anxious to draw him out, Amy says, "Did you hook my computer up to the DVD player somehow?" Talking about technology is about the only thing that seems to perk his interest lately.

Loki actually laughs. "Oh, your DVD player isn't involved in the slightest. I'm utilizing a device called an Apple TV. It's a little box that connects your TV to your computer and the internet. The hard part was getting a username and then a password to initialize it." He shakes his head and sighs. "Actually, it wasn't that hard. You know, if you humans used more pass phrases instead of passwords the internet would be so much more secure. And think of it — 'the pink hadrosaur jumps over thirteen purple griffins in the icebox.' You'd never forget it, and it would be nearly impossible to hack."

He actually sounds happy, and that's good, but he talks so fast it takes Amy a moment to decipher all of it. And then she flushes. "Did you steal an Apple TV?"

He waves a hand at her and puffs. "No, I borrowed an Apple TV. I have every intention of returning it."

"You can't do that!"

Loki looks at a point on the wall. "No, I really can. I make myself invisible, walk into the Apple Store and — "

"That's stealing!"

He glares at her. "I do not break my oaths!"

What follows is an argument that she thinks she technically wins, but he refuses to acknowledge her victory. In the end she extracts an oath that he will return the Apple TV the next day and that he won't borrow again without a merchant's express consent... as long as he resides on their property.

That night she goes to sleep in her own bed, leaving him taking the Apple TV box thingy out of the TV cabinet.

Later, she comes down the stairs to let Fenrir out. Loki is stretched out asleep on the couch. A box she supposes is the Apple TV is on the coffee table beside him.

His face is drawn, his fingers are blue and twitching, and he's mumbling something in another language, sounding strained. Her change apron is still on the coffee table, too. She decides not to move it. It's so close to his face, it will jingle and Loki obviously needs his sleep, pained as it may be.

She has his oath not to steal in her house; and she's seen that the man takes his oaths very seriously.

It isn't until she's settled back in bed and closing her eyes that she realizes the true significance of her argument with Loki earlier in the evening.

Her eyes bolt open.

... forget borrowing things without asking. What's really scary is that he's been here two weeks and he's already hacking into computers.

x x x x

Stumbling out of the rain into Hoenir's hut, Anganboða, Mimir, Loki and the nearly unconscious Hoenir find themselves in a sitting room. Panting, Loki drops Hoenir on the small sofa. Hoenir mumbles something in his sleep, and Loki crumples to the floor.

"That's going to hurt in the morning," says Mimir with a tsk, tsk.

"His head or my back?" Loki grumbles.

"Both," says Mimir. His eyes slide over to Anganboða. "Would you please lean me against that wall?" He waggles his eyebrows in the direction of a wall just to the side of an unlit fireplace.

As Anganboða complies, Loki stares at the logs in the fireplace, concentrates just a moment and the logs leap into flame.

Anganboða gives a small gasp and she backs away from Mimir and the roaring fire. Loki just stares at her silently, his mind an uncomfortable jumble.

"Now, Miss," says Mimir, "Loki did ask a very good question out there. Do you have a plan?"

Anganboða lets the blanket covering her shoulders fall away. Beneath it is a thick satchel. "I was thinking, I have heard some wealthy families will hire a young lady to educate their daughters and young children." Opening the satchel, she pulls out a large and well worn tome. "I have no experience, but I am well read."

Curiosity getting the better of him, Loki says, "That doesn't look like a book for children."

Anganboða sighs. "It isn't, but it is one of my favorites. I couldn't leave it." She hands it to Loki. He opens the dust jacket and smiles. "Ah, it is Hellbendi's Magic: Mathematical, Scientific and Philosophical Inquiries Beyond Practical Applications." Shaking his head he says almost to himself, "This is a very, very, good book."

Although the Aesir can sense magic and bend it to their will, few have tried to understand it like Hellbendi, a sorcerer from ancient times. Loki has found that understanding the science of magic has greatly improved his practical abilities.

"You've read it?" says Anganboða. She sounds impressed, not bored or mildly disgusted.

He should reply with confidence; however, all that happens is that his jaw drops open.

Fortunately, Mimir comes to Loki's aid. In his most courtly tones he says, "Loki has read that and more. When he isn't causing mischief for his or Odin's amusement, he is often ransacking Hoenir's library."

"Library?" says Anganboða, her face visibly brightening. She looks at Loki expectantly.

Pulling himself together, he says, "Yes, Hoenir's library rivals Odin's." Going to retrieve Mimir, he steps towards a wall lined with several doors. "Come, we'll show you," he says.

"Are you sure you know which door? Even I can't keep them straight," Mimir whispers.

Loki isn't sure, but he doesn't answer. Instead, he smiles as confidently as he can at Anganboða, who smiles back wildly. Lifting his eyebrows at her, he opens the first door just slightly. The sound of claws on metal and a furious screeching fills his ears. Loki peeks in the opening. It is a room he has never seen before, lined with giant cages, inside of which are velociraptors as tall as him. Their heads swivel as one towards the doorway. For a moment they just stare, and then they jump against the bars of their cages, shaking and screeching with all their might.

Loki closes the door quickly.

"What were those?" says Anganboða, eyes wide.

"Errrr... ." says Mimir.

"Nothing but harmless hadrosaurs, gentle herbivorous dragons," says Loki.

"They didn't look gentle," says Anganboða.

"Let's try the next door," says Loki, quickly moving on. Fortunately, that door does lead to the library.

Perhaps an hour later, they are still there. Mimir is leaning against a wall, sound asleep. Loki and Anganboða are sitting at a table, two stacks of books in front of Anganboða. One stack for her to read, the other a stack of children's books Loki is insisting that she borrow from Hoenir.

Leaning on his elbows, Loki says,"You are so well read, and yet you do not use magic yourself. I don't understand."

Anganboða looks down. "I would love to use magic. But I can't. I see magic but am unable to bend it to my will."

She frowns a little. Upset that his line of questioning has made her unhappy, Loki reaches forward and pulls an illusion of a flower from her nose.

Anganboða laughs, and Loki smirks and lifts an eyebrow. He waves his hand and the imaginary flower turns into butterflies — he's more a fan of spiders, but they seldom go over well. The butterflies flap their wings, fly up towards the ceiling and disappear.

Still smiling, Anganboða looks to the books. "Do you really think Hoenir won't mind if I borrow these?"

Loki waves a hand. "Of course he won't mind." He leans back in his chair and puts a hand to his chin. "What's more of a worry is how Baldur reacts to your not coming to see him this evening. Falling out of favor of the crown prince is a sure way to find yourself unemployable."

Unless of course, you are Loki. Odin insists Loki remain in Asgard, no matter how Baldur complains.

Tapping his chin, Loki says, "You were supposed to meet him somewhere in the palace, were you not?"

Anganboða's face falls and she nods.

"Don't worry," says Loki. "We will tell the court I transformed myself into Baldur and nearly led you astray, but the fine Mimir saw what I was up to, put an end to my antics, and protected your honor. Eternally grateful, you helped him find his way back to Hoenir's hut." Loki straightens and smiles mischievously. "Your honor is preserved, and Baldur can't possibly be mad at you because everyone knows what a horrible prankster I am." He narrows his eyes. But somehow he has to find a way to keep Baldur away from her in the future.

"I don't like that plan," Anganboða says.

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Why ever not?"

"What of your honor, and how it will be damaged by such a lie?" Anganboða says.

Loki smirks. "Everyone knows I have no honor."

Anganboða's eyes narrow. "Yes, if it weren't for the eagle eyes of Mimir over there, I'd be ruined by now."

Mimir chooses that moment to release a giant snore.

Loki flushes. His jaw tenses. Pretending that Mimir is protecting her is one of the little mental games he plays to keep his oath to her. "It is not for lack of desire, my Lady." His words sound too cutting, and too cruel, even to him.

Anganboða's gaze moves away. She looks at the books in front of her. "After I am employed, will I see you again?"

Her voice is soft... almost hopeful. Or perhaps he is imagining it. "That can be arranged," he says cautiously.

She smiles, and he feels his lips threaten to pull up.

"But first," he says, "we must make sure you can be employed. You must lie to the court."

Shaking her head, she puts a hand on his. "I won't tell them that story. It is unfair to you."

It's ridiculous how arousing her soft fingers are against his knuckles. He sighs and brings her hand to his lips. "My Lady," he says,"at court you must lie. It is how you survive."

x x x x

"Loki, Loki, Loki!"

Loki's eyes open to darkness. It takes him a moment to realize he is on Midgard curled up on Beatrice's couch. He puts his hand to his temples, closes his eyes and sees Anganboða's face.

"Aggie... ." He sighs. Was there ever a time he was so hopelessly romantic? "I could not protect you... " Or even the much more formidable Sigyn.

"Loki, Loki, Loki!"

Loki feels a chill pass through him. Red mist creeps along the edges of his vision. "What do you want?" he whispers.

"I need your help," the mist says, as usual in Russian.

Loki scowls. "And why would I do that?" The mist swirls around him and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"I know what I am," the child's voice says.

Loki says nothing, just narrows his eyes.

"Cera," the child's voice whispers.

Loki raises an eyebrow at the word. Cera means power.

"And I can be your Cera," the red mist says. It is so dense around Loki that he has to blink his eyes to see. His whole body hums and his skin starts to turn blue. Scowling, he fights back the illusion concocted by his obviously slipping sanity and grief.

He blinks again. The thing, Cera, is right. Loki's pulse starts to race. He's been delving into mortal magics these past few weeks looking for some way to exact revenge. Humans are so close to being able to give him what he needs — yet still decades, maybe centuries away. But Cera... if whatever Cera is, is as powerful as Loki thinks, vengeance may be very close.

"What do you want?" Loki whispers.

"Be my Josef!" Cera wails. "Save me from the God people!"

Loki throws his legs over the edge of the couch. "Where are you?"

He feels an anxiety in the pit of his stomach and knows it isn't his own. The thing is projecting emotions now. He scowls.

"I don't know where I am," Cera wails. "But I know where I've been... "

x x x x

It is way too early in the morning after Loki and Amy's Apple TV discussion, but Amy is dashing down the stairs. The vet clinic called. They are short handed for the day; they asked her if she can be there in half an hour for a ten hour shift. She tears into the kitchen in her scrubs and finds Loki staring out the window, a frown on his face. She runs to retrieve her change apron from the next room. When she gets back in the kitchen, apron in hand, she says, "What's wrong?" She doesn't really have time for the answer, but she remembers him murmuring in his sleep the night before, his fingers twitching, and it makes her physically ache for him.

"I need money," he says, shooting her a look like a challenge. "And I am forbidden to steal while I am under your roof, so — "

"You could ask to borrow some," says Amy.

Loki's frown vanishes. "Ask?"

"Of course," says Amy. She heaves a breath. "Look, you lost your family, your friends... your world. Of course you'll need some help getting back on your feet." She takes two tens out of the change apron, slips them in the pocket of her scrubs and drops the apron on the table. The change rattles in the pockets. Loki follows it with his eyes.

"Take as much as you need; everything if you need it," Amy says.

"I don't think I could... ." says Loki. His eyes have gone wide, and he has the expression of a surprised puppy on his face.

Amy tilts her head. "Look, you know where it all is. Take it. Everything. It's okay. Really."

Loki comes forward and drops to one knee in front of her. "Amy Lewis, I am in your debt. You have my oath that I will pay you back with interest."

"Ummm... " she says. "Well, if you think that is necessary," she says, looking at her change purse. What is it, forty six bucks and some change maybe?

Kissing her hand, he says, "I do think it is necessary."

Amy swallows as warmth rushes through her limbs at his touch. "Okay... " Loki looks up at her, his face shining with something close to happiness. "I wondered why I heard you in the forest, I wondered how your voice came to be in my head, and how you intersected with my higher purpose. Now I know. My gratitude is eternal, and you have my oath, I will pay it back with interest!"

He kisses her hand again, and Amy's mouth drops open. "Ummmm... ." is all that comes out. She feels her face go red, and then Loki looks up at her like he might actually kiss her — really kiss her. That is appealing and scary. "I have to go," she squeaks and runs out the kitchen door.

She nearly crashes into Beatrice on the back walk. Clutching a watering can to her chest, Beatrice says, "Did you talk to Loki this morning?"

Amy blinks. "Yes."

Beatrice's eyes narrow. "I heard him talking in Russian." Beatrice learned Russian as a child in the Ukraine — under less than ideal circumstances.

Amy's bites her lip. She has to run, but she doesn't like to rush away from her grandmother. Not when she's talking about her life before.

Shaking her head, Beatrice says, "Something about Cera and Tunguska."

"What?" says Amy.

"Cera is power, dear," says Beatrice. She purses her lips. "I think Tunguska is a place." And then Beatrice starts walking towards the front yard. "Well, I better go. My impatiens are thirsty."

Amy watches her go, her stomach tying in a knot. But then she shakes her head and makes a beeline for the bus stop, waving to the little Mexican man on a bicycle ice cream cart who always seems to be around their house as she goes.

x x x x

Later that evening when she comes home, her change apron is lying on the table. She peeks in. Loki has left her with $20. A note is on top, written in an oddly near-perfect hand.

Miss Lewis,

I must leave for a while and do not know when I shall return; but rest assured, I never forget my oaths. We never discussed terms of my loan, I hope 33% per annum will be sufficient.

Again my gratitude is eternal,

Loki

Amy's heart falls at the "leave for a while" bit. She rubs her hand over the note and sighs.

After a few minutes she picks up the change apron and shakes her head. All that gratitude for what could have only been about $26 bucks?

x x x x

About a week and a half later, Amy is walking up the sidewalk to her grandmother's house. It's dusk, and the windows are all dark. The day was hot and muggy, and the evening isn't much better, but she sees Beatrice out watering her flowers in the relatively cool air. Her grandmother nods without smiling, and goes around the back of the house, watering can in hand. Her grandmother's expression, the darkness of the house, she doesn't have to ask; Loki is still gone. She bites her lip, and the magic is gone with him. Bowing her head, she trudges up the steps.

Going in the door, she picks up the mail that's been thrust through the mail slot. She rifles through the envelopes, purposefully not looking at the couch where Loki slept.

Her eyebrows rise. There is a letter from her school. Opening it, she finds that the check she sent in to pay for her miscellaneous school fees has bounced. Shaking her head, she goes to her laptop to check her bank account. She's never bounced a check in her life; there must be a mistake.

A few minutes later, Amy's sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the computer screen, face in her hands. There is only $1 left in her checking. She feels cold, even though the room is warm. Realization hits hard and fast. Loki stole from her, after giving her his precious oath. And he hasn't come back, and she won't be able to go back to school.

She swallows and scoots back from the table feeling sick.

How will she get the money? Should she borrow it from Beatrice? Is it too late to apply for financial aid?

She looks up and her gaze goes to the kitchen window. She's vaguely aware of Beatrice standing up and lowering the the watering can in her hands. Amy closes her eyes, remembering Loki's words, "I will pay you back with interest." Maybe it's all been a mistake? He'll come back, it will all be okay... But it won't be, because she needs the money now.

Outside, Beatrice must see Amy, and her face must look stricken, because Beatrice comes running. And then Beatrice just sort of isn't there.

Amy bolts from her seat, the sickening feeling in her stomach instantly getting worse. She runs through the door and finds Beatrice on the ground at the bottom of the stoop, her leg at an odd angle. Her head is tilted back and her eyes are closed. Blood is on the sidewalk.

"Grandma!" Amy screams. Sinking to her knees, she pulls out her phone, and dials 911. As the phone rings, she takes her grandmother's hand in her own. She looks down at the delicate veins visible through her grandmother's aged skin. Beatrice does not stir. Amy swallows, her eyes hot. Now everything is gone.

A few hours later she is at the hospital, sitting in the waiting room in a daze. On the periphery of her vision she sees several men approaching.

"Miss Lewis?" Amy turns her head, and her brow furrows. There is the older man with the too-square jaw in the too conservative gray suit who she saw in her neighborhood eating ice cream. He's still in a gray suit. Next to him are two other men. The first looks Mexican, and vaguely familiar. She blinks. It's the ice cream vendor, but now he's in a suit, too.

The last man is young. He's wearing a suit too, but he looks a little more rumpled. Looking down at a little device of some kind, he says, "She's clean."

Holding up a badge, the older guy says, "Miss Lewis, I'm agent Merryl and these are agents Hernandez and Ericson. We're from the FBI. We need to bring you in for questioning."

"Am I in trouble?" Amy stammers.

The old guy just tilts his head.

The End

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##    
The Witch Hunter  
Book One  
By Nicole R. Taylor

##

##

Chapter One

Zac was twenty-three when he died.

He was a Captain in the Confederate army until he was shot by a Union soldier. Captain Zachary Degaud. That was one hundred and forty seven years ago, in 1865. It was cold comfort that the civil war had ended shortly thereafter. Actually, it was like a punch in the face.

Today was his one hundred and seventieth birthday and he sat at the bar, in a dive posing as a respectable restaurant in the small southern town of Ashburton, Louisiana. The hole in the swamp where he was born a puny human being. But, the sun was shining, the liquor flowing and he was undead. Another binge drinking vampire, with an unremarkable story in the midst of the murky swampland of the South. Edward, Louis, Armand, Lestat. If these vampires existed, he hadn't met them.

"Happy birthday, brother." A man slapped him on the shoulder and sat on the neighbouring stool. Zac's younger brother Sam, just as dead as he was. Stuck together for eternity.

They were both dark haired and green eyed, but Zac took after their mother. He was tall and wiry while Sam was shorter by a head and more heavily built, like their father had been. Their parents had died shortly after the Civil War had ended and neither of them talked about that time anymore. It didn't do well to dwell on things they couldn't change.

He spent more time in the local bar than he did anywhere else. The alcohol helped curb the cravings typical for a creature that fed on human blood. He and Sam had returned to the town they had grown up in just over a year ago. Their nomadic life had done nothing but serve as a constant reminder of what they had become. Endless binge drinking, as Sam called it. But in Zac's case, a trail of bodies drained of their blood. It had done him good blending in with the humans; reconnecting with his old life.

"How does it feel to be a year older, old man?" Sam joked.

"I don't feel a day over twenty-three," he rolled his eyes. Like time mattered anymore.

They drank a few rounds before Sam stood and said, "That's my lunch break done. Gotta go back to the grind."

"I'll never understand why you got a job. It's not like we need the money." Their family had been extremely well off, owning a large plantation before they had died. One hundred and forty seven years of interest made them very wealthy vampires, but they didn't really need it.

"No, but you know it helps with the whole human thing," he whispered in his ear, conscious of the busy restaurant around them.

"Assimilation," he rolled his eyes. Yeah, assimilating as a gardener, he thought.

"You got it, brother."

"Don't let the sun bite, Samuel," he muttered. The sun didn't bite. Searing agony was a more apt description. He met a witch once whom he convinced to spell them so they could walk in the day as well as the night. She spelled his body, but Sam was unconvinced and had taken a ring instead. Ended up, he had to go back and get a ring of his own. He resented having to rely on a flimsy piece of jewellery to stop him frying to a crisp. It wasn't until they ventured as far as Mexico that they found a brujas willing to help them, in return for a favour. The sun hadn't been a problem since.

Looking over his shoulder as Sam left he caught sight of Liz embracing his brother outside, kissing him on the lips. They looked perfect together. She was tall and lithe, long golden blonde hair, blue eyes. All American. Twenty-one years old and almost a year since she too had died. Sam had found her dead in the forest, until she woke up. They had both helped her through the change and her dietary adjustment was another story.

Zac couldn't tear his eyes from her. They had fought the way only brothers could over a pretty girl while she was still human. When she became... well, now it was different. She was his brother's girl, but it didn't stop the fact that he cared for her more than he really ought to.

His line of sight was broken as a dark figure passed in front of him. Shaking his head, he turned back to his drink. Out the corner of his eye, he was aware of a dark shadow that loomed as if waiting for him to acknowledge its presence. Zac knew a man stood there and he knew that he was a vampire. The thing that unsettled him about it was that the man wanted him to know.

The stranger sat lithely beside him, his black leather jacket creaking as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the bar. Zac didn't look at him straight away, instead downing the last of his glass of scotch, sliding the empty glass towards the bartender, who caught it and began refilling. He knew all to well that Zac wanted another.

Turning, he looked nonchalantly at the stranger. He was a typical vampire, really. He had a similar stature to Zac and a grace in his actions that betrayed to other vampires what he was. There was a hardness in his eyes that suggested he'd seen more than his years, exaggerated by the severeness of his close-cropped blonde hair. With his all black clothing and leather jacket, he looked totally out of place with the typical lunch crowd. That, and it was a humid cesspool outside.

"What do you want?" he sighed. In his short stint as one of the undead, he knew vampires didn't bother to speak to one another unless they wanted something.

"I'm looking for a woman vampire. Black of hair, blue of eye," the stranger said smoothly like he was from another time.

"What are we, at a renaissance fair or something?" Zac laughed. "Look buddy, if you want to blend in, maybe you should alter your language a little. It's a bit weird."

The stranger's eyebrows rose. "And who are you to speak to your elders in this way?"

Of course this guy was ancient, Zac could never tell exactly how many years they had on him until they were trying to beat the crap out of him. The older vampires were, the stronger they became, but that didn't mean they got any smarter.

"I'm the one who has claimed this town," he sneered.

The vampire looked him up and down like he didn't believe a word he was saying. "Then you will be able to answer my question. It would be better if you do, then we could avoid any trouble."

Zac knew a threat when he heard one. He'd given them out often enough. "Tell me who you are and I'll think about it."

The vampire laughed. "Either you're very stupid or very brave. I am Alistair Payne, and who are you?"

"Zachary Degaud, vampire extraordinaire." He inclined his head.

"And the answer to my question, Zachary? Have you seen this woman? It would be unadvisable to withhold her whereabouts."

"I'm the only vampire in these parts, so your answer would be no," he said with a shrug. "Did your girlfriend hurt your big bad vampire feelings?"

"Oh, come now, Zachary. I saw two outside not a moment ago. Do you really think I'm that stupid? She's wanted for crimes against her own kind."

"What are you, the vampire police?" He couldn't help it.

"Keep prodding, vampire, and we will see how stupid you really are."

Zac had no idea who this woman was and didn't really care. There were no other vampires in this town. "I have no idea who this woman is. She's not here, not unless she's turned up in the past day. No one here fits that description who is supernatural or otherwise."

Alistair looked at Zac, like he was trying to gauge the truth in his words. He didn't dare look away from the vampire's hard gaze. Even though he was telling the truth, it would be taken as an admission of guilt regardless. Except he couldn't help himself and turned back to his drink a little too soon.

Alistair smiled and this time it was a smile full of malice. "One thing I have plenty of is time. I'll be seeing you again, Zachary Degaud. Sooner than you think."

He watched Alistair's receding form and grimaced. He was in trouble...again.

******

Afternoon light filtered through the tops of the tall cypress as Liz made her way through the forest. It wasn't far from here where Sam had found her that day when she'd died. They'd been friends for months before, but it wasn't until she woke up that she found out that Sam, and his brother Zac, were vampires and that she was becoming one, too.

She never knew who had turned her and left her for dead. It wasn't like they hadn't tried to find out, but they hadn't been able to find any clues at all. Liz had never doubted it when the brothers had sworn that they hadn't turned her themselves. It was no secret that they had a friendly rivalry over her when they had first moved to Ashburton, but they'd never take it that far. Especially since they had both been turned against their will, too.

Liz stood in the dappled sunlight, waiting. She smiled to herself when she saw Sam's dark form flashing through the trees. He was fast, and before she could dodge him, he grabbed her around the waist and swung her around, laughing.

"Hello, beautiful." He grinned, kissing her lightly on the lips. "Are you ready?"

"Let's go."

The forest was their special place. They'd spent many hours out here hunting together, Sam teaching her how to use her vampire strength to her advantage. They only fed on the blood of animals, both in agreement that they didn't like the feeling it gave of being predators. There were other ways to survive. Zac didn't agree with their choice and left them to wander the forest eating 'bunnies and fluffy kittens' as he put it. But, Zac had taught her control when it came to being around humans, which was much more difficult than she had thought it would be.

Catching the scent of deer, she tapped Sam on the arm, motioning to her right. He nodded and darted off silently, to circle around, leaving her to stalk them head on. Just as he'd taught her.

She crouched down behind a tall cypress, watching the deer closely. She stilled herself completely, slowing her breathing, becoming as still as a statue, frozen. The deer's head came up, its nose twitching as it caught a scent on the air. She would be too quick for it to charge her and hopefully it wouldn't bolt until it was too late.

Before she could pounce, she was pushed roughly against the tree, the bark grazing the skin of her cheek. The deer bounded away, startled by the sudden laughter behind her. She was pulled to her feet and shoved back against the trunk of the cypress, cursing to herself. She'd bee too fixated on the deer to notice anyone approaching.

A group of five men stood around her in a semi-circle, eyeing her in a way that made her feel dirty. They could only be described as rednecks. Unkempt beards, dirty jeans and plaid shirts, except they had more muscle than anyone had a right to. Catching their scent on the air, she recognized the rank male smell of werewolves.

Liz had only encountered them once before and that was soon after she had been turned. They'd harassed her at work calling her names that any woman would find offensive. She wasn't a piece of meat and told them as much. But now she was afraid. There were five of them and she knew she couldn't hold her own against that many. She prayed that Sam hadn't gone too far and had heard their yelling.

"Well, lookey here boys. A little vampire chasing deer in our forest," drawled the largest man in the center. "It's a true shame that she be one of them blood sucking leeches. She's a looker."

He began to walk towards her, but stopped in his tracks as Sam appeared silently, standing in-between them. Liz sunk back against the tree, not knowing how to defuse the situation. The vampire stood eye to eye with the man, who seemed to be the alpha, his expression even. Neither moved or backed down.

Finally, the alpha laughed. "You're bold for a vamper. Be warned. If you come back onto our land, then you and your little girlfriend will pay." He spat on the ground by Sam's feet and backed away, his wolves following. Their hooting and hollering grew fainter as they worked their way back through the forest.

It wasn't until they were far enough away that Sam turned and took her in his arms. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"No," she said, hugging him tightly. "They just scared me, is all." The small scratch from the tree had already healed itself.

He ran a hand through her hair. "Good."

Drawing back, Liz rested her forehead against Sam's. "I have to warn Gabby. If they're going to town, they might try something."

He nodded as she took out her cell and dialed the number. Gabby was one of her oldest and best friends and one of the three people that knew that she was more than human. If she didn't warn her before she crossed paths with the wolves and something happened, she'd never forgive herself.

******

Gabby sat at her desk at the Ashburton Real Estate office, tapping her pen against the table top, eyes focused on a far away point across the room. The buzz of her cell phone snapped her out of her daydream and she looked around, sighing in relief when no one had noticed. Especially her boss, whose office door was closed. Seeing it was her best friend Liz, she picked up on the third ring, ducking behind the partition around her desk.

"Gabby, I need to warn you," came Liz's panicked voice. "The werewolf pack is trying to claim the forest near the manor."

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly, trying not to draw attention to herself.

"They just harassed us a little. Sam was able to scare them off. But, just be careful, okay? They know you're with us."

"Sure, Liz. I'll be on the lookout."

"Okay. I'm going home, but the boys will be at the bar later."

"Sure. Do you want me to come over?"

"No, it's okay. I just don't want to run into them, not today."

"Okay. Well, take care. Call me if you need anything."

Gabby put her cell back in her pocket and tucked her unruly brown hair behind her ear. Liz was one of her oldest friends and newly made vampire. And she was a witch. Typical, ordinary American girls. Liz and the brothers were the only ones who knew her secret and she liked it that way. If anyone ever found out, she'd probably become a science experiment.

She would never dare tell her parents. As far as she knew, they didn't have any power at all, so if she came right out and said, "Hey, Mom, Dad. I'm a real life bona fide witch," she was sure it would be a one-way ticket to a mental hospital. Her grandmother had disappeared when she was little, when she was accused of being a few sandwiches short of a picnic, and didn't want them to think it ran in the family.

Gabby had found her grimoire, her families' book of spells and incantations, amongst some of her Grams' things in the attic. It was only then that she began to understand her affinity with magic.

She started visiting the cemetery near the old Degaud Manor, conducting her 'experiments' as she called them, trying different spells and rituals that were written in the grimoire. Silly things, like lighting candles, making things levitate and communing with the earth. The last was her favourite; every witch had an earth sense of varying strengths. She didn't quite understand what it meant, but when she concentrated, she could feel living things around her. Plants, trees, insects. Even the stars if she focused enough.

That was why she was surprised at first when she met the brothers. She was sitting cross-legged in the old cemetery early last winter, feeling the shift of the seasons in the plants around her, when she began to feel uneasy. She understood later that it was her latent power warning her that she was being watched. When she opened her eyes, a man was standing in front of her.

It was like he was a statue, until he grinned lopsidedly at her. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Gabby began to panic. She hadn't sensed the man at all and she could always feel people when she had her earth sense focused. That would mean that the man was... dead? That couldn't be right. She scrambled to her feet and took a few steps back.

"Leave her alone, Zac." Another man had appeared beside the first out of thin air.

The first man, Zac, rolled his eyes. "I wasn't going to eat her, brother, if that's what you're thinking. She's a witch and I don't want her to cast any witchy juju spell on me."

"You're both dead," she stammered.

"As a door nail," Zac grinned.

"Forgive my brother," the other man said, stepping forward. "I think you know what we are. We can't hide from you, but we mean you no harm."

"Vampires," Gabby said, finally realizing. The only undead creature that she was aware existed.

"Ten points to Glinda," clapped Zac. Glinda the good witch from The Wizard of OZ?

"Ignore him," said the man. "I'm Sam, the moron is my brother Zac."

It took her a while to trust the vampire brothers, being their mortal enemy and all. She quickly came to realize that they were different, despite all their faults. Zac was always an asshole and Sam was always kind hearted, but they never hurt anyone. They'd ingrained themselves into the town as normal young men. Sam had even got a job as a gardener with help from her childhood friend, Alex.

So, when Gabby walked into Max's, the bar they frequented after work, she smiled when she saw them sitting in a booth along the far wall.

"Happy birthday you musty old man," she elbowed Zac as she sat down.

"Please, don't remind me." His eyes rolled in exasperation.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Go for it, Glinda." They watched her retreating form. "I've been looking for you all afternoon," Zac hissed, once Gabby was out of earshot.

"I was out with Liz," Sam fidgeted.

Zac didn't notice the gesture, he was too busy eyeballing Alistair, who had just walked in. "Uh oh." He gritted his teeth.

Sam frowned. He knew all too well from his tone that Zac had gotten himself in trouble again. "What did you do, Zac?"

"I didn't start it, just so you know."

"Start what?" Like they needed more trouble.

"Big bad, super creepy vampire over yonder is out to get us." He gestured towards Alistair, who was now over at the bar. "He's looking for some black haired, blue eyed woman who's pissed him off and he seems to think we know something about it."

"Obviously we don't."

"I told him as much, but I don't think it matters anymore."

"You couldn't help but talk back, could you?"

Zac raised his hands in defense. "Hey, he came in talking like he was out of Lord of the Rings, even you couldn't pass on the opportunity." Looking over to Alistair, he noticed Gabby standing next to him. They were talking, and he was buying her a drink! Bloody hell, did she know he was a vampire? What kind of witch was she?

Sam snorted his disagreement, and before he could speak Zac interrupted, "Yeah, yeah. Don't say it, bro. I get it. We can't afford to be exposed as blood sucking parasites. Believe me. I get it."

"We have another issue to deal with."

Zac raised his eyebrows expectantly. Like they needed more issues with a vampire bent on making their life hell.

"Liz and I had a run in with the werewolves," Sam said, not looking at his brother.

"Oh, so you want to have a go at me when you've been out pissing off the puppy dogs?" Zac scowled. "Did you piss in their territory?"

Sam nodded, reluctantly agreeing with his brother. "Seems like they want to claim the land bordering the manor."

"Sounds like they already have."

"They warned us off, but given any opportunity they will attack us anyway," he said through gritted teeth. "They're getting bolder."

Zac felt anger rising inside him. The dogs had threatened his brother and Liz. She was his brother's girl, but he had fallen for her just as hard. He knew the only thing that had stopped the wolves from attacking was the fact that the moon wasn't even half full yet. He was thinking about the many ways to kill the werewolf pack, when Gabby sat back down at the table.

"I see Sam told you about the pack," she said, when she noticed the scowl etched on his face.

"Wait until you hear who Zac pissed off today," Sam said, changing the subject.

"Your boyfriend over at the bar." Zac inclined his head towards Alistair.

"He's a... " Gabby stammered.

"Yeah." Zac rolled his eyes. "What kind of witch are you that your witchy compass doesn't work?"

"It's serious Gabby. He could expose us all or kill us. So stay away from him, okay?"

Gabby fidgeted nervously and pushed away her glass, as if she was suddenly wary of drinking it.

Zac snorted. "What, do you think he put a vampire roofie in there?"

"Shut up," she hissed.

"I'm going to have a word with him." Zac stood. "You better leave. I don't want you more involved than you already are. You better split too, Tabitha."

"Just don't go doing anything stupid," Sam warned, more out of habit than anything.

"Too late for that."

******

Zac sat next to Alistair at the bar. Gesturing at the bartender for a drink, he caught the glass that slid down to meet him.

"You don't know what's good for you, friend," Alistair said, lifting his own glass to meet Zac's.

"What can I say? I have a knack for trouble," he replied with a note of irony.

"Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?"

"Well, gosh darn it, Alistair. I can't tell you what you want to know, because I don't know anything about it." Zac took a mouthful of scotch.

Alistair downed a mouthful of his own drink before saying, "I see the werewolves aren't too pleased about your little brother and his mate running about their forest."

"It's not their forest or their town," Zac snarled, not wanting to play games anymore.

"I believe they would beg to differ." Alistair swirled his drink around the bottom of the glass, ice clinking. "And I believe they would like to do something about it, given the right persuasion."

"Be careful what you say, Alistair." He stood abruptly, his expression dark with anger.

Alistair stood gracefully and stared at his adversary with disdain. "Do you know how old I am, vampire? I am over five hundred. I could squash you like the pathetic ant you are."

Zac stood eye to eye with the vampire and snarled, "Maybe you shouldn't come to my town and threaten the people I care about."

"This is your town? We'll see about that." Grabbing Zac by the scruff of the neck, Alistair dragged him through the kitchen, no one paying them any attention, and out the back door to the service lane. Before he could try and wrench himself free, he was thrown clear across into the fence opposite, the chain link rattling.

Zac groaned, rolling onto his front. "I see you pre-compelled the staff so they wouldn't piss in your soup."

Ignoring him, Alistair walked over to the chain link fence and pulled free the iron cross bar effortlessly. Weighing it in his hands, he nodded in appreciation before approaching Zac, who was trying to drag himself to his feet. The vampire swung once, an audible crack as the pole broke both of Zac's legs, and swung again, breaking his spine.

"Consider this a warning," Alistair said as Zac groaned in pain. "Piss me off again, and I will put this through your heart."

The iron bar clattered to the ground and Alistair disappeared, leaving Zac on the ground with nothing to do but wait until his spine healed itself.

Best birthday ever.

Chapter Two

The half moon had risen high in the sky by the time Zac reached the gates of the manor. It had taken an hour before he could drag himself to his feet, his spine healing enough to restore feeling to his broken legs. Limping all the way from town to the house on the outskirts was a seven-mile journey and he fumed all the way, anger filling each step. He could've run, but he wanted time to think about the revenge he would have on Alistair before Sam could talk him out of it.

His thoughts travelled to memories of the many fights he had gotten into with fellow soldiers, conscripts and volunteers alike, when he was in the army. He'd given his fair share of black eyes and bloody noses and received just as many, but fighting as a vampire was a different experience altogether. His ability for healing made for more painful injuries. Gashes, broken bones, pulverized flesh, internal bleeding. Painful, but irrelevant. His body would heal all but a severed head and a torn out heart, among other things.

He trudged up the driveway to the manor, feet dragging in the dirt. The house that they had once lived in as children and young men and had been the location of so much death. They had reclaimed it from disrepair and despair alike, spending much time and money renovating and restoring the interior. Sam still held the deed as he was more responsible with those things, and with little effort they could claim to be the rightful owners. Despite all of this, the grounds and the house were of historical significance, so as they wanted to do things by the book, they were unable to do much to the exterior. Two vampires who never locked their door couldn't argue with the fact that the house didn't look lived in because of this. It kept visitors away, along with the locked gate.

Zac slammed the front door closed behind him and barged into the parlor, throwing down his jacket moodily, glaring at his brother who gave him a familiar look of disapproval.

The parlor was where the action was. It was also where Zac kept the alcohol, so they tended to gravitate here because of it. Right now, he needed alcohol...lots of alcohol. His clothing was covered in dirt, mud caked into the knees of his jeans. All glaring signs pointing to what he'd been up to all night.

Sam eyed him up and down. "What happened to you?"

"What do you think happened?" he sneered, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, seething. The walk had done nothing but fuel his anger into a burning inferno.

Sam sighed and placed his head in his hands, knowing that Alistair had beaten him up. They had a nice peaceful life for the past year. It shouldn't come as a surprise that it was now ending. It was part of being a vampire, getting into trouble.

"I'm not going to let that bastard get away with it," Zac raged, waving a finger wildly at Sam.

"We can't afford any trouble, Zac. If anyone found out who we really are..."

"Yeah, yeah." Zac waved him off. "He broke both my legs and my spine. I want to beat the crap out of the bastard and stake him to a tree."

"Did you even try and talk reasonably with him?"

"He came there looking for a fight, I didn't have to do anything. It's down to him or us. And I'd rather it be us," he said pointedly. Zac couldn't begin to understand himself most days, let alone vampire politics. He supposed he'd become a little mad as well once he hit five hundred. Couldn't wait for that.

"What do you suggest?" he asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"The only option there is," Zac said, deadly serious. "We kill him."

"What's this we business?" Sam scoffed. "So, we kill him and then what happens when his friends come looking?"

Zac stared his brother down. "Next time I won't look away."

******

Liz wiped her brow, grimacing. That was the billionth time she'd dropped coffee grounds all over the floor. Distracted wasn't the right word for it, off the planet was closer to the truth. Ever since being threatened by the local werewolves, she'd been skittish. Sam had dropped her off at work that morning before going to the gardens across the street with Alex. Gabby was coming to get her soon, so she wouldn't be alone if there was trouble. It was silly, as a vampire she should be able to take care of herself, but it was something she'd struggled with since day one. She was too kind-hearted, which contradicted everything she'd become.

Working at the coffeehouse was not the most glamorous job in the world, but it was something to take her mind off the fact that she was A; a vampire and B; a vampire who was undecided if she was going to college or not in the spring. At twenty-one it was later than most, but last year she'd had to defer because she was busy learning how to control her bloodlust. The year before was spent working full time at the same job making coffee, earning money for tuition. Her family thought she was just ill, with a little help from some vampire persuasion.

Liz had spent the entire day worrying about the werewolves. So much so, that she kept dropping things and messing up orders. Mixing up caffeinated with decaf, cream, and non-fat. There would be a lot of people hyped up today. The last thing she needed was for one of the wolves to come into the cafe. She might not be able to explain herself if they did. Mrs Greene, the owner had asked her if anything was wrong. Most of the staff asked her if she was okay, even some of the regular customers. She had to get a handle on it.

She was cleaning the coffee machine as Gabby opened the front door, the bell ringing merrily. They'd closed for the day already, but everyone knew her friend, so they didn't mind that she ignored the closed sign and barged right in.

"Are you ready yet?" she asked, grinning. "I'm starving."

"It's only 5 o'clock!"

"Yeah, but I had to skip lunch today. My stomach is eating itself I'm so hungry," she grinned.

Giving the bench a final wipe, Liz waved to Mrs Greene and they made their way along the three blocks to Max's bar, laughing about her uncoordinated day.

It was great to catch up with her friend; it had been ages since they had the time for dinner. She didn't need the food, but it was still nice to indulge in something human. Nothing bad would happen to her from eating a burger and fries, she'd just get no sustenance from it.

They'd just sat down when gabby said, "Aw, crap."

"What's wrong?" Liz asked, turning towards the door, catching sight of a blonde man she suspected was a vampire.

"That's Alistair," she said evenly. "He's the one who threatened Zac."

"Oh," Liz bit her lip, frowning. Sam had warned her about him that morning when he'd picked her up at home. The fact that he was lurking about must have been the reason the werewolves were absent. The thought made her blood run cold.

The vampire caught her eye and she looked away quickly, glancing at Gabby, wondering if she should text Sam. Before she could decide, the vampire slid into the booth beside Liz, trapping her against the wall. Gabby eyed him uncomfortably, steeling herself for whatever stunt he was about to pull.

"Ladies," he said. "I believe you know who I am."

"Alistair." Gabby grimaced. She was not in the mood for games, especially the games of vampires.

"You're the witch." He pointed at her before turning to Liz. "And you must be the newborn."

Liz couldn't help shuddering as his cold eyes raked over her body.

"What do you want, Alistair?" Gabby asked firmly, her strong brown eyes staring down the five-hundred year old vampire.

"I'm just coming to examine my prize." He put his arm around Liz's shoulder, grinning at her. "When I'm finished with that annoying Zachary and his brother, you and I will have some fun."

"Unlikely," Liz spat at him, trying to shrug his arm away.

"I can show you things you've never dreamed of."

"Back off, Alistair." Gabby's eyes narrowed in warning as Liz slid away from him as far as she could get, which wasn't very far at all. The wall was hard on her back, trapping her against him.

"Oh, my dear," he said silkily, leaning closer to Liz. "I will have you at least once before I'm through." He slid his hand up her leg, coming to rest on her upper thigh. Her body stiffened at his touch, making her shudder in revulsion.

She glared at the vampire and snarled, "Get your hand off me, or I'll... "

"Or you'll what?" Alistair's grip hardened on her thigh, his fingers beginning to bruise her.

Liz stared him down, refusing to betray her fear at the sudden malicious gesture. She wouldn't be the damsel in distress. Suddenly, Alistair grasped his head, grimacing in pain, his fist banging against the table top in frustration. Gabby was scowling at him, deep in concentration, eyes narrowed.

"Argh," he growled, his voice betraying the pain that was exploding in his head. "Alright, alright. You've got this round, witch."

Gabby relaxed and Alistair gripped the table, his knuckles white, glaring at the witch in front of him. "Leave," she said. "You have no claim here, vampire. Leave before it's too late for you."

The vampire laughed, then, as if he knew Gabby was bluffing. Her expression was darkness, but Liz knew that her power was limited and no match for a five-hundred year old vampire. What she'd just done, that was the extent of what she'd learnt to protect herself.

Alistair rose from the booth and bowed to them mockingly. "Next time we meet, I'll make sure the tables are turned."

They didn't tear their eyes from him until he'd exited the bar. Shit, shit, shit, thought Liz. Old as vampires who wanted in her pants and werewolves hell bent on harassing her out of town? How much more complicated could life get? Reluctantly she said, "Perhaps you should call Zac and let him know."

Gabby shook her head. "Not right away, lets just enjoy our food first. He won't be back tonight. We need this, and I won't let that jerk ruin our night."

Liz smiled, understanding her friend's sentiment. "Lets do it."

******

Zac had thought about the many ways he could kill Alistair all through the next day. He was thankful Sam had gone to work; the constant badgering about his intentions would have pushed him over the edge. This was one thing he wouldn't be talked out of. His train of thought was broken as his cell began to vibrate across the coffee table.

"Gabby," he said sharply as he answered it.

"Zac, Liz and I were just confronted by Alistair," came her concerned voice. "I was able to fend him off, but he'll be back."

"Where are you?"

"We're outside Max's."

"Go home," he snapped. "I will deal with Alistair."

"Zac." Gabby sounded worried.

"Just go home, Gabby." He hung up on her. Alistair had gone too far.

He found the offending vampire leaning up against the facade of Max's, arms crossed, waiting for him. Zac strode up to Alistair and grabbed the front of his shirt roughly, pulling him close. "That was a low blow Al," he hissed threateningly.

"I can go lower, if that's what you really want," he sneered, pushing Zac off him.

"I don't know why you insist on all this when none of us know anything about your girlfriend."

"Oh, but I'm well aware you don't know anything. Making your life difficult is much more entertaining." The older vampire smirked, satisfied with the over the top reaction he had received in greeting. "I could go for full exposure. Not everyone in this town has forgotten the real reason behind the massacre at the Degaud Manor. How would you like that?"

Zac grabbed the front of Alistair's shirt again, wrenching him close. "This ends here."

"Are you challenging me to a duel?" Alastair laughed, obviously assured that he would be the victor no matter what.

Zac stifled his own mocking laughter. "It's the twenty-first century, Al you old bastard. I had more of a fight to the death in mind, not pistols at twenty paces."

As he saw it, the only option he had was to kill the vampire and that was going to be problematic. Alistair wouldn't let his guard down for an instant or stray from populated areas. He knew Zac would attempt bodily harm given the slightest opportunity. A fight to the death was the only option he would consider and was banking that the other vampire's arrogance would be his downfall. There was no way he would win on strength alone; there was close to four hundred years between them. If he was to actually kill him, a challenge of this magnitude outside of town was the only way.

Alistair's eyes brightened. "A fight to the death. No rules, only death for the loser."

Zac pushed him back, dropping his grip from his shirt. He wouldn't play mind games with this guy, no matter what he threatened to do. If he won, then Alistair would be gone for good and if he lost, well, he'd be dead. He could think of worse things.

"In the woods by the manor," Zac said. "Two hours. And come alone." He knew he couldn't rely on Sam. His brother didn't agree with his tactics almost one hundred percent of the time. And a death match? Well, that one took the cake. This he had to do on his own.

******

Tucking a wooden stake in the back of his jeans, Zac made his way through the forest. Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting long eerie shadows that distorted the ground ahead. The two hours had passed and he hoped he was going to his victory, not his death.

The older vampire was standing so still, he almost mistook him for another shadow. Alistair's soft chuckle cut through the silence. "Are you ready to die, Zachary?"

"Quit the small talk, Al. Lets get on with it," he sneered, chomping at the bit to draw blood.

Alistair pulled a gun from behind, which had been hidden under his jacket. Pointing at Zac's thigh, he squeezed the trigger, the bullet tearing through flesh and splattering blood as it made contact. The force of the close range impact knocked Zac from his feet and he landed heavily on his back, grimacing in pain, clutching his leg.

"Wow," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Talk about bringing a sword to a gunfight. You're a piece of work, Al. Where'd you get the wooden bullets? From ye olde carpenter shoppe? How long did it take you to whittle those you old bastard?"

Alistair laughed, clearly not put off by his sarcastic observations. "I'm not one for these devices." He tucked the gun into the back of his pants. "Call me old fashioned, but I like to use my hands. That way I can feel the life bleed from you when I tear your heart from your chest."

Zac grimaced as he dug his fingers into his torn flesh and pulled the bullet out. Throwing it aside, his eyes darkened to black as he lunged for Alistair, knocking him to the ground with a roar. The stake was in his hand, but the older vampire grabbed his wrist before he could bring it down into his heart. There was a crack as the bone broke under the pressure. Grimacing in pain, he dropped the stake as Alistair threw him to the side with enough force to crash him into a tree.

Landing with a thud, Zac was on his feet in a flash, ignoring the pain in his broken wrist. He'd had worse and was still able to fight. Alistair was on him before he could react, the older vampire's strength overpowering as he shoved him back against the tree trunk, a forearm crushing his neck, almost cutting off his airway. Twisting to the side, Zac managed to free himself, Alistair's arm crushing into the tree, the bark splintering under the force.

"Stop playing with your food, Al." He darted behind him, grasping his left arm, wrenching backwards until it broke.

Alistair roared in anger as much as pain and grabbed Zac around the neck again before he could escape. Zac tried to struggle out of the headlock, but this time, the other vampire's grip didn't budge.

"Oh, I like it when they struggle," he chortled as he tightened his grip around Zac's neck, landing punch after punch into his unprotected face. Breaking his nose and splitting his lip, blood pouring out of the multiple gashes that were opening up with every impact.

Gasping for breath, he eyed the gun that had fallen onto the ground a mere four feet to the right. If he could loosen Alistair's grip and free himself, he might have a chance to slow him down with a few bullets before staking him. Struggling, he managed to kick sideways, his shin connecting with Alistair's leg, buckling his knee and making him stumble.

As the grip slackened from around his neck, he managed to lunge to the right and snatch up the gun before Alistair could kick it out of reach. Without hesitation, Zac fired, a bullet imbedding itself into the older vampire's stomach. It wasn't enough to knock him to the ground, but he doubled over, clutching his bleeding abdomen in surprise. It was the millionth of a second that Zac needed to stab upwards, the stake hitting its mark with a sickening thud as it tore through flesh and sinew until it rammed home into Alistair's heart.

"You were stronger, Alistair, but not smarter," sneered Zac as the life drained from the vampire's eyes as he pushed him backwards onto the ground, dead. Grimacing, he held his broken wrist and spat the blood that had pooled in his cut mouth onto his desiccated body. "Good riddance."

Turning away from the body, he jumped in surprise as he saw a woman emerge from the surrounding forest. She approached calmly, hands clasped in front of her, expression cold. Zac frowned as he took in her dress; it was something like ancient Roman women would've worn. Long white folds of silk hung low over her shoulders, draping to the ground, cinched at the hips by a low golden belt. Long auburn hair had been pinned up in elaborate braids, a few curls left out to frame her cold face. Zac automatically knew not to make fun of her appearance.

"And who the fuck are you?" he asked when she came to rest a few paces away.

The woman cocked her head, glaring. "I am the founding witch Katrin and you've just murdered one of my most beloved creations."

Just what he needed, a witch in fancy dress. "And what are you going to do? Cast some witchy juju spell on me?" Before she could answer, Zac threw the stake at her with alarming speed, but as it made contact she vanished, the stake imbedding itself in the tree behind the spot she had stood.

"You will suffer vampire, for the murder of your own kind." He jumped as Katrin's voice came from behind. "I will enjoy hunting you and all those you love, inflicting pain the likes of which you cannot imagine."

Zac whirled around to face the witch, who'd materialized behind him. "If you could kill me, you would've already done it." He waved his hand towards her and her form shimmered where it passed through. "You're transparent, so I'd like to see you try."

She laughed, filling the surrounding forest with her musical voice. "I'm going to enjoy watching you writhe in agony."

Gasping, he clutched his chest at the sudden pain that tore through his heart. Falling to his knees he tried to take even breaths, but couldn't draw any oxygen, his airway closing in on itself. Just as suddenly as the pain overtook him, it was gone.

"That," Katrin crooned, "was a precursor, vampire. We will meet again, you and I."

When he looked up, he was alone except for Alistair's cold dead corpse. Wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, Zac groaned as he began to drag what was left of the vampire away. The witch had disappeared, but had left the heavy promise of retribution behind.

If Zac thought he was in trouble before, he was well and truly screwed now.

Chapter Three

It was the second time in as many days that Zac walked home after a fight, his clothes torn and bloodied. He'd killed Alistair, but had dug himself a deeper hole. An ancient dead witch who had claimed to be the creator of all vampires had marked him for a slow and painful death. Best birthday present, ever.

It was well after midnight when he finally came home, wandering up the driveway. Opening the front door with a little less force than last time, he shuffled into the parlor and headed straight for the scotch. He thought it was best to get a few drinks in his brother before telling him the bad news. Zac poured Sam a glass as he heard his brother sit on the sofa behind him.

"Do I even want to know what you've been doing all night?" Sam said, exasperated. "I have a good idea, considering Liz came over and told me what happened with Alistair."

"Well, I killed the bastard," Zac said, getting right to the point and handed the glass to him.

"And?" Sam took a large mouthful of the liquor as if in preparation for what was coming next.

"And, his dead witchy overlord is out for my blood. Refill?" he asked sarcastically, waving the bottle of scotch at his brother.

"Wait," Sam said, holding his annoyance in check. "Start from the beginning. You killed Alistair? How?"

"I challenged him to a duel," Zac said sarcastically. "Slapped him with a leather riding glove and everything. Very authentic. Then I staked him."

"Zac... "

"That, brother, was the truth. I challenged him to a fight to the death. Book smarts won over brute strength." He tapped his temple.

Sam closed his eyes and held his head in his hands. "And what if he'd killed you? Did you stop to think about us?"

Zac took a long draught of scotch straight from the bottle. "Yes, I thought about it. This was my issue to deal with, Sam. I did this to protect everyone. I did what I had to do."

"You could've warned me."

"And you would've stopped me," Zac replied.

"Well, that's just great." Sam shook his head. "Murderous vampires and now dead witches? Shit."

"Can you see into the future, Sam, because I sure can't," he yelled, the now empty bottle smashing into the large fireplace, alcohol flaring in the flames. "He wouldn't have stopped until we were either dead or exposed. Killing him was my only option."

"And this witch?" he asked calmly, trying not to exacerbate his brothers mood.

"She claimed to be a founding witch named Katrin. But, she was transparent. Very much dead and ghostly. Dripping with ectoplasm."

"You could have come to me, Zac. We could have found another way. One without killing."

"Well, I'm so sorry I can't be the kind-hearted human wannabe vampire you so desperately want me to be," Zac seethed. "Guess what, brother. We're vampires. We fight, we hunt and we kill. It's what we are."

"There's always an alternative, Zac. You just have to be open to hearing it."

"You might be content in fighting your true nature, but I've made my peace. I understand what I am, even if you don't." He walked across the room before turning around. "I'll speak to Gabby in the morning. You can stay out of it if that's what you want." He left the room, leaving Sam to make his own decision, his mind already well and truly made up.

******

Gabby wasn't too pleased about being woken up at eight am on a Sunday morning and even less pleased to hear Zac's voice. Pleading wasn't his thing, so he suggested it might be a good idea to help him, being guilty by association. She'd reluctantly agreed to come over to the manor once she was ready.

Zac was already into the alcohol by the time his brother woke. He was riled up already and he had a feeling it was going to be a trying day and that meant he needed all the calming down he could get. And he was getting hungry. He sat heavily on the sofa, leaning his head back, staring at the ceiling. Dead witches pretty much took the cake so far. They'd never encountered so many supernaturals in one place before. Witches, vampires, werewolves and now ghosts. Next it would be voodoo spirit lords and Aztec witch doctors.

"I'm surprised to see you here, brother." Zac looked up as Sam sat across from him.

"We're brothers, Zac. You're shit is my shit," he replied firmly.

"And so eloquently put."

Sam snorted as they heard the front door close and footsteps approaching down the hall. Gabby strode in, carrying her grimoire in her arms. The tattered book that was over five hundred years old, protected by magic from deteriorating and falling apart.

She flopped down on the leather armchair and said with a hint of sarcasm, "This better be worth giving up my Sunday for."

"Long story short," Zac announced. "I killed Alistair, his dead witchy overlord appeared out of thin air proclaiming that she was the founding witch Katrin, whatever that means, and that I will die a long and horrible death. Thoughts?"

Gabby stared at him in surprise, not expecting a tirade of that magnitude. At least not one that included the words 'founding witch'. She looked slowly to Sam, who nodded. Well, at least it was a truthful tirade.

"Well," she began, opening the grimoire carefully.

"Is there anything in your diary about this Katrin?" Zac swirled his drink around in his glass.

Gabby glared and glanced back to the grimoire, turning the pages. "There's a passage about the founding witches and the one who broke her covenant with them," she stated. "Katrin. She betrayed her sisters for power and created a creature that could do her bidding long after she had passed. Vampires. She bound them to herself, so they would follow her for eternity."

"She seemed to believe that she had created Alistair herself," Zac said.

"Then maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe she is one of the founding witches," Sam said. "She was an apparition, so maybe her spirit still lives, that's why Alistair was bound to her."

"And how she knew he was dead," Zac added.

"If she is, then she would be strong enough to do it. The founders were the beginning, the most powerful of us, ever. But, why would she create vampires?"

"To do her dirty work," Zac said.

"Probably, but I don't think that was the only reason." Gabby shook her head. "Why create a predator who needs blood to survive who can only walk in the night, when all you need is someone to do your bidding after you're dead?"

"You're right, it doesn't make sense, but all we need to know is how to get rid of her," Zac pointed out, exasperated. "I'd rather be the one doing the hunting, not the other way round."

"You don't want to know anything about the first vampires?" Sam was surprised.

"Why? We've been doing okay. The more we meet, the more trouble we get into."

"Don't you mean, the more you piss off the more trouble I get into?"

"You're the one who chose to come along for the ride. Don't have a cry now."

Gabby sighed loudly. "If you two are finished bickering like children, I have more."

"Do please enlighten us, Glinda," Zac rolled his eyes.

"Right." Gabby stood and began gathering her things. "If you don't want my help, you just have to say so. I have better things to do than take shit from you."

Sam stood hastily. "Gabby, I'm sorry. We do need your help. Please stay." He turned and glared at Zac who shrugged.

"What?" he asked, annoyed.

Gabby sat back down with an exasperated sigh. "There's a summoning spell in the grimoire that caught my attention."

"And what does it summon?" Zac asked.

"The one known as the Witch Hunter." Gabby flipped to the page and began to read. "The one betrayed by their own. The one who punishes the ones turned evil, the hunter of witches who would do harm. Cast this call and perchance the hunter will deign to speak."

"You want us to summon a witch hunter?" Zac laughed at the notion.

"It's all I got," she replied. "But, there's a warning that goes along with it. The Witch Hunter is a very old and powerful vampire, unpredictable and only serves their own end."

"Well, they sound like a riot," Zac snorted.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Sam said, warily. "It could do more harm than good."

"From what I can tell, the Witch Hunter helped my ancestor, the one who wrote the spell. For a vampire to help a witch, that's kind of a big deal." She looked pointedly at Zac, who glared at her in return.

"Is there anything else about this Witch Hunter?" asked Sam.

"Not much, but this spell was written in fifteen forty two. It's one of the first in the book and one of the only ones I can read," she said, not mentioning that she thought it was an omen. For good or bad, she didn't know. "The story goes that the Church and Crown in Wales passed through a law naming witchcraft a felony and those found practicing would face punishment of death. The first law of its kind. The witch who wrote the spell was accused, having been framed by another witch, who was using her power for evil. Exploiting the townspeople, summoning devils and monsters. That's what drew the Witch Hunter to the village. They formed a tentative alliance and under the cover of darkness the Hunter tore the devils to pieces and stole the evil witch's light."

"What does that mean?" asked Sam, intrigued by the story. "Stole her light?"

"They probably took her power by the sounds of it. Anyway, the Hunter left a trail of mutilated bodies in their wake, horrifying the good witch. The next morning some angry townsfolk, who had been spying on them, tore her from her bed. She had no trial and was tied to a wooden pole at the centre of the village. They intended to burn her for the crime of witchcraft and murder, because they believed it was her that had really summoned the devils. As the flames grew around her, the Witch Hunter came back and saved her from the fire and took her far away from the angry mob to live out her days without fear of exposure. She married and had a family and passed the grimoire to her daughter."

"It seems that the Hunter has a heart, at least," Sam said absently.

"If you call tearing apart devils, mutilating their bodies and stealing witches power, having a heart, then we have a serious problem," Gabby exclaimed, snapping the grimoire shut.

"Pfft, it's just a story," scoffed Zac.

"It's meant to serve as a warning," Gabby scolded. "One you would do well to heed."

"Do it," he said. "Damn the consequences."

"No," Sam said warily, shaking his head. "Rushing headlong into situations like this is what got us into this in the first place."

"Can you banish a founding witch's spirit for eternity, let alone find her?" he asked both of them. When they remained silent he said, "Thought so."

"I'll do it," Gabby sighed. "Just know that I'm reluctant, but I'm helping you anyway. You owe me, Zac."

"And we thank you for that," Sam said pointedly, understanding what Gabby was sacrificing to help them. Witches and vampires had been at war for hundreds of years; that they had become friends in the first place was a miracle.

"What do you need to do for the spell?" Zac asked, interrupting Sam.

"It's part potion and incantation," she replied, reading through the pages again.

"Okay, so it's an outdoorsy thing," he said.

"If you want. The spell will leave a calling card of sorts, attached to the place it was cast. It would lead the Witch Hunter here, if here was the place we chose to do it," Gabby explained, leaving the choice up to the brothers.

"The old cemetery," Zac said. "I don't want any witchy residue in the house."

"I have to go get a few things. I will meet you there in an hour or so." Gabby slipped the grimoire into her bag and made for the front door, not waiting for an answer. She hardly believed that she had been roped into helping them. When Liz found out, she'd be furious.

******

The cemetery was located on the edge of the main manor grounds, off to the side of the original plantation. Over one up hundred and fifty years, the land had been reclaimed by nature, the swampland encroaching back to its original form.

Most of the cemetery itself was overgrown; falling out of repair as the locals began to forget it ever existed. It was full of people who had died over a hundred and fifty years ago, many Degaud plots among the headstones, their family having been one of the first to have settled in the region. The cemetery was technically located on private property, which was mostly the reason for the lack of upkeep. A space was cleared at the centre, which Gabby had worked on herself months before the brothers had returned to Ashburton. It was the place she came to learn her powers and be alone.

The vampire brothers lounged in the afternoon sunlight. Winter was leaving and the humid summer months were creeping closer. Zac had hated the humidity of the swamps since he was a young boy. Travelling north with the Confederates had seen a summer that was devoid of air uncomfortably heavy with moisture, something he had never experienced before. Civil war had opened his eyes in more ways than learning how to kill a man. War had given his human life purpose when his life was a meaningless disappointment to his family and had given his new one the release he had needed.

"You know I have misgivings about this," Sam said. "We have no idea what meddling with this ancient spell might do. Who it might be calling."

"Well, too bad. What other option do we have?" Zac sat on a cracked headstone, his feet dangling over the edge, tapping on the side.

"We could find a stronger witch, find a way to deal with this ourselves."

"Oh, c'mon. Even you're not convinced by that hair-brained scheme. It's written all over your face." Zac folded his arms, detecting the hesitation in his brother's plan. "A million bucks says you wouldn't leave in the first place."

Sam sighed and cocked his head to the side, to let him know that Gabby was approaching. They would continue this later, no doubt. She strode into the cemetery, the grimoire in her arms and a bag slung over her shoulder. "Let's get this over with," she said, getting right down to business.

They watched as she picked up a long stick and began to draw a rough pentagram in the dirt. Once it was complete, she placed the bowl in the center and poured a dark brown liquid into it from a plastic bottle. Sitting on the ground at the base of the pentagram, she drew her bag close and pulled out a hunting knife. "I need some of your blood. Who wants to do the honors?"

"Why?" asked Sam.

"Vampire blood must call vampire blood. It won't work another way," she gestured for one of them to come forward.

"Fine. Use mine." Zac held his hand out. The sooner this was over the sooner they could deal with the bigger issue. It wasn't the greatest feeling to be stalked by a rouge witch from beyond the grave. He'd done some horrible things in his time, but self-preservation was more tantalizing than repenting.

Gabby cut his hand with the knife and wasn't gentle about it either. Clenching his fist, he remained silent as blood dripped into the potion, sizzling as each drop collided with the surface, even though the liquid was cold.

"Now, read this while I do the incantation." Gabby held out the translation of the spell she had written on a scrap of notepaper.

Snatching it from her he read the incantation and scoffed. "You witches just love your poetry."

Gabby rolled her eyes. "It's what was written in the grimoire. Just read it and shut the hell up."

Reluctantly, he began to read as she chanted in some old language they'd never heard before. Witch speak, most likely. "Blood of my blood, I summon thee, blood of my blood, I beseech thee, blood of my blood, in heaven and hell come save me."

The potion burst into flames and they leaned away from the sudden heat and smoke.

"I guess that means it worked," Gabby laughed nervously.

"If it worked where is the vampire?"

"It doesn't work that way, Zac. We put out the call, now we have to wait for an answer." Gabby stood and began to gather her things.

"So we just go home and wait?"

"Yes, you wait. I didn't want to do this, just you remember that. And it's all I can do, so you'll just have to be satisfied."

"C'mon, Zac." Sam started to walk away. "If the Witch Hunter wants to come, then they'll come in their own time."

He watched Gabby's receding form until she disappeared through the trees. Listening to the cemetery closely, he heard nothing but the normal sounds of the forest and Sam's heavy footsteps. How could he wait when he was the one being stalked by god knows what? He knew there was nothing he could do but follow his brother home and keep one eye open at all times. And that annoyed the hell out of him. Hesitantly, he followed Sam home.

Chapter Four

Three days had passed since Gabby had cast the summoning spell and for three days nothing had happened. Zac was a very impatient vampire. Ironic, since he had all the time in the world. Strangely, he'd been more patient as a human and then it took a lot longer to get anywhere other than where you were.

"You know, I'm sick of all this waiting. There's got to be something we can do," he sighed, looking out the window of the parlor into the garden.

"It's only been three days," Sam said, glancing up from his book.

The front door slammed closed, but neither of them looked to see who it was. They knew Liz was walking down the hallway.

"Are you going to tell her?" Zac raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you?" Sam retorted.

"Where have you two been hiding the past few days?" Liz said, as she walked into the parlor. "Wait. Maybe I don't want to know the answer to that."

"Then why'd you ask?" Zac grinned wickedly at her when she rolled her eyes.

"Where were you when I came looking on Sunday? I thought we were going to do something?" Liz asked Sam, who glanced to his brother, not knowing what he should say.

"We were out with Gabby performing blood sacrifices." Zac winked at her, a mocking tone in his voice. "Why are you asking anyway? I know Gabby told you."

"How'd you know?" she asked, confused.

"I didn't, you just told me." He ducked as a cushion flew at his head.

Of course Gabby would tell her. They shared just about everything with each other and stood to reason she'd share this bombshell as well.

"When were you going to tell me?" Liz objected.

"I knew you'd disapprove," Zac said, leaning against the windowsill.

"Yeah, of course I do," she cried, annoyed. "Did you think any of it through?"

"Yes, of course I did." He didn't like to keep her out of the loop, but he had to.

"All of five seconds!"

"Look, if we had of told you, we would have spent ten years arguing about whether we were going to do it or not. And if you hadn't noticed, I think ten years is a bit of an optimistic time frame for planning our defences." Zac smiled sarcastically. "That's why I'm me and you're you."

Liz sighed dramatically, sinking onto the sofa, arms folded across her chest. "Fine. It's too late now."

Zac shook his head. "Anyway, you guys are getting hungry. Have you thought about the Chihuahua's?"

"We've had to go further afield to hunt," Sam said. "It's getting harder to dodge them."

The werewolf pack had lived in a smaller town nearby for years, or so they'd heard. They weren't an issue to the brothers when they'd first returned home, but that may have had something to do with them trying to be human. Once they'd caught on that vampires were living in the area, they did all they could to inch them out. Especially once they knew that Sam and Liz only fed on animals. They started claiming even more territory until they had it all.

"They're pushing us out so they can claim the town," Liz said.

"That's because they know they can't win a fight against all of us together," Zac scoffed. "They're using dirty underhanded techniques to get their own way."

"I know what you're trying to insinuate, Zac," Sam warned.

"What? It's is our home and sure as hell I'm not going to let some dog screw with you," he said defensively.

"The moon is almost full."

The werewolves would be stronger the closer it came to a full moon, when their compulsory transformation neared. It would be stupid to go out into the forest at night; even they would be overpowered. Werewolves could change whenever they wanted, but were at the mercy of the phases of the moon, their strength waxing and waning with it.

"Fine, I won't start anything with them," Zac huffed. "But if they come at you or Liz, I'll do what I need to."

"Understood."

"You know I'm coming with you tomorrow, right?"

"You finally want to try a squirrel?"

"Very funny, Samuel. I'm more into wolves," Zac snorted.

"Their bite can change a human, god knows what it can do to a vampire," he said in a last ditch effort to dissuade Zac.

"What do you take me for? I ain't some green recruit, Sam. I'm an expert."

"That's what I'm afraid of. You can come with us, but don't start anything. We can't afford it right now."

"Aye, aye, Captain. Oh wait, that's me." Zac laughed at his own joke, earning a slap in the head with another cushion from Liz.

Zac grinned to himself. Tomorrow at sunset, it would be vampires vs. werewolves one way or the other. His bet was that the dogs would start it.

******

The late afternoon sun burnt orange through the treetops, casting long shadows over the open yard in front of the manor. Zac was perched on top of the brick fence, waiting impatiently for Sam and Liz to arrive home. When he finally caught sight of them coming up the driveway, he jumped down and went to meet them.

"About time," he said.

"Chomping at the bit as per usual, I see," Sam said, thumping his brother on the shoulder.

"Sooner we go, the sooner it's done."

"Just stay back, okay?" Sam said, holding his hand up. "If it looks like trouble, then do what you have to."

"Fine. I'll be your little escort service. I won't touch the stinking dogs unless they try something."

Sam assessed his answer for a moment before nodding and turning towards the forest. Just as he said he would, Zac hung back, perched up in a tree some distance back from them, watching and listening.

It didn't take long for their presence to be noted, as if they were waiting for the vampires to hunt tonight. As the werewolves sauntered through the forest in their human forms, Sam and Liz stood deathly still in the middle of a clearing, waiting for the inevitable, Zac waiting silently in the shadows.

"I thought we told you vamps not to come here anymore," the hulking man they knew to be the pack master, declared as they came close.

"Do you really want us to feed on innocent human beings?" Sam scoffed.

"We want you dead or gone. Whichever comes first."

"We only feed on animals," Sam tried to reason. "We don't want to hurt anyone. Surely we can make a deal."

The wolves began to laugh, the menacing sound carrying around the now dark forest.

"Change it up, boys," he said to the others, his eyes beginning to glow a deep amber. "Let's get us some vampers."

Liz stared in horror as the pack master began to change, his teeth elongating into the sharp incisors of an over large wolf, silver hair sprouting all over his skin. He tore his shirt and jeans off without any regard for his modesty. Roaring as much in pain as to intimidate them, every bone in his body began snapping and twisting as he slowly transformed.

As the rest of the werewolves followed suit, Zac jumped from tree to tree, only slightly rocking each one as he landed. Before the pack master could complete his transformation, he dived from the tree above, savagely striking him in the head. The half man, half wolf fell heavily to the ground, his pack mates howling and snapping as they completed their change.

"Run." Zac turned to Sam and Liz, pointing to the dark forest behind them.

"What about you?" Sam as he took a few steps backwards.

"Are you stupid? Run!" he yelled, turning back towards the pack, growling deep in his throat.

As Sam and Liz ran the opposite direction, Zac jumped over the snapping jaws of the werewolves, intent on luring as many of them as he could away from the others. Bolting in the opposite direction, he bit open his wrist, dripping a trail of his blood for them to follow. He knew this land better than the back of his own hand. The vegetation had changed somewhat since he was human, but all the dips and rises were the same. Making a mental note of his location, he veered right, flanking the swamp. It had receded some, but was still there.

One of the wolves was right on his heels, snapping at every opportunity looking for its mark. If it bit him, he was probably a goner. The river was directly ahead, along with a sharp drop that plummeted into the muddy bank below. If he was lucky, he would give this wolf a surprise.

Breaking through the trees, he almost missed the edge, jumping at the last minute. Barely clearing the breadth of the river, he threw his weight forward, grasping a low branch. There was a sharp yelp behind him as the wolf desperately tried to slow itself, but the drop had appeared too suddenly. It fell in a shower of decaying leaves and earth, landing heavily into the thick mud below. Zac hauled himself up onto the high bank on the opposite side and glanced down one more time. The werewolf was well and truly stuck in the bank below, struggling to free itself from the sucking mud with no avail. If it changed back into human form, his hulking body would weigh him down more.

Zac sneered at the pathetic sight and turned back towards the manor, where he knew Sam and Liz would be circling back to. Running as fast as he could through the trees, he caught the scent of another wolf ahead. As it lunged for him out of the shadows, he jumped, grasping a limb above him causing the wolf to sail past harmlessly. His feet had barely touched the ground before he'd turned, grasping a fallen branch like a baseball bat. The wolf had scrambled back around and faced him, its eyes reflecting in the moonlight. It advanced slowly on him, snarling. Incisors that had to be at least four inches long, dripped with saliva, ready to tear through his flesh.

Suddenly, the wolf lunged, jaws widened to tear through his jugular. The branch swung and connected with the furry flesh of the wolf with a sickening thud, sending it crashing back through the trees, howling in rage as much as pain. The forest fell into silence as its limp body came to rest somewhere in the darkness.

Pausing only a second, Zac dumped the branch and continued on to the rendezvous point.

Coming up on the clearing he caught sight of Sam and Liz, surrounded by four wolves. As the lead wolf tensed to attack, Zac was on it, crushing its ribs in a vise grip around its gut. Tossing the wounded wolf aside, he put himself in between the vampires and their immediate danger.

Crouching down so he could look the four wolves directly in the eye, he called, "Here puppy, puppy, puppy."

Then there were five wolves, the one Zac had embedded in the mud, nowhere to be seen. Amber eyes flashed in the darkness as they fixated on their prey. Suddenly, one wolf feigned an attack from Zac's left, distracting him long enough so a large rusty colored wolf could launch itself at his jugular from the right.

Knocked flat on his back, he roared in anger, grasping the neck of the werewolf, using all of his strength to keep its snapping jaws at a distance. He quite liked his face; it would be counterproductive if it were ripped off.

Abruptly, the wolf was torn from him, a ear piercing yelp as bones crunched. Scrambling to his feet, he hissed as he laid eyes on an unfamiliar vampire standing over the twisted remains of the werewolf that had been an inch from his face moments before.

The clearing had fallen silent, the wolves falling back to a safe distance, seemingly to regroup. The vampire silently assessed them before glancing back to the vampires behind him.

"This one has been marked," the vampire snarled at the assembled wolves, pointing to Zac. "He does not die until it is appointed." He kicked the remains of the wolf towards the pack.

The wolves backed away, snarling, one of their number grasping the body of their fallen comrade by the scruff of the neck, dragging him with them.

Then the three vampires were alone with the intruder, the one obviously sent by Katrin. He turned and sneered at them with contempt, like they were an annoyance he'd rather deal with the same way. Blatantly assessing Zac, he gave him a look that dismissed him as harmless. Turning without a word, he disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

"Well, it's safe to say that we're being watched," Zac announced to no one in particular, annoyed that the fight had been ended prematurely.

"Do you think they know about, you know?" asked Liz quietly.

"No," Zac replied, still staring in the direction the vampire had disappeared. "If they knew, then this would have ended differently."

They stood in silence for a few minutes as if waiting for the shadows themselves to come and fight them. A mournful howl in the direction of the river broke the heavy silence, making Zac smirk in satisfaction.

"Let's go home," Sam said taking Liz's hand and leading her away, Zac still staring after the unknown vampire.

They hadn't solved anything with the wolves, but maybe now they would be spooked enough not to try anything. Only time would tell if they could venture out into the forest without incident. But he was more worried about Katrin. Until now her threat had seemed empty. Life had continued as normal, the ramifications of staking Alistair non-existent. Zac sighed uneasily. Perhaps he didn't know as much as he thought he did. He took his deflated ego and disappeared into the darkness.

Chapter Five

Drawing her first breath burnt her disused lungs and she coughed uncontrollably. Sitting bolt upright in a panic, she looked around herself wildly, disoriented. Where the hell am I? Her thoughts scrambled to make sense of her situation, her heart hammering wildly against her chest.

The air was dark and damp around her, thick with the scent of earth. Slowly her murky vision cleared and she realized she was in the cave where she escaped the unbearable draw of killing. The reek of blood had stained the fields above and she couldn't take it anymore. The aura of death had driven her to the precipice and the thought of killing a human for pleasure disgusted her. Now, she began to remember.

My name is Aya. I escaped to this cave for the long sleep. To clear my self of the urge to kill. To let an age past before I can walk the earth again. I am below the fields of southern America. Ashburton, Louisiana. The haze in her mind began to clear and she stood carefully, stretching her disused muscles. Casting her mind above, she felt nothing but silence. Aya was a vampire, but she had been granted with other skills besides. She could sense emotions, which was a blessing and a curse. Recalling the battlefields above, she shuddered. Too much concentrated emotion always threatened to overwhelm her and she had to be careful. War was enough to drive her mad if she didn't protect herself. The American Civil War. She was glad she slept through that.

She brushed the dust and cobwebs from herself and ran her fingers through her long black hair. She really had to remember to cover herself with something next time. Who knew what had lived in here with her over the years. She had to find her way outside, find something to eat and clean herself before exploring the world above. She smiled at the thought of going outside; she was starving. How long had she been sleeping?

She made her way from the cave down the passageway she barely remembered. She had entered this place so abruptly, never taking in her surroundings fully. It was hidden from the outside, of that she was sure. Still at the mouth of the cave was the heavy rock she had placed to block the small hole that served as the cave entrance. With no effort, she pulled the boulder aside and light poured through the opening along with the fresh crisp air of the world. The sun was still climbing in the sky as she emerged into the day. Blinking furiously, she held up her hand, shielding herself from the glare as her eyes became accustomed.

The land outside the cave had changed somewhat; the vegetation was thicker and a little wilder than she remembered. A short way off she caught the glimpse of light reflecting off water and recalled a lake being there. Cautiously, she made her way towards it, ready to catch the scent of any nearby animal. She was bound to have more luck closer to the waters edge. Chance happened that she came across a lone deer grazing, separated from its mates. Once Aya had taken the edge off her hunger, she went for a semblance of a bath.

The water of the lake was dark, the surface lightly rippled by the light breeze that was flowing from the east. Aya, content that no one was around for at least a mile, peeled off her dress and tiptoed into the lake, shivering at the cold. She washed herself with the gravel that littered the bottom, rinsed her waist length hair as best she could and scrubbed her dress. She wondered how the times had changed, and if her clothing would pass until she found more. She was still very eighteen hundreds, but at least she had some decent boots under her cream shift dress.

Completely naked, she sat on the shore amongst some weeping willows that were still devoid of their leaves and ran her fingers through the drops of light that spilled between the curled branches. Her clothes lay on some rocks nearby, drying in the early morning sun. By the air around her, she guessed it was late winter, early spring, though the temperature didn't bother her much. A vampire in the sun was an abnormality, but she wasn't a typical vampire.

Musing about her awakening as her mind became clearer, she remembered a dream. And she rarely dreamed while she was asleep. She was walking through a forest, thick with ancient trees, covered in moss and vines. Lush and the purest green she had ever seen in all her long years. She reached out and laid her hands against the trunk of the closest tree, listening to the sounds around her. She was vaguely aware of a humming growing around her that grew into a voice chanting. Blood of my blood... It was the faintest whisper and she almost didn't catch the words. Looking about her, her blue eyes sparkling in the dappled sunlight, she gasped.

Aya jerked her head up, suddenly awake. She had dozed again at the memory of the dream. Someone had called her, she was now certain of it, and they had used an ancient spell to do so. There was some power at play here and she had to be all the more careful. She could be walking into a trap if she wasn't prepared; others hunted her as she hunted them. Who had called her and what did they need her for? These were the questions she needed answered, and for that she needed to find the spot where the spell was cast. Only then could she begin to track for other answers.

Pulling her clothes on, she began to wander the shore of the lake, sending her mind abroad to feel out the land ahead. From the abruptness of her awakening she gathered that the spell was cast nearby, perhaps within a few miles. Someone from the village perhaps? She wondered what had become of the people she had befriended in her short time here during the Civil War. Lived and died, presumably.

It wasn't long before she felt the faint emanations of power from the forest. Wandering lithely through the trees, she came across a graveyard; so overgrown it seemed to seldom hold visitors. The headstones were spotted with yellow lichens and green moss, some dating back to the early part of the seventeen hundreds. The few family crypts were in a sorry state, broken windows and doors that had become unhinged and rusted. Aya didn't have much respect for the dead, the neglect not bothering her that much. She much preferred how nature had claimed this place back.

At the center of the site, an area had been cleared, the earth churned up suggesting it had been done recently. Dead leaves and twigs swept to one side, fallen branches and weeds removed. The ground underneath was bare, with the faint traces of footprints and indentations where objects had lay. Aya noted the markings bore the resemblance to a circle of power, the corners of a pentagram. Witches work.

At the very center, she felt the residue of power she had noticed from the lake. Kneeling, she felt the disturbed earth with long pale fingers. Yes, this was where it had happened. Aya heard the subdued humming she recognized from her dream. A potion was made here and it had had blood in it. Potions never sung in such a way, perhaps it was the calling card the spell had left, or the blood itself.

It was strange that blood would make this sound, or rather singing. It was like a song was being performed only for her to hear. She had never experienced the like of it before. Standing she brushed her hands together to remove the dirt and smirked. Find the source of the song and there her caller would be. One and the same.

******

On her way to the town, Aya came across a farmhouse. Inside, she heard the movements of the humans who dwelt there. At the rear, she found a clothesline where a young woman was pulling in the now dry laundry. A man's voice called her from inside and she disappeared into the house. Aya noticed what the woman was wearing, a white shirt with no collar or sleeves and dark colored trousers. Silently, she pulled similar clothing from the line and disappeared, the houses occupants none the wiser.

Aya dared not move any faster than need be, so it took her some time to reach the outskirts of the village, now town of Ashburton. Even in the muted darkness she remembered how this place was, a small sleepy village, growing more prosperous as time went by. Now, it was a very different place. Much larger, full of strange technology, but more alive and colorful than she had expected. The streets were hard, no longer packed dirt and there were no horses to be seen. Shiny metal vehicles were lined along the street instead and an artificial orange light washed over her surroundings from the street lamps. A little overwhelmed and intrigued at the changed world, she pulled her stolen jacket closer around herself. Compared to other women that were around the streets, she passed as ordinary enough. She was a little surprised at how promiscuous some looked in short skirts above the knee and low-cropped blouses. It seemed acceptable. Normal, even.

Across the street she spied a restaurant and bar that seemed to be where most people were gathered. The clock on the town hall a few doors down stated it was seven thirty pm. The bar was her first and best option to gather information. People talked more freely with a bit of alcohol. She crossed the gardened square and moved through the people gathered on the sidewalks. A few men glanced at her as she passed and their female partners cast her glares that were meant as a warning, which she disregarded without so much as a glance in their direction.

Aya opened the door and stopped just inside the doorway. In a split second she had surveyed the room. Three vampires, a witch and a werewolf. What a small town supernatural hub, Ashburton had really come up in the underworld. Perhaps her rude awakening wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. This would be very interesting, but she had to be mindful of who these creatures were. The town would be claimed by one of the groups and by the intensity in the bar, she guessed it was up for contention.

She strode towards the bar at the far side of the large open room, aware that eyes were following her progress; human and vampire. The place was not that busy yet, still early evening, but enough that she brushed past her fair share of alcohol fuelled young men. Young, human men. She pulled herself up internally. This was reconnaissance only. Fresh, warm human blood straight from the source was an indulgence that too often turned her into something darker than she ever wanted to be.

At the bar she ordered a triple scotch, straight up. The bartender eyed her with a little awe; she didn't have to read his emotions to know that he was a little turned on by the thought. On the house, he had said with a little compulsion. Strange enough, the alcohol helped with her control, but it took a lot of the stuff to make her drunk.

As the scotch slowly disappeared from the glass, her inner compass took note of the lay of the bar behind her as she sat on a stool, seemingly studying the remaining contents. She listened to the conversations around her, trying to hear anything that would be of use. Assimilating into this slightly insane new era, or locating the source of the singing blood.

Two vampires were seated with the witch at the rear of the bar and were throwing out all kinds of emotions. Mostly she caught apprehension and anger. She couldn't help but notice the fact that they were staring at her and not making any effort to hide it, even if her back was turned. The third vampire seemed to be with them but was flitting around talking to many young humans. She felt young herself; almost newly made. The werewolf, a young testosterone fuelled male, was standing to her left ordering drinks. He was unconsciously fidgeting and leaning towards her as if he could sense she was something else. And he reeked of sweat and blood.

To her annoyance, one of the vampires from the table at the rear was approaching in her blind spot. He leaned against the bar with the pretence of ordering drinks, but she could feel the curiosity dripping from him. Tall, dark and handsome was such a cliché, but an apt description. He feigned a casual glance in her direction and caught her gaze. Green eyes assessed her from under his messy dark hair. Suddenly, she wondered how old he was. Certainly nowhere near her real age. No vampire in this country was, at least before she went to sleep. It was a new age and a lot more things seemed accessible even for the undead.

"Hi." He smiled at her.

She glanced at him nonchalantly and looked away, not wanting to encourage him.

He held his hand out, flashing a warm smile, ignoring her brush off. "I'm Zachary Degaud and you are?"

She turned her head slightly and looked him up and down. "And what am I going to do with a Zachary Degaud?" She could never help being a little smart.

The faint trace of a smile touched his lips. "Just rolling out the welcome wagon."

"Zachary is such an old fashioned name, is it not?" She prodded at the age card.

"What can I say? Old fashioned parents." He leaned closer flashing a wicked smile. She could tell he was one for playing games. Asking casual questions to gain morsels of information. She grinned inwardly not giving herself away to him. In other circumstances she would have had a lot of fun with this one. "But you can just call me Zac. And your name is?" he continued, the smile never leaving his lips.

She pointedly looked him up and down. "You can call me Aya."

"Aya," he tried her name out, seemingly pleased that she had taken the time to assess him. "Aya, what?"

She smirked. "Just, Aya."

"I haven't seen you here before, Just Aya. Are you new to town?" he winked. "And your accent. Do I detect a hint of British there?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Just passing through." Not new to town, I can remember being here long ago, she thought to herself. What a different place it was. She wondered if he knew how dark Ashburton's past really was. "I was born in Britain," she added before she cold stop herself. Well, her accent was unmistakable.

"Only passing? Sounds like you'll be gone soon. Do you mind if I join you for a drink? I'd hate to miss the opportunity to get to know such a beautiful woman."

Aya unsuccessfully stifled a laugh at this. He obviously suspected she was more than human, but trying to glean information from her under duress of flattery? It was a manipulation she was well acquainted with and at least a little fond of. She was also aware that his vampire and witch friend had not stopped watching them, obviously listening in on every word.

"I don't think so, Zachary. I'm not one for falling for cheap flattery from strange men in bars." The lack of emotion in her voice was chilling as she shot him down.

His eyes widened ever so slightly. "Please, call me Zac." He wasn't used to being turned down. He was rather handsome in the dangerous kind of way; seduction was a weapon for him. Before he could retort, the door opened with a crash and a group of rowdy men burst in, laughing and seeming very pleased with themselves. Aya cursed under her breath. She couldn't help but breathe in their scent as the wind blew in around them. They stunk of human blood and sweat and violence. Werewolves. Werewolves that had obviously been on the hunt in their human form. Zac visibly stiffened.

Aya raised her eyebrow at him. "Friends of yours?"

"Not in the slightest." He glanced back to his friends, who were looking a little unsettled, but both groups kept their distance at opposite ends of the bar, giving away that they were currently on edge with each other. These were the groups fighting over the town, now she was sure about it.

Repulsed by the emotions emanating from the wolves, she scowled. Hunting was one thing, but killing innocent humans for sport went against all that she had worked for. She seethed inwardly; it would be so easy to tear them apart, to strew their body parts through the forest. It wouldn't take long. She felt her eyes clouding at the thought, blinking she cleared her mind and turned back to Zac. She had to be careful. There was still the issue of finding the one who had called her without revealing herself in the process.

"Well," she declared. "This town is flavorsome."

Zac laughed uneasily. "True story."

"Your friends look worried, perhaps you should go and reassure them. Your adversaries look like they have already had their fun for the evening," she said to cover the awkward silence that had emerged between them.

"That's very observant of you," he said knowingly.

"I'm a very observant person. It goes without saying. A young woman on her own in a small town in a bar full of macho bravado... one has to look out for oneself."

"Well said, Miss Aya. Are you sure I can't join you?" His wicked grin had returned.

Perhaps he was the one who called her, that's why he was sniffing around. He had a witch friend hovering in the wings who could have cast the spell, but perhaps he was just trying to figure out if she was a vampire. Someone whom he could enlist in the war over territory. She glanced over towards the witch for the first time meeting her gaze. She was a young woman with pale olive toned skin, long dark hair and a warm radiance of muted power. A power that was very familiar, one to watch.

"No," she said, answering his question. "I was just leaving."

"Will I see you again, Miss Aya?"

She looked at him with a note of amusement. "Maybe," she shrugged. It was time to withdraw from this supernatural hotbed; all the underlying vendettas that were beginning to emerge in this place were beginning to overwhelm her still groggy senses. She'd only been awake a few hours and had obviously slept a lot longer than she had planned.

Her eyes met the dark brown of the young witches over his shoulder and she said, "Good night, Mr. Zachary." And promptly stalked across the room and slunk through the door, the three watching her smooth exit.

Chapter Six

Zac watched Aya as she left, a little uneasy about her abrupt exit. Her clear blue eyes were haunting, almost otherworldly, but as the wolves had come in he was sure they had clouded over. Not like his own black vampire eyes. They were chillingly white. He was now positive she was not entirely human, but what exactly? He had absolutely no idea. They had called a vampire warrior of old. Was it Aya? He wasn't so sure about that; she didn't seem the type on first meeting.

Returning to their table he sank down into his seat, frowning.

"You could have brought some drinks back, brother," Sam feigned exasperation then added, "She didn't give much away, did she?"

"I have to find out more about her. I don't think she's a vampire, but she's certainly not one hundred percent human."

"You have to find out more?" Gabby raised her eyebrows. "I think I should do some digging. After all, I can sense vampires and other things. I might be able to get a read on her."

Sam shook his head. "Are you sure Gabby? Your powers are not developed. What if she is the Hunter and takes offense that we summoned her? She could rip you apart before you could react."

Zac cocked his head to the side as if he were listening to something. "I can still feel her outside. I'm going to follow her."

Sam grabbed his arm as he made to stand up. "I know you're keen for some action mate, but I don't think you should push it. And the wolves are here."

Zac's face became dark with anger. "Let me be brother. You and I both know that I am made for this. I spent the last one hundred years stalking death and tormenting the living, and that's not a skill easily forgotten. And if you are thinking about stopping me, remember I am stronger than you. You still feed on squirrels."

Sam let him go. "I thought you were trying to change. Let this one go."

"You can't change a vampires basic nature, Sam. The sooner you realize that, the happier you will be." And he was already halfway across the bar before Sam could formulate a response.

Gabby frowned after him. "Don't worry, Sam. Zac knows how to handle himself in a bind, that I'll give him. But he is a massive arse. Don't beat yourself up over it."

"And he's done such a bang up job of it the past week," Sam smiled unconvincingly and frowned as the door closed behind his brother.

******

Aya knew he would follow. She stood on the sidewalk some distance away from the bar, the heavy night air clinging tightly around her. Pulling back into the shadows she watched as he stepped into the street and looked around, listening. As he turned her way, she sidled into the ally that ran the length of the heritage building that housed several shops; the town council buildings were on the opposite side. Typically, it was lined with a few dumpsters and fire escapes and darkness. Aya grinned at the cliché that hadn't changed. At least it wasn't a dead end, as if that would be an issue anyway.

She jumped lithely to the top of the fire escape two stories up, crouching back into the shadows, waiting. Zac had stopped at the mouth of the alleyway, silhouetted by the light of the street lamps. He was using all his strength in looking for her, that she could tell. Look all you want, vampire, you won't find me. She was an expert in stealth and evasion.

He took a few cautious steps into the darkness, listening. She was confident he couldn't sense her, but he continued into the alley, regardless. He looked around a moment and turned to leave, but halted when he saw what awaited him. The five werewolves from the bar stalked into the opening, blocking the way, their bulky forms silhouetted by the orange glow of the street lamps. Sniggering, they circled Zac, their breath vaporizing in the chilled night air.

Aya heard the faint growl of warning that came from deep inside Zac's throat as he looked at each of the wolves in turn. "Best you go back to your kennels boys before you do something you regret."

They all laughed at him like he had just told the most hilarious joke ever. "Five against one, blood sucker and the moon's full. When we kill you it will be a nice message to yer brother and his whore," spat the one who seemed to be the pack master. "You kill one of ours and we kill one of you."

"Oh, but that wasn't us who ripped his head off," he sneered. "Honestly, I'm disappointed it wasn't me who got to do the honors."

"We don't give one shit about vamper business. We want you outta this town fer good," the pack master drawled, approaching him.

Before Zac could react, the two wolves behind him lunged forward stabbing him through both shins with wooden stakes they had concealed in their sleeves. He fell to the ground howling in pain. "Oh, you'll be sorry you did that dogs."

The wolves howled with laughter, circling him. "Man, you're the dumbest vamper we've ever had the pleasure of beatin' ta death. We will love takin' our time stakin' you."

Zac rolled over, pulling the stakes from his legs grimacing as each came free. "Like to see you try, Fido." His eyes misted black and he bared his fangs lunging for the leader, the pack master, but the others were on him and he was flung backwards, hitting the brick wall hard. Before he was on his feet, a wolf had staked him in the shoulder. Collapsing with a cry of rage, he kicked out and tripped his attacker. In one swift movement, he tore the stake from his shoulder and stabbed it through the wolf's knee, hobbling him.

Enraged, the pack was on top of him, trying to hold him down while the pack master kicked and punched. There were audible snapping sounds as he broke Zac's arms, his jaw. Aya winced. Could she hold herself back from this? He was a vampire and they were werewolves, hardly innocents. It wasn't what she fought against, not her right to interfere.

Zac was on his knees, blood pouring from dozens of wounds on his torso and legs, dripping from his mouth. The smell of it was overwhelming, intoxicating. The pack master punched him savagely in the ribs and the crack was audible as several broke under the impact. Zac doubled over crying out in pain as the wolves yelled, "Fucking die, vampire!"

Aya hissed. The filthy dogs were going to kill him. She wasn't wrapt with the idea of revealing herself so soon, but the emotions and the lure of blood radiating from Zac was too much. Before she realized, she had silently appeared behind the pack master, who had Zac's head in his hands clenched to snap his neck. Before the other wolves could react, Aya sunk her fingers into the pack master's back and rent him in two. Shoulder to groin he fell apart in a shower of hot sticky blood and insides.

Aya tasted the blood in her mouth and involuntarily, her eyes clouded over and her own blood quickened. Zac's eyes were wide with disbelief as he collapsed onto the pavement, spent. Aya turned her face towards the next closest wolf, who began to back away hastily, but in a flash she was on him tearing his head from his body. The three remaining wolves began to run, but never made it more than a few steps before they too were torn apart. Aya crouched over the last and sunk her teeth into his neck and drank her fill as he still twitched. The wolf's blood was sour with the stench of torture and malice as it ran down her throat and the walls and guttering of the alleyway. It was Zac's moaning that finally brought her back from the frenzy.

Shaking her head to clear her eyes, she stood over him. Grimacing, he rolled onto his back and started as he saw her standing over him, trying to scramble backwards. She grabbed Zac by the neck and threw him against the wall, pressing herself against his broken body, her fingers digging into his neck, partially crushing his airway. He grabbed at her hands trying to free himself, gasping for air.

"Listen to me, vampire," she hissed into his ear. "I'm not here to make your life difficult. I am not here to hurt you. I could squeeze your pathetic head from your shoulders with no effort at all. I saved you tonight and delivered you control over this pitiful town. You'll do well to remember that and stay out of my way." She let him go and he fell to his knees, gasping for breath.

"What are you?" he rasped, clutching his broken ribs with one hand and rubbing his crushed neck with the other. He was beginning to heal. "Your eyes... "

Aya stared down at him wondering how far she could go. She'd already crossed the line in revealing herself to him in such a violent way, but that couldn't be helped now. He stared up at her with his deep green eyes, half in fear and half in awe and suddenly she was uneasy. She crouched down so she was at his eye level. Tensely, she raised her hand to touch the marks she had left on his neck. Before her fingers could brush his skin, she pulled back. His blood was familiar somehow. Was he the one? Then she realized that she could hear the humming sound again at the edges of her hearing. She tasted the blood on her fingers, a combination of werewolf and vampire blood. Her eyes widened slightly when for a split second she could feel the starlight on her shoulders. Something she hadn't felt for a very long time. And without a doubt, she knew it was Zac's blood that had been used to call her. The song she had heard at the cemetery was all around him.

Zac began to reach out to her and she jumped backward, standing to her full height. "Was it you?"

"What?" Zac grimaced as he dragged himself to his feet.

Aya didn't answer. There was something terrible about him, something different. Now that it was in front of her she became even more uncertain. His blood sang to her in a way she had never felt in all her long years. It wasn't lust or love, it was something else. And it frightened her.

"You're the Witch Hunter," he stated suddenly, stumbling backward into the wall in surprise. "I knew something was different about you, but... "

Aya darted forward and pinned Zac against the wall again. He didn't struggle this time, but his eyes gave away his fear. "When I've gone from this alley, you will wake up and forget that I was ever here. You will forget that it was I that killed the wolves. You'll wake up and forget." She prayed that she had had enough blood for the compulsion to work.

Dropping Zac abruptly so he fell to his knees again, she disappeared. Zac shook his head, looked up and gasped at the carnage that littered the alley about him. Severed limbs, guts and gore littered the dark alley. The reek of blood was overwhelming and he had no idea what had happened. Did he do this?

What. The. Hell.

******

When Sam, Liz and Gabby entered the alley they came to an abrupt halt. Gabby turned and heaved into the gutter, as she comprehended the fate of the werewolf pack.

"Fucking hell!" cursed Sam, hastily avoiding the gore, approaching his brother. Zac was almost healed, his clothing torn and mostly covered in his own blood. He looked as mystified as he did. They had left the bar a few minutes after the werewolves, but a few minutes was all it took. Turning back towards Liz, he noticed she was hovering at the mouth of the alley, agitated.

"I can't, Sam," she said, hugging her arms about her. "It's too much."

He knew straight away that she meant the blood and he beckoned to Gabby. "Can you take her home? We'll deal with this... " he gestured around him.

Gabby gladly took Liz's hand and led her away. Once he was certain they were gone, he turned back to Zac and grimaced, "What the hell did you do?"

"I don't know what the fuck happened, Sam!" he yelled throwing his hands in the air exasperated. There was blood and body parts everywhere. The last he knew his head was in the grasp of the pack master ready to be snapped. "They beat the crap out of me and were happy to keep on going until I was so out of it they were going to stake me. The pack master was about to rip my head off and then I woke up on the ground. That's all I remember."

Sam grabbed Zac's face, moving it side-to-side, looking into his eyes. "What the hell, Sam!" he pulled away, angry.

"I don't think you were compelled. I can't sense anything." Sam frowned, not sure what to believe. They had to clean up this mess before anyone discovered it, or there would be trouble. The alley had to be pristine.

"We can't be compelled," Zac said angrily, his face betraying his doubt.

"We've not come across many vampires older than we are. Perhaps it is possible," Sam wondered, a little alarmed. "Do you think the spell worked?"

"You think the Witch Hunter did this?" Zac balked at the notion. "Why would they help me against werewolves?"

"I don't know, but we need to be prepared for anything." Sam tried to keep his voice calm, level.

Snorting angrily, Zac turned to begin cleaning up the mess. "The only logical explanation is that I blacked out and... "

Sam's brow furrowed in concern. "A frenzy?"

Zac sighed, confused. "It wouldn't be unheard of. I never was a dog person."

Sam smiled wryly and bent to help his brother, already tired of thinking about the unexplainable. "Maybe you're right. They got you pretty good."

Grimacing, Zac popped his ribs back in place with a sharp jab with his fingers. "Yeah, my fucking jaws still broke."

"Sooner we get this swept under the rug, sooner we can get you something to eat, bro. Then you'll be shit talking again in no time."

It took them all night to dispose of the bodies and wash away the blood, alternating trash detail with keeping watch. They didn't speak, resigned to listening to their own thoughts. Zac didn't know what happened to the woman Aya, where she had disappeared to, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. Even as he collected werewolf guts. She had a smart mouth on her, but he was determined to find out what she was and what she wanted. If she was the Witch Hunter, she would help them whether she wanted to or not.

Once the night began to lighten into a murky grey pre-dawn, the scene was erased and the brothers headed home after yet another night of fighting, with more questions raised than answered. One problem solved and another problem gained.

Chapter Seven

With dawn came the sun. Monsters of the dark couldn't walk here, but for Aya it was never an issue. She could walk wherever she chose. She was strolling through the gardened square in the centre of Ashburton, marvelling at the flowers and the manicured hedges lining the paths. It reminded her of a time long ago, another life where she was at peace. The winters day was crisp and clear, blue sky overhead, the humidity of the swamp non-existent. It was now the twenty-first century, she read on a discarded newspaper. She had slept for one hundred and fifty years, which was a lot longer than she had intended. If it wasn't for the summoning spell, she wasn't sure when she would have woken.

Aya already liked this time. Apart from the technological advances, telephones and cars and electricity, it was the social advances she liked the most. Women were so much more free and powerful. And the fashions were seductive. She had already found a liking for rock'n'roll music and the clothing the sales woman, name tagged Rachel, had picked out for her. What did she call it? Motorcycle jacket, dark jeans, singlet and combat boots... Rock chic. Aya liked the sound of that. When it came time for payment, Aya stared into Rachel's eyes and made her forget.

After her shopping trip, she ventured into some of the other stores along the main street. Her favorite was the large bookstore Barnes&Noble, where any question she had about this time was answered for her. Outside, it was the town square and adjoining gardens that captured her attention. It seemed most of Ashburton was out and about, enjoying the unseasonable clear day. It had never taken her so long to adjust to a new era after waking, but the world had become so different in such a short time.

All the while she was exploring, she couldn't get the vision of what she had done the previous night out of her head. Losing control like that was unforgivable. She had wanted to rip apart the wolves so badly, but not until they had cornered that annoying vampire, Zac. Then she ripped them apart, into a million tiny pieces. But if she hadn't, she wouldn't have found the blood that had called her.

She was so distracted she started when she realized someone was watching her. Without looking up from her newspaper she sent her mind out and felt the now familiar hum of blood. Zac was in the square. And in the daylight. She sensed another vampire with him, the younger sociable female from the bar and also the witch. Zac she was not sure about but the other one, she was new, how could she tolerate the sun? The witch didn't seem strong enough yet to spell a trinket for her to wear, let alone her body.

Casting her hearing out she could tell they were arguing about something. Approaching her, most likely. We don't know who she is Zac, Trust me Liz, Be careful, she heard amongst the buzzing of his blood. Rolling her eyes, she turned around and glared at them. Getting up, she wandered down the closest path through the gardens to escape their gaze. She needed time to think over her options. She needed a plan of attack after the previous evening, her loss of control, among other things. The taste of Zac's blood had awoken senses she hadn't felt since before she was turned and that could be dangerous for her. Not to mention that their motives might be malicious. Others hunted her as she hunted them.

Strolling down the path, her gaze wandered to the gardens around her. The plants here were really well looked after and placed out in intricate patterns. She marvelled at a display of small grey ground cover grasses that had been grown and trimmed into a simple, yet effective, mandala.

"What do you think, miss?" she heard at her shoulder.

Turning, she found a young human man with short messy red tinted brown hair, and chestnut eyes smiling at her. From his dirt encrusted overalls and wheelbarrow full of cuttings, he must be the gardener. "Wonderful," she said. "Did you do this?"

"Yeah," he said, blushing. "At first the boss didn't like me spending so much time on them, but I used to do it on my days off. When we won first in the annual county comps, he didn't mind so much."

"Well," Aya said, turning back to the garden, ignoring the gardener's blush, "the whole garden is wonderful."

"Thanks," he laughed nervously. "Oh, I'm Alex, by the way."

"Aya." She shook his outstretched hand, hoping he wasn't trying to come onto her.

"Very pleased to meet you," he smiled shyly. "So, do you work around here or are you a visitor?"

"Oh." She raised her eyebrows, not sure what to say. "I've got a little bit of work in the area for a while."

"Oh, right. What doing? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

Aya winked. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Alex hesitated for a moment and laughed nervously. "Fair enough."

"How long have you worked here?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.

"About three years. I was an apprentice builder, but gardening seemed more my thing."

"Sure is."

"And you? You seem into nature, do you garden at all?"

She laughed, hardly. "No, I'm more of an appreciator. My family was... " She stopped herself short and frowned. Geesus, this Alex guy had an uncanny way of making her at ease. She had to be careful what details she revealed.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to press on a nerve or anything."

She turned and smiled reassuringly at him. "It's okay. I was just reminded of something that happened long ago."

He sensed that she was uncomfortable and to change the subject said, "If you keep going down that way, there is a forested section, with some nice ferns and Spanish Moss in the trees." He pointed ahead, then gestured to the right. "That way is a cottage garden, English style, though it's out of season for most of the flowers."

"Thanks, Alex," Aya said beginning to move off. "It was really nice meeting you."

Grabbing the handles of his wheelbarrow, he smiled and nodded, continuing back the way she had come.

******

Zac watched the woman, Aya, from across the square. Gabby and Liz flanked him, following his gaze, both equally deep in thought. She had, without a doubt, caught his interest. Especially after last night. She sat with her back to them on a park bench, reading a newspaper, seemingly oblivious to the world around her. He seriously doubted that.

When he had left the bar last night he'd sensed her presence on the street as clear as day until he reached that alleyway. It was as if she'd disappeared into thin air and that had never happened to him before. He was positive that she wasn't human, but exactly what she was? That was still a mystery.

"Maybe you should give it a day or two. Especially after what happened last night," urged Liz. They were arguing about who should approach her.

"Pfft. I'm one hundred and seventy years old, and I'm already dead," he scoffed. It would be stupid to not to admit to himself that he was rattled by the gruesome end to their dog problem, but admitting that to someone else? That, he'd never do. A frenzy like that, it wasn't unheard of and the circumstances were right, but he didn't remember a thing. That was the only thing that unsettled him about it.

"C'mon Zac, if she's the one, then she's at least six hundred years old, right? That would make her stronger than you by far." Gabby wasn't entirely convinced.

"Yeah, but I'm charming." He grinned.
Liz sighed. "If you have to, then just be careful, okay?"

"Yeah," Gabby said looking towards the gardens, "there's something strange about her I can't quite put my finger on."

"You got that right, Tabitha." He used one of his favorite nicknames for her. "Have you ever heard of a vampire with white eyes?"

Gabby frowned at his comment. "No. What makes you say that?"

He shrugged. "Last night, when the wolves came in, I swore her eyes changed."

Gabby looked at Liz, who mirrored her confused expression. "I've never heard of it. But, it's a clue at least."

"Hmm," Zac murmured, lost in thought. "Stay here, I'm going to see what I can get out of her."

"Whatever, Zac. I've got to go back to work." Gabby started to walk away, clearly over it.

Liz smiled knowingly at her as she turned to follow Zac, determined to keep him in line, "We don't know who she is Zac."

He turned and placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her from following him. "Trust me Liz."

"Be careful," she said, firmly.

Zac smiled wryly, he'd do whatever he wanted. He always did. Catching sight of Aya speaking with the human gardener Alex, he moved closer so he could listen to what they were saying, determined to expose her.

******

Aya continued around the path in the direction Alex had pointed out to the forest. This area of the gardens was beginning to remind her of her home. No, the place she was born long ago, it stopped being her home once it had been defiled. She could almost imagine her brother climbing amongst the branches, teasing her from above, the warm yellow light filtering through the canopy dazzling her, making it harder to spot him. She closed her eyes and sighed. That place was long dead.

Lost in her memory, she hadn't noticed Zac approach from the opposite direction. She stared at him, her expression as unreadable as she could make it. He sauntered down the path, his blood buzzing like an annoying bee circling a flower. Grinning he said, "Hello, Miss Aya."

"Zac." She nodded curtly, hoping that he would go away. Her thoughts were still scattered.

"Beautiful day for a walk in the gardens," he said with a wink. The fact that he had appeared down this path made her understand that he had been spying on her conversation with Alex and she was relieved she hadn't said too much.

"Do you enjoy following young women to dark corners, Mr. Degaud?" she said exasperated, all tact flying out the window. She wondered how many women he'd stalked in dark alleyways, how many he'd killed in his desire for blood. All vampires did it, it was folly to deny it.

Zac narrowed his eyes and she knew she had struck a nerve. "My brother works here," he shrugged, disregarding her cold question.

A vampire gardener. She snorted at the ironic notion. In the distance she could see the young woman he was talking with earlier, the one he had called Liz. She was trying her hardest to look elsewhere, to remain casual, but her body was tense and angled towards them. "Your girlfriend is staring at us," she nodded in Liz's direction. "What's her deal?"

"No, she's not my girlfriend," he said looking away. "That's my brothers girl."

"Looks like it bothers you." She stared into his eyes, making him visibly uncomfortable.

"We're not talking about me," he said curtly.

"And what are we talking about?"

"I'm much more interested in you."

"What's new soon becomes old, you know. Give up while you're ahead," she said, sighing with annoyance.

"I'd much rather chase pretty girls around for the rest of my days than give up. With all the women in the world, there's a new one for every day," he laughed. "I'll start with you."

"Very smooth, Mr. Degaud." A player in every sense of the word.

"Just keeping the old world charm alive."

"So, what do you want?" She raised her eyebrows, cutting to the chase. "Do you want me to join your super secret cult or was there something specific you wanted?"

He laughed again, running his hand through his messy hair. "It's hardly a secret I want something."

She looked at him, waiting for him to say something else, feeling the uncertainty radiating from him and that annoying hum. Looking across the park, she saw Alex look up from his work. As their eyes meet, he mouthed, "Hi." She smiled at the casual gesture.

"You're blowing me off for Alex?" Zac feigned disgusted surprise. "I'm much more handsome than he is."

Aya looked at Liz this time, who was still pretending not to notice them. She looked bothered, worrying the hem of her t-shirt with long pale fingers. "Are you always this shallow?" she laughed at him.

"Ouch," Zac said, mockingly. "Are you always this brutal?"

"Only to the ones who deserve it." Aya raised her eyebrows when Zac didn't move. "That's your cue to move along, Romeo."

"Fine, fine." He raised his hands and gazed at her pointedly. "I know when I'm defeated. I'll see you around."

He backed away a few steps and turned and walked towards Liz, looking back at her with a lopsided grin.

Catching movement out the corner of her eye, she turned as Alex jumped over a low box hedge at the side of the path. "Was he bothering you?"

"Yes, he is bothersome." Aya sighed. Zac was someone who was used to getting his own way and doing whatever it took to get it. She knew his type all too well. He reeked of recklessness and that could mean trouble for her if she wasn't careful.

"He's the brother of a guy who works here." Alex cocked his head towards the direction Zac had disappeared, confirming what the vampire had said earlier. "Don't worry too much about him. It's mostly bravado," he stated. "If you want me to have a word with him... "

Aya smiled warmly. "It's okay, Alex. I can handle his kind, but thank you."

He blushed and picked up the hedge clippers from the turf. "Well, I better get back to it." As an afterthought he said, "Hey, if you're staying a while you should come to Max's tonight. The bar across the way there. I usually meet Sam and some other friends there after work for a few drinks and a bit of pool. I dunno, could be something to do."

Aya smiled. It was a long time since anyone had invited her anywhere without an ulterior motive. She sensed she had to be careful she didn't lead Alex on. He seemed like one of the few genuine humans out there. Clueless, but genuine.

"Okay," she conceded, after a moments thought to the contrary. "Perhaps."

Chapter Eight

Aya was a little apprehensive about going to the bar that evening. Having spent the afternoon at the bookshop and the library, she was more than ready for a few drinks, but less inspired about the questions she would be asked by Alex and this Sam guy. They would want to know about her, where she was from, what she was doing here. There was no hiding her accent, she was undoubtedly British. She could speak many languages, but the accent was something she kept hold of unconsciously. After her research session at the library, she found England wasn't the world power it once was. America and the sleeping giant of the east, China, were at the fore front. Politics were more cut throat, weapons and war more destructive. This time was more complicated than she thought possible.

The bar was busy, full of people winding down on a Friday afternoon, desperate to forget their working week. She pushed through the doorway and immediately felt the presence of two vampires over by the far right wall. Glancing in their direction her eyes found Alex sitting with them, laughing at some joke someone had just told. Walking towards them, she smiled as Alex raised his hand to wave her over.

"Hey," he said, getting up. "Glad you could make it. This is Sam and his girlfriend, Liz. This is Aya." He gestured to the two she knew to be the vampires from the previous night. Clearly, he didn't have a clue.

"Oh," she said, extending her hand. "Pleased to meet you. Sam, you work with Alex, right?"

He smiled warmly, shaking her hand. "I see he's been telling you a few things. Hopefully nice."

"Not much." Aya smiled, turning to Liz and shaking her hand, keeping her expression even. She was the annoying vampire from earlier that morning. Overprotective and unsure of herself, unwilling when it came to confrontation.

"I was just telling them that Zac was harassing you in the gardens today," Alex said apologetically.

She shrugged. "You call that harassing? Really, it was nothing I couldn't deal with."

Sam let out a laugh, "From what he said it sounded like you mortally wounded him. I've known him my entire life and whatever you've done, keep doing it. He needs to be taken down a peg or two." He winked wickedly at her.

"Ahh," Aya said. "So you're the brother." Okay, she thought, so this is getting complicated. At least she might be able to find out a few things about them and what they wanted. It wasn't like they were going to come out and say they were vampires. She knew they suspected something wasn't right about her, but they would be hard pressed in revealing anything unless she chose to.

"Unfortunately, yes." Sam smiled warmly and winked again. "Luckily, I'm the nice one. Zac likes to play the bad boy, but underneath it all, he's a decent guy. Just doesn't like showing it."

"Oh, I see. Like a defense mechanism, right?" Aya said a little sarcastically. She could hear Zac coming up behind her, betrayed by his blood.

"To protect myself from the big bad world," Zac said darkly from behind.

"I could use a defense mechanism myself right about now." Aya rolled her eyes and turned to face him.

Zac frowned and ran his hand through his hair. "Look, Aya. We've got off on the wrong foot. I'd like to start again."

Sam snorted behind her, making Zac glare even harder. Aya grinned lopsidedly, "I'll think about it, but you'll have your work cut out." The others laughed again. She could tell that he was having a hard time admitting that he was being an idiot. This was probably the best she was ever going to get in the way of an apology.

"Well, let me start by getting you a drink. Scotch?"

"Very observant of you Mr. Degaud." She smiled as he walked away.

"So," Liz began. "How long are you staying for, Aya? Alex mentioned you were only here temporarily."

"I'm not sure yet. It depends on my work." It wasn't a lie.

"What do you do?" asked Sam, casually.

"If she told you, she'd have to kill you," smiled Alex, remembering their conversation that morning.

Aya noticed the fleeting looks of panic on Sam and Liz's faces before they laughed, "Good one."

"What do you do for fun, Aya?" Liz asked.

What did she do in her spare time? She thought back to the 1860s. She'd come to Ashburton to find and punish a naughty witch. What she did for fun was play with people's emotions and drink their blood. She could hardly tell them that. "I travel a lot, so I like to learn about the places I visit."

"A history buff, huh? You'd get along with Alex's sister. Too bad she's in England studying right now," said Liz. "Where is she again?"

"Oxford," said Alex with a sad note in his voice. He must miss her. "Where is your family from, Aya?"

"A small village in the Lake District," she said, which was mostly the truth. "Grasmere. It's quite a way from Oxford, in the Northwest."

There was an annoying buzzing sound that grew louder and crescendoed as Zac placed a glass of scotch in front of her. She gave him a half smile in thanks and took a large mouthful. Sam raised his eyebrow slightly at her thirst for alcohol, but she chose to ignore him.

"Why'd you come to the States, then?" Alex asked.

"A job offer." Aya shrugged. "It was too good to refuse, if you know what I mean."

"What about your family?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't speak with them." That was true. The table became silent at this, Aya taking advantage of the break in the questioning to down the rest of her drink to help curb her annoyance.

"So, you two are gardeners," she changed the subject, when it became apparent that no one knew what to say next. "What do you two do?" She looked at Liz and Zac.

"Well," Liz began. "I work over at the coffee house for the moment. I'm thinking about college in the spring or next fall. And what do you do Zac?" The last part came out with a note of sarcasm.

"I do a lot of stuff," he said.

"He does nothing but be a nuisance all day," Sam explained.

"I don't need to work. So, I don't see the point."

"Isn't it boring?" Aya asked.

"Nope. Not when there's so many people who rise to the occasion," he said, prodding for a reaction.

"I've never risen once."

"Not yet." His eyes narrowed.

Aya turned to Sam, ignoring Zac's last statement. "So, where do you live, exactly?"

"We own the old manor and plantation grounds on the east side of town," he replied.

"Ahh, the Degaud Manor. Obviously."

"Do you know it?" Alex asked.

Aya contemplated what she had read in the library's archives. The human population of the town seemed to only know the diluted story. The Degaud Massacre was a dark piece of town history that was only told in an offhand way, it wasn't something that was dwelt upon. It was said that back in the weeks after the Civil War had ended, a servant had become insane. They had slaughtered everyone who lived in the house and plantation, mutilating their bodies beyond recognition. The few slaves that had escaped claimed it was the work of voodoo spirits and wouldn't set foot near the land again and soon after, they disappeared too. It had been abandoned since, only caretakers going to check the property every so often. Most people kept away, spooked by the many ghost stories that had been made up about the place.

"Yes. I've read the stories." She also remembered the manor and its occupants from before. News of the massacre was a little unsettling, but she wasn't shocked by these things anymore. It was, undoubtedly, the work of vampires, not an insane servant. It had all the calling cards.

"And I can safely say, there are no ghosts or voodoo spirits lurking anywhere near the place," Sam laughed. "They're all just scary stories."

"Well, that's reassuring." She smiled, knowing that ghosts, or rather spirits, did exist. She'd assisted with a few exorcisms in her time. The ghosts associated with the manor, well, it was probably just the memory of what had supposedly happened there that gave an uncomfortable feeling.

After that, the subject changed to lighter topics. Gossip and stories about people and places she had no knowledge or interest in, so she let her mind wander a little. Keeping one ear on the conversation, she watched each vampire's mannerisms as they spoke.

Sam she picked to be the kinder of the brothers. He was rational and used his head more often than his heart. Liz was young and the way she spoke and held herself said that she was inexperienced at life in general. Alex was undoubtedly human in that he followed his heart in almost everything, but he was naive in trusting that everyone around him had some good in them. That would one day be his downfall. And Zac, who said very little the whole evening, showed himself to be arrogant and impulsive by the way he held himself; more concerned with what he could get out of someone to use to his advantage. He was a typical vampire.

But, all of them were holding onto the human parts of themselves, some more than others. Liz and Sam were holding the tightest, almost desperately wanting to be the immortal humans capable of doing good. And Zac? His hold was reluctant at best. It wouldn't take much to push him over the edge.

"I need to freshen up," proclaimed Liz, snapping her out of her reflection. "Aya, come with."

"I'm fine thanks," she replied, raising her eyebrow.

"Oh, Aya. C'mon. I want to talk to you without the boys listening in," she winked at them. Trust me, she mouthed back at the brothers as she took Aya's arm and led her towards the ladies room.

Liz closed the bathroom door behind them and put her bag on the basin. The stalls were empty and the dull roar of the busy bar was the only sound that filled the room. She took out a compact from her purse and began to dab powder on her face. Aya leaned against the basin and eyed the young vampire in the mirror, feigning smoothing her hair down.

"What does your name mean?" Liz asked after a moment.

"It's just one of those strange names. My parents were free spirits," she shrugged.

"Right, I get it. Like the English equivalent of hippies? We had a girl at our school once who was named Rainbow Apple." She laughed at the insane notion.

"Well, that seems unfortunate," Aya said, reacting to the tone in Liz's voice. "How long have you and Sam been together?"

"Oh, about a year. He helped me through a rough patch and it kind of just happened, you know?" she smiled.

"That's a pretty ring," Aya reached out and took Liz's hand so she could see. It was a small onyx stone set into an ornate silver band and it tingled with the charm she knew it was infused with. It was the trinket that allowed her to walk in the sun and the magic was old. Their witch couldn't have spelled it for her or even made one in the first place.

"Thanks. Sam gave it to me," she said, taking her hand back nervously, pretending to look it herself. "You don't wear any jewelry. How come?"

"I never really saw the point. Maybe if someone gave me something, I would."

"Like a handsome man," Liz giggled, winking at her.

Aya groaned inwardly. Girl talk grated on her insides, but it was a means to an end. "Maybe," she replied, playing along.

"Do you have anyone, back where you're from?"

"No. No handsome man waiting for me. My life is in America. For now, at least." She hadn't had to lie yet, but then again, she was good at this.

"Well, the guys around here are all falling over themselves over you."

"Really?" Aya frowned.

"Yes! Of course they are. Aya, you're hot. You could have any one of them you wanted." Liz offered her her lipstick.

She shook her head. "I never noticed."

"I can tell Alex thinks you're beautiful. Zac, too."

Aya scoffed at the notion. "Alex is sweet," she conceded.

Liz apparently took the opportunity to push her towards the other brother. "Zac's really not that bad. Overprotective of his brother and he can say a lot of inappropriate things. But, he's a decent guy under it all. He just likes to put on a show."

"I know the type," she rolled her eyes. "And it gets old very quickly."

Liz frowned, but quickly covered it up with a grin. "C'mon. I think we need more drinks. Make a late one of it." She linked her arm through Aya's and pulled her back out into the bar, obviously trying to appear her new best friend.

As they emerged from the bathroom, Zac stepped in front of Aya blocking her way. He'd obviously decided to try another tactic. Liz's arm slid from hers and she stopped and turned back. Seeing Zac there she winked at her before continuing back to their table.

"Yes?" Aya prodded, when he didn't say anything.

"What are you really doing here, Aya?" he asked, stepping closer than she would like.

"Well, I thought that would be obvious. I'm having a drink with some nice people I met. Then you came along."

"Oh, don't play coy with me." He ran a finger down her cheek and along her jaw line. She noticed that his pupils were dilating slightly. She couldn't believe the gall of this man – he was trying to compel her! It would never work, but it angered her more than it should have. Her expression darkened and she drew back and slapped him. For her it was light, but his head snapped to the side with the force of it and his hand went to his face in surprise. Stalking back to the table, she let her expression darken with anger.

"Oh, Aya, I'm sorry," Liz cried when she sat down heavily. They'd been watching. "After what I said... "

Aya shrugged. She had expected no less from him. In all her years it was a rare man who didn't only think about one thing where women were concerned. Especially when they were trying to coerce information from her. She caught sight of Zac as he pushed through the exit heavily. He wasn't used to being shot down, that much she could tell. She sighed and took a long draught from her glass, already tired of his game.

******

Alex and Sam were in deep conversation by the bar as they waited to be served. The place had really filled up and it was taking ages for the staff to come along. Sam was asking his friend about Aya. Alex told him she'd been wandering the gardens that morning and he'd run into her, got talking and invited her to join them.

Alex seemed enamored with her, which could be a problem. He'd picked up a feeling from Aya that unsettled him. There was nothing about her that gave away that she may be a vampire, but if she was as old as they suspected, then she would be an expert in hiding her true self from the world. At least she'd seemed to have picked up on Alex's feelings and had kept herself at a distance, that one he would give her.

"Yeah," Alex was saying. "She seems real nice. But, she doesn't seem to like to talk about herself much."

"No," Sam agreed. "She doesn't at all." Thus far, all her answers had been vague at best.

When they reached the table, they noticed Gabby had joined them and Zac had disappeared. Aya seemed to be wound up about something and his brother's absence seemed to be part of it. He wondered what he'd said this time.

"Liz and I have been friends since the seventh grade," Gabby was saying.

"And I've known Alex since grade school," Liz smiled at him as they approached.

"She's the one who taught me to put sand down other kids pants," Alex looked at her with mock disapproval. "And I got into a lot of trouble for it, too."

"What happened to Zac?" asked Sam, sitting back in his seat.

Liz rolled her eyes. "What do you think happened? He's gone."

Sam looked from her to Aya and said, "Sorry."

"It seems like you apologize for him a lot," Aya said darkly. "I'd stop while you're ahead."

Sam ran his hand through his hair and laughed, "You're probably right. I guess it's just habit."

"I'm sorry, but I have to go." She stood abruptly. "It was nice to meet you all."

Sam went to protest, but she had already turned and was several paces away. Looking to Alex, he shrugged. He would get the report from Zac later, no doubt. Clinking glasses with everyone, he promptly put them out of his mind.

******

When Sam got home he found Zac in the parlor as usual, lying on the sofa with an empty bottle of whiskey. If he were human, he'd be considered an alcoholic, or at least in hospital with alcohol poisoning.

"Let it rip, brother," Sam said as he sat down in his usual chair. The way they sat was very doctor patient.

As if sensing this, Zac sat up and scowled. "I tried a different tactic, since talking wasn't getting anywhere. If she was human, then she could be compelled."

Sam stifled a laugh. "You tried to compel her? And?"

"And it didn't work," he snapped.

"So, you automatically think she's not human?"

"She makes Gabby uneasy. Hell, even I can tell something is off. Don't tell me you can sense anything, I wouldn't believe it."

"Fine, yes. Something is off," he conceded. "I'm assuming that you've had enough time to think of another plan while you've been here licking your wounds?"

Zac rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course."

"Spit it out."

"What are the three things that we can use on her to verify she's a vampire?"

Sam sighed, but played along. "Silver, sunlight and concentrated garlic."

"Sunlight won't work, we already know that. So, we need a house that a human lives in," he raised his eyebrows as if he was willing Sam to catch on.

"Alex. You want her to go to Alex's and see if she needs to be invited in?"

"Not only that," he smiled. "Invite her over to dinner and spike her food."

"That's a little childish, isn't it?" Sam snorted.

"Maybe, but it's simple enough and foolproof."

Sam reluctantly had to agree. They didn't have the time to sit back and wait. They had to take the offensive. He knew that Zac would need him to suggest the plan to Alex without him catching on, making it seem like it was his idea to invite Aya.

"Right," he said, running his hands down his face. "Leave it with me. I'll get Alex to invite her and make sure she turns up."

Zac smiled. "That's my boy." He thumped him on the shoulder and disappeared.

Chapter Nine

By Monday it was hot and muggy, the lingering moisture in the air annoyingly heavy. It made work in the gardens difficult for Alex. Sam, not so much, but he complained to keep his friend happy. They were working on repainting the bandstand for the upcoming Spring Festival organized by the local Historical Society. A whole weekend of pre-Civil War era activities that was an awkward blast from the past for Sam, who'd been there the first time round.

"Hey, we haven't had dinner in ages," Sam said, suddenly. "We should do it this weekend."

Alex jumped down off the ladder, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Oh, yeah. Sounds cool. I think it was my turn, right?"

"I don't really remember. But if you want to do it, I'll convince everyone to bring something or at least help out." He didn't explain his and Zac's ulterior motive at getting Aya in a situation where they could test her. Sam felt bad about manipulating his friend like this, but too much was at stake. The Witch Hunter hadn't shown up yet and whoever it was was their only lead. Who knew when Katrin would rear her ugly head?

"Okay, deal." Alex threw his paint stained gloves into the barrow at his feet. "Speaking of food, it's lunchtime and I'm starving. Wanna go over to the cafe?"

Sam heartily agreed and they walked together towards Mrs. Greene's cafe, but as they crossed the street Alex nudged him motioning towards the window of the bookstore. Inside, sitting on a sofa, reading a book about the architecture of bridges, was Aya. She seemed rather enthralled in the workings of modern engineering, so much so that when Alex tapped on the glass, she jumped.

As Alex ducked into the store, Sam cast his hearing out after his friend.

"Hey, Aya," Alex said as he approached her.

"What's up?" She was smiling at him.

"I just wanted to know if you wanted to come to dinner on Friday," he asked, but quickly continued when she hesitated. "Oh, it's a dinner party type thing. There will be some other people. Gabby, Liz, Sam."

She still seemed hesitant. "Oh, sounds nice."

"Okay, well, it's at my place at seven. Friday night," he said, giving her the address.

Aya's eyes flickered to Sam's through the window. "Sure. I'd love to."

Alex grinned, backing out of the store. "Great. I'll catch you later then."

Sam sighed, turning away from the window. Alex had invited her, just as they knew he would. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty as he came out of the bookstore, a grin plastered on his face. Sam elbowed him, laughing and they went to collect their lunch.

******

Thankfully, Friday came without any outside issues. They'd all arrived at Alex's early, Sam having told Liz and Gabby about their plan. They'd decided it would be best if they were there before Aya arrived, so they could prepare. Alex didn't suspect anything, glad for the help in the kitchen, where Zac and Liz were currently holed up under the pretence of opening the wine.

"She doesn't wear any jewellery," Liz said. "How can she be out in the daytime?"

"That's irrelevant. It could be because she's old enough, or a witch spelled her body," Zac explained as he popped the cork from the one of the bottles and handed it to her.

"I thought that didn't work on you?" she asked, confused.

"Just because it didn't work on me the first time, doesn't mean it didn't on her," he said sarcastically, taking a jar from his jacket pocket.

"And what's that?"

Zac shook the small jar, so the powder moved about inside. "This is silver." He took off the lid and sprinkled it over the mashed potatoes Liz had dished up on Aya's plate, careful not to let it touch his skin. Picking up a fork, he mixed it through. Taking out another jar from his opposite pocket, he sprinkled a clear liquid into the bottle of wine with the least left and shook it.

"And what was that?"

"This is a little something I got off a person of dubious nature," he winked. "It's something like garlic."

"But, garlic won't do anything."

"True, but concentrated enough, it will bring blood to the surface. Ingested, it will make her vomit it up by the bucket full."

"Zac, I'm not sure about this," Liz shook her head. "It's over the top. We should just stick with the silver."

"Now, now, Liz. We have to be sure what she is. The last thing we need is another threat on top of an insane dead witch. I think she's a vampire and this is a foolproof way of finding out. Alex will invite her in without thinking, so obviously we need a backup plan." He turned and placed the plate back into the oven to keep it warm. "Just make sure you give her the right plate and all will be okay. I don't want to be the one vomiting over the dinner table."

"What about Alex? He doesn't know about any of this." Liz was wringing her hands together with worry.

"I will deal with Alex if need be. A little compulsion never hurt anyone."

"It doesn't sit right with me, Zac."

"Just blame it all on me. I'm used to it," he shrugged.

They returned to the dining room, where Gabby, Sam and Alex were seated, drinking the wine that Liz had brought with her. Zac placed the bottle he'd spiked next to Liz and winked.

"You did tell her seven, right?" Sam joked when he saw Alex fidgeting.

"Yeah." He jumped when there was a sudden knock on the front door.

Alex stood awkwardly, almost knocking over his glass. Zac followed him from the dining room, waiting to see what would happen.

Alex strode to the front door and opened it to find Aya standing on the other side. He gasped a little as he took in her appearance. She wore a tight fitting black blouse and dark grey skinny jeans that clung to all the right places in all the right ways and she'd had a hair cut. Her black hair still hung halfway down her back, but it was all different lengths. She looked like a singer in a rock band and very beautiful. Alex blushed a little and said, "Hi."

Smiling brightly, Aya stepped inside and hugged him. "Lovely to see you again," she chirped.

Zac hid his look of confusion. She hadn't been invited in at all. She just stepped through the door like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. It was ordinary, but she had so many vampire tendencies he was sure she couldn't come in... and she couldn't be compelled, either. Was he wrong? He snapped back to reality as he realized she was speaking to him. "Earth to Zac," she snapped her fingers in front of his face.

"What, don't I get a hug?" he said, a wicked tone in his voice.

She laughed. "No."

"Aya, you wound me." He feigned clutching his heart as she glided past him into the dining room.

******

Aya could hardly hold back laughter when she caught Zac's expression. Thresholds weren't an issue for her, much like the sun. He'd obviously been counting on Alex giving her an invitation before she stepped inside.

Liz, Sam and Gabby were seated at the dining table as she walked in, drinking wine and laughing at some joke Sam had just told. Upon seeing her, Liz got up and poured her a glass from the near empty bottle and handed it to her. "Aya! It's great that you could make it. Here, have a glass."

Aya took the wine glass and sat at an empty spot at the table, Zac sitting across from her. She took a sip, aware that Zac was watching her closely, pretending to be distracted by something else. "Thank you to Alex for inviting me," she inclined her head towards him as he came back in from the kitchen.

"Oh, it was no problem." He blushed. "Everything's ready if you're hungry now?"

"If you like."

Liz stood abruptly and said, "I'll help you, Alex."

"It's a nice wine," Aya said, swirling the red liquid around the glass as they disappeared into the kitchen.

Zac slumped back in the chair, almost disappointed.

"I picked it out," said Gabby. "I'm the only one who knows what's good. Otherwise we would have got the cheapest one."

Sam laughed and agreed as Liz put a plate in front of Aya. When they were all seated, they began to eat.

"Meatloaf," Alex shrugged almost apologetically, when Aya raised her eyebrow at him.

"How American." She smiled politely and ate a few mouthfuls, making a conscious effort to taste every bite. Everyone but Alex seemed to be watching her. "This," she said, gesturing to the plate with her fork, "this is delicious."

"Great," Alex beamed. "It's about the only thing I can cook."

"Well, you can cook it well, that's for sure," Liz said.

Aya couldn't help herself. She coughed loudly, feigning choking on a mouthful of potato. Zac sat forward in his chair, his expression hopeful. She thumped her chest and took a mouthful of wine. "Went down the wrong way," she smiled brightly.

As the conversation naturally turned to things that were more familiar to the host, she groaned inwardly. It was fast turning into one of those boring dinner parties where people told annoying personal jokes. Unfortunately, she was the odd one out having only been around a week or so. It reminded her of the formal dinners and cocktail parties she had attended back in the day. The day being somewhere around 1860ish. Empty pleasantries, childish gossip and blatant social climbing. She longed for something interesting to talk about. Murder, mayhem. Those things she was used to.

After dessert, she excused herself to the bathroom to get some distance and some air. Zac's constant hovering was driving her insane and it was all she could do to tune out the annoying hum of his blood.

Closing the bathroom door behind her she sighed loudly. Looking at her reflection in the mirror she weighed up the information she'd learnt. After observing them for the last few days, she still didn't have any clue as to their motivation for calling her.

Walking into the house as she had had certainly thrown them off the scent. The wine and the food had been spiked with something that Zac'd obviously thought would have an effect on her. Silver and garlic? She smiled to herself when she recalled the look of mingled confusion and anger on his face. She had developed quite a liking for infuriating him. He always rose to the occasion, not the other way round and would be furious when he finally caught on that he was the one being played. She couldn't wait to see the look on his face.

Alex was being very attentive, but she knew without a doubt it was because he was developing a crush on her. He had no idea that his friends were vampires. Especially Liz, who seemed to be a friend of his since early childhood. She felt a little sorry for him, but it could be difficult to understand those that would usually hunt you for food. He would find out sooner or later, when he grew old and she did not. Liz would have to leave town eventually before people started to ask questions about the eternal twenty-one year old.

Splashing cool water on her face, she wondered what their problem could be. She hadn't sensed anything malicious in the town at all, other than the werewolves. She'd dealt with them easily enough, but the vampires were still sniffing around, trying to expose what she was. Were they working with someone else who was out to get her? Even that didn't sit right. Looking up into the mirror, she jumped as she caught sight of a figure standing directly behind her.

Without turning, she knew that no one was there. Not really. She glared at the woman and finally understood. She was just as she remembered, the day she had delivered her death sentence. Tall and slim, fiery auburn hair that fell in waves over her shoulders and that same cold calculated expression that never shifted.

"Katrin," Aya rolled her eyes. "You don't look a day over a billion, you old hag."

"My dear," Katrin purred. "I've been looking for you for a very long time. You've been a very naughty little vampire."

Aya couldn't help but laugh. "It was a shame you weren't home when I killed your demon spawn, you murderous bitch."

"Oh, but dear, I'm already dead." Her expression didn't waver. "Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that that boy in all his ignorance would deliver you to me."

Aya stiffened.

"Oh, he hasn't told you about his little predicament?" Katrin asked in mock surprise.

She didn't reply.

"It's past due that I should send my children to pay you a visit," Katrin continued. "All four of you together again, how wonderful. Now that we know your location, I'm sure they won't be long. Perhaps I will just send your favorite? I know he is longing to see your pretty face again. After all, he did fall in love with you."

"Send them all. I'm collecting the whole set," Aya snarled. "And I will enjoy killing him most of all."

"So be it. You will regret using your power again, little girl. This time it will destroy you."

"It's a bit late for that," she spat.

"It's only just begun." The witch's form began to shimmer and evaporate until Aya was finally alone.

Taking a deep breath to control her emotions, she hit the bench top with her fist. It would do no good to become angry. She knew that Katrin wouldn't focus on Zac anymore, but would use all of them to get to her. She had unwittingly implicated her new friends in an age old blood feud. She was a much greater prize than an annoying brat of a vampire.

For the rest of the evening she fought to keep herself in check, exchanging pleasantries with the vampires, the witch and their human host. Her heart wasn't in it, the need for her previous charade slipping. When it was time to say goodnight, she asked Gabby for a ride to town. She needed some alone time with the elusive witch.

As they filed out of the house and down the driveway, Aya heard the annoying buzz that announced Zac was following them from the house.

"Aya," he called. "Can I speak to you a moment?"

Gabby looked at her, a note of sympathy on her face and kept walking to the car. Aya turned and raised her eyebrows at Zac, who stood with his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans. He was nervous.

"I just want to apologize for the other night," he grimaced.

She looked him up and down. "You say that like you don't mean it."

"I do." He wasn't even convincing himself.

"You don't apologize often, do you?"

He sighed through his teeth.

"What's your deal, Zac?" Aya prodded, when he didn't say anything.

"What do you mean?" he frowned.

"I mightn't know you very well, but I'm switched on enough to tell that you're acting weird." She crossed her arms. "What do you want?"

She knew very well that he wouldn't come straight out and ask her the fifty thousand dollar question. It would mean that he had to reveal himself, but she was curious to see what lie he would come up with.

"I... " He couldn't bring himself to say anything and it annoyed her more than she thought it would.

"Why can't you just act like a normal person?" She shook her head in annoyance, speaking more to herself than Zac.

"Like Alex?" he said like it was an insult.

"Not that it's any of your business, but Alex speaks to me because he likes to, not because he wants something. Perhaps you should take a leaf out of his book." Aya turned on her heel and strode to Gabby's car, getting into the passenger seat.

Gabby glanced at her and started the car. Pulling away from the curb she said, "He's the biggest ass in the entire town. I wouldn't take anything he says to heart. There's no filter from his head to his mouth."

"So people keep telling me." She wasn't worried that much about Zac and his mood swings. Katrin had unsettled her entirely and it was time to out herself. She knew Gabby would be the most understanding. They were so alike in many ways. "Gabby, there is something that I need to tell you. I think it would be best if you pull over."

Gabby glanced over to her, concern etched in her face. The car came to a stop and she pulled the handbrake on, turning off the engine. "Aya, what is it?" she asked warily, the note of fear in her voice. She knew she had more than a notion about what she was going to divulge.

Aya took a deep breath. "I am the one known as the Witch Hunter and I know it was you and Zac who called me. Not half an hour ago, I was threatened by the witch Katrin. I believe you know who I'm talking about."

Gabby's face drained of color.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Gabby. I wish to help you."

It took a few minutes for Gabby to work up the courage to speak. "Then we have a lot to talk about."

Chapter Ten

Gabby opened the front door to the manor. It bothered her that the brothers never locked it, but they were vampires. Surely it didn't matter either way. Walking into the parlor, she found everyone assembled, waiting for her. She wasn't sure how she should break the news to them. Aya's confession the previous night had come as a shock, but deep down she wasn't really surprised.

She was more than a vampire, Gabby knew this, but what else was a mystery. That much Aya had proved at dinner. They had talked for a long time once she'd admitted who she was. Gabby remembered how much she had said, but how little she'd revealed. It had taken some time to convince Aya to come to the manor to speak with everyone, especially after Zac's behavior. She still had a lot of questions and was sure everyone else would have just as many.

"So, what's the big scandal, Gabby?" Zac was lounging back on the sofa, clearly annoyed.

Gabby crossed the room and dumped her bag on the coffee table, placing her grimoire carefully beside it. It was best she just came out with it. Rip it off like a band aid. "Last night after leaving Alex's, Aya confessed to me that she is the Witch Hunter."

"What?" Sam exclaimed, standing up to face her. "And you believed her?"

Gabby shrunk back slightly. "She gave me no reason not to. She told me that she had been threatened by Katrin while she was at Alex's. While we were all there in the house."

"Katrin was in the house?" Zac had sat forward at this, worry etched on his face.

"She said she appeared to her in the bathroom mirror. She couldn't touch her, she was only a projection." Gabby took a few steps back before saying, "I told her to meet us here."

Zac was on his feet. "Gabby, be careful what you say next."

"She can answer a lot of our questions, Zac." Sam placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "If she is the Witch Hunter as she says, then we would have no chance against her if she really wanted us dead."

Zac glared at Gabby. "Well, she sure has a talent for manipulation. She could be anyone or anything."

"Well, she's coming here any moment, so you can ask her yourself." Gabby crossed her arms across her chest defensively.

"We don't even know who she is! She could be coming here to kill us all!" exclaimed Liz, who had been listening in horrified silence.

"I for one don't believe that the spell would be in the grimoire unless we could trust it," said Gabby. "It hasn't lead me astray yet and now more than ever, I truly believe it was our only option."

"Oh, now you agree with the spell," Zac huffed.

"Now that I've spoken with Aya, yes," she said evenly, her eyes narrowed. "Now who's the one with regrets?" Zac snorted and she continued her scolding. "You begged me to cast the damn spell, Zac. Besides, I don't think she's just a vampire. She can do things that you can't."

"And what else could she be? You think she's some kind of super freaky hybrid?"

"I'm not entirely sure."

"Nice work, Gabby. You're a wealth of knowledge." Zac rolled his eyes and clapped his hands.

"Oh, shut up, Zac. It's your fault we're in this mess. Next time be careful who you piss off and you wouldn't need my help."

"What can I say? I do a lot of things I don't need to do, but I do 'em anyway."

"That's enough you two." Sam's calm voice cut through the tension. "We should hear what Aya has to say first before jumping to any conclusions."

******

Aya had arrived some minutes ago. The front door had been unlocked, as a seemingly abandoned house with two vampires didn't need any security. She remembered the house that had once stood here near the edge of the swamp and its current incarnation was dilapidated. She wondered what had really happened, but she knew that vampires had been responsible for this and much of the destruction in the South. The walls seemed to echo some kind of supernatural interference.

She could hear raised voices coming from down the hall. Of course they would be arguing. The brothers especially, they seemed as different as night and day. Aya strolled towards the action, taking in the old paintings along the walls, landscapes and portraits of long dead southern plantation owners. Very French.

She stood in the doorway of the large sitting room and surveyed the scene. Zac and Gabby were bickering like children in front of the massive fireplace, which was popping away merrily. Sam was being the level headed mediator and Liz was rolling her eyes with frustration. Liz had so much to learn about life, her stupidity made her gag. Although no one had noticed her, she feigned throwing up on the carpet. Silently, she made herself comfortable on the ancient brocaded sofa and watched the show.

"We at least need to ask her what she knows," Gabby was saying. "She told me she knew the witch Katrin. If she knows her, she might at least know where we might look next."

"I don't trust her," Zac growled. "She played us for fools."

"She's the female version of you," said Sam, earning himself a menacing glare.

"And you are a fool," snapped Liz.

"Oh, yeah, Liz. Your entire life was my fault," Zac snarled.

Liz went to slap him but Sam put his hand on her shoulder to calm her. "Shut it, Zac. I don't care whose fault this is, but you're my brother and that makes it my problem as well."

Zac begrudgingly took a step back and raised his hands. "Fine. The sooner we talk to this ancient bitch, the sooner we can kill Katrin."

"I wouldn't call her that to her face." Gabby raised her eyebrows. "I bet she could snap you in half."

Aya lounged back on the sofa and watched them argue about her. They still hadn't noticed that she was a mere two meters away. She really was too sneaky for her own good. "You know," she quipped. "It's extremely impolite to talk about someone behind their back." She grinned in satisfaction as they all jumped.

"Fucking hell, Aya. How long have you been there?" Zac exclaimed.

She smiled wickedly. "A while."

"Do you want us to trust you or not?"

She paused a second and pretended that she was thinking it over. Shaking her head, she said, "Doesn't faze me. We want the same thing, to a certain extent. Trust is optional."

"To you, maybe," Liz stepped forward. "But it's important to us."

"To twenty first century do-gooders, maybe. Trust is not a huge priority when dealing with vampires." Aya moved forward fluidly, until she was directly in front of Liz. "Is it exhausting holding onto so much of your humanity? Denying what you have become?"

"Back off," warned Sam as Liz visibly cringed under her imposing presence.

Aya glared at him from under her eyelashes, the light from the fire making her expression almost demonic. "You decided to cast a spell in a moment of desperation not knowing what would happen. Now I am here and here I will stay."

"But we don't know anything about you," Liz said protectively.

Aya narrowed her eyes at the young vampire. "And what would you know? You've been a vampire less than a year. To me, that's a blink of an eye. A piss in the ocean."

"Then, how old are you really?" asked Zac from behind her.

Looking back over her shoulder she stated, "I think it was about the year forty-six. Anno domini. But I could be mistaken, your mind starts to deteriorate when you're an ancient bitch."

Zac narrowed his eyes and didn't say anything.

"But, that would mean you're nearly two thousand years old," Sam said in a small voice.

"Is it really so hard to believe?" It felt good not having to hide herself anymore, letting her anger guide her words. They all looked alarmed at the notion of her being so old. They mustn't know much about their own kind at all. "And how old are you?"

"Why do they call you the Witch Hunter?" Gabby said, changing the subject before it came to blows.

"That's self explanatory," she said sarcastically. "If a witch uses their power for evil, then it's curtains for them." Aya dragged her finger across her throat.

"Why witches?" asked Liz.

"Why not?" she raised her eyebrows. The tone in her voice suggested that this was her final answer on the subject.

"And why is Katrin after you?" Sam asked gently.

"Probably the same reason she's after him." She pointed to Zac, avoiding his question. "Because we all pissed her off."

"And now she knows you're working with us," huffed Zac.

"Am I now?"

"Two birds, one stone," Gabby whispered, shaking her head.

"We don't really have an option. That's why they used the spell," Sam said reluctantly.

Aya curled her lip in a snarl at the memory of being forced awake by it. It had felt like she'd be doused with a bucket of cold water.

"Do you know who wrote the spell in my grimoire?" asked Gabby, picking it up and turning to a place marked by a slip of paper.

Aya looked at the page Gabby pointed out and sighed. "I helped your ancestor, once upon a time. I can't believe that idiot wrote a spell. At least it's not specific, but troublesome."

"What do you mean, troublesome?"

"I've done a lot of things to annoy many people. None more so than Katrin. I get followed by her thugs more often than not. So, you can understand why this spell is inconvenient."

"Is that why you hid yourself from us? For fear that we were working with Katrin?" Sam asked gently.

"One reason," Aya confirmed. "Though, fear had no part in it."

"Of course not," Zac snorted.

"Why could you come into Alex's house without being invited?" Liz asked.

Aya thought for a moment, then said, "I can walk wherever I want."

"But, why?"

"Because I can." The statement was final.

"Zac, remember the vampire you killed. He was one of Katrin's, wasn't he looking for someone?" Sam prodded. "And he's what started the mess with the werewolves."

"And what happened to them?" Aya asked, knowing full well she was what happened.

"Gone. They won't bother us again," Zac glowered as if remembering something horrible. "The vampire was looking for you, Aya. No doubt about it."

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"I remember because I made fun of him. He said he was looking for a woman; black of hair, blue of eye. And you're the only one fitting that description around here."

"What was his name?"

"Alistair something. Payne? I don't really remember."

"And you killed him?" Aya cocked her head.

"Yes."

"Good. He was annoying." She seemed satisfied.

"You knew him?" Sam asked.

Aya snorted in frustration. "It doesn't really matter, now. Unfortunately, I've lost the element of surprise, but we can work with that. Katrin was watching you somehow." How the hell had they tracked her here? Again?

"How could she be watching us?" Liz looked horrified.

"Katrin is a very old witch, Liz. She found a way to stop her spirit passing on, thus remaining in an in-between place to continue influencing the living. She has many vampires and witches in her following and can see many places through the eyes of others."

"So, you think there's someone physically watching us?" asked Zac, knowing full well that at least one vampire had them under surveillance.

"Perhaps. It's hard to tell. Usually, I can sense who's around, but a witch can help shield them. Especially now that Katrin knows I'm here, that's even more likely."

"Then it would all be in our best interests if you stay here with us at the manor," Sam stated. "As you said, they're after you as well. There's plenty of room and I'm sure Zac won't mind."

Zac glared at his brother. "I do mind, actually. What's to stop her killing us all in our sleep? All we have is her word and after all the lies she has told us... "

Aya rolled her eyes. "If I wanted to kill you all, Zac, I could have done it a billion times by now. Besides, I've only ever told you the truth with a few glaring omissions." Zac huffed in annoyance. "Katrin has caused me much trouble in the past, so I would really like to finish the bitch off. I have no issue with you other than that you're an asshole." Gabby let out a laugh at Aya's statement. "I won't murder you in your sleep. Cross my heart."

"If you cross the line, Aya, be warned... "

"What are you going to do Zac? Punch me like a twenty pound weakling?" She walked around him, sizing him up. "I'd like to take you down a few pegs."

"Cut it out, you two," Sam said firmly, ever the level headed mediator.

Gabby cleared her throat, changing the subject yet again. "So, what do you suggest we do? Go on the offensive or defensive?"

"There's not much we can do until either Katrin shows herself, or one of her thugs appears. Which won't be long," Aya shrugged. "Once the witch has come out of hiding, we need a way to break her hold on the living and send her to the other side for good. There's some witchy homework for you, Gabby." Aya doubted that she could find a way; she seemed totally unaware of her potential. It radiated all around the young witch, but telling her as much would defeat the purpose. Gabby had to find it for herself.

"I'm only new at this, Aya. I don't know what good I can do." Gabby tried to hide the panic in her voice, but it wavered, giving her away.

"I'm sure you'll find something." Aya smiled for the first time. "We'll have a lot to keep us entertained in the meantime."

"Like what?" Zac was still annoyed.

"Staking vampires, thwarting assassination attempts. You know, all the fun stuff." Aya groaned inwardly at the awkward silence that followed. What a boring bunch of vampires. Even she had a taste for a little persuasive violence now and then. But, perhaps not quite as persuasive as ripping apart werewolves had been.

"Well," Liz proclaimed to cover up the awkward silence. "It's rather late, so we better be going home. Could you give me a ride Gabby?"

"Sure," Gabby looked relieved as she gathered her things, her mind seeming preoccupied with the task Aya had entrusted her with.

"Speak to you tomorrow." Liz gave Sam a quick kiss on the lips as they left the parlor, the front door closing a moment later.

Zac glared at Aya and disappeared from the room without a word. Sam shrugged apologetically. "Do you need to go get anything?"

"No," Aya shook her head.

"Nothing? No clothes or anything?" He seemed a little taken aback. She supposed most people had some stuff, a change of clothes would be normal, even for a vampire. She wasn't really what constituted as 'normal'.

"I'm not attached to possessions."

"Well, let me show you upstairs. We have a spare room you can use." He cocked his head towards the door.

Sam led her up the stairs and opened the first door next to the landing. "You can use this room. The bathroom is through there. It joins to my room on the other side. If you need anything, let one of us know. If you want to buy anything I can give you some cash, we don't make a habit of compelling people if we don't have to." He turned and walked back to the bedroom door. "And we don't eat them, either."

Aya nodded her understanding and he closed the door behind him. How the hell had she wormed her way into the Degaud manor? She didn't intend to harm any of them, but it was way too easy. She made a mental note to have a word with Sam about security.

Chapter Eleven

When Aya opened her eyes it was light outside. She sat up, taking in her surroundings in the stark light of day. The room they had given her was modest, but the bed was comfortable. Better than she had slept on in the last one hundred and fifty years, but anything would be better than a lump of rock.

There was no sound coming from the bathroom or the room beyond. Sam had already left for work, it seemed. She showered and dressed in the same clothes as she wore yesterday, making a note to get some more later on.

Venturing out into the hallway, she caught the faint hum of Zac's blood somewhere on the manor grounds. Keeping a note of his general location she began to explore the house. The brothers had done a lot of work to it since moving in. The entire place had been wired with electricity with soft tasteful lighting in every room. She wondered how many workmen they had to compel to have this done. Then again, their parents had been rich plantation owners and a hundred years of interest in their bank accounts would have made them even more well off.

She passed the door to the master bedroom she knew to be Zac's and kept walking. She shuddered to think what was in there. That one could remain a mystery. Tiptoeing down the stairs, she wandered to the back of the house, where the kitchen was located. It was attached to a formal dining room with a long mahogany table with twelve chairs and what looked like the original chandelier hanging from the center of the room. Landscape paintings were on each wall, but otherwise it was bare and looked unused.

She wandered back down the hallway, coming to another closed doorway. Running her hand along the frame to the door handle she listened for a moment and turned it quietly, the door creaking inwards. She found herself in a room that served as a study. A large mahogany desk stood to one side, covered in old papers and books. Behind it, the entire wall was lined with bookshelves filled with more books and trinkets. Opposite, were floor to ceiling French doors that opened up onto the verandah. Outside, she saw the wisteria that had once been grown in such a manicured fashion had over taken most of the railings, ventured up to the second floor and onto the roof. It had been a long time, but she remembered this room as if it were yesterday. Actually, in light of her current predicament, it was only last week.

Approaching the bookshelves, she ran her fingers across the spines, reading the titles as she went. There was a layer of dust, which gave away the fact that no one had moved anything from the shelves in a very long time. They all seemed to be ledgers from the old plantation. Expenditure, profit... until she placed her finger on a copy of Shakespeare's Julius Cesar. Her heart clenched for a moment. She had known a few very dangerous Romans once upon a time. Pulling it from the shelf she flicked through the pages, finally looking at the inside cover. In a perfect script was written, For Louis, Many happy returns on the day of your birth, Arthur Risom.

Arthur Risom. The name sounded familiar.

"What are you doing?" Aya turned to find Zac at the door. He was looking at her in a threatening manner as usual, arms crossed over his chest.

She hadn't heard him appear and she should have by the sound of his blood alone. Placing the book back she said nothing, scolding herself internally.

"Do you always sneak around like that?" he scowled at her.

"Pfft. I don't sneak."

"Then what were you doing?"

She grinned wickedly, biting her lower lip. "Sneaking."

"I don't know what your looking for, but I don't appreciate you poking about my father's study."

"Whatever." She threw her hands up in mock defense. "Touchy this morning, aren't we?"

"Only because you're here," he sneered, looking her up and down.

"Then perhaps I should go watch the show from the sidelines." She sauntered over to him and looked into his strange green eyes. "When they come for you, you'll beg me to poke around." She glared and pushed past his bulky frame into the hallway. Walking down the hall and into the parlor, she heard him following her for round two.

"Aya," he said, not trying to hide his exasperation. "Just leave that stuff alone. It belonged to my father. I just don't want anyone to touch it, okay?"

She turned, raising an eyebrow at him. "Whatever. If it means that much to you, then I won't go in there again. Satisfied?"

He didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway and sat on the couch in a huff.

"You know, this place could really use a duster. It's not as nice as I remember it," she jabbed. "I pity those with allergies. This place is a death trap."

"You've been here before?" he sounded surprised.

Nodding, she said, "I never left."

"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.

"I was asleep since eighteen sixty-ish."

Zac didn't mask his surprise. "You've been asleep in Ashburton for the last one hundred and fifty years?"

Aya shrugged, running a finger across the dusty mantelpiece. "If you hadn't summoned me, I probably still would be." Truthfully, the fact that she had slept so long worried her. Who knows when she would have woken if not for Zac and his impulsiveness. It could only mean she was becoming weaker and she hoped that wasn't true.

"Where?" he asked, not fathoming the mechanics of it.

"The cave. By the lake," she said matter-of-factly.

"Then you would have been here when Sam and I... "

"Louis Degaud was quite the gentleman," she said absently.

"My father?"

"Yes. I believe so."

"Did I? Did Sam... "

"I think you would have remembered if you had met me," she laughed. "I had quite a dramatic presence back then. I believe Louis' eldest son was away fighting in the war, which was quite the scandal. His youngest... Well, I don't really remember. Mrs. Degaud, what was her name again? Marie. She was as polite as they came in those days, which meant she'd stab you in the back if you were to come between her husband and her money."

"When did you leave?" he whispered, his expression somewhat shocked.

Aya frowned at his tone. "About the time your parents received word of their sons heroic death."

"I see."

Aya sensed there was something he thought she knew, but was uncertain of asking her. "The last I knew of this town and the world was in the eighteen sixties. Whatever came to pass after that is unknown to me, along with the so called massacre."

Zac was silent for a moment, as if he was trying to decide what to tell her. "I died in the Civil War," he said finally. "I was shot and left for dead. But, before I died a vampire came. I supposed it was because of all the blood. I was the only one still alive in the pile of corpses. She saw I was a captain and took me for her own gain. When I finally understood that she was using me, I left only to find that she had reached my family before I could."

He stood and walked to the window opposite with his back to her. She could feel that he was troubled by it, trying to hide his expression from her. Who was his maker? Obviously a callous bitch by the sounds of it. This was the vampire that had massacred every last human at the plantation after all. No wonder Zac was such an asshole.

Aya found herself feeling sorry for him, but stopped herself from saying it out loud. She felt sorry now, but back then would she really have done anything to stop it? Instead she asked, "Did you kill her?"

"Yes," he declared, still looking out the window, carefully hiding the emotion in his voice.

"Good." She clapped her hands together, standing up. "Then that problem is solved. The wicked vampire is dead. What was her name?"

Zac turned and frowned at her. "Victoria."

"Oh! Victoria. Long, curly auburn hair? In America by the way of France? Up-herself English bitch? Are we thinking about the same cold hearted vampire here?"

"How did you... " he whispered, eyes wide with surprise.

"Bitch got what she deserved. I hope you made it slow and extremely painful."

Zac was looking at her slightly horrified. He'd met his match in her, that was glaringly obvious.

"Well, thanks for the little chit chat," Aya smiled brightly. "Paces to go, people to eat. You know how it goes." And she was gone before he could open his mouth.

******

Liz was relieved when Gabby came into the coffee house. The previous night was weighing heavily on her and it was all she could do to remain focused on work. Making herself a coffee, she went and sat with her friend in a booth by the window.

Gabby, seeing she was wound up, produced a flask from her bag and handed it to her under the table. Mrs. Greene wouldn't take too kindly to her staff drinking on the clock and at midday, too. She hadn't tested how much it took to make her drunk these days, but she assumed it was a lot.

"To the Irish," Gabby grinned as Liz dumped the contents of the flask into her coffee.

"Thanks, Gab. I really need this today," she sighed, relaxing back into the booth, conscious of the customers around them.

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't pick up on these things?" she winked, grinning. "Besides, with the weird shit we have to deal with, a little whiskey never goes astray."

"Mental, is what it is," Liz groaned. "But, we're in it now, I guess."

"Up to the eyeballs."

"What do you make of her?"

"Who, Aya?"

"Yeah."

Gabby thought for a moment. "Well, she's over two thousand years old. That's gotta screw with your head after a while."

Liz groaned, letting her head loll backwards. "I don't want to think about age."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. I guess thinking about where I'll be in two thousand years is a bit of overkill," Liz laughed at the idea.

"Well, as for Aya, I believe her. There's a lot she's not saying, though. I'm not sure if we should be wary of that or not."

"She also implied that Katrin was hunting her as well," Liz pointed out. "I wonder what she did?"

"And I wonder how long she's been hunted," Gabby added. "Alistair was looking for her, and he was linked to Katrin."

"You're right," Liz took a gulp of her coffee. "Argh! It makes my head hurt."

Gabby was frowning, her mind having drifted to something else. "What I don't understand is why she would help my ancestor. Vampires and witches don't usually get along. I can understand her hunting them, but forging alliances?"

"You get along with Zac and Sam," Liz said. "And me."

"Yeah, but you guys fight your vampire side. You want to be as human as possible. Aya seems like a force all of her own."

"She's not like vampires are meant to be."

"No, that's my point. She's not like you, she doesn't hold onto anything that's human. Or doesn't seem to. She's holding onto something else," Gabby said, frustrated. "I just wish I could figure out what."

"Maybe she was a witch. Before, I mean," she offered.

"No. Witches become ordinary vampires when they're turned. All connection with any power and earth sense is lost."

"How do you know?"

Gabby smiled. "The grimoire is more than a book of spells and potions. It also acts as a kind of journal. A connection to those that have come before."

"Like a family record, a story?"

"Kind of. More like passing along advice," she grinned. "Which I really need, since I'm on my own."

"I think we should be on our guard where Aya's concerned. She's obviously got her own agenda," Liz sighed, catching sight of Alex over Gabby's shoulder. He was frowning at them, clasping his lunch so hard his thumb had dented the sandwich.

"Alex," she waved at him.

Approaching, he smiled weakly, "Hey Liz, Gabby."

"Hey," Gabby turned around, catching the uncertainty in his voice. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he said, looking towards the exit. "I'm just running late. I'll see you later."

Before they could say goodbye, he'd already hurried away and was pushing through the door. Liz glanced at Gabby. "Do you think he heard us?"

"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "He could have."

"I feel bad, you know. Keeping all of this from him."

"I know," Gabby sighed. "It's for the best, though. The more people that are involved... "

"The more people that get hurt," Liz finished her sentence.

"Right," she smiled reassuringly. "On that note, I have to go back to the office."

"Thanks for the Irish," Liz winked heading for her space behind the counter, her thoughts calmed, but no less worried about Aya and now Alex. They were just trying to protect him from all of this, but she wondered how good it was for him to keep pushing him away. Making up stories, excuses. She knew she would have to leave him behind one day, but until then she wanted to hold onto some sense of normality and Alex was a link to her old life. She was being selfish and deep down hoped it wouldn't blow up in her face.

******

Alex flopped onto the ground heavily beside the garden bed he had been mulching before lunch, his sandwich well and truly mangled. He'd overheard the end of the girls' conversation and it worried the hell out of him. He swore that they had been talking about witches, but that didn't seem right. Then Liz had voiced her distrust over Aya's agenda? What the hell?

He jumped when Aya herself flopped down beside him, her eyebrows raised at the sight of his mangled lunch.

"Nice sandwich," she said.

He tossed the sandwich aside, suddenly not hungry. "I guess I don't know my own strength."

Aya frowned at the gesture. "What's up?"

"Nothing, I just heard Gabby and Liz talking about something I shouldn't have overheard," he shrugged.

"Like what?"

Alex hesitated. "They were talking about you."

She laughed at this. "I bet they are."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know I'm living with Zac and Sam for the time being," she smiled. "Zac and I aren't getting along very well. So, I'm sure they all have some colorful things to say about that."

"You're living at the manor?" He seemed surprised.

"Yeah," she grimaced. "It was Sam's idea, obviously. Zac's an annoying prat, but it beats the smelly motel."

"Oh." Alex fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.

Aya, as if sensing his discomfort, stood up and said, "I'll leave you to it, Alex. I've got stuff to do."

Alex watched her disappear across the street. She seemed happier than when he'd first met her. Something had changed to make her that way. Maybe it was just making some friends. He knew from experience that could do wonders for a person. The more he thought about it the more he couldn't help but wonder if she had an agenda like the girls were talking about. She'd never really told him what she was doing in town and what exactly her job was. The obvious FBI and CIA scenarios ran through his mind, but he snorted at the ridiculousness of it. Like she'd be a spook.

But, he couldn't shake what he'd overheard. If Aya really did have an agenda, then what the hell would it be?

******

When Zac walked into Max's bar that night, he was surprised to see Liz sitting at a table on her own with a glass and bottle of Jack. Something was bothering her big time. Sauntering up behind her, he grabbed the bottle and took a mouthful.

"What's up, beautiful," he said, sitting down across from her.

Groaning, she snatched the bottle back from him.

"What?" He raised his hands, grinning, waiting for a response.

"Ass," she hissed.

"Yeah, so what?" Zac laughed, tapping the table top.

"You act like you're not even worried about anything," she shook her head.

"And you are?"

"Of course I am, Zac!" She kept her voice low, growling at him. "Aren't you afraid of being killed?"

"We've all done it before," he shrugged.

"But the next time, you won't come back."

"Afraid you'll miss me?"

Liz sighed heavily, pouring herself another glass of Jack, pushing the bottle towards Zac. "Is everything a joke to you?"

He frowned, the smug smile fading away as he took a long draught straight from the bottle. He played with the idea of telling her what he could hardly admit himself, that he had some semblance of feelings for her. He thought about his brother and that welded his big mouth shut.

"No," he said, staring into her eyes.

Uncomfortable, she sighed heavily, looking away. "I think Alex overheard Gabby and I talking about Aya today."

"You think, or you know?" he asked, the most truthful moment he'd had in the past month dissolving into nothing.

"I think," she said, glaring. "I don't trust her yet. This whole thing scares the hell out of me."

Zac looked at her for a moment, realizing that he hadn't thought of her safety once in the past two weeks. He had been selfish and impulsive – his best two traits. "You'll always be safe if I have anything to do with it." He grabbed her hand under the table.

"I know," she whispered, pulling back awkwardly.

"Liz, I... " he began, but fell short when he caught the unmistakable reek of a werewolf that had just entered the bar.

She looked at him, her expression confused, but turned when she too caught the sent. The man that walked towards them was heavy set, the rough stubble of a new beard covering his chin and he looked pissed off. His rough appearance and plaid shirt made him look like a lumberjack. Except it wasn't the frontier, they were in the middle of a humid, smelly swamp.

"I want to know what happened to my brothers, vamper," the werewolf spat, pushing Zac roughly as he stood.

He hardly remembered it, even though it was only about two weeks ago. A lot had happened since then. Psycho witches and ancient witch hunting vampires trumped five mutilated werewolves. Only in a vampires world.

"What are you implying, dog?" Zac snarled, putting himself in front of Liz.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about you blood sucking piece of shit."

******

Aya laughed to herself. Zac was standing face to face with a werewolf, Liz cowering behind him like a little girl. Her eyes met the young vampire's and it was all she could do not to fall on the floor with laughter. Her silent plea for her help was hilarious.

She'd certainly guessed correctly about Zac, he was always getting himself into trouble. Perhaps this town wouldn't be so boring after all. It was time to send everyone a little message. She'd won this town from the wolves and they needed to keep their hands off for good. It didn't belong to Zac, either. It was hers.

She stopped beside them, placing her hand on the werewolf's shoulder, turning him about. "Now, now," she crooned. "A handsome man like you shouldn't be so angry. I bet you'd rather have a drink with me." She looked him up and down and smiled wickedly, biting her lip. "That idiot isn't even worth it."

Without looking back, she could tell they were stunned as she led the wolf by the hand to the bar. Suddenly, he didn't seem to care that he had been threatening Zac or even sense she was also a vampire. He was more engrossed in her looks and whatever was in his pants to bother. That, and a little prodding by the way of compulsion. She ordered him the strongest drink she could to curb his bloodlust.

"What's a handsome man like you doing in a shithole like this?" she said breathlessly. "What's your name?"

The werewolf could hardly contain his elation. "Ralph."

"Well, Ralph, it sure is a pleasure meeting you." She ran a finger down the buttons of his plaid shirt. "We're going to have some fun. I hope you're up for it." Ralph leaned over her shoulder, picking up his drink and inhaling her scent. By the look on his face, she could tell he was in her thrall. He downed the drink in two gulps and slammed the glass down on the bar.

"That's an alluring cologne you're wearing," she flirted, leaning closer to breathe in his ugly wolf stink. She caught Zac's eye and winked as she led her catch into the bathrooms at the back of the bar.

Checking to see if all the stalls were empty, she locked the bathroom door and turned, looking Ralph up and down. He stepped forward, clutching her around the waist and went to kiss her, but she grabbed the side of his head and smashed it into the basin, the force cracking the porcelain. The wolf fell to the floor, blood pouring from a gash on his forehead. "What the fuck! You bitch!"

"Listen to me," Aya soothed, crouching on the floor, turning him over so he could see her face. "The next time you come into this town and threaten any one of those vampires, I will tear you to shreds and send back the pieces to your pathetic little pack. This town is mine and I do not appreciate the peace being broken by a dog." She grasped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. She let her eyes cloud over into two ethereal white pools and licked her fangs. Ralph cried out in horror and put his hands in front of his face. Dropping him back on the tiles she stood over him menacingly.

"I got it! I got it! Fucking hell!" he whimpered. "What the fuck are you?"

"I'm your worst nightmare," Aya looked up into the mirror, fluffed her hair up and smiled down at him. "You have a nice night now, you hear?" The bathroom door shut heavily behind her.

Zac raised his eyebrows as she approached. "What the hell did you do to him?"

Aya looked at him nonchalantly and took a sip of his drink. "He won't bother you anymore."

Suddenly, the bathroom door crashed open and the werewolf stumbled into the walkway. Catching Aya's eye, he visibly stiffened. The gash she had given him had healed and he'd washed most of the blood off, the hair at his temple wet and stringy. She raised her glass and he looked away, panic stricken and made a dash for the exit.

Aya laughed and Liz looked warily at her. "What exactly did you do to him, Aya?"

She stood and grabbed her leather jacket from the back of her chair and their bottle of Jack. Winking at Liz, she left the bar, not really bothered whether she explained herself or not.

Chapter Twelve

"What the hell!" Zac exclaimed.

The last thing he expected to find first thing in the morning was a corpse in the front yard. A vampire corpse. And he knew that there was only one person who would have put it there. Scowling, he took out his cell and called Sam. Before he could say hello he said, "Have you seen Aya?"

"No," Sam sighed. "Did she take the cell I gave her?"

"No, it's still in her room." He couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice, even if he tried.

"Zac, she hasn't been awake for long. Perhaps she doesn't see the usefulness of it yet."

"Do you know where she is?"

"No, I haven't seen her today."

"Well, if you see her, tell her I'm looking for her. I want to talk to her about the corpse in the front yard."

"What the hell?" came the reply from the other end.

"A desiccated vampire is sitting in the yard like a scarecrow. And only one person we know could have done that." He hung up abruptly.

Getting in his car, he cursed her all the way into town. When he caught up with her, he'd give her a piece of his mind. How stupid could she be? Leaving a corpse in the front yard for anyone to come along and see. He knew it was too good to be true, their shaky alliance was a joke. Two thousand year old idiot.

Parking the car at an awkward angle by the main square, he stalked down the street, catching sight of Alex in the distance pruning some box hedges.

"Have you seen Aya?" he said, coming up behind him. He didn't bother saying hello.

Alex turned and scowled when he saw it was Zac. "Depends why you're asking."

"C'mon," Zac rolled his eyes. "Have you seen her or not?"

"She went to the bookstore." Alex pointed across the street.

"Thanks, buddy. That wasn't so hard was it?" he leaned forward, thumping him on the shoulder.

"Just don't be an asshole, Zac."

"Me? Never." He sauntered across the street through a break in traffic and looked through the front windows into the store. There were lines of shelving and displays along one side and CDs and magazines in the centre. There was a gift section by the registers and a cafe tucked away at the rear, lots of little corners she could be hiding in. Quickly surveying, he couldn't see her, so he walked inside and looked down each aisle before spotting her amongst the magazines reading a copy of National Geographic.

He came up behind her, ready to give her a piece of his mind, but she said, "This is such a wonderful magazine." She hadn't made any gesture that suggested she knew he was there and it irritated him further.

"We need to talk," he said through his teeth.

"I'd never heard much of this Solar System business. I knew it was all there, but the names humans give things is intriguing. And this Amazon rainforest. I'd like to go there, it sounds wild and dangerous. Have you been?"

"No," he said impatiently, shuffling from foot to foot.

"Well, I'd like to go before it disappears. Some things aren't as immortal as others. Before I was asleep, the civilized world told us that it was a land of savages. But that's not true."

"As much as I'm enjoying the history lesson, I want to talk to you about something else," he hissed into her ear.

Aya placed the magazine back on the shelf. "And what do you want to discuss?"

"I want to discuss the corpse that you left in the front yard," he hissed again, looking around to see if anyone was listening.

"Oh, that," she said.

"Yes, that." He took her arm and forcefully guided her from the shop, smiling at the attendant at the counter who was eyeing them suspiciously. He took her across the street to the square where he was sure no one was close enough to hear them. Turning her to face him he scowled as she laughed. "What the hell is so funny?"

"You. Getting all worked up."

"It's not funny, Aya. You left a desiccated corpse in the front yard for everyone to see."

"Not true. No one knows that the house is lived in. No one comes to visit, the gates are meant to be locked because it is a site of 'historical significance'. No one is going to see the corpse. I left Dean there to serve as a warning to his buddy who has camped out in the town somewhere."

"Oh," Zac said, throwing his hands up in exasperation, "so, the corpse has a name?"

"Yes," she said as if it were the most normal thing to be talking about. "When his friend stops by tonight, he'll try something else and I will be waiting for him to expose himself."

"You can't just do things and not tell us! I nearly fucking died when I went outside!"

She laughed again. "Well, I really wish I had of been there to see that."

"Then why is it there and not someplace else?" He crossed his arms, glowering at her.

"Well, you wanted my help. This is me helping. Dean was already in the house while you were sleeping, princess. If I hadn't of been there it was curtains for the Degaud brothers."

"And how do you know his name was Dean?

"I asked him."

"You asked him?"

"Yes, right before he told me about his friend. Then I killed him. You should have been there. I was brilliant."

"Geesus," he ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

"I met a Jesus once," she said. "He was alright."

Zac stared at her dumbfounded. The things that came out of her mouth. Enduring her mood swings was like having a bucket of icy water dumped on his head. "Just get rid of the corpse before anyone sees it."

"Aye aye Captain," she said, mock saluting him. "I will deny Dean his proper burial so his soul will wander for eternity."

"Just as long as it doesn't wander anywhere near the house," Zac glared and strode off.
******

Aya began the walk back to the manor in a huff. She couldn't wait until she came to the forest so she could run. Those boys had no sense of humor at all. Typical men, always thinking they're right.

Glaring to herself she brightened slightly when she saw Alex by the path ahead. He was pruning the hedge that bordered the sidewalk. Hacking, would be a better description. He was annoyed, too.

"Hello," she said as she came level with him.

He looked up at her and went back to his work, giving a grunt in acknowledgement.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concerned.

Alex shrugged, "Yeah." He didn't really convince her, but she didn't press the subject.

"Do you want to get a drink later?" she asked. "Tonight, I mean." There was no reason she couldn't go out and have a bit of fun. The more she was out, the more she could learn about the town and notice who was lurking about. Especially that other vampire. He'd probably hang about the town once the sun went down. She knew she would.

Alex seemed unsure as he said, "I dunno."

"I have to go to the manor and take care of something, but I'll come and meet you after, okay?" She raised her eyebrows to force a response from him.

"Yeah," he shrugged, accepting.

Something was still up with him and she planned to get it out of him one way or another. But, for now she had to go deal with Dean, the corpse in the front yard. She smiled and began walking, leaving Alex to finish hacking the hedge.

There was a prickling feeling at the back of her neck as she walked. It felt like someone was watching her, but looking around, no one was paying her the least bit of attention. It was better to assume one of Katrin's cronies were around by default. There was no doubt in her mind that all of them were being watched and she guessed it was Dean's mate. They wouldn't try anything in such a public place, but she better be on her guard nonetheless. She continued through the park, her mind, eyes and ears all out watching for something amiss.

******

Alex strode down the dark street, his mind wandering. It has been a long afternoon alone with his thoughts. Ugh, why had he agreed to meet Aya tonight?

Ever since he overheard Liz and Gabby he couldn't stop thinking about what they had implied about Aya. The more he thought about it, the weirder it sounded. He was completely ignorant and they were shutting him out. They'd never kept him out of anything before and he was hurt. He couldn't shake the feeling at all.

He felt weird about meeting Aya. She'd never really told him what she was doing in town. As a matter of fact, she hadn't really told him anything about herself. Perhaps he should confront her. That might be the only way he would get any answers. Liz had acted like nothing was amiss, but maybe Aya wouldn't.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts he started as someone bashed into his shoulder. "Hey, watch it buddy," he scowled.

The young man who'd bumped into him, turned and put his hand on his shoulder. "Hey, I know you." He was built like a football player, wide shoulders and thick arms. Blonde hair cut into a severe crew. The kind of guy that used to beat him up in high school.

"No, I don't think so." Alex shrugged the guy's hand away and turned to keep walking.

"I'm positive." He began to follow Alex down the path into the square. "I know you."

"Look, buddy. I don't know you, okay?" If he didn't try and look the guy in the eyes, hopefully he'd leave him alone.

Where before it had been spotted with people, the square had become quiet and empty. Alex began to panic a little. If this guy wanted to beat him up or mug him, he now had the perfect opportunity and he was not a good fighter. High school bullies had only taught him to run. Before he could do anything else, the man grabbed him from behind, turning him around. All Alex saw was the guy's fist hurtling towards his face. There was a smack as he was punched square in the eye.

"Fucking hell," Alex cried, falling to the ground, clutching his face. "Just take whatever you want. Take my wallet, I don't want a fight."

"I don't want your wallet," the guy snarled. "I want you as bait."

"What the hell?" Alex tried to scramble backwards, but the man grabbed his leg and began pulling him across the garden into the woodland area of the park.

He was pushed roughly against a tree, his head cracking against the trunk. Dazed, he blinked hard, his hand clutching the egg shaped lump that was beginning to rise. He began to yell for help, but was punched again, this time his lip splitting against his teeth. The cut was bleeding, the coppery taste of his blood filling his mouth.

"Shut up," the blonde guy hissed at him, pulling a branch from the tree with a superhuman strength that made Alex gasp in fear. Who the hell was this guy?

"Stupid fucking human," he was muttering. "Just fucking bleed." Alex tried to shield himself with his arms as he was hit again and again with the branch, his skin breaking open and bleeding from hundreds of tiny cuts. The blonde guy was laughing now. "That's it. They'll come now with the blood. They'll want to save you."

Alex couldn't understand what the guy was talking about, he seemed crazy in the head. If he didn't try and do something, he would be beaten to death with a branch by a crazy person. He tried to kick out, but couldn't connect with anything, but the assault from the branch stopped. Scrambling to his feet, he was too late to see the branch come at him from the left. It tore a gash in his forehead, ripping through skin as the force threw his head to the side.

He was jerked to his feet, a hand clutching his throat. Alex cried out in surprise as he was wrenched in close to the crazy guys face. His eyes were completely black and his teeth... His teeth could only be described as fangs. Alex began to shake as terror took him over. What the hell was he?

Alex cried out as the guy leaned in and bit his neck. He tried to struggle, but he was held in a vice grip. Geesus, he was being eaten alive by a vampire wannabe weirdo. He panicked and tried to struggle harder, but he was loosing blood fast. His limbs felt like they were filled with lead.

Abruptly, the guy was pulled from him and he fell to the ground heavily. It barely registered that his attacker had been thrown fifty feet away into a tree. Then Sam was there pulling him up, propping him against another tree. Sam, his best buddy to the rescue. But, when Alex looked again, he had the same eyes as the crazy cannibal who attacked him.

"Geesus," he yelled, but couldn't make his limbs work.

"It's okay, Alex," Sam was saying. "Sit tight, I'll explain everything. I've just got to deal with this guy."

Alex could only nod, slack jawed in shock.

******

When Sam caught the scent of Alex's blood on the breeze he knew it wasn't good. He ran as fast as he dared towards its source, trying not to draw any attention from the people around him on the street.

He caught sight of two figures in the distance between the trees. He roared in fury as he realized a vampire had Alex and was feeding on him. He had to protect is friend, no matter what. Even if he found out, he had to save him.

Grabbing the vampire from behind he threw him clear across the path into a tree, a sickening thud as his body collided. There was so much blood, he couldn't help it when his eyes misted over into black. He grabbed Alex, heaving him up against the tree behind him.

"Geesus," Alex yelled in shock as his eyes focused on his face. He would have to explain to his friend later.

"It's okay, Alex," Sam said. "Sit tight, I'll explain everything. I've just got to deal with this guy."

The vampire had picked himself up and was advancing on him quickly. As he came within striking distance, Sam punched the side of his head, a sickening crack echoed through the trees as it connected. The vampire was either newly made or older than he was, because the punch didn't seem to bother him at all. His fist connected with Sam's jaw, the force sending him backwards. He landed heavily on his back, the air pushed from his lungs.

As he lay gasping for breath, his eyes widened in surprise as he caught sight of Aya perched on a branch above him. She pressed her index finger to her lips to silence him and gestured towards the vampire and then back down to him. Without giving away her position, he got up as quickly as he could and not a moment too soon. The vampire was on him again, viciously punching him in the ribs. As he doubled over, instinctively clutching his side, he was kneed in the face, blood gushing from his nose and now split lip.

Sam didn't even have a second to regain his composure before stumbling back under the tree. The vampire had him around the neck in the blink of an eye, laughing in triumph. "Looks like I won," he crowed.

But, Sam had already lured him into position. Aya dropped lithely from the tree onto the vampires back. He yelled in surprise as he felt her arms wrap about his own neck. "Hello," Aya crooned in his ear. Before he could compose himself to break Sam's neck she sunk her fangs into his jugular, making him lose his grip.

Sam, now free, tore a branch from the tree and plunged it through the vampire's heart, barely missing Aya as she let him go.

"Hey," she cried, shoving the now dead vampire aside. "Watch it buddy. We're on the same side, remember?"

Sam smiled, his chest heaving. "You knew what you were doing."

Aya smiled wickedly. "I see you're the one who got all the book smarts."

"Thanks," he puffed, wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve.

They turned back to Alex, who was fixed to his spot against the tree in absolute fear. Sam glanced at Aya and she smiled reassuringly. She kneeled down next to their hurt friend and put her hand on his. "I'm sorry Alex. We came as fast as we could. Where are you hurt?" Her voice was soft, concerned.

He was obviously afraid of them, but didn't scream or try and run. "I'm cut all over my arms. My face," he managed at last.

Aya nodded and turned to Sam. "You have to heal him."

"Why?" he asked confused. "Can't you?"

"My blood will make it worse. If he has enough it will kill him. And you, so make sure you remember that," she said firmly, gesturing for him to kneel down.

At the mention of blood, Alex's eyes rolled back into his head and he fainted. Frowning, Sam leaned over his unconscious body and began to drip his blood on each wound. The secret they kept very close, that vampire blood could heal a humans wounds and much more besides. But, if blood was given too late, then it was vampirism for the human. He wondered why Aya's blood would do the opposite; act like poison. She was not an ordinary vampire, perhaps that had something to do with it. He made a mental note to warn the others.

The gash on Alex's temple was still wet with fresh blood. Head wounds bled profusely, it was in all their best interests if he healed that quickly. As soon as he was done, Aya herded him towards his car as he carried Alex's limp body, anxious to get their friend home and safe.

******

Zac found Liz at the same table as the day before, but this time with a bottle of Johnny. Really, he didn't know why he came to the bar on today of all days. His brother was meant to be here, but he was nowhere to be seen. Sitting across from her he cocked his head, waiting for her to speak first.

Instead, she pushed the bottle across the table, staring at her hands. He couldn't help but take a few large mouthfuls. She was upset and obviously didn't want to talk about it. All dressed up and no do-gooder boyfriend in the vicinity. He wondered what Sam was doing, standing up Liz when he knew today was important.

They finished the bottle in silence and when it became obvious that he wasn't coming, Zac took her arm and they left the bar. Hovering outside on the sidewalk, he wasn't sure if he should take her home or not.

Finally, she spoke. "It was today, you know," she said, shivering.

He looked sidelong at her, gauging her expression. It had been a year since she'd died, since she became a vampire. "Yeah, I know."

They stood awkwardly on the sidewalk for a moment. Liz was upset and he wanted to be there for her. Selfish as it was, his heart ached. Turning, Zac gazed at her as she looked out into the darkness of the gardens across the street. He'd wanted to kiss her at least once before he had to give her up. Just once.

Liz couldn't help but turn and return his stare. Reaching down, he ran his thumb across her cheek and drew a sharp breath as she sighed. Drawing close, he kissed her softly on the lips, lingering, testing her response, but he didn't need to. She kissed him back with a fire he didn't think she possessed.

"Liz," he whispered, completely in her trance. He was ripping a hole in his brother's heart behind his back, but he couldn't stop himself even if he tried. Regardless, he managed to pull back.

"I... " he began, but this time, she kissed him and whatever he had been thinking about was lost.

******

Only twenty minutes had passed when Alex sat bolt upright, gasping for breath. Sam and Aya had bundled him into Sam's car and brought him home. The beauty of a small town was it never took long to get anywhere. They were still out the front of his house when he came to, having just put him on the bench on the porch.

Sam looked at him warily, unsure what his reaction would be. If he totally flipped out, he was prepared to compel him if it protected them all from exposure. Alex was his friend and he disliked the idea, but he had to protect Liz and Zac first. He was sure Aya would be able to protect herself.

Alex put his face in his hands and groaned. He was obviously thinking about what had just happened. "What the hell are you, Sam?" he asked angrily, getting straight to the point.

"I'm a vampire. And Aya," he glanced at her. "Aya is a vampire, too."

Alex leaned heavily against the front door. "I heard Liz and Gabby talking about Aya. This is what they meant, wasn't it?"

"Probably," she nodded.

"How old are you really? I mean, you're not twenty five are you?"

"No. I'm a lot older than that. I've been around quite a few more lifetimes that I had originally planned. But, I'm flattered that you think I'm twenty five."

"How old?" he whispered.

"I think you should tell him your age first," she said to Sam.

He shrugged, "I'm a hundred and sixty seven."

"Geesus!" Alex threw his hands up in annoyance. "You say that like its normal. And you?" He jabbed a finger at Aya.

She balked. "I'm two thousand, give or take."

"Fucking hell! And Zac?" his eyes widened. "Liz? Please don't tell me Liz is one too?"

"Yes, we all are. But not Gabby," he added. "Gabby is a witch."

"Holy fucking shit!" Alex's hand slapped his forehead in disbelief. "I'm in the fucking X-files!"

Aya frowned. "What's a X-file?"

Sam had to stifle a smile. "It's a TV show."

"TV?" She cocked her head, confused, then exclaimed, "Oh! The picture thing. I get it."

Alex was staring at them dumbfounded.

"Alex, we're still your friends," Sam said seriously.

"And you're the first human who has liked me for who I was and not what I was," Aya smiled at him.

"You're all crazy," he said backing through the front door. "You need to leave me the hell alone."

"Alex, please," said Sam.

"Just go away, Sam. I was attacked by a vampire, something that isn't meant to exist. Then I find out all my friends are vampires too!"

"And Gabby. Don't forget, Gabby. She's a witch," Aya quipped.

Sam glared at her. "Not helping."

"Will you just go away. I don't want you coming near me and I don't want you in my house," snarled Alex.

"Then take back your invitation, Alex," Sam pleaded. "Then I won't be able to come in."

Alex glanced warily from him to Aya, suspecting a trick.

"He's right," Aya nodded. "Rescind both our invitations. If you choose not to speak to us again, we cannot come inside."

Sam knew that it wouldn't work on Aya, she wasn't entirely vampire, but he was a little taken aback by her actions. He didn't think she had it in her to be kind.

"Then," Alex spat. "I take back both your invitations. I rescind Zac's and I rescind Liz's." he slammed the door in their faces.

Chapter Thirteen

"I should have compelled him," Sam shook his head as they walked back to the car.

"No," Aya disagreed. "Alex won't say anything. You need to trust him, not the other way round."

"How do you know?" He didn't sound so sure.

"The one thing I know about Alex, is that he's loyal. He won't talk, at least not until he's had a chance to talk it through with Gabby and Liz."

He sighed and asked, "Why did you tell him that? To take back your invitation? You never needed one."

"If it makes him feel safer, then I will let him believe," she shrugged, leaning against the car.

"I must admit that I'm surprised."

"Surprised?" she raised her eyebrows. "That I'm not one hundred percent monster? Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." He waited for a response, but wasn't going to get one.

Aya, only now noticing that he was dressed up, said, "Hot date, Romeo?"

"I was meant to meet Liz," he said. "It's one year today since she was turned."

"Oh, so you celebrate them?" she said sarcastically. "Did you get her a cake?"

"No! It's just a hard day for her and all. She hasn't had the best time of it."

Aya laughed. "Does anyone?"

He didn't reply, frowning.

She snorted at his grimace. "Well, at least you wore a black shirt. The blood doesn't show up unless you look hard enough."

"Thanks for the encouragement," he rolled his eyes. "If you don't mind, I have to go find Liz and apologize. If you're going to the manor, can you tell Zac?"

Aya groaned, tapping the car boot. "Only if you get rid of the body."

"Just do it with a little tact, Aya. I don't want him doing anything reckless."

"Yes, sir," she said sarcastically and opened the passenger side door, then slammed it shut, electing to go on foot, rather than get in the car with Sam. "But don't blame me when he does anyway."

******

The manor was dark when Aya made her way up the driveway. She knew that Sam would find Liz and apologize for being tardy and tell her about what had happened to Alex. And she was left to explain to Zac, which was all she ever seemed to do. She wasn't used to answering to others, let alone to the most annoying vampire in the history of the world; Zac. She worked her best one on one. Alone.

Thankful for the alone time, she lit the fire in the parlor, preferring the warm light to the electric ones. It was more homely in the big old house. Stoking the coals, she watched the sparks whirlwind onto the hearth, her thoughts spiraling with them. The embers brought back memories she would really like to forget. The castle emerged from the coals that she knew so intimately, the details vivid even after two thousand years. The place where she was turned. Closing her eyes, she tried to will away the image. The stone and wood structure built by the Britons, sacked by the Romans and the same she destroyed in flame.

The adjoining door to the hallway burst open and she turned sharply hissing deep in her throat as Zac and Liz stumbled in, their hands all over each other, kissing like it was their last day on earth. Zac's shirt was open and he was pulling at the hem of hers. They hadn't even noticed she was in the room and if she moved, they certainly would. She scowled, her heart wrenching in her chest. Poor Sam. Sam, who loved this girl. Zac had pulled Liz's top off and was trailing kisses down her jaw and the length of her neck. Aya felt her heart lurch involuntarily. She could stand it no more and she coughed loudly.

"Oh my god!" exclaimed Liz covering herself with her arms.

Zac took a step back, drawing in a sharp hiss of breath when he saw it was Aya. Her expression was darkness as she scowled at them. "Aya, I didn't know you were here," he stammered.

Aya snorted her disgust. "Maybe you should check who's in the room before you decide to fuck your brother's girlfriend in it."

They stared at her, not sure what to say, as if they were trying to gauge what she would do next. Aya made to leave the room, but Liz grabbed her arm. "Please don't say anything."

Aya snatched her arm back abruptly, looking Liz up and down with contempt. Without saying anything, she stalked from the room. How dare she. She flew down the hall into the study, coming to a stop in front of the French doors that opened onto the verandah. Opening them she walked out into the night air. She felt more at ease here amongst the overgrown wisteria and the light breeze and willed her anger to melt away. Once upon a time, the forest was her home, a safe place from the evils of the world. She ran her fingers across the vines that twined around the banister. Her earth sense had vanished when she turned, a loss that cut to her very soul. She missed the music of the plants, the shifting land beneath her feet. Casting her mind out into the night, all she heard was the soft hum of Zac, who had followed her outside. He leaned against the doorframe, his open shirt flapping in the breeze.

Aya scowled as she felt her anger simmer up again. Without turning she said, "You could have at least dressed yourself properly."

He hastily buttoned his shirt up and came to stand beside her. Why was she so mad with him? Did she have feelings for him? Was that what that annoying thing was in the pit of her stomach? She wasn't even sure what that meant. All she knew was the biting taste of revenge and destruction. She didn't know what love was and he obviously didn't either.

"Aya, I'm sorry," he began.

"Why are you apologizing to me? It's not my back you're going behind," she interrupted, not tearing her eyes away from the dark, cloudy sky that eerily reflected her mood.

After a moment he said, "You like the garden."

He was too observant, having noticed the way she stroked the wisteria. She didn't dare reply. God, he was so annoying.

They stood in silence for a while, neither looking at each other. Aya silently willed him to go away, but he didn't budge. None of them were blind; they could all see that Zac was drawn to her. Alex, Sam, Gabby. They all knew in some small way, but trusted that he wouldn't cross the line. Sam, least of all, didn't expect Liz to reciprocate. It was Sam, Aya felt sorry for.

Surprised at her train of thoughts, she felt the memory rise of the first night she had met Zac. The wolves had attacked him in the alley by the bar and she had saved him. She'd compelled the memory from him, but still couldn't fathom why she had intervened in the first place. But, the greater mystery was how she had stopped the frenzy and not ended him along with the pack. Perhaps she would never understand. For the first time she wondered what his reaction was when he realized there was five mutilated bodies strewn around him. Her sadistic vampire side stifled a grin at the thought.

Zac shuffled nervously beside her, bringing her back to the present. She looked at him out the corner of her eye. The fact that his blood made that sound was a mystery. It was something that drew her, but she still didn't think it had to do with love or lust. Perhaps he was something else as well, but she didn't think so either.

"Alex knows what we are," she said finally. She felt him stiffen beside her. Sighing, she walked back inside, leaving Zac behind to stew in the shit storm of his own making.

******

It was late when Liz finally climbed the stairs leading to her apartment above the small hardware store on the end of the main street. She had made a terrible mistake. She was hurt, alone and he was there. It wasn't an excuse, but it had happened that way regardless.

She was glad that Aya was there to stop them, but she feared she'd hurt her, too. Was there any end to her stupidity? What the hell would she tell Sam? Where had he been all night? There was no doubt that she was attracted to Zac, otherwise she wouldn't have let it go so far. But, he wasn't blameless either.

As she came up the last flight of stairs she saw Sam sitting by her door, waiting. His expression was closed and her heart skipped a beat. She knew he heard that.

"Sam," she said when he didn't look up.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, smiling sadly at her. Instantly, she knew something had happened.

"What's wrong?" she said, trying to hide the guilt in her voice.

"Alex was attacked by a vampire," he said. "Luckily Aya was there or I wouldn't have been able to save him."

"Oh my god." Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. "Is he okay?"

Sam nodded, "He knows about us, Liz. All of us."

She sat next to him on the landing and murmured, "I take it he didn't react very well."

"He's scared and confused. With good reason. He's just found out that his friends are vampires and it took being attacked by one to find out."

They sat in silence for a few minutes as she processed what had happened. How had everything gone so bad so fast? Alex, Zac...

"Where were you?" he scowled. "I went to the bar and you were already gone. I came here, I looked in the gardens. I even went to the forest before coming back here."

Liz felt the guilt wrenching in her gut. If Aya hadn't of been at the manor, she would have slept with Zac. She was hurt that Sam had stood her up on such an important day for her and Zac was there, practically pouring his heart out. She'd used him for comfort and how was that any worse than what she'd done to Sam?

And now she knew Sam was off saving Alex from certain death and she felt horrible. She was afraid if she told him, she would have ruined the best thing that had ever happened to her because she was weak. But if she kept it to herself, her guilt would tear her apart.

"I was with Zac," she said, struggling to keep her voice from cracking.

"And?" he whispered as if he already suspected.

"I... We kissed," she sobbed, unable to keep it to herself. "I was hurt. I needed you, but now I know you were with Alex. Saving him... I'm horrible... "

He snorted and his head dropped into his hands. "Liz, please tell me it was all him. Not you."

She didn't know what to say. She'd kissed him as well. Sam took her silence as an admission of guilt and stood up.

"Please, Sam," she pleaded. "Stay."

He sat back down heavily and Liz took his hand. They would work it out, she loved him and he loved her. They would be okay. They had to be.

******

The harsh light of day didn't make Zac feel any better about himself. If Liz kept it to herself, there was no need to tell Sam. No reason whatsoever to hurt him. He took in his reflection in the bathroom mirror and snorted. Of course she would crack and tell him eventually. Hopefully by then, he would have his feelings sorted out. He'd taken advantage of her vulnerability. Then again... He pushed the thoughts away, splashing his face with cold water.

Thumping down the stairs he hovered in the doorway to the parlor. Aya was lying on the couch, facing away from the door, reading a book. She looked a lot calmer than she had last night.

"What are you reading?" he asked, standing over her.

"Some thing about kids fighting to the death in a woodland arena. It's terrible," she tossed it aside. "There's not nearly enough blood in it for a death match."

"That's a bit much, isn't it?" he huffed.

"What do you want me to say? I'm insatiable," she grinned up at him.

"Does this mean I'm back in your good books?" he said warily, remembering the bite in her words the previous night.

Sitting up, she said, "Were you ever in my 'good book'?"

Running a hand through his hair he said, "Probably not."

"What's that thing you said that time? 'I do a lot of things I don't need to do, but I do 'em anyway'," she mocked his tone of voice.

"You heard that?"

"I hear a lot of things." Her eyes narrowed, but he caught the note of amusement in her voice.

Zac couldn't help but grin. If they could ever stop bickering, he was sure they would have a good relationship. He thought back to the previous night; the relief he felt when he kissed Liz and the burning need that coursed through him. Feelings he hadn't felt for a very long time. But, that memory would always conclude with the look of mingled anger and something akin to jealousy that had been etched on Aya's face. His smile faded and his head turned towards the front door as it slammed, signaling Sam's arrival home.

"Aya, I'm sorry. I... " He didn't know how to put it into words.

Her gaze flickered to the doorway behind him and she shook her head to stop him. By the look on her face, it seemed that Sam wasn't happy. And that could only mean... . He turned around to face his brother.

Sam was glaring at him and he knew Liz had caved. Glancing to Aya she looked at them back and forth and said, "I'll be in the study." She couldn't help prodding him one last time.

Liz had followed Sam into the room, her expression hollow. She had been crying.

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you, brother?" Sam sneered.

"It goes both ways."

"You don't get to mess with this, Zac. You hear me?"

"Sam, please. Calm down," Liz cried, trying to push them apart, but they were both stronger than her.

"Who died and made you king of the world, brother?" Zac spat, ignoring her pleas.

"You don't love her, Zac. How could you, when you don't respect anything or anyone?"

Zac's expression darkened and the room seemed to disappear around him. "Who are you to tell me who I can and cannot love?"

"Oh, so that's what this is about? You doing what you want, whenever you want." Sam was in his face, refusing to back down.

"Perhaps you should stop following me around like a pathetic lap dog."

"Really? You want to get into that as well?"

"Get it all out, Sam. Tell me what you really think. Tell me what you want to do to me."

"Stop it! I'm not going to fight you. Is that what you want?"

"I know you want to take a couple of swings, little brother."

"Yeah, I want to hit you, so what?"

"So, do it. Hit me, Samuel." When Sam didn't move, Zac grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him close and sneered, "Hit me."

"You're insane, Zac. You don't want any help do you? Has the last forty years been a joke to you?" His expression fell into one of disappointment. "You want to be a monster." Sam's words cut into him right where it hurt. That right there, was the worst thing he could have said.

Zac's jaw set as he ground his teeth together. He couldn't contain his rage anymore. As it simmered over, his eyes darkened and in one fluid motion, he snapped Sam's neck. He fell limply to the floor with a dull thud.

"No!" Liz cried and fell to her knees, pulling him into her lap. She sobbed, stroking his hair and glared up at Zac. "How could you? He's your brother!" She knew he would wake in a few hours, but this was too far.

Zac's expression slowly changed into one of horror. They had fought before, come to blows, but neither of them had gone this far before. He'd killed his brother over a woman. His brother, who he loved more than anything. It was the most human emotion of all that had driven him to be the monster he truly was. The monster who he thought he'd made peace with.

He saw the way Liz was holding Sam. She truly loved his brother, not him. She never would, he finally realized, but promptly ignored his gut feeling. He had to get out of there, he couldn't deal with this. And he was out the front door and gone before he could think twice about it.

******

Aya flew out of the study when she heard Liz screaming at Zac. She was just in time to see the front door slam closed. So, he had chosen to run instead of facing his problems. Typical.

Standing in the doorway of the parlor she took in Sam's temporarily dead body on the floor in front of the fireplace. Liz leaned against the mantle and sighed with frustration. She jumped when Aya materialized out of the shadows.

"You scared me," she said, clutching her heart.

Aya scowled, "Do you think I can't see what you do to him."

"What are you on about?"

"God knows why, but he loves you. And you love Sam. The selfish thing is that deep down, you want Zac as well. You're leading him on and it's horrible. You are with Sam. Do the right thing and let Zac go." Aya's face didn't betray her feelings. Whatever those were.

"And why do you care so much? You're the ice queen, Aya. Butt out." Tears streamed down her cheeks.

She snorted and shook her head, "After two thousand years, it's all still the same."

"What?" Liz glared, her fists shaking.

"Stupid little girls playing with fire."

"I love Sam, Aya. It will always be him," she cried. "He was the one who found me and helped me through the change. He was there to help me get the cravings under control. Zac helped me as well, but I never thought... I knew he cared for me, but not like that. Not until... "

"Which one changed you?" she asked, her voice low.

Liz looked up at her with a tear stained face, "No! They didn't do this to me! Aya, no, don't think that!" Aya visibly relaxed. "When Sam found me I was dead. I must have had vampire blood in my system already, because I woke up. He was there holding me, thinking I was gone. We had become friends before... before it happened. Aya, I don't know who changed me. We never found them."

Aya wasn't convinced. Sighing, she knelt down and heaved Sam's bulky form onto the couch with little effort. She was so slight, it was easy to forget that she trumped them all in the strength department. She sat on the chair opposite as Liz sat on the couch, Sam's head in her lap.

When it was obvious Aya was going to wait, Liz asked tentatively, "Was all that stuff you told us about yourself, was it all true?"

"Yes," she stated. It was hard to get more than a brisk answer to any question that was asked of her.

"Two thousand years is a long time. What have you done with it all?" Aya looked at her like she had said something offensive. "I mean, you must have seen a lot of things... " Liz trailed off. Even she knew that she sounded lame.

"Yes," she stated again. "But it's not story time and they don't all have good endings. I wouldn't want to scare you."

Aya knew she frightened Liz. It didn't bother her, what the young vampire thought about her. But, she had to sit here for god knows how long until Sam woke up. Her staring was making Liz uncomfortable, like she was ready to run if she made a move. But, of course, Aya could never help herself. "What will you do when it comes time to leave?"

Liz stared at her for a moment as if she was trying to comprehend her question.

"It's a straightforward question, Liz."

"I-I don't know," she stammered, wringing her hands.

"The eternal twenty one year old. Never ageing, frozen in time. How will you explain that." She was crossing a line, pushing her like this, but the brothers had coddled her. Protected her from the inevitable choices she would have to make and Aya just had to press on the nerve. Perhaps her need came out of jealousy more than anything.

"The time will come," Liz said quietly. "And I will be ready then, but for now I can be who I was meant to be while I can. Why are you so heartless, Aya?"

"I prefer the term realist," she sneered.

"Is this what I have to look forward to? Loosing every inch of humanity? Becoming selfish and mean like you?" Liz shook her head in denial.

Aya snorted. "I try and help people, Liz. I'm not always a scary vampire. I don't kill for sport. Perhaps in a few hundred years you'll get it and get the hell over it. Look, I'm here to help with the whole Katrin thing and if that means sitting here waiting for your boyfriend to wake up, then so be it. I'm not going to answer your questions and put up with your insecurities. Probably never will. So, save your breath."

She leaned over and grabbed the book she had been reading from the coffee table and kicked her legs over the arm of the chair. She'd rather read a terrible book than suffer through Liz's uncomfortable silence.

******

The sun had long set by the time Sam gasped for air, sitting upright.

"Thank, god," Aya sighed dramatically, tossing her book into the fire.

Sam rubbed his neck, grimacing, "I can't believe he snapped my neck."

"We have to go after him," Liz whispered, unsure of Sam's reaction. She'd cheated on him with his brother, and he was still with her. She glanced at Aya, who just looked annoyed.

"Love triangles are so last century," Aya rolled her eyes as Liz turned to pour Sam a glass of scotch.

"We've been together for a hundred and fifty years. I'm not going to abandon him." He couldn't keep the tears from his eyes. Disappointment or heartbreak? Who knew.

"Tell me what you want me to do and it's done." Liz handed him the glass.

"I fear what he might do, Liz. It doesn't take much to set him off and he's snapped. I know him better than I know myself. He'll leave a trail of bodies behind him before he comes to his senses. The last time it took him years. And we don't have years." Sam threw his glass into the fireplace, shattering it into pieces.

Liz wrapped her arms around Sam's waist and lay her head against his back. "Then we will do whatever we can to find him," she murmured.

Aya shifted uncomfortably. She felt like an interloper, an imposter to this incredibly private moment. Liz's eyes flicked to her and she smiled kindly. She glared in return, not wanting her sympathy.

"The problem is I have no idea where he could have gone," Sam held his head in his hands and sighed.

Aya frowned, knowing she had to tell them about his blood. If she tried, she would be able to track him. She was alarmed at how much she had come to care for this unlikely group of vampires and their one human ally. No one had ever come close. "I can find him," she whispered, looking at the floor.

Sam looked up at her in surprise. "How?"

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. "I can track his blood."

"What do you mean, you can track his blood? No vampire can do that," Liz sounded unconvinced.

"I can hear it."

"I don't understand... " Sam said.

Aya scowled. "It buzzes in my head like an annoying mosquito you just can't manage to squash. It doesn't matter how. I can. That's all that matters." She stood abruptly. "Don't worry about anything. I will find him and bring him back whether he wants come or not."

"Aya, thank you." Sam gave her a look filled with relief.

She nodded sharply and crossed the room without a backward glance. In a second she was outside, slamming the front door behind her. Breathing deeply, she cast her mind out listening for the familiar music. She caught a faint trace at the very edge of her limit. North East. She had a long way to go.

Chapter Fourteen

The night was pitch black and he stood deep in the shadows, waiting.

No moon hung in the sky tonight; the only light was from the street lamps that were spaced too far apart to be of any use. The lane that extended behind the line of shops and restaurants was lined with dumpsters, empty cartons and pallets, stinking of rotting food. The deserted lot behind was overgrown with weeds almost as high as the chain link fence. A dumping ground for things that didn't want to be found.

The sound of a door slamming shut and the jangle of keys reached him as he lurked in the darkness. A young woman emerged from behind a row of dumpsters positioned behind a restaurant and began walking towards the alley at the opposite end of the lane.

As she passed his dark hiding place, he inhaled deeply. The smell of her blood was tantalizing and made him even thirstier. He could feel it in his throat, burning. She walked the length of the lane, oblivious that she was being watched.

He followed her silently as she finally turned down the adjoining alley, her heels tapping on the pavement. The light from the main street ahead shone like a beacon of safety as she made her way towards it. She didn't know it yet, but she would never make it.

He stood in the mouth of the alley, wreathed in shadow, listening to her strong heart beat. The woman turned back, finally sensing his presence. He heard her gasp as she saw his silhouette and her pace quickened. The sound of her heart was intoxicating, even more now that it accelerated in fear. In the blink of an eye he was in front of her. Coming to an abrupt halt, her eyes widened in fear. She fumbled for something in her bag, her hands shaking, and pulled out a can of pepper spray. Pointing it at his face, she took a few fearful steps back.

"Come closer and I'll scream," she shouted at him, a wild look of panic written on her pretty face.

He laughed at the futility of it all. Before she could react he had her pressed against the wall, hand over her mouth to stifle the screams that would undoubtedly follow. He considered compelling her before disregarding the notion. He liked it more when they tried to fight.

"Shhh... " he soothed, running a finger down the woman's exposed neck, "it won't hurt much, I promise." The woman whimpered as he leaned into her neck and inhaled deeply, his fangs scraping the delicate flesh around the pulsing jugular.

Before he could sink his fangs into her neck, he was pulled upwards into space. Disoriented, he landed heavily on concrete, the air pushed from his lungs. On his feet in a flash, he found himself on the roof of the adjacent building. Eyes black and teeth bared he lunged for his attacker and found himself pinned face down, a knee in his back. Struggling was useless, he was firmly in place, but he did anyway, blind with rage.

"Bloody hell, calm down," a female voice hissed in his ear, a voice that was vaguely familiar.

He struggled harder against the knee in his back, trying to flip his assailant to one side, but hands were clamped down over his wrists, driving him mad. He was denied his kill and would get it back any way he could.

"Zac," the voice whispered in his ear. "Don't struggle. It'll only make it harder. Zac, please come back. We need to talk."

He began to still. The voice was familiar somehow. Where had he heard it? Probably in a dream somewhere. But, he remembered he didn't dream anymore. Suddenly, he was on his back and the most beautiful raven haired woman was astride him, pinning his hands above his head. Her eyes were icy blue, but melted his black eyes back to their usual green. "Zac, it's Aya. Please."

Aya? Yes, now he remembered. "What are you looking at?" he hissed at her. Why did it have to be her?

"I'm looking at you," she hissed back. "Now get up and come with me."

"Why'd you bother." It was a statement, rather than a question.

"Why did I bother coming for you?" Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Because you're worth bothering about, Zac. That's why."

The tension slacked in his body and she loosened her grip. Even if he tried anything, it wouldn't work. She was countless times stronger than he was and more cunning to boot. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to the manor, to talk about it, but he doubted he had a choice in it.

Aya stood and held out her hand. "Come on, Zac. I have a room not far from here. We can talk."

Zac stood on his own. "I don't want to talk, Aya. I want... "

"To kill and terrorize innocent women?" she interrupted, anger contorting her face.

"I didn't kill any of them."

She seemed to ignore him. "You're better than empty violence. If you don't want to talk, then please, at least come with me. In your frame of mind, you're getting sloppy. If I have to compel another one." Aya shook her head and held her hand out, motioning for him to take it.

Begrudgingly, he took it, absently running his thumb across her knuckles. He liked the feel of her hand in his, infuriating as she was. Still scowling at her, she led him back to street level and to a tiny motel at the edge of town. He noticed his car in the lot and his eyes grew dark. How long had she been following him? The room was dark and cold and had a slight smell of mould. The neon sign outside flashed vacancy through the window.

"How long have you been following me?" he hissed, struggling not to raise his voice as Aya swept the curtains closed.

She glanced at him as she flicked the lamp on, her expression unreadable. "Long enough." She gestured for him to sit down on the bed beside her. Reluctantly, he sat stiffly on the cheap floral duvet. The silence was palpable between them.

Finally she said, "You need to come back. Katrin is still out there and she will use us all to get to you, no matter where you are. We are all in this together, there's no going back."

He snorted. He knew he was running from Katrin and her cronies and he refused to think about it, but nothing was stopping them from following him. He had crossed the line utterly and totally with Sam. He had never gotten to the point of killing him before. They had come to blows the way only vampire brothers could, but nothing they had not been able to come back from. He remembered the sickening snap Sam's neck had made and flinched. What had he done?

"He's okay you know," Aya whispered. "A little angry, but he doesn't blame you. You can both come back from this."

He turned to look at her, his green eyes full of anger. "I don't know how to come back from this, so how could he? I do nothing but think about it... " he paused and sighed painfully, closing his eyes. "How could one woman drive us apart? We've been brothers for a hundred and seventy years."

Aya smiled almost sadly, "The heart can do strange things, even to us."

He couldn't help but let the faint glimmer of his own smile answer her. He knew deep down that unrequited love would sooner or later destroy him. Liz would go on with Sam, but he would be left alone to love an empty dream for all eternity if he chose to. Deep down, he knew it wasn't just this that had made him run. Sam wanted him to be more than he was, more than what he knew and that was being good. That was what he was really rebelling against. He was lost and always had been.

"Why did you come after me? Why didn't Sam?" he asked.

"Because... " she sighed, pausing as if she was trying to decide what she should say. "I was the only one who could track you."

"What do you mean?"

Aya frowned. "Your blood sings to me."

Zac's eyebrows rose. "My blood sings to you?"

She laughed, almost nervously. "It's hard to explain. I cast my mind out and I can hear it. I just followed, and I found you."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that." She clutched his hand like he needed reassuring that she wasn't crazy. "You don't have to do this you know. The more alone you are the further you'll slip away from your humanity until it's gone forever."

"Do other people... does their blood... sing to you?" he whispered, not quite sure what it meant, ignoring her previous statement.

"No," she shook her head, but didn't continue.

"What does it mean... " he mused to himself gazing at Aya. She looked confused, her hand still clutching his. Giving it a small squeeze he said, "Afraid I'll run away?"

"Something like that," she whispered, shifting herself closer.

"But you'll be able to find me again." His voice was almost inaudible.

"Yes."

He stared down into her eyes and wondered why he never noticed how clear they were before. She was unusually beautiful, her features seemed almost alien and he couldn't tear his gaze away. Reaching up with his free hand, he tucked a strand of long black hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek with his thumb. He felt her breathing quicken as she leaned her face into his hand, closing her eyes. Why did his blood sing to her?

He couldn't fathom it, but he suddenly wanted her. She was irresistible. Tilting her chin up, he kissed her lightly on the lips, the contact pulling at his heart. Drawing back, he looked into her eyes again, as if he was asking approval to taste her lips again. Her hand clutched the front of his shirt, pulling him closer and this time she kissed him with a need that took his breath away. Where had this come from? Didn't she hate him? Unable to stop himself, he pushed her back onto the bed and was on top of her, his hand running down her side, caressing into the curve of her waist, sliding over her hip, down her thigh, pulling her leg up around him, all the while his lips never leaving hers.

Aya rolled him over, her lithe form melding into his. In that moment he knew he'd do anything to please her, anything. Abruptly, she pulled away gasping for breath. He followed, clutching her hips, not letting her break contact. They were face to face, his eyes searching hers.

Finally she said, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" he whispered huskily. "I'm not."

"I can't do this with you. No matter how much I want to." She looked pained, the confusion clear on her face.

He cocked his head and went to speak, but her hand was on his mouth stopping him. He was utterly in her trance. The feel of her hand on his lips was heady and he kissed her palm. She scowled, gazing into his eyes. "Sorry about this... " she murmured.

"Sorry about wha... "

******

When Zac woke, the morning light filtered through the cheap curtains, bathing the room in a disgusting budget motel shade of mustard. He could hear the water running in the bathroom, the blue sterile light of the fluorescent globe shining through the crack of the door which was slightly ajar. He could vaguely see the form of a woman through the frosted glass of the shower screen. He gazed at her for a minute or two and turned his head, suddenly aware that he probably shouldn't.

He sat bolt upright. Shit, where was he? Rubbing his eyes, he remembered being in the alleyway... blood... and Aya pulling him off his kill. She brought him to the motel and they talked into the night and he slept. Now he remembered. And he knew he had to go back to the manor and face Sam and Liz. He groaned at the painful memory and shook his head. They had to work it out. And they had to deal with Katrin. Katrin had to die a true death before she found a way to kill them all.

Zac pulled on his shirt, his resolve piecing itself back together.

******

The warm water streamed down Aya's face as she closed her eyes, letting it wash her thoughts away. She had let Zac get too close; let her control wane. After all that had happened to her, she was incapable of loving anyone. She couldn't hurt him like that after Liz, regardless of whether she felt drawn to him or not. He didn't deserve it. Two thousand years of revenge had not changed her mind yet. She had to block off her sensitivity to others emotions before she did something she would regret.

Turning off the water she heard him moving about in the next room and steeled herself for the charade she'd have to play. It was twice now that she'd compelled Zac and she hoped it was the last. Wrapping herself in a towel she stepped from the shower and caught sight of him dressing through the crack in the bathroom door. Thankfully, his back was to her and didn't notice her gaze. Quickly dressing, she abruptly opened the door, toweling her hair dry and picked up the car keys from the dresser. "Ready to go," she stated, tossing the damp towel back into the bathroom.

He turned at the sudden movement and quickly looked away. She caught the flush in his cheeks and was confused. Was he embarrassed? He nodded at her sharp announcement and they made their way out to the car.

"Aya... I don't know what to say," he began.

"Don't say anything. You called me. I'm making sure it wasn't for nothing. I do have a vested interest in doing away with Katrin, so don't worry about it."

He frowned. "Just doing your duty."

"If you want to see it that way."

"Sure," he said sullenly, getting into the drivers seat.

******

Aya climbed into the passenger side, putting on her sunglasses. Starting the engine, Zac looked sideways at her. She was the most confusing, complicated person he had ever met and it frustrated him to no end. Secretly, he was glad she cared enough that she came for him. He still felt the need to stalk human blood, but when she was with him, he could control it. And he didn't understand why. Shaking his head, he reversed out of the lot and turned onto the adjoining Interstate.

That he was drawn to her was no great secret to him. Why, was the real question. She infuriated the hell out of him, even more since the previous night at the motel. He thought back over their conversation, but could see nothing unusual about it. She had convinced him to return to the manor and he had slept the same dreamless sleep he had had for decades.

If, by some miracle, they could kill Katrin once and for all, he wondered what she would do then. Would she stay with them for a while, or go straight on to the next kill?

"Can I ask you a question?" Neither of them had spoken for the last four hours they had been driving.

"Yes," she said, still gazing through the windscreen at the road ahead.

"What will you do after this? I mean, if we deal with Katrin."

She was silent for a while. "I don't know," she shrugged.

Zac looked at her awkwardly and focused back on the road. "When you hunt a witch, do you kill them?"

"Not always."

"Why?"

"I save them when I can," she said matter-of-factly.

"But why, if they're already corrupt?"

"I wasn't always this monster," she scowled. "And neither were you. Surely, you can still feel an affinity with mortal life. That is reason enough."

Suddenly, he felt foolish. The vampire in him was speaking, not the human. She had two thousand years of control and understanding and he felt insignificant in comparison. A strained silence followed and they didn't speak again for some time.

Towards dusk they pulled into a gas station. Aya sat on the hood of the car staring into the distance as he pulled the hose from the pump and began to fill the tank. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

She didn't answer straight away. "I'm not looking at anything. I'm listening and right now you're making too much noise."

"What are you listening for?" he asked, ignoring the warning tone in her voice.

"Bad things stalk us, Zac. Things only I can hear coming." She was annoyed.

He raised an eyebrow at her, even though her back was to him. He didn't understand how she could say everything but give no information whatsoever. As if sensing his annoyance she turned and looked at him up and down over the top of her sunglasses. He put the nozzle back into the pump more forcefully than necessary and went to pay for the gas.

Aya was back in the passenger seat when he returned. Slamming the door closed he turned to her. "Well?"

"Well, what?" she scowled in reaction to his curtness.

"Did you hear anything?"

"No." It was a statement designed to end the conversation.

Zac leaned his head back against the seat and sighed deeply. "You have to give me something, Aya. Do you realize how frustrating you are? It's all I can do... "

She turned to him, pulling off her sunglasses, her eyes cold and angry. "What do you want from me, Zac?"

"Anything," his voice beginning to rise. "You never explain yourself. Our lives are on the line and you never give me the full story. How can I protect them if I don't know what I'm fighting. How can I protect... " He stopped himself, unable to say what he really meant. He wanted to protect her just as much as any one of the others. As much as his brother, who was more dear to him than his own life. What was happening to him?

"Be careful what you say next Zac."

He drew in a sharp breath and struggled to keep his mouth shut. Beautiful women would be the death of him, not some psycho witch from beyond the grave. "I don't want you to leave," he whispered, finally, not daring to look at her.

"I'm not going anywhere," she conceded, the anger dropping from her voice.

"Not yet," he muttered, turning the key in the ignition. He accelerated hard out of the gas station back onto the interstate. This time he ended the conversation without explaining himself.

Chapter Fifteen

Zac cringed at the relief that flooded Sam's face when he slunk through the door, following Aya. He'd snapped his brother's neck, but he was still glad he had come back. He was reluctant to speak to them, Sam and Liz. He knew exactly what they were going to say; every single word.

Aya grabbed his hand when he hesitated in the doorway of the parlor, pulling him into the room. Sam stood and shook his head when he laid eyes on his older brother, his eyes flickering briefly to Aya, who smiled wryly and left the room.

"Why'd you run, Zac?" he asked gently.

"I snapped your neck, Sam." It was a statement.

"Yeah, I was there," he sighed.

"Do you understand the meaning of ironic?" Zac snorted.

"Stop it, Zac," Sam said, trying to hold himself back. When he was human, his neck had been snapped. That was how he had died.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Sorry would be a good start."

Zac's eyes shifted to Liz. "Sorry about what?"

"Don't even go there," Liz sighed, exasperated.

"You started it, Liz. But, this was never about you," Zac said without any emotion.

"Then what was it about?" Sam directed his brother's attention back to him.

"The same thing it's been about for the last one hundred and whatever years, Sam. You trying to prove that somewhere in here," he thumped his chest over his heart, "there's a good guy wanting to get out. When will you just stop and let me be?"

"We grew up together, Zac. We are as close as two brothers can get. Yeah, we're extremely different, but I know you better than you seem to know yourself. You're so much better than this. Fighting, war. It's not all there is."

"Don't you think I've spent every single fucking day trying to find something else?" he spat. "She told me it was the only thing I was good at and I believed her. I still believe her."

"Who told you this?" Sam asked, already suspecting the answer.

"Victoria," he ignored the confused look on Liz's face.

Sam shook his head, not believing that Zac had kept this to himself for so long. He'd hardly ever spoken to him about his first few months as a vampire. The extent to which Victoria must have manipulated his brother scared him.

"Now do you understand?" Zac was saying.

"I won't give up on you, Zac," Sam shook his head. "You never gave up on me when it mattered the most. So, don't think I'm going to start now, or ever."

Zac looked warily from him to Liz, surprised that he had been forgiven so quickly. "You know I'm... "

"Sorry?" she asked.

"Even if I can't say it, you know I am." He looked away.

She began to speak, but Zac cut her off. "I know. Believe me, I know all about it. And if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone with the liquor cabinet."

Sam nodded and motioned for Liz to follow him out of the room. Thankfully, they left without another word. Zac had had enough heart to heart to last the rest of the decade. He felt foolish and pathetic. Two things that should never be associated with him, in his own opinion. Taking out an unopened bottle of whiskey, he drank a quarter of it in one shot.

Groaning in frustration, he picked up his bowie knife from the mantle and sat on the couch. Standard issue to Confederate Infantry during the Civil War, this knife had followed him in life and death. It had cut open the wrist of the woman who had made him. The knife that had drew the blood that made him a vampire.

Placing his hand on the antique coffee table, splaying his fingers, he stabbed the knife in-between his index and middle finger. Then middle and ring fingers, ring and little, thumb and index. It was a game he used to play to make his fellow soldiers uneasy. One he never lost and one that never failed in gaining their respect. If that respect was garnered through fear, then all the better. Each war he'd been in, the knives got longer and sharper, the men bigger and rougher.

The knife stabbed through the centre of his hand, pinning him to the table. Grimacing at the sudden pain, he refused to make a sound, blood pooling from around the blade. He wanted to feel something real and this pain was as real as it was going to get. Pulling the knife free, blood gushed onto the coffee table. Running his thumb across his open hand, the wound began to close as it healed itself.

"So, you're into self mutilation now," came that annoying voice from behind him. Aya. Always there to make a smart ass comment.

"Don't presume you know anything about me," he sneered, standing to glare at her.

"Likewise," Aya raised her hands, eyeing the knife. He knew it would be gone in under one second flat if she thought it were a threat. He sat back down and stabbed the knife into the tabletop, facing away from her.

"Keep your head screwed on, Zac," she said without any inflection.

He turned to retort, but she'd already gone. Shaking his head, he sunk back down into his melancholy. Somewhere, he'd lost his way. Why had they come back here in the first place? To pretend that they were human again? Deep down he knew Sam wanted him to find something in himself that wasn't about fighting and killing. Victoria had once told him that it was the only thing he was good at. Perhaps it was.

******

Liz sighed as her fifth call to Alex went straight to voicemail. It looked like she would have to go the direct route.

She felt guilty neglecting him the last few days, especially after he had been attacked. Everything had blown up in her face after she kissed Zac. Sam's broken neck and having to send Aya off to pick up the pieces. She now felt she owed the two thousand year old vampire and that couldn't be good. But, she thought Aya had done it as much for herself as for them. She could see her and Zac finding themselves together someday, even if they couldn't.

She had spent the last few days with Sam, working out what had happened, while they waited for news from Aya. Sorting out what it meant for them. It seemed that love did prevail, at least this time. Liz would never let herself waver again.

Hovering on the sidewalk, she watched Alex working in the garden. What the hell would she say? You were being attacked by a crazy vampire controlled by a two thousand year old witch, while I was off cheating on my vampire boyfriend? She shook her head and set off across the grass before she could change her mind. Alex deserved the whole sordid truth.

He caught sight of her as she approached and glared. "Geesus, Liz. Can't you take a hint?" he rolled his eyes, beginning to walk away from her, but she was in front of him a little too fast to be normal, blocking his way.

"Can I just explain? Then you can decide why you want to do," she pleaded. "If you never want to speak to me again, then I will respect it."

He groaned and sat on the grass by the bandstand, knowing he wouldn't be able to avoid her for long. She could probably out run him. "Don't sugar coat it, Liz. If I have to sit here and listen, you need to tell me everything," he said forcefully. "I was attacked by a vampire and saved by two more. It wasn't very pretty."

"I know," she said. "All in."

They sat on the grass, Liz thinking for a moment, trying to piece it all together. The simplest way to describe everything that had happened in the last year. Taking a deep breath, she began.

"Before it happened, a year ago, I didn't know what Sam and Zac were. I just thought they were two rich brothers that had moved to town, just like everyone else. Not until the day I decided to change the route I usually took when I went for a run," she paused, quietly gauging Alex's emotions. "The details are still sketchy. I don't think I'll ever remember everything that happened that day. I do remember being attacked, but nothing about who it was. There was a lot of blood, that I know. Theirs or mine, I have no idea. When I woke up, Sam was holding me."

When she stopped, Alex reached out and held her hand, sensing that she needed this gesture, at least. He was still looking off into the distance, scowling.

Squeezing his warm hand, she continued, "He thought I was dead. I was dead. The way he held onto me... He was horrified and relieved all at the same time when he realized I was alive. We've been together since. Sam and Zac, they helped me through it all."

"Did you find out who did it?" Alex whispered.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I know for sure it wasn't the brothers. I trust them completely. They tried to find the vampire who attacked me, but couldn't find any trace of them. I've come to accept the fact that I'll probably never know."

"What about Aya?"

"Aya," Liz sighed. "That's more complicated."

Alex frowned, rubbing his temples with his calloused hands, "I'm all ears."

"A few weeks ago, a vampire came to town and got into a fight with Zac. Zac killed him, but in the process managed to piss off a very old and powerful witch named Katrin. Gabby helped him cast a summoning spell she found for help. They called an extremely old vampire known as the Witch Hunter. At the time we didn't know who that was. We had nothing else to go on and it seemed like a better option than just letting Katrin kill him. Aya hid her true self from us for ages, gauging our intentions, but she came when she was called and decided she wanted to help. Katrin is after her as well."

"Why?"

"I don't know. She's very secretive, but I would guess it has something to do with being referred to as a Witch Hunter," Liz sighed heavily. "That's pretty much where we are now. Trying to find a way to deal with Katrin before she can kill us."

She watched his features change as he thought through everything she had said. He looked, angry, confused and strangely enough, relieved.

"You know this is a huge headfuck. And I don't normally use that word," he scolded her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I was trying to protect you. I thought the less you knew, the safer you would be."

"But, you've been lying to me," he grimaced. "It's not just a little white lie. This is the mother load, Liz. Geesus."

"I'll do anything it takes," she pleaded. "Anything."

"Well," he said after a minute. "You and Gabby. You're my oldest friends. I can understand why you wouldn't tell me, but it doesn't make it hurt any less."

"I know."

"You have to promise not to keep anything from me anymore. I can handle it, Liz. After all, I'm not a mess now am I?"

"You are surprisingly calm," Liz said carefully.

"When life hands you lemons... " he shrugged.

"Oh, Alex!" Liz flung her arms around his neck, hugging him just a little too hard.

"I don't know what I can do, but if there's something," he said, extracting himself from her hug. "I'll be there for you guys, but you owe me. No more secrets."

"Thank you, Alex. This means a lot to all of us. A lot to me."

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Your secret is safe with me."

******

Gabby sat cross-legged on her lounge room floor, the grimoire in her lap, her face screwed up in concentration. Groaning dramatically, she put the book aside and drew her knees up, resting her head in her arms. She was getting absolutely nowhere. What a pathetic excuse for a witch.

She'd felt different all her life, but had never understood that feeling was her powers trying to come out and be embraced. She still couldn't fathom what she was, being on her own was difficult and having vampires as friends went against everything that the grimoire had taught her. But, that she wouldn't change and all things took time, right? But, it didn't stop her from getting frustrated.

Gabby wondered if she should try and contact her grandmother. She hadn't seen or spoken to her for years, not since she was a little girl. She would have had to be about ten years old when she'd disappeared. Her Grandfather was a less than nice man, severe and old fashioned. Extremely set in his ways. He'd passed a few years ago, but Gabby remembered that he had threatened to have his wife committed to an asylum.

Her parents had seemed to agree with him and her grandmother had up and left, rather than stay with her husband a moment longer. Gabby always felt the reason behind it all was because she was a witch and even her own family was afraid of her simply because they didn't understand.

The day she found the grimoire in the attic was the day she was moving out and into her apartment across town a year and half ago. She'd gone through all her old boxes of childhood toys and stumbled across a box hidden in the back corner under her pile. When she'd opened it, she found the most curious things inside.

On the very top was a white envelope with her name written on the front. Opening it, she read the brief note and suddenly understood everything. It read, Gabrielle, when it is time, you will know what to do with this.

It was unsigned, but she knew it was from her grandmother. She recognized her handwriting from birthday and Christmas cards. Underneath was the grimoire and what could only be witches tools. Wrapped up in a deep purple quilt was an ornate knife with a bone handle, a silver bowl and several jars of dried herbs.

She managed to take the box without her parents finding out and began visiting the old cemetery, trying to understand what she was. It wasn't long before she realized the strange things she'd been feeling all her life was the earth trying to speak to her.

It had been over a week since she'd been entrusted with finding what had kept Katrin's soul attached to the living and for the life of her she couldn't work it out. She'd spent hours pouring over the grimoire, but she couldn't understand most of it, the languages many of the pages were written in were old and strange. The nights she spent communing with the earth to search its energy for anything that seemed out of place, but came up empty time and time again. Truthfully, she didn't know enough to understand what she was looking at most of the time.

Sighing, she put the grimoire aside and climbed into bed, exhausted. Tomorrow was another day and she would try again. She had to, even though she knew she would come up empty handed.

Soon, she was fast asleep, her mind wandering into different dreams, of her grandmother, the story she'd read about Aya saving her ancestor from burning at the stake and her search through the grimoire, the pages blending into one huge blur.

As her dream settled, she found herself in the old cemetery, sitting cross-legged in the middle of a circle of power, as if she had been in the midst of meditation. The night was dark around her, the wind wailing as if a storm was brewing. The only light that pierced the darkness was the flickering candles that surrounded her.

Gabby jumped in surprise as she saw a woman emerge from the darkness. She approached calmly, her hands clasped in front of her, expression cold and unwavering. She wore a dress of long white folds of silk, low over her shoulders, draped to the ground, cinched at the hips by a low golden belt. Long auburn hair spilled over her shoulders that lay still, even as a strong breeze buffeted the cemetery.

How she knew that this woman was Katrin was beyond her. The witch stood at the edge of the circle, her expression closed, calmly assessing her before stepping harmlessly over the line that was meant to keep others out. Her eyes flickered to the grimoire on the ground and her covetous look didn't escape Gabby.

"I'd hoped that you were one of mine," Katrin rested an ethereal hand on Gabby's shoulder. "But you're Ismena's. Not to worry."

Gabby was too surprised to say anything and when Katrin reached out and placed a hand over her eyes, she froze.

Katrin began to murmur under her breath, then said audibly, "You're eyes will be one with mine. What you see and hear, will be mine."

Gabby gasped as she woke with a start. Her mind was confused and she blinked hard a few times and realized she was at home, in bed and it was three am. The dream slipped from her mind just as quickly. An odd feeling told her to try and remember before it was gone, but nothing came to mind. The only thing that she could think about as she fell back to sleep was that she would be wrecked at work tomorrow.

Chapter Sixteen

Several days had passed since Aya had returned to the manor with Zac in tow and for several days she had avoided him. Apart from walking in on him and that knife, she had managed to evade him and his annoying questions. Remembering his blood all over the table, she grimaced. The sound of it had pierced through her head, splitting it open.

For two thousand years she had learnt to deal with people, read their emotions, decipher the meanings to their words, decode their motives, untangle their wicked webs of deceit. But, she had no idea how to deal with the insinuated meaning in Zac's words, the words he spoke as they drove to the manor.

I don't want you to leave.

It was the first time she had felt so protective of someone and it was an alien feeling. No one wanted her to stay once they knew even the smallest sliver of truth about her and she gladly compelled their memory of her away. These vampires knew nothing but the barest facts. Her greatest secrets would remain buried. They had to.

The impenetrable wall she had built around herself had always served her well. All that kept her going was the purpose she had set herself to last her eternity. Revenge. There was no room for anything else. So, to save Zac from her, she compelled the memory of their kiss away. It was for his own good.

But, those words. Maybe compulsion wasn't enough this time. She shook her head and pushed those thoughts away. It would do her no good to dwell when there were bigger threats lingering.

She finally had an opportunity to end Katrin for good. Her first and possibly only opportunity, but it all relied on Gabby. The young witch had access to powers that were immense, but were still beyond her reach. She needed to learn how to use them. If this happened, she was confident they had a chance of prevailing. The young witch just needed a push in the right direction.

Aya had invited Gabby to the manor where they could talk freely. The brothers were gone somewhere she didn't really care about. Brotherly bonding, pulling Zac back on the wagon. They needed a game plan, and soon. Enough time had passed in which Katrin could put together whatever grand scheme she had up her sleeve and they needed something to at least counter it. She'd been distracted by one particular brother far too much.

"I've dealt with spirits before but not the spirit of a witch," admitted Aya, pushing her thoughts away. "Just the living kind."

Gabby sighed, the stress obvious. "I'm so lost."

"Give me the grimoire," Aya frowned. "I can have a read of the older stuff."

"You can read that?" Gabby was surprised. "I don't even know what language it is."

"I'm older than it is. I've been around long enough to learn a lot of different languages," she shrugged, flipping through the pages. Coming to rest on the spell that had summoned her, she groaned. "This one we can do without."

Gabby grabbed her arm as she went to tear the offending page out. "Don't," she pleaded. "It's all I have of my Grams. Don't destroy it."

"We need to get rid of it, Gabby. As it is now, it's just a call. With the right inflection, it could become a summoning," Aya warned.

"You mean, physically summon you?"

"Yes."

"No one will take the grimoire," she was confident. "It's safe with me."

"Fine. But, don't say I didn't warn you." She continued to flick through pages, stopping to read when something caught her interest.

"Nothing?" Gabby asked, when she handed the grimoire back.

"I don't know," she sighed dramatically. "There's no one in your family who you can talk to? Other witches?"

"No," the young witch said, shrugging. "My parents have no power they admit to. There is my grandmother, but... "

"I would advise you think about contacting her," Aya said, giving her a little nudge with her words.

"I'm not even sure where she's living," Gabby protested.

"Well, you better get a clue," Aya raised an eyebrow at her. "She might be the only one who can help you find what's in there." She jabbed a finger at Gabby's heart. "Otherwise dying might be the best solution for all of us."

******

When the brothers finally came home, it was late afternoon and Aya was in the garden, sitting on the stone bench, staring at the sky. She assumed they had been doing some brotherly vampire bonding thing. Stay away from my girlfriend and stop eating people type exercises. Building bridges so they could get over it already.

"How was your AA meeting," she said seriously as she heard them come up behind her. She didn't have to turn to know that Zac was glaring at her. It was the first time they had spoken since the knife incident.

The brothers weren't fast enough to catch the movement to their left, but Aya was up from the bench and in front of Zac grasping a stake that had been thrown at him in a millisecond. And it was thrown back just as fast, a thud as it found its mark. She growled in annoyance as an unknown vampire came from the garden behind, stake in hand lunging for Sam. But she was there again, grabbing the male vampires wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks.

She sighed, exasperated. "You people never learn." She squeezed her hand harder around the assailant's wrist, a crack echoing across the garden and the stake dropped to the ground.

The vampire grimaced, but kept coming, obviously on a kamikaze mission. There was no way he would survive her.

Aya grabbed his hair before he could duck and drove his head into the ground so hard there was a loud crack as his skull broke. Aya held his head in place as blood began to pool beneath them. If she moved it even slightly, the vampire's brains would spill out of his broken skull and he would be good as dead. Her eyes were chillingly opalescent as the sent of blood filled the garden and she hissed deep in her throat.

"When you get to the other side, tell that bitch Katrin that she'll have to try harder than that to best me." She let her grip slacken and the vampire's eyes glazed over as his brains slid out of his broken skull.

Turning to the brothers, they were still in the same spot, shock etched on their faces. Only a minute had passed, but it was more than enough to get the job done. Her eyes refusing to clear she sneered, "Do that peace of shit a favor and stake him." She was beautiful and terrible all at once.

"Your eyes... " Zac whispered. "What... ?"

Aya grinned wickedly. "I'm a new kind of monster, vampire. One of a kind. Limited edition."

"But you are a vampire?" asked Sam, picking up the stake, warily.

"Unfortunately, yes," she rolled her eyes sarcastically, the color shifting back to their regular icy blue.

"Then why are your eyes white?"

"Consider me an albino. Cataracts from old age. Storm from X-men," she said sarcastically.

Zac raised his eyebrows. "You learn quick for someone who's been out of it for decades."

"Adapt and survive; or die. I don't know about you, but I'm a survivor." She pushed past him, going back inside.

Sam ran after her. "Aya, wait."

"Katrin is amping up her game finally," she said, not waiting to hear what he had to say. "Put your game face on, Samuel. Whatever she's going to try will happen very soon."

"She's testing our defenses," Zac said, coming up behind his brother.

"Aww, there's the Captain we all know and love," she said, mockingly.

"Give it a rest. It could also be a diversion. Sam, I suggest you check in on Liz and Gabby. I will have a look around the grounds."

"I would be more worried about Gabby right now," Aya said. "Going after Liz would be pointless. And besides, there's no one else here."

"How do you know?"

"Why do you still have to ask?"

Sam grimaced. "I'm going to check on her."

"I'm coming with you," Zac said.

"No, stay here. It might be exactly what Katrin wants you to do," Sam held his hand up. "I won't be long. I'll call once I know more."

Zac looked to Aya, but she just shrugged and went inside.

"Fine," he said, reluctantly agreeing with his brother. "Call me the second you know anything."

"I will, brother," Sam reassured him and disappeared around the side of the house.

******

While they waited for news from Sam, Zac convinced Aya to help him bury the desiccated vampires in the yard. Between them both, it didn't take long to dig holes deep enough to conceal them for a very long time. Graves were something Zac had become familiar with over the years.

"Why are your eyes white, really?" he asked, when Aya made it clear she wasn't going to speak to him.

She sighed loudly. "Because they are."

"Why won't you tell me anything about yourself?"

"There's nothing you'd want to know. I'm a vampire. Plain and simple. Why are your eyes green and mine blue? Because that's the way we were made. The end."

"You've heard more things about me in the last few days than Sam had heard in his entire life." He tossed his shovel aside, annoyed at her evasion and wiped his dirty hands on his jeans.

"I never once asked you to divulge your secrets, but you did anyway," she glared, leaning on her shovel.

"Yeah, you practically beat them out of me, Aya," he scoffed, remembering the night they'd spent at the motel. He wasn't quite himself then, coming down from the disgusting high of stalking human blood. "You can walk into any human house without being invited, the sun doesn't bother you in the slightest, your eyes are fucking white and you seem to know where the hell I am before I even get there. Who the hell are you, Aya? You're like a fucking ghost."

"I don't owe you anything, Zac. Least of all an explanation."

"Of course you don't." He ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Don't worry about me, when you've got your own problems to deal with." Her tone was sharp and he flinched.

"Thanks for reminding me, Aya. Real smooth."

She sighed heavily and sat down on the bench. "It's always been about control, Zac. You may be good at killing, but it's not all of who you are."

"You don't need to tell me this," he groaned, sitting beside her. He didn't really want to hear it, but assumed he was going to anyway.

"It's about control for all of us. Some choose to harness it, some choose to relinquish it. It is the intent that separates good from evil," she sniffed, looking at the sky. "Why do you hold onto your humanity?"

Zac shrugged, remaining silent.

"It's for Sam's sake, isn't it?" She peered out the corner of her eye, judging his reaction.

He was scowling, looking at his hands. Finally, he said, "I don't want to be this monster, but I can't help myself."

"You have to do it for yourself. You might think you're doing Sam a favor, but you're not. If you don't want it, then you're making it harder than you need to. You can help yourself." He was still looking at his hands, wringing them as she spoke. "Tell me, what would you have done after the Civil War?"

"I don't know," he frowned. He would have continued in the army, perhaps. Joined the new United States. Maybe as a Confederate they would have taken him and put him on trial instead. It wasn't something he was at liberty to think about once he had turned. That life was gone.

"That's the best answer anyone could ever hope for," Aya turned to look at him, pointedly.

He was confused. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "If you don't know, then you could do anything."

Zac sat a moment, trying to process the notion. His life had been taken away from him, but he still had a say as to what he did next. He'd always believed that Victoria had taken all of his choices and left him to be the only person he knew how to be. A monster. But, maybe he could be more than that. If only he knew how.

He hesitantly reached out to touch her hand that rested on the back of the bench, Aya eyeing him warily as he did. She edged back ever so slightly, so slight that only his vampire eyes could see the gesture. Her expression was blank as they stared at each other, until her eyes unfocused and her body became rigid.

"Zac... " she said with a sharp note of panic. Then she was gone.

Zac sat dumbfounded for a moment. She'd disappeared. Not like she had done before, where she'd moved too fast for him to stop, but vanished. Regardless, he still got up from the bench and searched the house, calling her name. Finally stopping in the study, he roared and sent the papers that littered the desk flying, his face in his hands.

They had been so stupid. Katrin was coming for Aya, she didn't want him anymore. Her voice had been one of surprise and panic like she didn't understand what was happening and he was powerless to stop it.

Aya had vanished into thin air.

Chapter Seventeen

Gabby stomped up the six flights of stairs to her apartment. It sat on top of a small complex of twelve, in a leafy street surrounded by large family homes and smaller cottages that dated back to pre-civil war days. A horror of 1970s architecture in an otherwise beautiful street. She was a mere six blocks from the town centre, and seven blocks from the Real Estate office where she worked. The view stretched for miles, but there wasn't really anything to see other than the surrounding houses and forest. Despite all of this, she loved her place. What she didn't love was the six flights of stairs.

Her mind was in turmoil over her conversation with Aya. She'd come straight home from the manor, wanting to be alone, extremely frustrated with herself. How could she find her Grandmother? Who knew where she was and if she was even still alive?

She put her bag on the kitchen bench with the grimoire beside it and went through to the bedroom, via the bathroom. The apartment was an odd layout. The bathroom connected to the kitchen on one side and through to a small walk-through closet, before emerging into the bedroom. The kitchen and lounge area were all in one. Large windows lined the far walls, long blue drapes pulled open, letting the late afternoon light into the apartment.

Pulling off her sweater and hanging it in the closet, Gabby stilled as she heard a dull thud. Her attention was drawn back through to the kitchen. It could have been her neighbor banging about across the way, but it had sounded like it had come from inside her apartment. Shaking her head, she dismissed the notion, positive she had locked the door behind her.

Walking back through the bathroom, Gabby stopped to splash cold water on her face to calm herself down a bit. Gazing at her reflection for a moment, she sighed. What did Aya expect her to do? She wasn't powerful. Hell, she couldn't even scry or control anything wilder than a gentle breeze.

Peering at herself in the mirror, she blinked when she saw her image waiver. Rubbing her eyes, she frowned when it did it again. What the hell?

Her head snapped towards the kitchen as she heard the same thumping sound through the door. Panicking, she pressed her ear against the wood, listening. It had come from her apartment, she was positive. Someone was in here with her.

Wildly looking around the bathroom, she couldn't find anything substantial she could use as a weapon. The only option was a can of hairspray. She took a deep breath and edged the door open a crack, peering through. The kitchen was empty, her bag still on the bench.

Gabby edged herself through the door, her heart beating so fiercely, it was a wonder it didn't give her away. If it had been a vampire in here, it would, but first she would have to invite one in. This had to be a human.

The kitchen was clear, so she discarded the hairspray and pulled the largest knife from the block as silently as she could aiming it in front of her as she edged along the wall to the lounge. Leaning around the corner, holding her breath, she gasped as she saw a dark figure of a man leaping out of the window, the drapes billowing inwards, the wind outside having picked up.

Running forward, Gabby leaned out of the window. That was a three story drop and the guy had just jumped When she looked for him below, no one was there. He'd vanished.

"Shit," she cursed and ran back towards the kitchen. The grimoire!

Knocking her bag onto the floor in her haste, she groaned, tears sliding down her face. It was gone. Panicked, she paced back and forth. What should she do? Who had taken it? Even as she asked herself, she already knew the answer to that question. Katrin was behind this. There was no one else.

Suddenly, there was a splitting pain behind her eyes that made her cry out. Doubling over, she grasped the edge of the kitchen counter, gasping for breath. Her head felt like it was literally tearing open. Sinking to the floor, groaning, she realized that someone had been spying on her. The ache in her head a clue that her mind had been used against her.

No, that wasn't quite right. Gabby had been used as the spy. The only reason they would go for the grimoire was because of her conversation with Aya. There would be nothing special about hers that distinguished it from another witches other than... The summoning spell. Oh, shit.

Gabby's reflection was the clue that led her to believe that she had been used as a looking glass for Katrin. There was no harm in using her energy to dispel herself. If she was wrong, then nothing would happen. If she was right, then she'd break the spell.

Holding her head in her hands, she drew her knees close and began to chant. The pain still tore through her skull, trying to erase her memory, she assumed. Abruptly, she felt all the air sucked from her body and gasped, trying to draw in new oxygen, spots pricking her vision.

Gabby's eyes snapped open as she came to. She was lying on her side on the kitchen floor, shivering, the lounge room window still open, her bag on the floor. She'd passed out. Rubbing her eyes and sitting up slowly, she felt much better. The spell had gone. Groaning, she realized what she had allowed to happen.

She'd been used as a spy and now the grimoire was gone.

Gabby jumped when there was a sharp knock at the door. Dragging herself up, she looked through the peephole and her shoulders sagged in relief. Throwing open the door, she burst into tears.

"Sam!" Gabby cried in relief as he stepped inside. "Someone was here, I... "

"It's all right," he embraced her. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yes," she stammered.

"What happened?"

"Katrin cast a spell on me in my sleep. She was using me to spy," she sobbed.

"Was?" he asked, carefully.

"She's not here anymore, I took care of it."

Frowning, he walked through the apartment, checking every corner, finally looking out the open window to the ground below. Closing it behind him, he sighed.

"Sam," Gabby said, worried. "Today, I was with Aya."

"What did you say Gabby? What does Katrin know?" Sam grabbed her shoulders, suddenly panicked.

"The summoning spell," she said. "They took the grimoire."

******

"What do you mean her grimoire was stolen?!" Zac yelled into his cell. He paced back and forth as Sam tried to calm him down on the other end. They were on their way back to the manor. Sam and that god damn witch, Gabby. "How the hell did they get in?"

"It was a human man, Gabby said. She was in her apartment at the time. No vampires are invited in besides Liz and I. He had to be compelled by someone."

"Of course he was," Zac spat.

"He jumped out the window before she could do anything. There was nothing there when she looked out, so... "

"Fucking hell," he groaned. "Obviously someone was waiting for him, it's a three story drop."

"Katrin." Sam sounded like he'd finally got everything that had happened the last few weeks.

"Duh. You know Aya's gone right? They stole the fucking grimoire and used the summoning spell against her."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"We're almost there, brother. Calm down and we'll discuss this further when we get there, alright?" he reasoned.

Zac grunted and hung up abruptly. Stopping his restless pacing, he sat on the couch across from the fireplace and got up again. He went into the study, then back into the yard. Unable to sit still, he hurled one of the shovels across the yard and over the fence, roaring in frustration. He was back in the parlor in a second, downing a bottle of vodka. He knew he had to calm down or it would be bad news for everyone. Problem was, he didn't want to.

When he finally sensed movement outside, he sighed heavily. What had taken them so long? Glaring at the doorway as everyone filed in, and it was everyone, he began pacing again, agitated. Liz and Alex sat on the couch and placed Gabby in between them. They knew he was unpredictable and he resented the precautionary methods they were taking.

Sam came up beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping his momentum and said, "What happened?"

"She disappeared into thin air. Poof. Like magic," Zac spat, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation. Abruptly, he swore loudly, the empty bottle shattering against the wall. It wasn't until she had gone that he realized he was falling for her. As irritating as she was, he wanted her. He had to go after her no matter how hopeless the situation was. "We should have destroyed the spell once she revealed herself to us. We were stupid."

"They might try and use her as bait for you," Gabby said quietly. "She was the easier mark, what with the summoning spell."

Zac turned on her, glaring. "Don't you understand, Gabby? Katrin wanted Aya from the first moment she realized she was with us. She disregarded me a long time ago. Do you remember Alistair? He was here looking for her. Aya is good as dead thanks to you."

"It's not anyone's fault," Sam placed a restraining hand on Zac's shoulder. "It's unfortunate, but we can do what we can to find her. It might not be too late."

"Is there anyway you can use your witches power to find out where she is?" Alex asked, speaking up for the first time, trying to keep as calm as he could. Being in the same room as a very angry vampire wasn't exactly a picnic.

"I don't have the kind of power it takes to track her. Let alone to summon her back. I'd have to scry and I've never got it to work before."
"Then we need to find someone who does," Sam said, glancing at Liz as Zac fell into a chair.

"I have to go find my Grams," Gabby said. "She is a witch. She will know what to do."

"Gabby, you haven't seen your grandmother in ten years," Liz said gently.

"I know," she said quietly. "But she left me the grimoire. I have to find her. It's meant to be. I know it is."

"Then we'll help you," Alex said. "Whatever you need."

Gabby glanced at Liz. "I need to confront my parents. Liz, I don't know how they will take it, me being a witch. Can you come with me? In case I need you to... " She stopped, not wanting to say it out loud.

"Why not just compel the information out of them?" Zac said through clenched teeth, his head in his hands.

"They're my parents, Zac. If there's a chance they could accept me, then I'll take it. Stop being so goddamn heartless."

"I'll go with you," Liz said. "Of course."

"Why are you still here? Clocks ticking," Zac said, exasperated.

Gabby edged away from him and made for the front door, followed closely by Alex and Liz. Sam hovered over Zac's shoulder, giving him a look that he'd become all too familiar with over the past few weeks. A look that said he was waiting for him to snap again.

It frustrated Zac to no end that he couldn't do anything but wait. Wait for a feeble little witch to go get help. What could he do? Go find another witch who might be willing to help? That could take forever and there was no guarantee he could convince a vampires mortal enemy to help locate and free the infamous Witch Hunter. For a creature that had all the time in the universe, he suddenly couldn't get enough of it.

"Zac, I know you want to go after her, but you just have to wait," Sam said, pre-empting what he was going to say. His little brother had become good at reading his mind of late.

"I know," Zac held his head in his hands and sighed. "There's no trail for us to follow, Sam. She disappeared into thin air. She could be on the other side of the world for all we know."

"We've got to trust Gabby, Zac. I know it's hard, but we have to sit back and let her do her thing," Sam said calmly, anything he felt about the situation carefully hidden in his voice. He knew as well as he did that there wouldn't be another witch who would be willing to help them.

"But, I can't just sit here while they do god knows what to her." Zac stood, beginning his pacing again, his rage simmering beneath the surface.

"Zac, do you... " asked Sam, concern creasing his brow as he put two and two together. "Are you in... "

"Sam," he interrupted, glaring at his brother. "We just need to find her."

"Zac... " he began again.

"Shut it, Sam. We got her into this mess. Now we've got to get her out.

Chapter Eighteen

One moment, Aya was talking with Zac in the garden, the next she was on her knees, gasping for breath in complete darkness. A circle of flame erupted around her with a whooshing sound, heat radiating on her face.

Her eyes widened in surprise as a familiar stocky, male figure stepped through the circle. He was dressed head to toe in black, his short dusky blonde hair cropped close to his scalp, broad shoulders held proudly. It had been three hundred years since she had seen the vampire that now stood before her and her blood ran cold.

"Caius?" she gasped.

"Hello, dear one. I'm glad you could make it," he smiled lopsidedly. She was smart enough to notice it was a smile filled with malice. He would not welcome her after what she'd done to him.

"Looks like I didn't have a choice," she said wryly, noticing the three witches that stood outside the circle. Before he could answer, she lunged for him, fangs bared. To his amusement, she was brought to her knees before she could lay a finger on him. A sharp pain was tearing through her head like something was trying to claw its way out. Grasping her temples, it was all she could do to remain focused. "Traitors," she spat at the witches, grimacing through the splitting explosions.

"They're useful, your families pets," Caius mused, watching her tortured expression as she tried to calm the storm that raged inside. "They know how to keep your kind under control."

"Murderous bastard," she hissed at him.

"In that regard we are more alike than you'll ever come to admit."

"We may both be vampires, Caius, but I'll never be like you."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. You're not a true vampire, dear one. My brother should never have created you."

"When I free myself and kill your pathetic witches, I will tear you to shreds. And this time, I won't put the pieces back together," she snarled, kneeling in the dirt. It had been a while since she had thought about that vampire.

"Wow," he laughed. "I forgot how spirited you are."

"You killed my family."

"I can't possibly take all the credit for that," he smiled. "My brothers enjoyed it as much as I."

She glared up at him, trying to fight through the splitting ache in her head. "Why'd you do it, Caius? Was it because she ordered you to?"

"You killed half of my family, so it's only fair. Tit for tat and all."

"Well, here I am, Caius. Fight me like a man."

He walked around her, sizing her up before sighing. Killing her mustn't be on Katrin's agenda just yet. "It wasn't part of our bargain, you know," he said, his guard dropping slightly. "To do her dirty work. To hunt you."

"Then why do it? Why not just let it go?"

He snorted. "You want me to let it go? After you killed my brothers and sister? You would continue your revenge on us, regardless. And we will still hunt you, no matter if Katrin wants us to or not."

She didn't reply, waiting to hear what he would say next.

"All's fair in love and war, dear one." He grasped her face, fingers digging into her skin, and kissed her cheek.

Aya shook her head free from his hand. "Remember that time I snapped your neck and locked you in that house you weren't invited into?" she sneered at him. "It was the highlight of the century watching you tear yourself apart."

"You see," he pointed at her, "this is why I miss you. Your creativity." Stepping forward, he grabbed the back of her shirt and began to drag her through the edge of the circle, the flame flickering out, plunging them into darkness. The witches followed, their power still focused on subduing her.

For the first time Aya caught a glimpse of her surrounds. There were a number of old rundown buildings around the yard. No doubt from some kind of factory that hadn't seen operation in a very long time. Night had fallen entirely, the darkness complete around them, the stars above twinkling brightly. There was no light pollution flooding the sky, which meant they were away from human habitation. But where exactly that was, she had no idea.

Caius opened a steel door in the side of a large building and took no care when he threw her inside. She rolled in the dirt, coming to rest against the far wall, cracking her head against hard metal. The outside door slammed shut with a boom that echoed through the dark room.

Standing the moment she felt the witches power lapse, she threw herself at the door with all her strength, but it didn't budge. The thud of her body colliding with steel echoed around her. Trying again she came to the same conclusion. The door had to be spelled by those witches, there was no other explanation. When she got out of here they would pay dearly for consorting with the enemy.

Aya cursed, her head thumping against the door. The only way she could have been summoned here was if someone had stolen Gabby's grimoire. She'd warned her only the day before to destroy the pages. It was no secret that all of them were being watched, but to what extent? Had Katrin cursed Gabby to use her as a spy? Probably. Aya hoped she was smart enough to work it out.

Looking around for another weakness she noticed the walls were smooth, so she couldn't climb to the ceiling to find an out there. The air had an old smell of grain about it, so she assumed it was a kind of grain silo. That would explain the smooth interior and lack of exits.

She sat in the middle of the room and sighed. Caius was keeping her alive, which surprised her a little, since they had no problem with trying to kill her all that time ago. Which only meant they wanted her for the same reason they had imprisoned her the first time. And going by past experience, they couldn't get anything out of her even if she wanted to tell them.

Turning at the grating sound that signaled that the outside door was opening, Caius strode into the silo, a dark look of malice written on his features. Taking any opportunity she could, she lunged for the vampire, but was on her knees as pain ripped through her head. The witches were behind him, crippling her into submission.

Looking up, she realized he was carrying chains and some large steel meat hooks. This wasn't going to be pleasant. Caius grabbed the back of her shirt and dragged her to the far side of the silo, where some steel rings had been welded to the wall. He attached the chains to them while the witches stood between her and the door. They still controlled her and she couldn't move, the pain was that disorienting. Caius approached her, dragging the chains through the dirt. The meat hooks were a part of the chain itself, attached to either end. She screamed in rage as he pierced one through her wrist in a single fluid movement, blood gushing from the wound onto the ground. Laughing at her discomfort, he did the same to the other. Pulling the chain, he hoisted her up, her feet barely touching the ground. She moaned in agony as the hooks dragged on her wrists, blood pouring down her arms, soaking her clothes.

"I have been waiting for this day for a very long time," he stroked her face with the back of his hand. "It's a shame that my brothers couldn't be here for the occasion."

Bending down, he drove another hook into either ankle, securing her to the floor. Pulling hard on the chains, Caius tore her wounds open, the steel keeping them open and bleeding, unable to heal. He intended to drain as much of her blood as he could, take her strength until she withered into eternal unconsciousness. Only feeding would bring her back from that kind of death.

Standing back, Caius gestured for the three witches to come forward. They formed a triangle around her and began to chant. As she felt their power build up around her she realised that they were trying to break her, crack her mind open and bring her to insanity. Aya fought against the chains, but she knew there was no escaping, not while the witches watched over her. Zac, Sam, where are you? she cried silently to herself. Did she really want them to come? If they could find her, they would walk into a blood bath. It was safer to assume she was alone in this, to rely on her own book smarts to escape. Right now, it seemed hopeless.

Groaning, she felt the witches clawing at the edges of her being, preparing her for when she'd become weaker once her life began to drain away with her blood.

It was so lonely here in the forest. With nothing but her own rambling thoughts to keep her company. All she had been doing lately was thinking. So much thinking. It was becoming dangerous, she was starting to question herself; her motives, her being. So much had happened in the last two thousand years. Maybe one too many narrow escapes had put these doubts into her.

Aya's head snapped up and she snarled at the witches, "Get out of my head!"

Caius was standing off in the shadows, watching her suffer. The sound of his satisfied laughter reached her and she pulled against the chains defiantly, tearing her wounds open further. There was no escaping, she was tightly restrained, but she grasped onto what little control she could.

They wouldn't break her. They couldn't break her.

"The sooner she gets what she wants, the sooner we will be free of her," Caius sneered. "Stop fighting."

"It's a lot more than a mere link, isn't it? She's forced you into servitude, hasn't she?" Aya prodded. "That's the part she left out, wasn't it?"

"It's none if your business, witch," he snarled, striking her across the face, splitting her lip.

Drawing a sharp breath between her teeth, she didn't let up. "She tricked you into making the ultimate sacrifice so she could use you. All of you. And it was all for nothing."

"Silence!" Caius' roar echoed around them.

"You'll never get what you want from me. I'm the last and you'll never know."

With a inhuman swiftness, he was directly in front of her, eyes black and fangs bared. Grasping her around the neck with his pale hands, he began choking the life from her, his anger finally besting his control. Aya felt her airway beginning to collapse under the force of his grasp, but her eyes never left his, showing her complete defiance.

"She wants her alive, Sir." The soft voice of the witch to her right broke through the tense silence.

Caius took a few deep breaths and let her go, the chains that held her aloft, rattling.

"You will never break me, Caius," Aya growled, her voice rasping.

He smirked, eyes glittering in the semi-darkness. "Unfortunately for you, you won't have a choice in the matter."

Chapter Nineteen

Gabby's parents had lived in the same house they had brought when they first got married. Over the years it hadn't changed very much, it was a typical American home. Two stories, clad in cream weatherboards, a wide porch that stretched across the entire front and a double garage. She grew up here as an only child amongst very happy memories. The only thing that marred it was when she was ten, when her beloved Grams had disappeared. Everyone said she was crazy and did all they could to find her so they could get her the help she needed. Gabby never believed any of the things her family told her. There was no reason for her not to believe, but perhaps it was her undeveloped power pointing her in the right direction.

Liz and Alex hovered behind her on the porch, content to wait outside while she went in and spoke to her parents. Liz had already been invited in some time ago and was ready in case she was needed. Letting herself in with her key, Gabby called out to her parents, who were in the lounge room.

"Gabrielle," her mother called, coming out into the hall. "This is a nice surprise. We weren't expecting you." Gabby's Mom was probably the nicest lady you'd be likely to meet. She was more than happy to go out of her way to help her only daughter if she needed it, whether it be help with school projects or more grown up problems like getting stubborn stains out of her clothes. Her Mom was fair and on first glance, Gabby didn't look that much like her at all. Her dark coloring came from her Dad, who was half Spanish on his mother's side. His mother being her grandmother, the one she so desperately wanted to find.

"I know, Mom," Gabby said, wondering how she could broach the subject.

"I would have made you something nice for dinner," she smiled, offering just as she knew she would.

"That's okay, Mom. Where's Dad? I want to ask you something." Best to sit them down first.

"Is everything okay, honey?" her Mom asked, concerned.

"Yeah," she sighed, walking into the lounge, where she heard her Dad moving about.

"Gabrielle!" he said as she walked in.

"Hey, Dad," she said, sitting down on the familiar leather armchair beside the matching sofa, which her parents now sat down on. They looked at her expectantly, wanting to know what she had paid them this impromptu visit for. "I want to ask you about Grams," she said, carefully.

Her mother stared at her in shock, obviously under the impression that it was all swept under the rug and she'd never ask about it again. "Why do you want to know about her?"

She looked to her father and then back to her mother, gauging their reactions, but just came out with it. They were against the clock. Who knew how much time Aya had, if she had any left at all? "I want to find her. Go and speak with her."

"Gabrielle," her father said in his familiar stern voice. He'd used this tone with her on many occasions, when she had been in trouble for something or rather when she was a child. But not since she'd finished high school. It was perfectly reasonable that she would want to speak with her grandmother one day, so why was it such a hassle, regardless of her reasons why?

"Dad," she sighed. "It's important. Please, if you know where she might be."

"No," he said. "It's best that you stay away. She's not quite... right."

"Not quite right?" she scoffed, offended. "What's that meant to mean?"

"Gabrielle," he frowned, clutching her mother's hand. "Your Grams, well, she was sick. She claimed she could do things that weren't... ordinary."

"Yes, I know," she sighed, exasperated. She was ten, not stupid. Certainly old enough to catch on to what was happening. "Did you ever stop to think that she was telling you the truth?"

Gabby saw the hesitation in her father's eyes and knew he'd seen proof of it. He'd had to. "You knew exactly what she was, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry Gabrielle, but we still agree with your Grandfather," her father said, the lie evident in his voice. "The best place for her was at the hospital."

"How can you say that?" she exclaimed, dumbfounded. "Even after what you saw?"

"Gabrielle, please," her mother said quietly, ever so subtly wanting to quell the situation. To stop a scandal plaguing the town with them at the centre of the gossip. "We didn't see anything. Your grandmother was sick. We tried to get her some help, but she wouldn't listen."

"No, Mom. It's you that wouldn't listen. Even when you saw it with your own eyes." Tears were threatening to spill over as she pointed to the candles on the mantle angrily, willing them to light. "Then how do you explain this?"

As the wicks burst into flame, apparently of their own accord, her parents recoiled, gasping. Gabby was too angry and disappointed to see the denial that was so evident. They would send her away now, too, wouldn't they?

"Gabrielle," her father said, glancing at her warily.

"I'm just like her. I'm a witch. Are you going to send me to an asylum now? Do you think I'm crazy?" She saw the fear in their eyes and imagined it was the same one that had plagued their features when they realized the truth about her grandmother. It broke her heart. Her parents shouldn't be afraid of their own daughter. They attempted to put her grandmother away when she was little more than ten years old for exactly the same reason. Because they wouldn't accept what was right in front of their own eyes. She wished she could take it all back. She wanted to think her parents were above all of this, but then again, everyone thought that about their Mom and Dad until they proved themselves otherwise. And they had just proven they weren't above anything.

"Liz?' she called, a tear running down her cheek.

Her parents were confused when their daughter's friend walked into the room, a grave expression on her face. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she nodded, her voice a whisper, before she could change her mind.

"Do you want me to compel the information from them?"

"No."

"Are you sure? They won't remember."

"But, I will." Even though they might be wary of what she was, she couldn't manipulate them like that. They were her Mom and Dad and despite their faults, she loved them. She couldn't.

With a nod, Liz turned and said, "Mr. and Mrs. Cohen? I'm very sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to forget everything that happened tonight." The two adults gazed into her blue eyes vacantly as she compelled their memories away. "When we go, all you will remember is that you had a nice dinner and a pleasant evening watching television together. You will forget all about Gabby being a witch and about her questions. Do you understand?"

They nodded vacantly, eyes unblinking.

"Good. Now, don't move until we've gone." Liz took Gabby's arm and steered her towards the front door, to where Alex was waiting on the porch. When it closed behind them, she heard the faint sounds of her parents moving about inside, the television turning on.

Alex wrapped his arms around Gabby and let her sob into his shirt, Liz hugging her from behind. It took a few minutes before she could pull herself together, pushing her disappointment to one side, but not forgetting it.

"What do we do now?" she sniffed, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

"We go back to the manor and look for her ourselves," Liz stated, kindly. "Whatever we need to do."

Alex smiled and said in agreement, "whatever we need to do."

******

Once they arrived back at the manor, Liz pulled them into Sam's bedroom, where she opened up his laptop and gave it to Alex. The best place to start looking for Gabby's grandmother was online. They had access to genealogy websites, phone books, Google. And if that failed, perhaps it could help in other witchy ways.

"Vampires have the Internet?" Alex raised his eyebrows.

"Sam likes Wikipedia," Liz shrugged. "They might have been born in the eighteen hundreds, but they do keep with the times you know."

"I doubt she would be in the phone book," Gabby scowled when she saw what Alex had pulled up on the screen. "She hid from my Grandfather for years before he died. It seems too simple."

"There might be a chance that she listed it after," Alex said, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. "You never know."

"We should try everything, even the obvious," Liz said, while Alex brought up the online version of the phone book. She knew from conversations with Gabby that witches liked to send signs to one another, that looking in the most straightforward places would sometimes reap the most reward. Her friend was so worked up about actually finding her grandmother, that she had forgotten her own advice. That's why they were there to help her. "Perhaps she is looking for you too and hoped you would find her one day."

"There is only one Sophia Cohen in the whole United States in the phone book," Alex said, peering at the laptop screen. "Mobile, Alabama."

"That's only two and a half hours away," exclaimed Liz. "Are you going to call her?"

"It's worth a try, I guess," Gabby sighed nervously. Things like this seemed to happen to her more often. Signs, omens. It was like the universe was trying to tell her something or at least steer her in the right direction. She'd call the number and then she would know.

Pulling out her cell, she punched in the number and hit call. Her hands shook a little as it took a moment for the call to connect and start ringing. As each tone came, her stomach twisted and her heart beat hard against her chest. Forgetting that Liz could hear those kinds of things these days, she jumped as her friend's hand rested on her shoulder.

"Hello?"

Gabby couldn't speak, the words died in her throat the second she heard her grandmother's voice. There was no doubt it was her. She knew it. Every part of her knew it.

It was a few seconds before the voice on the other end said, "Gabrielle?"

"Hello," she managed to say.

"I knew I would hear from you one day," came Sophia's voice. She sounded relieved, like she had been waiting a while longer than she thought she would.

"Grams," she began hesitantly. "I know it's been a while and I'm sorry to call you like this out of the blue, but I didn't know what else to do."

"Well," Sophia began. "You better tell me about it. Perhaps I can help."

"I'm in trouble," she said, haltingly. "We're mixed up in something big, Grams. It has to do with the founding witches. Katrin, specifically. She took a friend hostage and our grimoire. We have to save them both before something terrible happens."

Sophia was horrified. "The Betrayer?" She used the name Katrin was known by in witch legend.

"Yeah."

"Well, my dear. That's a great deal of trouble."

"Can I come see you?" She hoped she would say yes. Please say yes.

"Yes, come right away," her voice became serious. "Gabrielle, tell no one. Do you understand? Tell no one where you are going. I can help you, but we must keep this from her."

Gabby was relieved. "I understand. Two friends already know, but I trust them with more than my life."

"Elizabeth and Alex." Sophia sounded perfectly calm.

"How did you?" She had stopped being amazed at the things she could do a while ago, but being able to see whom she was with in a telephone conversation? That was a new one. But, perhaps it was foresight.

Sophia continued, "There will be time for explanations later, dear. We need to get the grimoire back before we can help your friend. Please come as soon as you can. Here, take down the address."

As Gabby scribbled down the address her Grams gave her on a piece of paper, she explained that they would be there in a few hours. "I need to go right now," Gabby said to her friends, who were looking on, eager to hear what had happened.

"Don't you mean we?" Liz smiled.

"I can't ask you to come, you know that," she said, knowing full well that this was her prerogative. She'd asked them to do so much already.

"Gabby, we have been friends for almost ten years. I'm not letting you go alone," Alex hugged her.

"And of course I'm coming too!" Liz announced, pulling Gabby to her feet. "Let's go and commandeer Zac's car before he notices." When Alex coughed and raised his eyebrows she said, "It's much better than your truck, sorry Alex." It always weirded Gabby out when Liz stopped and listened to something. She looked like a statue and always had to check to see if she was still breathing. "Right, they're not here. Let's go!"

******

By the time they reached the first signs that they had arrived in Mobile, it was almost eleven. The night was clear and bright, the moon almost full again. The town centre was typical of the South. Manicured lawns, immaculate streets, quaint little teahouses and cafes, little topiaries and flowerbeds lined the main thoroughfare, along with the few random locals out enjoying the warm evening.

Sophia lived on the opposite side of town, in a small house with a wild garden out the front that covered everything but the path to the door and the porch. Gabby instantly liked it. It seemed like a place a witch would live. Liz and Alex followed her to the front door, where she hesitantly knocked.

The door was opened an instant later, and Gabby laid eyes on her grandmother for the first time in ten years. Her face bore a few more wrinkles than she remembered, but it was her Grams. Caramel skin, warm chestnut eyes and silver streaked hair. Just as she remembered. Before Sophia could speak, she stepped over the threshold and hugged her tightly.

"Gabrielle, dear," she sounded surprised, but relieved all at the same time. "It's good to see you. My, how you've grown."

"Grams," she said, suddenly becoming her ten-year-old self again.

"I'm sorry dear," her grandmother said glancing to Liz and Alex who hovered in the background. "But your vampire friend must wait outside. I cannot invite her in."

"It's okay, Gabby. I understand," Liz smiled, reassuringly. "Mrs. Cohen, if you don't mind, Alex and I will wait for you on the porch."

Sophia smiled and nodded, "Of course. But, we may be some time. Perhaps you may like to go get some rest. It is rather late."

"That's okay," Alex said. "We'd rather wait, if it's all the same to you."

She smiled and shook her head, looking to her granddaughter who stood beside her, "You have some loyal friends, Gabrielle. Human and vampire."

"I know," she replied. "I would do the same for them."

Sophia gave her a look that said that she expected as much. After all, their family had history of befriending all kinds of supernaturals. She'd learnt as much from reading the grimoire.

"Come," Sophia said, closing the door behind them.

******

For the second time that night, Alex and Liz waited for their friend outside. When they said as much to Sophia, that they didn't mind one bit, they really were telling the truth. Both of them would do whatever they needed to help get Aya and the grimoire back. She'd helped both of them in different ways. Alex, she saved from Katrin's rogue vampire. Liz she helped by bringing Zac back and telling her a few home truths that in hindsight, she really needed to hear.

Alex sat on the bench under one of the front windows and said, "Well, at least it's a nice night to sit outside."

"Yeah," Liz said, gazing at the stars above. If only Alex could see what she could.

"Do you think Mrs. Cohen will be able to help?" he asked.

"I don't know," Liz shrugged. "Gabby seems to think so and she's never given us a reason to doubt her."

"I just hope she can help her locate Aya." It wasn't any secret that he liked the vampire, even if she intimidated him now that he knew that she was over two thousand years old. His own life seemed insignificant in relation to hers.

"I hope she can find her for Zac's sake," Liz said as much to herself as to Alex.

"Zac's not my favorite person in the world, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"He's never been nice to me and I've just come to accept it. And I shouldn't," Alex said. "I feel myself wanting to keep him away from Aya. Someone like that doesn't deserve her. If it wasn't for Zac, none of this would have happened. This whole situation is majorly screwed up."

"He loves her, Alex," Liz sighed. She wasn't blind. His reaction to her disappearance was as much evidence as she needed to convince her. "He might not see it yet, or have accepted it, but he does."

"It doesn't excuse him," he scowled.

"I know," she said. "He's got a lot of issues. Some of which he hasn't even told Sam about. How he was turned... It was really screwed up, Alex. He should have died in eighteen sixty five. Instead he was forced to become a vampire. According to Sam, he wasn't like this at all when he was human. He was a good guy."

"Sounds like being a vampire screwed with his head," Alex said.

"That's not the half of it," she grimaced. "Aya may be the best thing that's ever happened to him."

"As long as he wakes up and sees it."

Chapter Twenty

Sitting down in her grandmother's living room was surreal. Gabby was suddenly shy talking about the things she'd kept secret from all but four other people.

"Making friends with vampires?" Sophia asked.

"Yes, Grams," she replied like she was a child again.

"Are you sure that's wise, dear?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But, they're decent people. They've helped me as much as I've helped them." Zac, she wasn't so sure about. She'd heard about his last bender. But, Sam and Liz? There was no doubt.

Sophia chuckled and said, "It's okay, Gabrielle. Our family has been friends with a number of vampires over the years. They're not all evil creatures and certainly not all of them wanted to be changed in the first place."

"My thoughts exactly," Gabby exclaimed, relieved she wasn't going to get a reprimand. "What vampires are you talking about?"

"Well," her grandmother began carefully. "They're all long stories. But, the same one keeps cropping up, helping our family from time to time. She assisted my grandmother, your great great grandmother, before I was born. And back in the Middle Ages... "

Gabby knew she was referring to Aya. She'd been in Ashburton before she went to sleep, so she may have been the one who'd assisted her great great grandmother. Perhaps the brothers would know of her family? They were human then. Before she went on, Gabby had to ask the question that had been bothering her for a very long time. "Grams, why did you leave?"

Sophia sighed, as if she had been waiting for this question. "I was frightened when Edward found out what I had been hiding. I had kept the largest piece of myself secret from him, knowing that he wouldn't really understand. Your grandfather was a difficult man, Gabrielle. He was very set in his ways and only believed in things that were tangible. You and I know the world doesn't work that way, but there was no convincing him otherwise. I wouldn't be here today to help you if he'd managed to have me admitted to the hospital. I doubt I would have been any help at all. Despite his faults I did love him. It was best for all of us that I left. My only regret is that I had to leave you to find your gift on your own. For that I'm sorry."

"I know," Gabby whispered. "I just wanted to hear it from you."

Sophia smiled at her granddaughter. "Give me a moment," she began as she walked over to the bookcase that was overflowing against one wall. "Ahh, here it is." Sophia returned to the sofa with a book that looked and felt very familiar.

"Wait," Gabby exclaimed, suddenly confused at the sight of another grimoire. "I thought our grimoire was the only one in our family. What's this?"

"This," Sophia said, sitting back down, "is my grimoire."

"Yours? You wrote this one? All of it?" she asked, excited.

"Yes. It is all of my accumulated knowledge. And I have just the thing that will help us bring the other grimoire home." She began flipping through pages that were much more white and crisp than the pages that Gabby was used to looking at. "Ahh... Here we go."

Sophia turned the grimoire around and pointed to a page. Gabby began to read, but realized it was in the same language as lot of the pages in her own grimoire.

"I can't read this," she said, frowning.

Sophia smiled and pushed the grimoire closer to her. "Its witch speak, dear."

"You mean you can read it?"

"And you can't?"

"No, I can only read the ones in English." Gabby was confused. Was she meant to be able to read this, regardless?

"You can read it if you try. You're a witch." Sophia said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Aya could read it, but I assumed it was because she's old."

"This is the woman Katrin took?" Sophia asked.

"Yeah, but I don't understand how she could have if it's only meant for us. She's a vampire. Witches who've turned loose all their powers."

"Then she must be one of the stars," her grandmother concluded.

Gabby obviously had a lot to learn. "What do you mean, one of the stars?"

"In our stories, there are the ones known as the stars, the beginning of the witches. If your friend still has ability after being made vampire, then she must be a star. There is no other explanation," she said, seriously. "If that is the case, then she is in much more danger than you think."

"How... ? What... ?"

Sophia smiled warmly. "I think it would be reasonable if a star was turned into a vampire, it would still shine a little."

"What can we do?" Gabby began to panic, but tried to keep herself in check. She didn't understand what her Grams meant about Aya being one of the stars, but she did understand the part about danger.

"One, we need to call the grimoire home. Two, you need to realize your true potential," Sophia reached over and took her granddaughters hands in hers. "Read the page again. You cannot have practiced magic and not know this language."

Had she been speaking this language unknowingly all along when she had been practicing? When she performed the spell that had called Aya? Tenderly taking the grimoire, she looked again and began to read the words as they appeared. The ink seemed to shift around, like it was trying to pry itself away from the page. As she read, she realised it was an incantation. The further she went down the page, the more power she felt building inside of her, but regardless of her sudden wariness, she kept going. Sophia had asked her to read this page for a reason.

She was calling forth her power. The power that had been born inside of her. She understood.

When Gabby had read the last word, she looked up to the smiling face of her grandmother and said, "Thank you."

Sophia seemed pleased. "It's my pleasure, dear. We should have done that a long time ago. Now, you are who you were meant to be."

"It was an unbinding, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but in this case it was used to wake what couldn't naturally. You just needed a little prod," she explained. "Now, if you're up for it, lets call our grimoire home where it belongs."

"Oh, I'm up for it," Gabby laughed, feeling better than she had for a long time.

Gabby positioned herself on the other side of the coffee table, pulling up a footstool. As they linked hands, she felt her Grams' power for the first time and it was... epic. She couldn't think of another word to describe it. Sophia was a very powerful witch and it seemed to run in the family. Gabby now felt like she could do just about anything and she knew that she would have to be very careful.

"Follow my lead, dear," Sophia said and began a simple incantation. After the first time through, Gabby picked up on the words and spoke them, their voices echoing eerily around them in the cozy living room.

The incantation was weaved with words that called back what was bound to the two witches by blood. It was theirs and theirs alone. No one else had a right to possess the grimoire, not even another witch. Their call was infused with the longing of an age, the trials of their ancestors, their own stories echoing through the wave of power that seemed to warm the room around them, like the sun was beating down on their shoulders.

Gabby felt the building power within her flow down her arms into their linked hands, merging with that of her Grams. It wasn't long before the air between them began to glow with a point of golden light. Sophia began to speak the incantation more forcefully and squeezed Gabby's hands reassuringly. It was working.

Just when Gabby couldn't bear the flow of power anymore, the point of light flared brightly and they were plunged into darkness, the electric lights flickering off for a moment. When they came back on, she gasped. Her grimoire sat on the coffee table.

She dropped her Grams' hands and grabbed it, holding it close. It felt warm, like it had been left in the sun. "Incredible," she cried.

"Indeed," Sophia chuckled. "You're a rare witch, Gabrielle." When her granddaughter looked at her with a big question mark on her face she explained, "You're powerful, dear. Probably even more than me. Be very careful how you chose to use your gift."

She understood fully now, what it was to be a witch. How easy it was to be corrupted. The power she now felt was intoxicating and would take her down dark roads if she let it. "We have to go back," Gabby said, suddenly. "A lot of time has passed and we need to help Aya."

"Then go," Sophia said kindly. "There is much at stake. We will have time together."

"But, Grams," Gabby said, her eyes wide. "Aren't you coming with us?"

"No, dear. I can imagine the reception I would receive from your parents," she chuckled. "My place is here. This is your time." Gabby went to open her mouth to protest further but she was interrupted. "To save the star you must look deep inside yourself, child. You'll find what you're looking for there."

They hugged tightly for what felt like an age, but Gabby soon pulled herself away, knowing that Aya's fate was still in her hands. She had to go back to Ashburton and find out where the vampire had been taken. Her fate depended on everything.

******

After leaving Sophia's, they went straight back to the manor. It had been more than a day already since Gabby and Alex had slept. Liz could go without sleep for a few days if needed, so she was still bright, doing the honors of driving them home so they could doze for a little while on the way.

When they pulled up out the front, Sam was waiting for them.

"Nice to see Zac's car is back in one piece," he grinned.

"Our pleasure!" Liz chirped as Alex and Gabby dragged themselves inside.

He shook his head and followed them into the parlor where Zac was waiting, still as agitated as when they'd left.

Gabby placed several things on the coffee table, the grimoire, several folded maps and an atlas. One of the United States and one of the entire earth. Beside them, she carefully placed a crystal pendant with a long silver chain.

"How are you?" Sam asked, making Zac almost explode at the delay.

"I'm okay," she smiled as Alex and Liz sat beside her. "Better than okay, actually."

"Can you find her or not?" Zac interrupted.

Gabby nodded, ignoring his impatience. "I need something of Aya's so I can scry for her. I should be strong enough now to get a read on her." And she hoped desperately that she was alive, otherwise it could only mean one thing. If she couldn't find her, then it would be extremely likely that Aya was dead.

"Aya doesn't have anything," Sam said, remembering the day she moved into the manor. The same day they found out who she was. "She only has her clothes."

"I don't know if that'll work."

"I'll see what I can find." Zac was already half way out of the room.

Opening the door to the room that had become Aya's, he felt like a trespasser, even though this had been his when he was human. As they had thought, the room was bare, apart from some clothes in the closet and dresser. He pulled the pillows from the bed and saw a red leather bound book hidden underneath.

It was his father's copy of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. There was a slip of paper in the pages like she had been reading it. Flipping through the pages, he scowled, knowing she'd taken it without him knowing. Irritated, he snapped the book shut. He'd repeatedly asked her not to go into the study, but she had ignored him. It would be ironic if this small, insignificant defiance was the thing that helped them find her.

Returning to the parlor, he noticed Sam's frown as he saw the book in his hands. He knew who's it was. "This is all she had," he said. "It was our father's, but she's been reading it. Will it work?"

"I'm not sure," Gabby said, raising an eyebrow. "Give it here." She took the red leather bound book in her hands and closed her eyes before saying, "Yes. This will do."

Zac groaned. Of course it would.

"Why the two maps?" Sam asked as Gabby spread out the map of the United Sates.

"I'm starting small," she said. "If nothing comes up on this, then we go bigger. She was summoned, so she could be anywhere."

Gabby closed her eyes and held the book in one hand and the crystal in the other. The pendant swung back and forth across the map for almost a minute before it shot to a location and stuck there as if it were magnetised. She heaved a sigh of relief; wherever she was, Aya was still alive. They all peered at the map, seeing where it had landed. It was in the middle of nowhere, but reassuringly close and still in the US.

"It's too vague," Gabby said, reaching for the atlas. Laying it open at a page that showed Memphis, and the surrounding area, she let the pendant swing again. This time it landed on a more distinct location.

"She's in fucking Tennessee?" Zac exclaimed like it was the most horrifying place in the world.

"Technically, it's Mississippi," Alex said, looking at the map. "Off route sixty one."

"Well, lets fucking go."

"Wait," Alex said as he got out his cell. "Let me look it up. See what you're walking into."

Zac sighed, and sat down again.

"It looks like a factory or a silo of some kind," Alex said after a moment. "It's not marked, but it's on the satellite image." He gave the cell to Zac, who handed it to Sam.

"It could be abandoned," Sam said, grateful for the technology.

"Good bet," Alex said.

"Right," Zac declared. "Tabitha, you're with Sam and me. C'mon."

"Wait," Liz began to protest, obviously wanting to go along with them.

"No," Zac sat her back down. "We're walking into a fight, Liz. It's not a Sunday picnic."

"He's right," Sam kissed her. "It's safer here. Leave this to us. We'll be okay, I promise."

Alex nodded his agreement, "I'll stay here with you, if you want. They can let us know the moment they're on their way back."

Zac was already gone, having pulled Gabby out the front door with him. Sam followed, glad that Alex was there to keep Liz with him. There was no way that he'd willingly let her come along when there was a chance that none of them might come back. If he lost her... Then he would know how Zac felt.

Chapter Twenty-One

Memphis was an eight-hour drive away across state lines and to Zac, it felt like the other side of the world. As soon as Gabby pulled up a map on her cell they got into the car and were on the highway. Alex and Liz remained at the manor as promised. The sooner they left, the sooner they got there.

Zac hardly said a word to Gabby, still angry that she had allowed the grimoire to be taken. But, he hardly gave it more than a brief thought. He was focused on Aya. If she'd been hurt, or worse, dead, he didn't know what he'd do. It was partially his fault that she was in this mess. After all, he'd been the one to convince Gabby to summon her in the first place, alerting Katrin to her whereabouts. It was the first time in a very long time that he felt responsible for something other than what happened to their family all that time ago. He couldn't help Sam more than he had, but he could at least attempt to get Aya out of this, whatever condition she was in.

"What do you propose we do once we get there?" Sam asked, breaking the silence, his eyes on the road.

"There would have to be witches and vampires there," Gabby said. "I think we should just grab her and go."

Sam glanced to Zac, who sat in the passenger seat beside him. He hadn't said anything since they got into the car. "What do you think, Zac?"

He was looking out into the dark night as it flashed past, seemingly deep in thought. Sighing he said, "First we case the joint, buildings, entrances, exits. Gabby should sense out any witches and vampires who might be hidden by their magic and what their locations are. Keep an eye out for any traps, magical or otherwise. Determine where Aya is being held. Only then can we devise a plan."

"Well, there you have it," Sam laughed, wryly.

"What if they find us out?"

"If there's anything hostile, kill it," Zac said, looking back out the window. There wasn't much they could do until they got there and he settled down for the long haul.

Gabby had been awake for a long time, having been through a great deal since leaving the manor the day before. When she fell asleep, the brothers left her, content to wake her once they arrived.

******

It was past midnight before they reached the site of the factory. They left the car off the side of the main road, hidden behind some trees and walked the rest of the way, keeping off the service lane. The chain link fence that had once surrounded the property had half fallen down, so they had no issue trying to get Gabby in.

Once they reached the edges of the yard, the surrounding plant life began to thin, exposing them more than Zac liked. Circling round the property they found a rise close to the main entrance and he made them crawl on their stomachs so they could peer over the edge. From here they had a good view of the factory, which turned out to be the site of an abandoned silo and storage yards. Train tracks still ran through the remains of buildings that would have, at one time, stored a great deal of grain for export.

In the centre was a large yard, clear except for a few old shipping containers to the left side, flanking a half fallen down warehouse. The roof was badly rusted, most of the sheet metal fallen down or missing completely. To the right, on the opposite side of the yard, was the silo, it's roof linked to the warehouse by some kind of walkway and chutes that once fed grain into waiting trucks and train cars. Old foundations of other buildings remained around the rear of the property, having been knocked down haphazardly. It was like someone had run out of money before they could complete the job.

At the outside edge of the warehouse was another service lane, where two black jeeps were parked side by side. Someone had left them there in preparation for a quick getaway if needed.

Because the warehouse was only partially standing, Zac could see through to the rear inside wall, where a room still appeared to be intact, a green metal door closed over its entrance. There was no other exit other than gaps where windows once were. He assumed there was another exit through the room and this was inhabited.

Zac passed this information to Sam and Gabby. "There's movement somewhere, but I can't tell who or what it is."

"There are witches," Gabby whispered. "Two or three, I think. The silo is spelled. It's a good bet that that's where Aya is being held."

"Can you disable the spell?" Sam whispered back.

She was silent for a moment. "No," she shook her head. "We have to either render the witches unconscious or kill them to break it."

"Then we kill them," Zac snorted.

"I can't kill another witch, Zac," Gabby protested.

"What do you think Aya would do? They're obviously corrupted and well past saving. Do the world a favor," he said sharply.

"Are there any vampires?" asked Sam, pulling her attention off his brother.

"One," Gabby said. "In the warehouse."

"Where are the witches?" Zac asked.

"Behind the silo."

"Let's go," he grabbed Gabby's arm and pulled her down the rise and into the yard and as if on cue, three female witches came out into the open to meet them.

The light breeze around them began to pick up and Zac glanced to Gabby who said, "They're controlling the wind."

The three witches were advancing on them, the wind swirling fast, the dust from the yard creating a miniature tornado around them. Gabby had to take control of the wind from them or they would be overwhelmed.

Zac and Sam flanked her as she let her earth sense wash over the yard. They wouldn't be able to do much to help her, but their presence reassured her; at least a little. Immediately, she felt the power of the three witches combined into two spells. The one controlling the wind and the other sealing the silo. She could easily overpower them and wrest control over the wind from their grasp. It would be simpler than when she had called the grimoire back to her, even without her Grams' help.

The tornado that whipped around them was designed to detain. For what or who, Gabby wasn't sure. There was only one vampire here. Unless... The vampire was as old as Aya or Katrin was being summoned. Either way, she had to overpower the witches and fast.

Gabby felt the power flow from her, even before she meant to release it. As the tornado sped up, she knew it was too much, but could do nothing to stop it. Her intent had been unleashed and it had to run its course. The witches fear echoed through her open earth sense, making her bones ache. They were afraid of her.

Crying out in pain, she felt their life forces ripped away into the tornado, whipping around her. Suddenly, the wind dropped, the trash and plant life that had been picked up, dropping abruptly. They were left standing in a clearing, surrounded by a barrier of chaos. The brothers glanced at her nervously, having seen what had become of the witches, their bodies disintegrating before their eyes.

She knew that the pain that had ripped through her was her power tearing them apart. There was nothing left of them to say that they had ever been there in the first place. Gabby was numb with shock and fell to her knees. She was more powerful than the three of them combined and it terrified her.

******

The moment the witches disintegrated, the vampire was revealed.

Cursing, Zac swung around to find a male vampire directly behind him. Ducking just in time to miss being punched in the face, he kicked the vampires legs from under him, pulling out a stake he had hidden in the back of his jeans.

Sam pulled Gabby out of harms way and ran forward to help his brother, who had been knocked across the yard, the stake falling harmlessly to the side. The vampire turned on Sam as he advanced slowly, sizing up his opponent, who hadn't said a word since he'd appeared. He knew they had to end this quickly; otherwise it would end very badly. He made a grab for the stake, aiming it directly at the sweet spot. The heart.

Fortunately, Zac had the same idea and came up from behind, grasping the vampire around the neck, disorienting him for a split second. It was more than enough time.

Sam drove the stake into the vampire's heart at the same moment Zac snapped his neck.

"Can't be too careful," he shrugged when Sam raised his eyebrows. He let the corpse fall to the ground as they moved off towards the silo.

"That was way too easy," Sam said, looking around the now silent yard.

"Gabby," Zac called, frowning.

Gabby came up behind them and pointed to the door. "The spell is gone. Aya is in there. I can sense her."

"I don't like it," Zac said, agreeing with Sam's observation. "Let's get her and get the hell out of here."

Before they could try the door, a loud gasp drew their attention back to the yard behind. Looking back, Sam cursed as the vampire he had just killed stirred, sitting up and wrenching the stake from his chest. Muscled arms reached up and twisted his head to the side, correcting the haphazardly fused bones with an audible crack. "That feels better," he snarled, looking up at the three of them. "Who wants to die first?"

"How the hell did he come back to life?" Sam said in shock, pulling Gabby behind him.

"I'm one of the first," the vampire spat, advancing on them. "I can't be killed by the likes of you."

Sam balked and held his arm out to keep Gabby behind him. A founding vampire? They had to do something to distract him long enough so they could find Aya and get the hell out of there. There was no way to kill this vampire. He was a true immortal.

Gabby pushed past Sam in a moment of bravery and stood in front of them, her eyes narrowed in challenge. The vampire laughed at her as if she was nothing but an annoyance. The smile wiped right off his face when he fell to the ground clutching his head, roaring in pain. "Go!" Gabby yelled at them wildly. "I can't hold him long."

Zac grabbed Sam's arm, realizing she was restraining the vampire, and pulled him towards the silo. They had to free Aya before it was too late.

******

Aya didn't know how long she had been hanging in the silo, her blood slowly draining from the wounds in her wrists and ankles. She felt it trickling down her arms, staining her clothes, sticking her shirt to her skin. She had become used to the smell hours ago when she had lost track of time. If she lost enough blood, she would desiccate and then she could sleep. Sleep seemed like bliss compared to the delirium that was setting in.

She was vaguely aware of a dark form standing in front of her. Sluggishly, she lifted her head an inch and blinked, trying to clear her vision. Everything was blurred, nothing was making sense, she wasn't sure if anyone was there. She drew a ragged breath as she heard her name. But, no one alive knew her true name. Not even... She forgot who. Wasn't she helping someone?

The figure was still hovering in front of her, whispering her name, calling out to her through the darkness. Then she saw his face, shimmering skin and blue eyes. Her brother! How she had longed to see her brother again.

"I couldn't save you," she muttered through the haze, a tear sliding down her cheek. "I'm sorry, brother... "

He hesitated when she spoke and she didn't understand. Her brother was dead, wasn't he? The figure reached up and wiped her tears away with a stroke of a thumb. Suddenly, she was dropping to the ground, the chains that held her giving way. The figure grasped her around the waist, supporting her limp body as she slumped over their shoulder.

It's not your bother, it's not your brother... she kept telling herself as she was lowered to the ground. It's a hallucination. And that could only mean it was Caius, come to hurt her again. Then she realized that there was two of them, the other one had let her down. If she didn't attack now, she wouldn't have any hope of escape.

Ignoring the searing pain in her wrists and ankles, she lunged for the nearest form, the chains dragging through the dirt. Before her fists could connect, she was pulled up short. Falling backwards, she screamed with pain as her arms were wrenched over her head.

"She's weak, go!" She heard someone yell.

On her feet in a flash, she made for the source of the sound, but suddenly there was a vise grip around her, pinning her arms to her sides. Struggling, she couldn't free herself from the iron hold of her assailant. Crying out in fury, she felt the chains wrap around her. She wouldn't be imprisoned again, not by anyone. Struggling, she tried to break her bonds, but couldn't move. Her wrists felt like they were on fire, the hooks dragging against torn flesh.

The more she struggled, the quicker she weakened, finally falling to the ground. Her legs curled to the side, the hooks still protruding from either ankle, hands behind her back. Taking heaving breaths, her head hung exhausted, tangled black hair falling about her face. Whatever you're going to do to me, bring it on, she thought.

She felt hands on her face, tilting her head up. She shook her head to knock them away, but they held firm. Blinking hard, she tried to focus on the face before her. Through the heavy fog that clouded her mind she realized someone was speaking to her.

"Aya, it's okay," the voice was saying. "It's Zac and Sam. We've come to get you out of here." There was a hard impact to the air and the face looked away towards the source.

"Shit," said the other figure. "Gabby is losing her hold on the vampire. We don't have much time."

She knew something bad was happening, but she didn't care. It would be so easy to close her eyes and let the darkness take her again, but the hands pulled her face back up.

"Aya, please. We need you. Come back."

She blinked hard, grimacing, her vision clearing slightly, "Zac?"

"Yes," the voice was relieved. "Can I let you go now?" Weakly, she nodded and the chains began to loosen. "You look like hell, Aya."

"Very perceptive, Mr. Degaud," she muttered, trying to smile. The chains had fallen away, but the hooks were still embedded. Grimacing, she reached down and pulled the annoying pieces of steel from her ankles, blood now free to gush unhindered.

"Shit, let me do that," he pulled her close, bracing her with one hand while the other traced the length of her arm. She hissed through her teeth as he slid the meat hooks from her wrists one at a time. Her blood was everywhere, but the wounds began to heal enough to stop the flow. Collapsing back into Zac's arms she sighed deeply, gazing up into his eyes, her fingers tracing the soft edge of his jaw. He'd come for her... No. They'd come for her. She let her hand drop limply, squeezing her eyes closed.

"You've lost a lot of blood. You need to feed," he said, his brow creased in concern.

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"It's okay, Aya. I want you to," Zac pulled her closer.

"The vampire is still outside," Sam said. "Gabby won't be able to keep it up for much longer."

"Gabby?" Aya said vaguely, like she was trying to remember who she was.

"Yes, Gabby."

Her eyes widened and she snarled, "Caius."

Before Zac could ask any questions, Aya grabbed the hair at the back of his head, wrenching it to the side, exposing his neck. He gasped in surprise at the sudden pain as she sunk her fangs in. Pushing him to the ground, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and was across the room and outside before they could react.

******

Aya was a little impressed. When she emerged from the silo, she saw Gabby mere inches from Caius' most fearsome vampire face. All fangs and black eyes. She was staring him down, holding him in place with her will, moments from death. She'd finally found her true powers.

Walking up to her, Aya placed her hand on Gabby's shoulder and Caius' simultaneously, breaking the spell. As he stumbled forward, the force in her outstretched arm brought him to a stop. Gabby gasped, blinking wildly and scrambled backwards out of the way. Sam was there, grabbing her around the waist, hauling her to a safe distance.

Aya held Caius' shoulders, pushing against him as he reached up and grasped hers in return. They were face to face, their foreheads touching.

"You will never win against me, witch," he threatened, the grunt in his voice betraying the fact that he was using all of his strength to hold her back.

"That's where you're wrong, Caius," she snarled in return. "I have skills you've never seen."

"You'll never get the chance to use them, witch."

Abruptly, Aya shifted her weight down slightly, ramming her shoulder into his stomach. He had been pushing against her so hard, that the forward motion sent him flying across the yard behind her. She heard the bang as he collided with the wall of the silo.

He scrambled to his feet with a snarl and rushed her, knocking her off her feet with the force of the blow. Twisting to the side, she rolled out of the way of Caius' boot, narrowly missing a blow to her ribs. On her feet behind him, she punched his spine, aiming to snap it, but he twisted to the side at the last second. She cried out in pain as his elbow came back to meet her jaw, which made an audible crunch as it shattered.

Turning, Caius' hands grasped empty air. Aya was on his back, an arm around his neck, her hand on his face. She wrenched with all her strength trying to snap his spine, but he threw her over his shoulder. Landing heavily, her eyes widened as Caius' bulky form loomed over her. They were evenly matched in strength and skill and could be here for hours at this rate.

Grabbing her around the neck with one hand, Caius picked her up off the ground and let out a deep rumbling laugh. A look of triumph was plastered across his face as he began to squeeze, cutting off her air supply. Instinctively, she clawed at his hand, trying to free herself.

In the corner of her vision, she saw Sam and Zac approaching in Caius' blind spot. They would be torn apart if they tried anything.

"Stay back!" she yelled at the brothers, holding her palm out.

"Once I'm done with you, whore, they'll be next. Won't be much of a challenge, but they will beg me to kill them all the same."

She felt a familiar twist of rage building inside of her and closing her eyes, she called for it. Reaching up, she grasped Caius' wrist, a familiar burning sensation travelling up her arms like thousands of electric shocks. Opening her eyes, a blue glow surrounded them, popping and fizzing, making the air thick with the tangy scent of burning copper. Caius' eyes widened in surprise as the blue energy travelled down her arms and began to crawl over his forearm.

Aya had never felt her power stronger than this, the biting taste for revenge was overpowering. This man, this vampire, had been responsible for her family's death and her torture and imprisonment. He would die like the others. At the mercy of her rage.

As the fire began to travel down his arm, Caius gasped in pain and dropped her. She fell to her knees for a moment before getting up, using the upward force to push the air from his lungs with a hard jab from both palms into his gut. He doubled over, clutching his stomach. For a split second he was disorientated and it was all it took for Aya to plunge her hand into his chest.

Clutching his still beating heart in her right hand, she clasped his shoulder with her left, her lips to his ear. "This is for my family," she whispered and poured all her rage into him.

He gasped and clawed at her hand, but he was already turning grey, his skin withering, crackling with the strange electricity. Only when his heart finally collapsed in on itself, the ash falling through her fingers, did she push him off her onto the ground. Staring down at his corpse, she didn't feel anything. The burning rage had left her and she was empty.

She was vaguely aware of Gabby and the brothers hovering at the edge of her vision. Now she would have to explain herself to them. They weren't meant to see what she could do, she hadn't used this part of herself since... It had been two thousand years. She suddenly felt very far away and it was only adrenalin that was keeping her on her feet. She closed her eyes and wished them away.

There was a comforting hand on her arm. "Aya." It was Zac. Of course it was him.

Looking up at him she saw the expression of awe written on his face. Glancing at Sam and Gabby revealed their mingled awe and fear. At least they were smart. Zac should be afraid of her. She wondered if she should compel him again. Compel them all to forget how she had killed Caius, but she doubted it would work now. She was done.

When she didn't respond, Zac put his arm around her waist, guiding her away from the yard to his car that was parked back towards the road. Sam hovered behind to dispose of Caius, as she was put in the back, the seat belt fastened for her. Gabby sat beside her and clasped her hand, the brothers in the front. Gazing blankly out of the window into the night she managed to whisper, "Thank you."

Chapter Twenty-Two

The early morning air was heavy against Aya's skin as she sat in the garden. The manor grounds hadn't been tended to in a long time. They were wild and green, full of flowers that tended themselves despite the moisture of the swamp, shaded by the long branches of whispering willows. Usually, she would just enjoy being here, but today her thoughts were troubled. It had been several days since the brothers and Gabby had freed her from the silo; several days since she had killed Caius. She'd come one step closer to what she'd pledged to do, but in doing so, she'd done the one thing she shouldn't have. She'd drunk Zac's blood.

She looked up as Sam sat down beside her and wondered what question he was going to ask first. The air was silent around the manor, which meant Zac had gone somewhere else. She didn't want to deal with his questions today.

"How are you doing?" he asked, taking in her faraway look. Predictable and such a Sam question.

"After all the time he's spent hunting me, you'd think I'd be glad he's dead. But, I don't really feel anything."

She felt his apprehension as he asked the next burning question. "In the silo, you thought Zac was your brother?"

"It was an hallucination," she said, curtly.

"What happened to him?"

"He was slaughtered in his sleep," she spat at him. "Do you want a play by play?"

"No, I'm sorry. It's just, you're a hard person to read," he sighed, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Who was Caius exactly?"

"He was one of the first vampires. One of the family called the Romans," Aya said matter of factly.

"And how old are they, these Romans?"

"Not much older than I," she shrugged. "Maybe a year or two, I'm not sure."

"Why are they called the Romans? Where did they come from?"

Aya sighed at the barrage of questions. They would ask them eventually, best to get it out the way. Besides, she'd rather talk to Sam about this. He was much more understanding than Zac and at least he would stop when he knew he couldn't get any further. "They were part of the Roman armies that invaded Britain around 43AD. I don't know much about their human lives other than one was a high-ranking officer, others foot soldiers, lower ranking officers. I suppose they all wanted what most humans want."

"And what's that?"

"Power. Immortality."

Sam nodded, agreeing to a point. "And what did you do to Caius? To kill him?"

"I stole his light," she said, referring to the story in Gabby's grimoire, reluctant to explain further.

"Aya, I don't understand. It was magic, wasn't it?" he asked, confused, almost desperate for answers.

"Sam, that's the one thing I cannot explain to you," she said seriously. "I am indebted to you for coming to free me, but this. This, I cannot give you."

He stared at her for a moment and deciding not to push her further, nodded and looked away. They sat in silence for a while and it was almost companionable, the two of them enjoying the wildness of the garden. It reminded her of many things, but she closed her thoughts off to the memories. She'd been to many places, done many things, and punished many people, none of which bore another thought. At least not today.

"You've changed him, you know," Sam said carefully, breaking the silence. "Zac. He's different around you."

"How so?" she frowned. This was one of those things she didn't want to talk about.

"He cares about something other than himself," he laughed weakly, shaking his head.

Aya grunted, pulling her knees up to her chin, feeling uneasy about what Sam hinted at. Zac had been through enough without this. One day she would have to leave and he would be back at square one. Even she had enough heart not to do that to him.

"Aya," Sam said, picking up on her uneasiness. "It's a good thing."

"If you say so," she whispered, not believing him.

******

Zac had never been to Gabby's apartment before. It sat on the top floor of a complex of twelve similar places, six flights of stairs and no elevator. She must love the view, because the climb would have been a deal breaker.

They sat on the floor in the lounge, a silver bowl between them, the grimoire off to the side. Gabby was chanting under her breath, eyes closed, a faraway look etched on her dark features. He hoped that this would help them find a way to end their founding witch problem once and for all. The lingering threat was wearing thin. They had already thwarted one attempt at Aya's life and they mightn't be so lucky the next time.

His thoughts were more troubled than usual. She was amazing. What she had done to Caius; that was something else. So much more than a regular vampire was capable of. What was she? Maybe when this was all over, she would give him some answers. And he had to find a way to tell her how he felt.

Focusing back on Gabby, he concentrated on the spell she was casting. She'd found an incantation in the grimoire she hadn't been able to read until she met her grandmother. A spell for knowledge. It would reveal the path to the thing that they most desired. And, of course, that was bringing and end to Katrin. All of her previous attempts at seeking out the witch had been fruitless; attempts at finding what anchored her spirit to life had led to nothing.

The only reason Gabby had invited Zac into her apartment was the fact that he wanted Katrin to die a true death as much as she did. And that meant a better strike rate for the spell. He was connected on a personal level and so was she.

She had been muttering her incantation under her breath for ages and Zac was positive that it wasn't working. She did seem different after everything that had happened at the silo, her increased power was blindingly obvious with the way she obliterated those witches. He'd never seen a witch do such a thing and he was glad that she was on their side. But, it didn't help them right now. Nothing was happening.

Just as Zac was about to complain that she was taking too long, he felt the spell cloud his thoughts. That probably meant it was working.

Gabby smiled in relief, "I can see a way forward. But I need to speak to Aya."

When she mentioned Aya, Zac's expression slackened and his eyes went blank. Gabby waved her hand across his line of vision, but he didn't react. It took a moment before he came back from wherever it was he went. Blinking as Gabby came back into focus, he realized she had been shaking him. He groaned, holding his head in his hands.

"Zac, what is it?" Gabby said, concern in her voice.

"She fucking compelled me!" he roared, knocking the bowl across the room. It clattered to the floor loudly, its contents spilling everywhere. Gabby scrambled backwards, suddenly aware of being in the same room as an angry vampire.

"Who?" she whispered, afraid of provoking him.

"Aya! Fucking Aya!" he was on his feet, pacing back and forth, thinking about what he would do. He forgot that Gabby was in the room he was so intent on his thoughts. He roared again and left the apartment in a whirlwind of fury, leaving Gabby shaking on the floor.

******

Aya liked to sit in the study. She knew it irritated Zac, but he had stopped asking her not to ages ago. It felt comforting, especially after her earlier conversation with Sam. She spun the globe in the corner, running her finger along the surface, waiting to see where it would land once it came to a stop. Katrin wouldn't try anything right away, not after she'd killed another of her so-called children. Her finger landed on France. She had been in France before coming to America.

She could hear the tell tale hum that announced Zac had come home. He was in the doorway looking at her. "Hello," she said, not turning around, spinning the globe again. When he didn't answer straight away, she knew he was angry.

"I was just with Gabby," he said, restraining the anger in his voice.

"Were you now?" she smiled to herself. Her finger landed in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

"I helped her cast a spell." He was cracking.

"And what kind of spell did she cast?" The globe spun again.

"A knowledge spell." The tone in his voice unsettled her.

"Be. More. Specific." She disregarded the globe, allowing it to spin freely.

"A spell to find the knowledge to obtain what one desires the most." He was right behind her now, his gaze burning into her back.

Aya stiffened, "And what happened?"

"Gabby learnt a way to stop Katrin. She needs to speak to you."

Turning her head slightly, she said, "And what did you learn?"

He grabbed her shoulder and turned her around abruptly, pushing her back against the wall. Her expression darkened in warning, but Zac ignored it. "I remember everything," he snarled, holding her in place across her chest with his arm.

Aya's eyes misted over into shimmering pearls and she pushed him across the room. He collided with the opposite wall, his shoulder leaving a hole in the plaster. He fell to the floor with a grunt, but she was there, picking him up by his shirt. "If you remember everything, then you know it was all for your own good," she spat, dropping him on his face.

Zac was back on his feet in a second. "After everything that's happened, how could you compel me?"

"I saved your life, Zac."

"Only from the werewolves."

Aya closed her eyes, trying to control her anger. "I also saved you from me. You saw what happened to them when I lost control. You saw what I did to Caius."

The anger faded from his face into one of surprise. "I don't believe you."

"Then you are a fool. You've only seen the smallest part of me. The smallest part of the monster I truly am. No one could love a walking horror such as I."

Zac was dumbfounded. After all they had gone through together, he had felt that he had become closer to her than ever. He knew there were parts of her life that he would never know, she was two thousand years old, but he refused to believe the things she was telling him. He'd never felt anything like what he felt for Aya. Seeing her angry and in pain, it tore him apart. He thought back to the night they had spent in the motel, the way she had kissed him. And when he'd healed her wounds in the silo, she had gazed up at him with such tenderness. She felt the same, she had to.

"You can compel the memories from me, Aya, but you can't compel away my feelings," he said evenly.

"Get out!" she yelled at him.

"Aya, please," he whispered.

She stared at him with a wild look in her eyes. "Leave."

Zac stared at her, unable to control himself. He wanted her so much it made him ache. He pushed Aya back against the wall and kissed her passionately, pressing his body into hers. His left hand pulled her hips against him and his right held her face to his, fingers wound in her hair. And she kissed him back just as deeply and he was lost. He was hers, body and soul. Suddenly, she pulled away pushing him back, a look of dismay on her face.

His heart sank. "Aya... "

"Don't," she whispered looking towards the floor. "There's so much you don't understand, Zac. So many things I can't tell you. So many reasons why this can't be."

He took a step towards her and she held him back with her arm. "Please," she whispered.

"Aya," he whispered huskily.

"Please don't make me do this." He could see the tears welling in her eyes. She was struggling with her feelings.

"Do what?"

And she was gone so fast, he felt it must have been a dream. He brushed his fingers across his lips and sighed. He knew now that he loved her and it made the love he had felt for Liz incomparable. What he felt for Aya consumed him and he would gladly die for her if it meant she would live.

******

Gabby was about to knock on the front door of the manor when it burst open, her fist poised midair. Aya stood in front of her, glaring as she dropped her hand awkwardly. She guessed she was too late.

"Aya," she gasped. "I was coming to see you before... I got here as fast as I could."

"If you're talking about the knowledge spell, I found out about that." Aya rolled her eyes, pushing her backwards off the porch and into the yard.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't know it would work the way it did. I had no idea... "

"I hear you need to speak with me," Aya interrupted, still rattled by the argument with Zac.

"Yes, I have an idea. The spell revealed a loophole to Katrin's spell, the one holding her spirit," Gabby began. Whatever she had compelled from Zac, she'd better leave it alone.

Aya pressed her finger to her lips to silence her. Understanding that other ears were listening, Gabby nodded. The vampire grabbed her arm roughly, guiding her down the driveway and across the yard. They walked right down to the lake, standing right on the shoreline. It was an abnormally cold day, the wind rippling the surface into waves that lapped the rocks at the waters edge. A noise that seemed sufficient in covering their conversation to a point.

Once she was certain they were alone, Aya turned to Gabby smiling. "There is much that I would like to tell you Gabby, but I cannot. For now, you will have to trust me."

Gabby nodded uncertainly. "I'm sure it will all make sense one day, but for now as long as we can banish Katrin, then I'm satisfied."

"Good," Aya was pleased. "What did the spell reveal to you?"

"Katrin is channeling some serious power in keeping her spirit attached to life. A power that is very much like... Well, I'm not quite sure how to explain it. It feels like death." Gabby didn't quite understand. "Like a negative energy."

"Negative," Aya mused.

"Yes," Gabby nodded. "In science positive cancels out the negative, so I'm hoping that counts as the same for a witches energy."

"What do you suppose the positive would be?" Aya's brow furrowed as she thought over this.

"The positive is you, Aya. That's what the spell revealed to me. You're the key, but I don't know what that means exactly. I was hoping you might know."

Aya was silent for a while, contemplating what she had learnt and knowing all too well it may call upon abilities she had lost. Abilities that no longer existed in this world.

"Were you a witch, you know, before?" Gabby asked hesitantly, when she didn't answer.

Aya frowned at her question. "Not exactly. I had a lot of things in common with your kind, though." She said this with a finality that dissuaded her from asking more, but she continued. "When I was changed, many things were taken from me. Abilities that were second nature disappeared and were replaced with vampire traits," she said with a little sadness. "I can only do this with you, Gabby. You complete the parts of me that were stolen. Together we have the power to destroy Katrin once and for all."

Stolen. Gabby now knew that Aya had been turned against her will and it made her understand a lot of things about her. Why she was the way she was. She suspected her drive for punishing witches came from a need for revenge, to set things right.

"What was stolen," she murmured. "You had abilities like mine? Like a witch? My Grams called you one of the stars."

"You're a rare witch, Gabby," Aya didn't answer her question. "You've unlocked your potential, but have yet to see the limits of what you can do."

"How can you tell?" she asked, confused.

"I can feel it."

"Really?"

"I knew who you were the first moment I saw you," she said. "I could tell exactly which line you were descended from and how strong you were. And before you ask, it's not Katrin."

"Thank god. Who then?" Gabby wanted to know more than anything.

"Ismena," Aya said, looking out across the lake, fixing her gaze on a point far into the distance.

"Did you know her?"

"Not well," she turned back to her and smiled. "She was a dear friend of my mother. She was one of the five founding witches. All humans. Katrin betrayed the other four in her lust for power. Before the others had realized, she had already created the first vampires. By then it was too late. It was all they could do to save their own lives, let alone anyone else's. They disappeared after that. I never saw any of them again, but I suspect they would have tried to end me as well if they knew what became of me."

Gabby didn't know what to say, how could they prevail? "What makes you think we can succeed where four founding witches couldn't?" she asked.

Aya smiled sadly, "They didn't have me."

Gabby didn't know what she meant and wasn't sure she wanted an explanation. Aya had known the founding witches who were the beginning of her kind. The beginning of magic. How had they come into their power? Were they given it, or born to it? She was unsure if she was ready to know the origins of power, when she could hardly control her own.

Aya glanced at her, sensing her uneasiness. Gabby still felt remorse over the three witches in Memphis; the ease of which she had obliterated them. Things just kept getting even more complicated the deeper she got into this mess.

"I would have killed them, you know," Aya said, quietly. "They were in league with the oldest vampires, ever. And not to mention Katrin. They had given themselves over to evil."

"I know," Gabby whispered. "But it doesn't make it any easier."

"No," Aya shook her head. "It never does."

They were silent for a time, their thoughts running off in their own directions.

"I think I know what to do now," Aya said uncertainly, breaking the stillness. "I can do most of it, but we have to join minds so I can lend your powers. Don't worry. I used to do it with my brother when we were children. It's not hard, but you will feel a little tired when I draw on your power."

"Okay," Gabby nodded. Aya had a brother?

"I know," Aya shrugged. "It's not much to go on, but I don't see any other option. It's our first and only chance. I don't know what will happen if we fail."

Gabby hoped her trust in Aya would be enough to see them through. "Then we better win."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Aya and Gabby had worked out a plan as they sat by the lake. As simple as it sounded, it was actually quite complicated. Once they executed it, she would be totally and utterly revealed to Gabby. Everything she had hidden from the world for thousands of years. That was more terrifying to her than facing Katrin.

She stood with her back to the room, staring into the cold fireplace, hyper aware of the irritating buzz of Zac in the room behind, not able to bring herself to look at him. Everyone was at the manor, even Alex, despite him not being able to help. His show of support was strangely comforting and she was thankful.

"We need to go to the in-between place," Gabby was explaining their plan as simply as she could. The others were on a need to know basis, only. "It's the space that exists between life and death. There we will be able to sense what is keeping Katrin's spirit anchored to life. If it's what we suspect, then we can try and destroy it."

"And where does Aya come into it?" Sam asked.

She felt everyone's gaze fall heavily on her back. Turning she said, "You saw what I can do. That will be an advantage."

Aya considered asking Zac if she could drink some of his strange blood again. Curiously, it had strengthened her other abilities and she was sure that it was the only reason she had been able to summon enough power to destroy Caius. Then she remembered their argument, Zac declaring himself to her. Disregarding the thought, she knew that he'd ask more of her than she was willing to give if she dared ask the question. Besides, it was too personal a thing to share with another vampire and he would undoubtedly take it the wrong way. Knowing Gabby was there with her, she was reassured they had more than enough power to get the job done.

"No magic can penetrate the veil," Gabby was saying. "But matter can. Anyone can just walk into the between place while we have the doorway open. That's why we need you all to keep watch."

"You just want us to sit there and wait?" Zac sounded exasperated. "What are you going to do in there?"

"It's witches business, Zac. I don't have to tell you anything," Gabby said, not really caring if it annoyed him. "We just need our backs watched. Can you do that?"

He grunted in response.

"When are you going to do this?" Sam, steered to conversation away from the inevitable bickering.

"Tonight," Gabby said. "The old cemetery."

"That's not much time to prepare," Liz said, concerned.

"No time like the present."

******

Night had already fallen but the time they had all assembled at the cemetery; four vampires and one witch. Sam, Zac and Liz had positioned themselves around the clearing at the centre of the cemetery, watching the forest around them for any interlopers. Aya stood next to Gabby as she chanted under her breath, summoning the doorway to the in between place.

It was eerie sensation when the mist crept into the clearing, the air around them still warm from that day's humidity. Gabby felt the change in her spirit, felt herself slipping into the place between life and death. Her eyes widened in surprise as she felt the depth of Aya's power as they joined minds. She had had no idea, even after witnessing it in Memphis. She was something else. No wonder witches feared her coming.

"We need to detect where her anchor is," Aya said, after she had gathered her thoughts. "Let me know if you can feel anything. No matter how small."

Before she could cast her mind out, Katrin was before them, her expression total darkness and malice. Gabby staggered back a little, almost severing their link. How had she known they would be here? Had she expected it? If this truly was the place where her spirit lived, she would undoubtedly know when anybody set foot in it.

"Do you really think you can end me, Aeriaya?" Katrin scoffed. "You and your pitiful little witch?"

Gabby glanced sidelong at Aya, was that her true name? As her thoughts swirled, the grey mist began to swell around them, the emptiness melting into another place. Katrin was creating a vision in the void and Gabby could feel the power pulsing in the close air, reverberating in her bones. The founder was more powerful than she had ever thought possible.

The vision swirled around them, morphing the mist into a glade of deep green, speckled with a carpet of white flowers. A house was nestled at one end, the trees of the surrounding forest tall and ancient, sheltering arms reaching into the sunlight. Through Aya, she understood it was a protected place of power. A place of light and love; until blood began to drip from the trees. It wept from under the front door to the house, from the windows, it's sickly copper tang filling the air around them.

"Stop it!" Aya screamed at Katrin as her eyes misted into two white orbs, her hands clawing at her black hair. She knew this place.

"It was your fault," the founder sneered as the vision changed again. They stood in the middle of a bedroom that was dominated by a large bed. Gabby's heart thudded in her chest, Aya's fear echoing through their link. The room was full of blood. It was splattered over the walls, pooled on the floor. Gabby knew if she stepped forward, she would see that there were corpses on the bed.

"They killed them! You ordered them to!" Aya cried, tears streaming down her face. "They tore them apart, my brother, you... "

"You killed my son," Katrin said, drawing her towards the bed. "Then you killed two more of my children. It was your fault."

"He was a vampire!" she cried, trying to avert her face. "He was a monster!"

"No," Katrin sneered. "You are the monster, Aeriaya. Look at what you've become. Look at what you forced onto your family."

Gabby, who was linked so thoroughly to Aya, gasped in horror as she saw the remains of the man and woman on the bed. They had been torn to shreds and placed back together by some sick sociopath, their hands linked. Their unearthly silver hair was tinged red in places from their mingled blood, the pallor of their skin marred by their brutal death. Gabby knew that these people were Aya's mother and father and her heart broke.

Aya roared in pain, her hands over her eyes to block the horrible sight, "It's time to die, Katrin. I won't let you get away with this! You've no right to call yourself witch. I'm taking it back!"

Katrin laughed at her, seemingly secure in her own knowledge that she was the all-powerful witch who cheated life and death. It was then that Gabby felt Aya begin to draw on her power. She'd asked for her complete trust. The link couldn't be severed now, even if she tried. All she could do was watch as the vision cleared around them, dissolving back into the grey mist of the void. Katrin's expression faded into one of utter shock. She mustn't have expected her vision to dissolve so easily. But, Gabby was too fixated on Aya to notice. She was beginning to change.

Her hair seemed to shimmer with strands of shining silver and her skin danced with tendrils of color, like she was made of pearl. She was becoming like her parents. Silver hair and translucent skin. Gabby knew this was what she was before she was turned. Katrin was visibly afraid as she stood face to face with Aya, or the creature Aya had become.

"No," Katrin gasped in disbelief. "How did you? You can't. The Celestines are dead."

"Goodbye Katrin," Aya's voice soothed. "You'll face your judgment from the true founders. You'll answer for the eradication of my kind and the evil you spread in this world. I am honored to be the one who delivers you to them."

Gabby shielded her eyes as a pure white light began to gather around Aya's form, the power that emanated from her was overwhelming. She was vaguely aware that Katrin was begging, her voice becoming more desperate as the light grew. The anchor that was holding her spirit was being severed, the power that Gabby had sensed earlier was dissolving.

The drain on her was extreme as she wavered on her feet, desperate to hold on, her trust now completely in Aya. She felt incredibly sleepy and struggled to stay alert. Aya wouldn't let anything happen to her, she was safe. Through the link Gabby could see the whole universe. The stars. Aya really was one of them, just like all of the stories said.

And just as suddenly as the vampire had changed, Katrin was gone. The power that she'd sensed, the anchor, was completely gone. Whatever Aya had done, it had worked.

Abruptly, they were back in the between place, just the two of them. All pretence of the house and the mist had fallen away. Aya stood before her, clasping her hands, worry etched into her face. She was back to normal, familiar features of deathly pallor and hair that was black as night filled her vision. The creature she had become was buried again, but not gone.

"Aya," she whispered, clutching the vampire's forearms to steady herself. "I don't understand who you are."

"I'm the last of my kind, Gabby. A horrible, incomplete hybrid," Aya said with a note of sadness that was so deep, it made tears fall from Gabby's eyes.

The young witch would probably never fully understand the woman who stood before her, but she had learnt much that made most of what she knew of her make complete sense. Why Aya was the way she was. Her peaceful existence had been torn from her in the most brutal way possible, turned by the creature that killed her family, destroyed her home. It was no wonder that she had sought vengeance on those that would abuse their gifts.

"I... We all came from you, your family... didn't we?" she stammered, not quite believing that the people Aya had come from had given the first witches their power.

"This is important, Gabby," Aya said, deadly serious. "You must keep this secret. It's not for others to know. What I am, what you've come from, this is a secret that must be learnt. If you were to tell anyone something horrible will happen."

"Like what?" she asked, a note of fear in her voice.

"I don't know. I've never known anyone foolish enough to try. That is enough warning in itself."

Gabby sunk to the ground, exhausted, as the edges of the forest started to reappear. Nodding feebly, her head sunk to her knees. It was done. They had won, but she'd learnt a deadly secret in the process. She couldn't fathom any of it.

Suddenly, there was a gust of wind that blew her unruly hair into her eyes. Scraping it away from her face, she gasped as she saw a dark shadow flying around them. It had the semblance of a person, emanating a dark malice that penetrated deep into her bones. She knew that it was trying to get back into reality, back into the forest where her friends were. Zac, Sam, Liz. But her power was spent; she could do nothing to help them.

"Stay down," Aya cried, standing over her. "It's not over yet."

******

Aya had risen to her feet, positioning herself over Gabby, raising her hands to fend off the shadow, but now that she had returned her power to Gabby, they were equal. A stalemate. Nether the less, she tried to fend it off, but her fingers slid through its inky blackness. It had to remain in the between place. She kept trying desperately, aware that their reality was coming back into focus, the presence of the three vampires waiting for them pressing on her senses.

Abruptly, the wind dropped and the shadow thing wailed out into the forest and collided with Zac, disappearing into his body. Gasping in shock, he fell to the ground and began convulsing. Sam dropped to his knees beside him, holding his shoulders down, calling for Aya.

Liz fell to her knees beside them, grasping his shaking hand. "He's dying, his skin is turning grey!"

Aya dropped into a crouch beside them, placing her palm on Zac's forehead, "She's cursed him. Katrin has cursed him." Tears began to well in her eyes as she gazed down at him and she brushed them away furiously. Katrin knew exactly what she was doing when she sent the curse, a last ditch effort to hurt her. She knew Zac was her weak spot, that she would do anything for him. Even if it meant giving him her blood, the only thing that would save him from the curse. And she would do it, knowing full well the consequences for doing so. Leaning close, she brushed his messy hair from his forehead and whispered, "Please let me save you, Zac."

She bit the vein in her wrist open and went to place it at his mouth, but Liz grabbed her arm, "What are you doing? Your blood will only make it faster!" That's right, she'd lied and told Sam that her blood was poison to vampires, with good reason.

Aya pulled her arm free and glared at the vampire who Zac had once loved. "My blood is the only thing that will save him now," she growled. "Do you want him to die?" Liz edged away, fearful.

Turning back towards Zac, Aya leaned in close and whispered, "Please let me do this for you. Trust me, Zac."

His eyes were wide as he shook his head. She couldn't bear to force him to drink her blood after they had all been turned against their will. He would have to choose to live on his own and she hoped that he would. He was a dark grey now, his body almost desiccated. Time was running out, and fast. All she had left was the truth, and she hoped it was enough.

Her blue eyes were full of sorrow as they pierced his dying muddy green and she whispered, "I love you, Zac. Please let me save you." Stroking his face, she kissed him softly on the lips, her tears dripping down onto his cheeks. When she offered her wrist again, he willingly took it and drank and drank until his convulsions began to still. Color began creeping back into his skin as her blood purged the curse from his body.

Sam relaxed his grip and looked sidelong at Aya, concern etched into his features. She couldn't look at any of them. Such an admission tore her apart and her blood... She was alarmed at what Zac might see once he recovered. She stood hastily and backed towards the line of trees, her knees shaking. The loss of blood had drained her physically after her transformation, the emotions flying about the clearing overwhelming and it was all she could do to focus herself.

Liz was back at Zac's side, stroking his hair from his eyes, her hand against his forehead and she felt a stab of jealousy. His skin was almost back to normal, the curse disappearing as her blood circulated. Zac was out cold, his breathing so slight it was a miracle his heart was still beating.

"Thank you," Sam murmured, looking up at her.

Aya shivered with exhaustion and wavered. "He will sleep a while," she said detached. "When he wakes, he will be well."

Sam nodded his acknowledgment. His eyes focused on a point behind her, widening in surprise and she knew that she had made a fatal mistake.

The last thing Aya saw was a hand bursting through her chest clutching her heart. Then there was nothing.

******

Sam and Liz stared in shock as Aya fell to the ground, eyes wide and vacant, a gaping hole through her chest. But she couldn't die, she just couldn't! Liz grasped Gabby's hand, she was still exhausted from the fight with Katrin, deathly pale.

Sam hissed and stood over Zac's unconscious body, glaring up at Aya's murderer.

He was shorter than Sam by a head, deathly pale skin, close-cropped dark brown hair and a hard face. A long scar from forehead to jaw marred his otherwise good looks. He had blood up to his elbow, a heavy hand still clutching her heart. He threw it nonchalantly to the ground beside him, a sly smile on his lips. "So, the witch made some friends. How quaint."

Sam growled deep in his throat in warning to the vampire who stood before them, "And who the fuck are you?"

The man bared his fangs, eyes turning black. "I am Arturius. I was her maker."

Epilogue

Arturius stood inside the tree line watching the group of vampires. Their witch was calling forth the void. The void where Katrin's soul dwelt. Her vampires had been watching them ever since Alistair had been staked. He wasn't sure if the man who had managed to kill someone that was three hundred years older should impress him. It was almost unheard of.

He stood and watched the show, hidden by witches' magic. As long as he didn't move from the tree line, he would be hidden from everything. Katrin wanted Aeriaya dead and he would see it to the end. He was here at her bequest, but he would have done it anyway. After all, it was his mistake to fix.

Aeriaya was just as he remembered. It had been hundreds of years since he had laid eyes on her and he could scarcely remember the circumstances, but he would never forget that day he sat with her in that dungeon. His lips on hers, her soft translucent skin under his hard calloused hands. He would never forget the moment he held her head in his hands and snapped her delicate neck.

After so much time, it was hard to separate the lies from the truths. There was never any hope for him. As soon as he set foot in Britannia, it had disappeared forever.

As she vanished into the void with the witch, he remembered the blood between his fingers and grimaced. He had ripped Aeriaya's brother to pieces at Katrin's command. He had no choice. That was the moment when he realized that he would never be able to escape. She had trapped them all.

It wasn't long before he felt a pull at the edges of his mind. He felt disoriented for a moment then the clarity hit him like a ton of bricks. Gasping, he clutched his head. For the first time in two thousand years, he felt free. Aeriaya had done it, as he knew she would. Even he knew that this time was different.

As the void slipped away, Arturius watched as Katrin's curse wailed out into the night and collided with the man who'd killed Alistair. Now he would wait and see what she would do. They assumed that she would save him. After watching them so closely, he knew that she cared for this vampire and that would be her greatest mistake.

Sneering as she knelt over the vampire whispering how much she loved him, he rolled his eyes as she gave him her blood. Stupid woman. He had thought better of her. Vampirism had turned her into something cold and heartless, so how could she justify to herself that this was the right thing to do? Even if she loved him, it would give away everything.

Aeriaya stumbled back towards the tree line where he stood hidden by witches' magic. He didn't have to do it anymore. Katrin was gone and the compulsion had evaporated along with her. But, he would never forget his dead brothers and his poor, dear sister. Men he had known in life and death; brothers in both. He hadn't loved her for a long time.

As Arturius stepped out into the clearing, he caught the eye of the younger male vampire, whose eyes widened in surprise. He didn't hesitate. Plunging his hand into her chest from behind, his hand grasped her heart and pushed it straight through into the humid night air. She would see her death, just as his brothers had.

He wrenched his hand away and let her fall, blood dripping onto the ground. It stained his arm up to the elbow, her heart still clutched in his palm. He threw it nonchalantly to the ground beside him, a sly smile on his lips. "So, the witch made some friends. How quaint."

The vampire growled deep in his throat, standing over his fallen friend, "And who the hell are you?"

He bared his fangs, feeling his eyes swirl into darkness. "I am Arturius. I was her maker."

The End

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##    
Beyond the Fortunetellers Tent  
Book One  
By Kristy Tate

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##

Chapter One

The Royal Oaks Renaissance Faire is the brain baby of Mrs. Brighton, part-time English teacher and full time witch. Glass blowers, potters, and herbalists mingle with students, teachers and parents on sawdust strewn paths lined with wooden stalls. Axe throwing is not only allowed but encouraged. Games include Drench-a-Wench (Mrs. Brighton) and Soak-a-Bloke (Principal Olsen). Wizards, elves, beer and barely covered booties are all welcome as long as they help raise thousands of dollars for the high school drama department.

—Petra's notes

Petra stared at the fortuneteller's tent – silky curtains, beaded strings, the faint aroma of vanilla, a gaudy riot of color. She'd been waiting forever, but now that she was here, she took a breath and then another.

Robyn squeezed her hand. "It's so romantic," she whispered. "This is the perfect place for him to ask you."

"It's so him, right?" Petra returned Robyn's squeeze, but her gaze never left the tent. She thought it ugly, garish in a more-is-less way. She sighed and wished that Kyle had asked without hoopla. Maybe she should have asked him. Maybe they shouldn't go. Prom was so yesterday, dated like a debutant ball... Or a jousting competition, she thought, her gaze going to the nearby stadium.

The frustration of denial settled between her shoulder blades like an unreachable itch. Why did she even care about prom? She'd been with Kyle for months; a silly dance didn't define their relationship.

Or did it? Some of her friends already had their dresses. Petra hadn't bought one, that would have been presumptuous but she knew which one she wanted. She'd found the perfect shoes. She hoped Kyle would be okay with the coral-colored vest she'd picked out for him.

"It's so who?" Zoe demanded.

Petra put her hand on top of Zoe's orange curls. Zoe was the pooper at the party, the stepsister that never should have come to the fair.

Petra could understand why her stepmother, Laurel, didn't want to take Zoe to a hospital to visit her Aunt Ida. No one sane would ever want to take Zoe anywhere, especially a place where people needed quiet and rest.

Robyn rolled her eyes at Petra. Robyn and Petra called themselves tele-friends, because they could read each other like open books. Now Robyn nodded at the tent, just go.

"Do you think he's in there?" Petra whispered.

Robyn widened her eyes. "He said he would be, didn't he?"

"Who's he?" Zoe demanded. "Are you talking about Kyle?"

Petra swallowed and tried to forget Zoe's existence. "He didn't say anything, but his note said to meet at the fortuneteller's tent. What if he didn't send the note? What if this is a joke?"

"Then it's not a funny one." Robyn shook her head and her curls bounced around her shoulders. "It was Kyle." She sounded way more confident than Petra felt. Robyn cut her a sideways glance, and another flicker of doubt tickled Petra's thoughts. Why did she suspect the fortuneteller's tent was more Robyn's idea than Kyle's? Petra squelched the thought. Kyle was her fortune. Nothing else mattered.

"Kyle has hotitude that sadly so often accompanies physical beauty," Zoe sighed, parroting her mom.

Petra groaned. Did her parents dislike Kyle because he was rock-star gorgeous? She shook away the other more legitimate reasons why her parents might not like Kyle.

"Ignore her," Robyn mouthed over Zoe's head. "And just go already." She gave Petra a push toward the tent.

Petra dug in her silky flats. "Wait. How do I look?"

"As always, you're beautiful." Robyn straightened Petra's tiara, gave her a small hug, and then turned Petra tent-ward.

"Pretty as a Petra poopy picture," Zoe muttered.

Petra frowned at Zoe and then glanced at her dress, last year's prom gown. She and Robyn were the only two at the fair dressed as princesses. All around her she saw women in laced up bodices, men in tights and knee-high boots, horses in bright cloths and even a snowy white owl on a perch. Zoe in her pink flip-flops, cut-up pillowcase and drapery tassel looked more in place than Petra and Robyn. Petra sniffed. She loved the silky fabric, the seed pearls, and poufy skirt and didn't care that she was overdressed. She put a finger on the tiara; maybe the faux diamonds were too much. Too late now.

Straightening her shoulders, clutching her beaded purse, she headed to the tent. Her steps faltered, and she turned back. "Come with me," she said to Robyn, taking and tugging her friend's hand.

Zoe's mouth dropped open. "You can't leave me alone!"

Robyn motioned to the fair-goers: teachers, fellow students, neighbors. "Alone?"

Zoe's eyes, for a moment, looked almost as crazy as her hair. "There are witches, people with swords, wild animals!"

Petra saw several people she knew, but Zoe had only just moved to Royal Oaks. Petra knelt so she could look in Zoe's crazy eyes. "And not one of them will hurt you, I promise. It's a petting zoo—no wild animals! But if anyone bugs you, which they won't, call a yellow jacket," Petra said, referring to the Royal Oaks security guards who patrolled the school grounds and used blow horns to keep peace. "Please, just sit."

Petra stood and pointed at a convenient stump, wishing for the zillionth time that Zoe would take lessons from their dog, Frosty, who greeted all instructions with lolling tongue and wagging tail. Zoe didn't receive instructions; she counterattacked them. Poodles and stepsisters had very little in common, except for in Zoe's case, the hair-do.

"If you leave me here—" Zoe began.

Petra silenced her by holding up a finger. "If you can be quiet, sit and not say a word, I'll buy you a funnel cake." She raised her eyebrows to see if Zoe would take the bribe, or if she needed to toss in a caramel apple. Health-foodie Laurel wouldn't pony up for brand-name peanut butter, let alone treats fried in oil and covered with sugary powder.

Zoe humphed, then sat and picked at the hem of her pillowcase tunic. Petra followed her gaze to the corral across the path. Zoe's expression lit up. "I want a funnel cake and to ride that horse."

Petra and Robyn both turned to watch a guy lead a stallion through a wooden gate.

"Giddy-up," Robyn said, staring.

The guy had brown, shoulder length hair tied back with a leather thong and wore soft, fawn-colored breeches and matching knee-high boots. His white shirt billowed around a wide leather belt that hung about his hips. Three simultaneous thoughts struck Petra. First: Everyone else, including herself, wore costumes, but this guy looked at ease in his breeches and boots, as if they were his everyday clothes. Second: His eyes and the small smile curving his lips sent a jolt of recognition up her spine although she knew they'd never met. She would have remembered. Third: This guy would never wear a coral colored vest.

"Isn't he awesome?" Zoe breathed, her eyes large and round. "He's so huge."

Robyn gave Zoe a look, and Petra laughed. "You can't ride him," she said, watching the Arabian toss his mane and pull at the reins held by the guy. The stallion fought the bit, rose up on his hind legs and scissored the air with his hooves. "He's not one of the ponies they lead through the rink."

Zoe frowned, sending her freckles south. "I'm sure he'd rather be with me on the trail than in that horrible jousting place." Earlier, they had tried watching the knights' competitions. Zoe, unconcerned for the men being thwacked about by lances, had wailed for the sweat-dripping horses.

"I'm sure you're right, Zoe, but I'm pretty sure I'm right too," Petra said. "They'd never let you take him out of their sight. Besides, he looks fast and barely tamed."

"I like them fast and barely tamed," Robyn said under her breath, smoothing her pink chiffon skirt.

From the jousting arena came cheering and huzzahs. Petra heard the horses' hooves thundering and the clanging of lances hitting shields and armor. She smelled roasted turkey legs, the fires from the pottery kilns and dung. Her senses careened on overload, and when the guy with the horse caught her eye and winked, dizziness and a skin-pricking sensation of déjà vu washed over her.

Zoe looked up at Petra, smiled and said in a voice as sweet as funnel cake, "If you let me ride that horse I won't tell about you face-sucking Kyle."

"There's been no face-sucking!" At least not in front of Zoe.

Zoe put her fists on her hips and jutted out her chin. "Who says?"

Petra blew at a loose strand of hair in front of her eyes. "You can't ride that horse!"

Zoe's gaze cut to the corral and lingered on the stallion. "But you can ask if I can."

Robyn nodded, a flirty smile on her lips. "We can ask."

Petra shot her a look that said, Traitor.

"Hot Horse Guy," Robyn murmured, flipping her brown curls over her shoulder.

"And offer him money," Zoe put in.

"How much money?" Petra nearly growled. Since her dad's marriage she'd been given an allowance 'to help you find your own financial feet in the real world,' Laurel's words. Petra's feet wanted a pair of coral-colored heels for prom.

"I saw him wink at you." Zoe's tone turned calculating. "Maybe you wouldn't need to pay him."

Petra frowned at Zoe; eight years old seemed too young to know the art of female bartering.

"We'll ask him right after we visit the fortuneteller," Robyn promised Zoe, sending a let's-get-together-soon smile at Horse Guy.

He smiled back and ducked his head.

Zoe scowled, folded her arms and watched the horses parading in the corral.

Petra turned to the fortuneteller's tent and forced herself to not look at hot Horse Guy, although she imagined she felt his gaze on her back. She towed Robyn by one wrist.

Held up by large wooden poles, the tent had brightly woven damask walls. A barrel-chested man wearing nothing but gold chains, large rings and red bloomerish pants guarded a money jar. A hand-printed sign propped by the jar read Fester Foretells your Fate.

"Fester?" Petra stopped short of the tent. "He sounds like he needs a squirt of Neosporin."

"You're stalling," Robyn pulled on Petra's hand.

"What if he's not in there?" Petra flashed the guy in bloomers a nervous glance but he remained motionless and expressionless, as if she and Robyn didn't even exist. What would happen if she poked him? Would he do more than flinch? Would he do even that?

"Then we'll have our fortunes read." Robyn gave the bloomer guy a sideways look, but he stared straight ahead not even looking at Robyn, which Petra found impressive. Most guys couldn't resist looking at Robyn.

"I'm telling Daddy that you ditched me," Zoe kicked her flip-flops heels against the stump.

Petra scowled at Zoe. Her parents had only been married a few months, and it stung to hear Zoe call her dad 'Daddy.' "We're not ditching you. It's more like we're parking you in a five-minute loading zone." Petra made a lever pulling motion. "There, I put on the emergency brake. You're stuck."

Petra turned her back on Zoe and faced Robyn. "What if Kyle doesn't think to come inside? He could stand out here forever while some hag predicts that I don't get into a good school and will end up selling shoes for the rest of my life."

"You love shoes," Robyn said. "Besides, I'm sure he's already inside."

"And, just like me, listening to every word you say!" Zoe added.

Petra gave Zoe another be-quiet-or-be-dead look, but then realized Zoe could be right. What if Kyle was on the other side of the curtain, waiting and listening? Fighting the flush creeping up her neck, Petra dropped money into Fester's jar and pushed back the curtain of crystal beads.

When the curtain fell back into place behind them, it carried the sound of breaking glass. Heavy incense hung in the air. Petra blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. She scanned the tiny space, searching for Kyle. A crystal ball on a table draped in silks glowed and sent a shivery light that didn't reach the corners of the tent. Large pillows dotted tapestry rugs covering the ground.

Petra wondered if she should sit and wait. Could Kyle be hiding behind a curtain? No. He probably wasn't here yet, meaning that he hadn't heard her and Zoe. That was good. Wasn't it?

"Petra, welcome," a voice in the semi-darkness cackled.

Behind Petra, Robyn jumped. It took Petra a moment to find the owner of the voice, a hunched man on a pillow in a dark corner. Before him lay a pair of tarot cards, face up: a fool dancing, tossing stars into a purple sky and a magician holding a wand, scattering glitter.

"I'm afraid you must come alone," Fester said, leaving his gaze on Petra's face as his twisted hands gathered the cards, and tapped them into a deck.

Robyn's eyes flashed a question at Petra. Petra squeezed Robyn's hand.

"I'll wait with your sister," Robyn said.

Still expecting Kyle to show, Petra didn't watch her friend leave, but she knew when Robyn had gone by the flash of daylight that came and then left with the rise and fall of the curtain and the tinkle of the beads.

"There are journeys some must undertake on their own," Fester the fortuneteller said, staring up at Petra.

Chapter Two

"No prosecution should thereafter be made on a charge of witchcraft and that all persons professing to occult skill or undertaking to tell fortunes might be sentenced to imprisonment for one year, made to stand pillory, and pledge future good behavior." George II

"Every person pretending or professing to tell fortunes or using any subtle craft, means, or device, by palmistry or otherwise to deceive, and impose on any of His Majesty's Subjects will be deemed a vagabond and rogue and be punished accordingly." George IV

So, why did they have a fortuneteller at the Royal Oaks Renaissance Faire and not a pillory?

—Petra's notes

Fester had riotous curls the same color as his silver hooped earrings. Lined and crisscrossed, his skin looked like aged leather. Struck by his dark eyes, Petra stepped closer. The iris, so dark, swallowed the pupil and appeared bottomless. Endless.

Petra shook herself. Eyes weren't endless. She'd learned about eyes in biology, had even studied a cow's eye trapped in a jar of formaldehyde. Large, yellowish and with a brown iris, the cow's eyeball had given her a sick feeling. Her lab partner, Lloyd of the big glasses, had laughed and refused to take it from her so she'd quickly passed it to the girl behind her. Petra felt that same queasiness now, staring into the fortuneteller's eyes, but she found herself unable to look away. She cleared her throat. "I'm expecting someone. He asked me to meet him here."

Fester laughed, and the sound surprised Petra. Not an old person hoot or an evil cackle, but a laugh that sounded like church bells, the type that ring at funerals. A Dickinson poem sprang to Petra's memory: oppresses like the heft of Cathedral tunes. Shivers shot up her arms and she took a step back, nearly tripping on a pillow. "If Kyle isn't here, I'll just go..."

The laughter stopped. "You paid the price, did you not?"

"Well, yes, but so did Robyn." Petra reached behind her for the curtain. Her hand bumped against the beads which rattled but suddenly hushed as the man spoke.

"Then you must listen." Fester drew the fool card from the deck with a knobby finger, laid it on the rug and tapped it with a pointy fingernail. "Carrying all his possessions wrapped in a scarf, the Fool travels to destinations unknown. So filled with visions and daydreams he cannot see the dangers lying in wait. In his path, a small dog harries him, sending a warning."

Fester lifted his finger at Petra. The nail seemed almost as long as the finger, curling under as if it bent beneath its own weight. The finger and nail were both gray, the color of dead flesh. "You, my dear, are the fool. I am your warning."

Kyle's the fool, Petra thought, fighting a hot flash of anger, if he thought I'd find this freak show even remotely entertaining. She bit back a rude remark and instead asked, "Of what?"

Fester, who had been sitting in the corner, somehow suddenly flashed to Petra's side. She flinched from the strong, garlicky smell and the warmth of his body. Petra held her breath and took a step closer to the curtains that led outside.

He followed. "If you think your life is here and now, you are mistaken. Indeed, there is no time or space."

"My only mistake was putting twenty dollars in your jar." Petra's voice sounded screechy in her ears.

"Harbingers of ill will do not always mean you harm." Fester laid his fingers on Petra's arm and sent a jolt of electricity that lifted her off her feet.

Petra watched the crystal ball sail through the air and the strings of hanging beads swayed, sounding like a rush of wind chimes. Potion jars spun in the air, tarot cards floated around her like large, one-dimensional snowflakes. The ball connected with a flying jar and shattered into thousands of pieces, crystal and potion glinting midair as the poles supporting the draped damask groaned and teetered.

Earthquake, the rational part of Petra's mind told her, but Petra was listening to another voice, one that said, run. Amidst the fluttering curtains Petra flew, whirling her arms and feet, a mid-air mime pantomiming running.

When the earth settled, Petra found herself buried beneath a pile of fabric and pillows. She sat up, dazed. Other than the drapes of cloth and the swaying crystal beads, the tent looked about the same, give or take the tarot cards scattered about. She pushed them away so she wouldn't step on them.

Looking around, she didn't see the fortuneteller. She wondered where he was and if he was hurt. Dazed, she tried looking for him, but the incense stung the back of her throat and filled her head. Needing air, she pushed through the curtains, brushed off her dress and straightened her tiara. Taking a few faltering steps, she stopped.

The only other earthquake Petra remembered had been on Easter Sunday, less than a month earlier. She had been with her family at the dining room table and had watched the chandelier swing above the ham and creamed potatoes. That quake had rolled rather than shook and had lasted less than a minute but Zoe had wailed in terror. Zoe had to be frightened now.

Where was Zoe?

Too bad this town square didn't have stocks and pillory. They would have come in handy about five minutes ago. Then she would have known exactly where to find Zoe.

A three-legged, dog of indeterminate breed charged and took Petra off her feet. She landed hard on her butt in the dirt, legs splayed in front, dress around her thighs. She stared after the animal and watched the crowd filling the dusty street to see how they'd react to a dog breaking leash laws. No one seemed to notice.

Petra wanted to ask someone about the earthquake, but she didn't see anyone she knew. Where were the yellow jackets? Principal Soak-a-Bloke? Mrs. Brighton in her witch's hat? Petra stood, dusted off her dress and sat down on Zoe's abandoned stump.

Petra remembered the advice she'd been given on a Girl's Scout hike, when lost stay where you are. She didn't know if Zoe had ever received similar advice, but it made sense that Zoe would eventually return, if only for the funnel cake. Petra closed her eyes, trying not to picture the trouble she'd be in when Zoe blabbed. Maybe Robyn was with Zoe. The thought made her feel a little better, but when she opened her eyes, the fair looked as strange as it had before.

Petra drew in the dirt with the toe of her slipper. The blue shoes had a smattering of faux diamonds across the top. She'd been annoyed about not being able to wear heels to the prom until her dad pointed out to her that last year's date, Micky Lund, had yet to hit a growth spurt. Slippers were a kinder choice. Petra hadn't cared that much about the shoes or Micky, but she was glad now to be in slippers.

Except none of that mattered anymore because she was ready to go home. Not spotting Zoe's familiar tangerine hair, Petra climbed onto the stump for a better view. Standing with her hands on her hips, she glanced back at the fortuneteller's tent and then twisted around completely. Somehow the tent had been replaced with a blacksmith's shop. A giant fire blazed in a forge, and a thick armed man wearing a leather apron and wielding a hammer stood where only moments ago she'd visited Fester. Right? Petra climbed off the stump with weak knees.

The blacksmith swung his hammer onto a flaming red piece of metal and sparks flew. Again and again the hammer struck; the pounding rang in Petra's ears.

Where is Zoe? Petra's anger melted into confusion. She must have hit her head during the earthquake. That's why she thought she was flying mid-air. She must have had a concussion . Knowing that a head injury would soften her parents, Petra sat, waiting. Zoe and Robyn would turn up any minute...and maybe even Kyle.

But waiting didn't calm Petra. It reminded her of the very first time her mother hadn't met her after school. She'd stood at the corner near the crossing guard, surrounded by other second graders waiting for their moms, just as her mother had instructed. Eventually all the other kids disappeared into cars and she'd been left alone with the guard, who'd marched her to the office, where she had to sit on a hard plastic chair, while the gum chewing secretary called her mom.

And then her dad.

During the second phone call, the secretary's voice had changed from cranky to hushed, and her gaze slid to Petra with a look of pity that Petra would later know too well. When her dad showed up, he seemed worried, harassed, and withdrawn. No one, not her mother or her father, had apologized for making Petra wait.

A donkey-pulled wagon rumbled by and brought Petra out of the memory. A trio of dirty- faced kids in brown cloth tunics gazed at her with wide eyes from their perch in the wagon. Their rags made Zoe's pillowcase look good.

Petra tried again to orient herself. She saw the jousting arena but not the funnel cake booth. She rubbed her head and decided that she must have left the tent from a different side. From this new angle the fortuneteller's tent looked different.

Perception can alter reality. In AP psychology they'd learned about mental maps and paradigm shifts. Thinking about Doctor Burns and the class bolstered Petra. She wasn't stupid, ditzy, or dizzy. Blonde jokes, in her case, didn't apply. Still, as she stood on the stump, she felt increasingly lost. Silly even.

She tried to recall Doctor Burn's words. If you had an incorrect map of a city and were looking for a specific location, you would be both lost and frustrated. Experience determines perception.

Right now she needed a map not of her psyche but of the fair. She'd gotten lost. The three-legged dog, the blacksmith shop spouting flames and sparks (something she couldn't believe the fire marshal would allow), the three story-buildings and thatched roofed cottages, well, those were all things she hadn't noticed before when she'd been preoccupied with Kyle and his supposed prom invite.

She was on the wrong tree stump! Abandoning the stump, she wandered around looking for the fortuneteller's tent, but she couldn't find any bright colored fabrics or strings of crystal beads. Refusing to believe that she would have noticed a blacksmith shop spouting sparks, she squared her shoulders and set out to find the information booth where Mrs. Jordan handed out maps.

Ten minutes later when she couldn't find the booth or Mrs. Jordan, she turned toward what she hoped was the direction of the stables. She hoped to find Zoe with hot Horse Guy and thought about what she'd say to Zoe. The angry, why did you leave the stump? And, why didn't you stay where I put you? Quickly turned to, I'm sorry I lost you.

"Zoe!" Petra called out, her voice mingling with the calls of the vendors. "Robyn?" No one was paying any attention to her. "Zoe? Robyn? Anyone?"

***

Emory tagged Chambers through the marketplace crowd. Farmers, artisans and peddlers shared the square, competing for business, breathing the same foul air. Hawkers called out, voices rising above the bellow of cows and the snorts of pigs, but no one called to Emory.

Two old men smoking long pipes and sitting in the shade of a vegetable cart looked up as Emory moved past them. A child teasing a cat with a bit of fish didn't see Emory, but the cat took note. Emory slipped into a dark alley, away from the market's chaos, and leaned against the wall. Dark, cool, the passage had a line of doors, but Chambers had chosen the furthest from the crowd, and, for perhaps the first time, Emory applauded Chambers' judgment.

Emory listened to the voices on the other side of the door: half past midnight, two nights hence, the rectory. Emory marveled at Chambers' audacity, at his ability to believe he worked in the name of God. Chambers didn't know Emory, or anyone, knew of his plans. Chambers' pride allowed him to believe that the Almighty would partner with such barbarians.

Emory felt no fear, although he knew if caught Chambers would have him killed. Or try. Emory smiled, pulled away from the door when he heard the scratch of chairs on the stone floors. Footsteps, shuffling, voices approaching, a rattle of the latch. After a quick survey of the alley Emory realized the entry, his means of escape, had been blocked by a gaggle of geese. Not wanting to wade through them and draw attention, Emory headed toward the closest door. Finding it unlocked, he slipped inside, praying the room would be uninhabited.

He saw a chair by the fire, tools spread across a work bench and a floor strewn with wood shavings. Emory leaned against the wall and listened. He heard the geese, the rumble of Chambers' voice on the other side of the wall, villagers outside the window.

Then he heard another noise, much closer, and more threatening.

A low growl.

Emory looked around and spotted an arthritic mongrel slowly rising from his ragged mat. The growl grew deeper as the dog lifted his lips exposing jagged brown teeth.

Putting out a hand, Emory whispered, "Good dog."

The dog's fur rose like a razorback along his massive shoulders. His head lowered and his ears flattened. Drool gathered on his lips, and when he barked, the spittle flew.

Emory tried to listen for the men's voices, but the neighboring room now seemed hushed, while in Emory's room several noisy things happened at once. The dog lunged, sinking his teeth into Emory's breeches. A tall, apple-shaped woman wielding a large wooden spoon appeared from a back room.

"Out! Out," the woman cried, belting Emory with her spoon.

"I mean no harm," Emory said, covering his head with his arms and trying to shake the dog off his leg.

"Out! Out!" The wooden spoon beat on Emory's shoulders and back.

Tripping over the dog, which he'd managed to kick in the jaw, Emory made it to the window. The dog leaped for Emory's throat but missed as Emory clambered over the sill. Snapping at Emory's feet with brown and rotting teeth, the animal grew frantic. A tear in Emory's breeches caught on a wooden peg, but after a few moments of awkward hanging, Emory fell face first into a woodpile.

Above him, the woman shouted obscenities and the dog barked, but to Emory's relief, the room that Chambers had occupied hadn't a window on the woodpile side. Emory scooted off the wood, scattering logs and planks, offered the woman a lopsided grin and an apology. "A simple mistake, good mistress. A wrong door, tis all." He ratcheted up the charm in his smile and watched the woman's expression soften. Her lips twitched as he caught a log rolling down the street, picked it up and waved it at her before returning it to the heap. The gesture won him a toothless smile.

The dog, however, refused to be charmed. Paws on the sill and head poking out, he continued to bark, spraying slobber. He likely was too old and rickety to clear the window, but Emory didn't stay to find out. He ran through the alley, turned a corner and stopped short when he saw a girl about his age dressed in blue wandering through the crowd. Blond hair piled on her head. Jewels glistened in her hair and in her ears. She moved like a feather on the wind, graceful yet aimless. A tiny frown pulled at her lips and a worried scowl creased her eyebrows. Turning, she faced him and her eyes widened, as if in recognition. He took a step toward her, pulled by an invisible cord. The geese complained as he pushed through, honking and pecking as they surrounded him.

"Give way, lad," the goose girl shouted.

But Emory wasn't listening to her. He strained to hear what the girl in blue was saying. Emory felt a flash of sudden, inexplicable pain, knowing she would never call for him.

***

A murmur ran through the crowd. Above their heads Petra caught sight of Kyle on a decked out horse. The Arabian gleamed in the late afternoon sun, mane and tail glistening like an onyx ring, and he wore a bright colored coat. Kyle had his eyes trained on a falcon flying toward the jousting arena.

"Kyle!" Petra called, relieved that the charade was near an end. Finally, he'd ask her to prom and together they could find Zoe. Mike had asked Blondie by hanging a sign on a freeway overpass. Mark had delivered a bouquet of helium balloons to Nicki. Ryan asked Heather while wearing a gorilla suit. But this had to be the most convoluted invitation ever. She swallowed her hysteria and felt a moment of relief.

A few people turned to look at Petra, but Kyle didn't. Anger flashed through her. She called again, but instead of turning Kyle spurred his horse down the dusty path. People moved for him like the Red Sea had parted for Moses. In fact, some bowed, practically scraping the ground. Was this really an invitation to prom? Had egotism extraordinaire replaced hotitude? This skyrocketed Kyle's arrogance to a whole new stratosphere.

So over him and shaking in anger, Petra plucked a slimy vegetable off a nearby cart and lobbed it at Kyle. The discolored beet, slightly smaller and much more solid than a softball, would have landed true, squarely on the back of Kyle's head, except for another three-legged dog. The animal darted beneath the Arabian's hooves with a chicken in his mouth, and the horse danced away, carrying Kyle with him.

Wait. Where would a dog get a chicken? A live, white and black, squawking chicken? Had he stolen it from the petting zoo? She tried to imagine Frosty stealing a chicken. He didn't even chase rabbits. A child darted after the dog, shouting. She'd thought the three-legged dog from before had been dingo-looking and this was more shepherd mix. How many three-legged dogs running free could there be? One seemed over the top.

Even weirder, Kyle disliked riding. He called Petra's own thoroughbred a giant rodent and refused to even mount Laurel's fat, slow, Gwendolyn. Could that afternoon, three months ago, have been part of the ruse? Not likely.

A bad dream then, she reasoned. I'm having a bad dream. Doctor Burns said many cultures believe that dreams are a means for the soul to leave the body and experience other dimensions. Some psychologists believe that dreams represent the workings of the unconscious mind. So the dream couldn't exist outside her mind. None of this was real. She didn't think she was asleep, but if this was some peculiar life-like dream, what was her unconscious mind trying to tell her?

She didn't have a clue. She didn't know why she had suddenly been transported to Elizabethan England, but she did know Kyle. He needed to help her find Zoe so they could go home.

Petra picked up another beet and cocked her arm, but stopped short when a vice-like hand clamped her wrist. She struggled against the grip, fighting to send another missile at Kyle's big head. An arm snaked across her waist and pulled her against a solid chest. She squirmed and rammed her elbow into her captor's diaphragm. It hurt her funny bone, but he didn't even budge. She tried to stomp her feet, but soon realized she was at least two inches off the ground.

"Think twice, my lady," a voice whispered in her ear.

Chapter Three

Gold or silver coins – no paper currency. 240 pennies or 20 shillings equaled one pound. Each penny had a cross not only to symbolize Christianity but also to be used as a guideline for cutting the pennies into halves and quarters. The halfpenny was worth half a penny and the farthing was worth a quarter, or a fourth, of a penny.

What would be the cost of a rotting turnip?

—Petra's notes

The breath against her neck sent shivers down her back. His hand on her wrist felt like fire. He stood behind her, holding her arm over her, so she couldn't see his face, but his voice had a Harry Potter accent.

An angry, muffin-faced woman bustled toward them gabbling, droplets of saliva flying from her loose, flapping lips.

Petra couldn't understand a thing.

"She wants to know how you'll be paying," the warm voice said. He didn't release her arm, but lowered it behind her back and plucked the beet from her fingers. Holding her against him, he whispered, "Offer her handsomely, and she'll not call the watch."

Petra looked at the sorry collection of spotted and bruised vegetables and then at the woman's fury. Muffin Face wore a mud colored shawl and an apron splattered with crusted blood. Most of Muffin's hair had been stuffed beneath a scarf, but bits of gray blond fuzz had escaped and framed her red, mottled skin.

"So sorry, of course," Petra said. The guy released her wrist. Petra fumbled through her bag, a tiny silk pouch held closed with a ribbon. She'd had it made to match the slippers and it held little more than a vial of perfume, Zoe's Girl Scout gadget, her phone and a few dollar bills. She handed the woman a five and the woman gawked.

Petra glimpsed at the guy who'd captured her wrist, instantly recognizing him from the stables. Solid, warm, and strong, he brought out in her the ridiculous desire to hide behind him from the insane woman. This bothered her for two reasons: She was still angry that he'd blocked her shot, and she wasn't the hiding sort.

Petra planted her feet, squared her shoulders and again held the bill out to the woman, embarrassed that her hand shook so badly that the bill flapped. Trying to sound reasonable even though everyone else had gone berserk, she said, "I'm sorry I don't have anything smaller." Petra looked pointedly at a small lumpy pouch tied to the woman's generous hips. "I'm sure you can make change."

When the woman didn't respond but stared with a slack-mouth, Petra sighed. "Very well. Keep it." There went Zoe's funnel cake, which served her right. Funnel cake denial, the high price of wandering off.

Muffin Face stared at Petra with beady, squinting eyes.

Horse Guy bent to retrieve the first beet she'd thrown, from the dusty road. It had rolled out of the way of the horses' hooves and wagon wheels and looked, to Petra, no worse than the other smelly vegetables in the woman's cart. Close up, it looked even uglier.

"No harm done, good mistress," the guy said to Muffin Face. He polished the beet, leaving a smear of dirt on his breeches, and handed it to the woman. Muffin Face sniffed, stretched her lips in a little smile and fluttered her lashes. Petra's lips twitched in a smile; the guy had swag. The woman gave Petra another scowl and turned her attention to a pair of women in dusty aprons.

Petra returned the bill to her purse and looked up to find herself nose to chest with Horse Guy. Taking a step back, she realized he was much younger than she'd thought, close, in fact, to her age. She peered at him, wondering what had made him seem older. His build? His swagger?

"I offered her a five," Petra said.

He looked at her, a smile tugging his lips. "Ah, but five what?"

His smile nearly disarmed her. Still, she tried to hold onto her anger. "A five dollar bill."

"You offered but one."

She again drew the bill from her purse. Horse Guy plucked it from her fingers and studied it, front and back, and then cocked his head. "A piece of parchment?"

She took it and waved the bill in his face. "It's money!"

He rocked back on his heels, considering her. "It has no value here."

Petra put her hands on her hips and blew a loose strand of hair from her eyes. "Five dollars is a lot for an anemic looking beet!"

"Perhaps, but I'm afraid it's an unfair price for a turnip."

"Turnip?"

"Yes, definitely a turnip. Do you not have such vegetables where you're from?"

She thought of the rows and rows of beautiful produce at Pavilions. She didn't think she'd ever seen a turnip, but she'd never looked, when passing the produce on the way to the Panda Express counter. She'd certainly never given any thought to discolored beets or turnips. Still, she was quite certain that one single, nasty looking whatever covered with dusty grime shouldn't cost five dollars. They had larger, prettier vegetables at the dollar store, not that she'd ever bought one.

He chuckled and took her wrist, sending a tingling current through Petra. He led her away from the glares of the gossiping women. Petra allowed him to lead her across the street to the stables, which somehow smelled better than the vegetable cart.

"Can you help me find my sister?" Her voice sounded small. "I really want to go home, and I can't leave without her."

"Who?" he asked.

"My stepsister. You saw us earlier."

"I saw her earlier?"

Petra nodded. "We saw you near the stables..." Her voice trailed away because those stables had looked nothing like where she was now. Sure, horses lined up in their stalls, flicking their tails and munching straw, but that was where the similarities ended. Here tack and whips hung on the wall, and dusty daylight peeked streamed between wooden slats. Straw covered the floor, and cobwebs filled the corners.

"And what does your sister look like?"

"You don't remember?" She thought of how his wink had sent a tingle up her spine. She wanted to remind him of the wink, but what if he hadn't been winking at her? He didn't even remember her. That stung more than it should. She held out her hand to show Zoe's height. "Kumquat-colored hair, tiny, freckled and bad tempered."

Petra tore her gaze away to look over the crowd. The square was full of fat, thin, hairy and bald people, not one of them Zoe. She thought of the one other person she had recognized. "How do you know Kyle?"

"What is a Kyle?" He rolled the name over his tongue, as if experimenting with its sound.

"He's not a what, but a who, and I saw you nodding to him in the street." Horse Guy was the only person who hadn't bowed. Her voice softened as she wondered over all the confusing things she'd recently seen. Kyle's riding a horse seemed even more unlikely than a three legged dog, because, quite simply, she'd never known Kyle to do one thing he didn't want to do. And three months ago he'd been adamantly opposed to riding a horse. "He was riding a horse."

Horse Guy blinked. "There are many horsemen in Dorrington."

"Wait," her voice squeaked, "Where did you say?"

"Dorrington. Did you think we were somewhere else?"

She opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it. "I need to find Kyle. Can you help me?" She shuffled her feet, sending dust into the air. "He is the only person I've seen riding a horse decked out like a rock star."

"Decked out like a rock star," he repeated the phrase slowly. "I do not know what that means, but perhaps you refer to the Earl's son. His horse wears the royal crest."

A royal crest? "His dad's name is John."

"Yes, John Falstaff."

"Like Shakespeare's dead-drunk Falstaff?" Her thoughts spun. In Larsen's AP English class she'd watched all the Shakespeare movies for extra credit. She wouldn't have thought that Kyle, who arranged his schedule around lacrosse practice, had ever heard of John Falstaff. If he had he'd pulled off the gag with an amazing attention to detail.

Petra frowned. Kyle wasn't good with details.

The guy's voice turned hard. "My lady, you are mistaken. My Lord Falstaff is no drunkard; he is a committed protector."

Kyle's dad owned a bunch of used car lots and ran commercials featuring girls in string bikinis. Lord and protector weren't names she'd have given him. "Fine. John Falstaff's son. I need to speak to him."

"That will be very difficult. Gaining an audience with the Earl—"

"An audience?" Petra thought of the girls in the TV ads, and her voice squeaked again. She cleared her throat. "I don't want an audience."

Horse Guy leaned against the stable wall and studied Petra. "You say you must speak with the Earl's son." His voice sounded calculating. "Why?"

Petra flushed. "He's my boyfriend."

Horse Guy looked at her blankly, and she tried to think of an old fashioned word, one he might understand. How would Juliette refer to Romeo? "My date."

He laughed. "Your date?"

"Yes." Okay, it hadn't been the best word choice, but since she couldn't think of a better one, she folded her arms and scowled at him. "Why is that funny?"

He chuckled, his brown eyes warm, his lips curled in a smile. "And who is your fig?"

"Fig?"

"Perhaps a pear or a peach..."

Petra, unused to being teased, clenched her fists and pushed past him. "This whole thing blows," she said over her shoulder.

He caught up to her in one stride and easily matched her pace. "Blows? What blows?"

Petra flung out her arms. "This! Everything about this blows!" She quickened her step yet he stayed at her side.

"By this, do you mean Dorrington? How can a village blow without wind? It is, perhaps, a bodily blow?"

A bodily blow? As she tried to figure out what exactly was a bodily blow, Petra fought a surge of panic. "This totally, completely sucks!" She sounded hysterical. She was losing it. Pressure mounted in her chest. Her head thrummed and her mouth went dry.

"It blows and then it sucks. Sucks what?" He seemed genuinely confused. Somehow this made things worse.

Petra wanted to scream. She wanted to throw more spotty and mushy vegetables. She wanted to go home. She was going to kill Zoe.

"Sucks blood? Sucks life?" Still, he matched her pace, but kept his voice low. People moved out of their way, staring after them.

"Yes! Yes! All of that."

He took her wrist and another current of warmth spread up her arm. He whirled her to face him, his expression earnest. "My lady, I beg you, for your health, do not make mention of witchcraft again."

Witchcraft? Who said anything about witchcraft? Shaking loose from his grip and turning her back, Petra lifted her skirt and ran down the street to the square.

Carts in a variety of sizes and shapes parked in the shade of the jousting arena. Farmers, bakers and cloth merchants all called out as she hurried past. Most wore rough cotton clothing in shades of dust. Their leather sandals matched the color of their feet.

Petra dashed through the crowd, overcome by animal odors and the press of too many bodies in too small a space. Looking at the ground, she closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer.

Opening her eyes, she thought she saw a pink flip-flop.

Chapter Four

A cock fight is a blood sport between two roosters (cocks), held in a ring called a cockpit. In Tudor times, the Palace of Westminster had a permanent cockpit, the Cockpit-in-Court. Cocks are almost as disgusting as the people that make them fight.

—Petra's notes

"Zoe!" Petra pushed through the crowd and nearly tripped over a squealing pig. Grasping onto a vegetable cart, she watched the knee-high creature shoulder through a maze of wagon wheels, crates of produce, men in tights and women in skirts. The pig snorted as it went, as if stating its disapproval of the melee. Petra curled her fingers around the edge of the cart, letting the rough wood dig into her palms. She didn't recognize anyone. Not one single person wore normal clothes. The merchants, not even the kids looked like they belonged in Orange County. It wasn't one difference but a combination: Everyone seemed short, dirty and grim. Their mood matched their greasy hair, the chipped and broken fingernails. Everyone except Horse Guy. He didn't belong here, either.

She studied the people, searching for a few of the beauty standards of OC: a French manicure, the glistening of gloss hair products, the telltale perks of a boob job. But even the women in corsets looked saggy. Petra's gaze flashed around the square, searching, ignoring the hot Horse Guy.

A mop of bright curls flitted behind a crate of potatoes. "Zoe!" Petra followed, frustration and worry mounting.

The girl didn't turn but expertly navigated the crowd, expertly navigating through tight clad legs and dust lined skirts. The child held the pink flip-flop in her hand, which surprised Petra, but then when she thought about it, there were so many surprising things, too many to count. A pig on the loose? Toothless middle-aged women? Three-legged dogs? And maybe one three-legged dog was okay, but more than that was just wrong. Petra zigzagged between the carts, searching for Zoe's curls. Petra spotted the girl rounding a corner.

Thatched-roofed cottages with shuttered windows, white plaster buildings with timber frames, and wooden roofs—Petra hadn't noticed this area before. Could they be the drama department's backdrops? Most were two or three stories and quite often the second story leaned out over the first, looking like a beer belly protruding over a belt. All of it was pretty elaborate, even for Mrs. Brighton. Petra rounded the street corner and stopped short in the thick of a cheering crowd.

A sharp tug on her purse startled her, and she looked into the dirty face of a boy holding a sad looking knife. Both grabbed for her cut purse string, but Petra was quicker. She kicked at the kid and he sprinted away, disappearing into the press of bodies.

Clutching her purse, Petra was pushed from behind, jostled, tumbled to the ground. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she faced an iron fence. A stream of red splattered the front of her dress.

Blood? Blood on her dress!

Around her, the people jeered, laughing, slapping each other on the backs and watching a pair of roosters battling on the other side of the iron fence. The birds, mottled brown, black, and white, dripped with gore and mud. The larger one had lost an eye, and blood and mucus stained the side of its face. The smaller, stringier bird lunged for his opponent's throat. When the larger rooster fell with a dying gurgle, the crowd roared.

Bile surged in Petra's throat. She gagged, clasped at her calves and laid her head against her knees. She spied her purse and she scooped it up. She uncurled, stood and pushed through the crowd until she reached a stand of trees at the edge of the square.

She tried to take several deep breaths, but she couldn't calm down. Where were the yellow jackets? No one liked the security guards, Hellsfire Helen or Wicked Will, but she'd wished they were here now. She wanted to hear them tooting their blow-horns and bellowing, "Slow down, Slick! Out of the flowerbeds! Back to Class! Quit killing roosters!"

Where were the flower beds? The parking lot filled with hot, shiny cars? She spotted a church steeple and walked toward it, remembering that after her hasty-prayer she'd thought she'd seen Zoe and her flip-flop.

Outside the church, a stone wall circled a small cemetery filled with headstones. Hitching her dress to her knees, Petra felt someone watching and turned to see a man built like a water-barrel but with noodle-thin limbs. He stared at her legs and licked his lips. Quickly, she dropped her skirts, patted them into place and turned her back on the man. She still felt his gaze.

Patchy grass and a smattering of dandelions and buttercups grew between the rough markers. Here were the flower beds—weeds sprouting up over graves. The chapel she attended with her family was made of red brick and had double glass doors and a shiny white steeple. This church was made of gray stone and had heavily carved wooden doors.

She looked over her shoulder. The man stood still, watching.

***

Emory had followed Chambers out of necessity and justice. Simply put, principle demanded he thwart Chambers' plan. He'd followed the girl why? Because it seemed she'd already tied him with an invisible string and he was as surely tethered as a donkey to a cart. No principles nor moral standards had anything to do with tagging her. He dodged a boy leading a sickly milk cow, and skirted past the vendors hawking their goods.

He would have walked past Anne without a glance and only stopped when she placed a hand on his arm. "Kind sir, consider my wares?"

Emory gave the girl's retreating back a long look before giving Anne his attention. He looked into his old friend's large, sad brown eyes. She had a cloud of brown hair that she wore swept away from her face, but in odd moments, when the hair escaped its pins, as it was wont to do, Anne reminded Emory of nothing so much as a spaniel.

"Are the colors not fine?" she asked.

Emory saw her puzzled expression that traveled from his face to the girl in blue who was quickly disappearing into the crowd. He sighed and smiled. "The finest," he agreed, his gaze barely touching the stand and its assembly of threads and dyes.

"I've also tapestries," she told him.

"They are well known, my lady. Your father's fame is well-established."

"Perhaps you would care to see his work," she urged.

By now the girl in blue had melded into the crowd. Fingering the threads, Emory said, "Not today, but in two evenings hence."

Anne's eyebrows rose. "A meeting, sir?"

"You may find me near the rectory."

He watched Anne's eyes light with fire. "But how—"

"'Tis just a meeting," he told her, modulating his tone so that a passerby would consider them strangers and not conspirators. "The plans are not set. There's still much to discuss."

She nodded, fussed over her threads, trying to hide her pleased and hopeful expression.

Worry stirred inside Emory. Anne's relentless search for vengeance would surely prove dangerous. Emory had learned from hard experience that heaven meted out its own unique justice without need of human interference. The divine wheel of justice might appear slow, but it was steady and sure.

"We will meet," Anne said. Pink stained her cheeks.

Emory's gaze swept over the crowd. He'd lost the girl.

"Perhaps I can aid you further?" Anne's voice brought his attention back to where it belonged.

"No. I have no need." Emory shook his head, wishing it true.

***

Petra walked through the cemetery, disregarding the dark, stained markers, and headed for a fresh grave. The headstone looked new; grass had yet to grow over the mound of dirt. Petra squatted beside the headstone. Geoffery Carl, born 1589, died 1614.

Forget the stalker. Forget the Royal Oaks Renaissance Faire. Somehow she had landed in the seventeenth century. Was this a dream? She didn't remember falling asleep. Had she hit her head in the fortuneteller's tent? At this very moment, was her body lying unconscious in Royal Oaks while her mind played tricks in Elizabethan England?

A tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away, knowing her hands, filthy from the fall, would leave a smear of dirt and mascara across her cheek. It doesn't matter how I look in a dream, she thought as the tears fell faster, bathing her face. She'd had such nightmares before, perhaps not quite realistic as this, but still she'd had those strange dreams where upon waking she'd been surprised to find herself in her own bed. Dreams where she'd forgotten to prepare for a history test, dreams where she'd lost her mother in a crowd, much like the crowd here. But she'd never dreamed of seventeenth-century England before. All those Shakespeare tragedies, Fritz, Richard, Hamlet, Lear, they were dead. No point in dreaming about them four hundred years later.

But what if it wasn't a dream? An alternate reality? A wormhole? A parallel universe? She needed to get a grip. Maybe at some point this would all make sense, but right now she would play along. She didn't need to worry about Zoe. What had the Fester the fortuneteller said? Some journeys must be taken alone. She didn't have to worry. Zoe wasn't shy – she knew how to ask for help. Just because Petra was lost in some sort of time warp didn't mean that Zoe hadn't found a way home. Or a funnel cake.

Petra squared her shoulders, sniffed, and looked inside her purse for a Kleenex. The light on her phone pulsed reassuringly. Of course, if she were really in seventeenth century England, there wouldn't be cell service, let alone towers or satellites, but she should at least try to call home. In private.

Hot Horse guy's witchcraft warning rang in her ear. Did they have public restrooms in the seventeenth century? Toilet paper? Aspirin? Anti-hallucinogenic drugs? Looking around, Petra saw nowhere to hide, but no one to pry either, so she sat on the spotty grass and pulled her knees to her chest. Keeping her head tucked over her lap, she opened her purse and fingered her phone. Three new texts. The familiar tiny red envelope cheered her, reminded her of who she was and where she belonged. She pressed a button and the phone chirped.

"Did you know him, my lady?" The voice over Petra's shoulder startled her.

Petra quickly closed her purse and glanced up, her heart and thoughts racing. A pretty brown haired girl close to Petra's age looked at her with curiosity. She reminded Petra of Robyn.

"Did you know my brother?" She sounded like Hermione. The girl's gaze swept down from Petra's tiara and lingered on the slippers. "Not a kinswoman..."

"Hmm." Petra tried to gather her scattered wits. She searched the tombstone for a clue and remembered something someone had said at her mother's funeral. "He was kind to me once." Everyone was kind at least once.

"Aye, he was kind to all." The girl's eyes grew misty, and, although she smiled, she still looked sad. "Particularly to those fair of face."

Petra raised a hand to her tousled hair and looked down at her dirty dress. "I'm sorry for your loss." She stuttered another stock sympathy phrase as she stood. "He was very young."

A shadow crossed over the young woman's face and Petra followed her gaze to an ox-like man at the edge of the cemetery. He watched, fingers touching the side of his thigh and a patch of leather that concealed something, possibly a knife.

"You are not familiar with his sad story?"

When Petra shook her head, the girl hesitated a fraction before clasping Petra's elbow and steering her away from the man with the leer.

"Perhaps 'tis best told over a cup of tea. Would you care to join me?"

The invitation surprised Petra, and before she could think of an answer, the girl continued, "My name is Anne." She guided Petra down a path, toward the noise of the village and away from the ox-like man. Anne slowed slightly and visibly relaxed when they emerged from the busy street onto a quiet lane although she didn't relinquish Petra's arm. She nodded at a cottage on the edge of a wood. "My home, my lady."

A crude wooden fence surrounded the tiny thatched-roof house and kept in three chickens and a cow.

Petra followed Anne through the gate. All the warnings self-defense classes and all the stranger-danger instructions she'd received as a child flashed through her mind. Never talk to strangers, or go into their homes or into cars, never accept candy, or even tea. The words of a song her mother had taught her sang in her head. Go ahead and scream and shout. Yell, holler and rat the bad guys out.

But her mother wasn't here, hadn't been for years. And her mother hadn't prepared her for a delusion in the sixteen hundreds. Screaming, in this case, didn't seem right. Her thoughts went back to Zoe. Losing Zoe was the worst part of the nightmare. Strange how losing her little sister had never been a problem in her waking life, and yet here—whereever here was—losing her sister hurt the most. Petra lingered on Anne's doorstep, looking toward the busy marketplace, picturing Zoe wandering among the wagons and booths, looking for her, lost and frightened. Anne lived here, maybe she could help her find Zoe.

Anne latched the gate. "My home will be humble compared to what you are used to." The words held a question.

"Why do you say that?" Petra stared at the cow and noticed a goat. Not nearly as creepy as the water-barrel guy or the ox-like man, but she hoped they wouldn't get closer.

Anne stopped at the cottage door, her hand on the iron latch. Again, her gaze swept over Petra's dress and shoes.

"This is by far my nicest dress," Petra said, comprehending.

Anne raised her chin, the same look that Robyn had when Petra returned from a shopping trip with something Robyn envied. "You have many?"

"Dresses?" Petra thought of her closet at home bursting with clothes, skinny jeans, tank tops, t-shirts, camisoles, cardigans. She doubted that Anne had ever heard of Urban Outfitters or Anthropology. She replied truthfully, "No, not many dresses."

Anne pushed open the door. The cottage had few windows and was dark, cool and smelled of yeasty bread. A trestle table flanked by three stools stood in a corner, two tall wooden chairs sat near the fireplace, and a spinning wheel squatted beside a large loom. Petra had never seen a spinning wheel, except in the movie, Sleeping Beauty. Loose straw covered the wide planked wooden floor. The white-washed walls were nearly covered with large rugs that looked luxurious and out of place in the modest cottage.

In the dim light, Petra saw enough of the bright colors to see that each tapestry told a story. She wanted to study them, and yet, she hung in the doorway, uncertain, wary and still worried that Zoe was lost.

Anne bustled to a cupboard, pulled out a loaf of bread and a pot and placed them on the table. Then she picked up a long, sharp and gleaming knife. "Would you care for bread, my lady?" Anne raised the knife and Petra felt weak-kneed. The bread looked dark, thick and heavy. Petra's mouth watered.

If this is a dream, Petra wondered, how can I be hungry? Not a dream. There had to be some other explanation. When would food be offered again? Petra slowly entered the room and let the door click behind her.

"Where you are from, are your meals as simple?"

More questions.

Petra thought of the Taco Bell's drive-through, McDonald's paper wrapped food. "In some ways, simpler." The preparation, at least.

Anne unhooked a kettle from a rod above a fire smoldering in the grate. "Do you keep a fire burning?"

Anne smiled. "How else would the tea and our bodies stay warm?"

"But it's nearly summer."

"Tis summer in your country?"

Trapped. If throwing a beet was witchy, then Petra couldn't tell Anne her bizarre mystery. "Almost summer, late spring." She guessed. "The same as here, of course."

Anne smiled as she poured the water into a cup and added a spoonful of dried herbs. Steam rose and scented the air with the thick aroma that reminded Petra of the fortuneteller's tent. "And from where does my lady hail?"

She thought back to her English lit class. Yorkshire, Herefordshire, Sherwood Forest, and London came to mind, but she rarely lied and the idea of remembering and keeping a story straight intimidated her, so Petra said, "Royal Oaks."

"Royal Oaks." Anne sounded out the words as she pushed a cup of steaming brew at Petra and motioned her to sit on a stool at the table. "Tis near the palace?"

"No..." her answer sounded weak, even in her own ears. She cleared her throat and promised herself she'd sound more confident in future lies. She would come up with a story, a good one. She was good at stories...although she had never had to pass them off as nonfiction before.

"'Tis far, then?" Anne looked pointedly at Petra's slippers. "How did you travel?" Anne's tone had turned confrontational.

Petra settled at the table and picked up the warm cup of tea. "By horse." She drove a Mustang, horsepower and all that, so it wasn't a complete lie. Petra swallowed a warm sip and watched Anne slather oozy butter over a slab of the brown bread. Anne dipped the knife into a brown jar. Flecks of something, perhaps pieces of honeycomb and bees, dotted the honey. Lauren would have loved this au-naturale meal, but Petra studied the bread, looking for tiny bee body parts.

"Do you live alone?" Petra asked, wondering if a girl of Anne's century could even own property.

"No, I live with my father. He's away purchasing dye."

Petra didn't want to sound like she was prying. "I live with my dad too. Well, it used to be just the two of us after my mom died." It never seemed to get easier to talk about. Feeling awkward, she took a bite of the bread and honey, despite the mystery specks. Nothing crunched. As she chewed, Petra glanced at the tapestries lining the walls. "Does your father make the tapestries?"

"The tapestries are commissioned by families of means." Anne poured herself tea and cradled the cup in her hands. "Do you like them?"

"They're amazing." Petra loved the vibrant colors and intricate designs. Most scenes depicted lovers, but a darker one featured an angel that seemed to transfigure from panel to panel. Wings lost, halo gone, pitchfork added. "Satan?" Petra guessed.

"An angel come from the presence of God who rebelled against the Only Begotten Son," Anne said, following Petra's gaze. "His name, Perdition."

Goosebumps rose on Petra's arms. Who would buy such a tapestry? She couldn't see it hanging in a church or heaven forbid someone's home. Imagine breakfast every day with Satan looking over your cornflakes, pointing his pitch fork at your latte. It was a gorgeous tapestry; the birds and flowers painted a deceptively pretty picture, but...Satan?

This is a nightmare, she reminded herself and her mind seemed to reply: Well, if this is a nightmare, how can the tea sting the back of my throat?

Had she ever eaten in a dream? Not seeing a napkin, she licked honey from her fingers and tried to remember her AP psychology class.

Dreams can be controlled. Trying to change the course of her nightmare, Petra closed her eyes on Anne and the tapestry and recalled a Robert Louis Stephenson poem her mother often read to Petra at bedtime.

From Breakfast on through all the day

At home among my friends I stay,

But every night I go abroad

Afar into the land of Nod.

"Bath, book and bed," her mother would say every evening. Sometimes Petra's dad would be there, often not. But bath, book and bed came as regularly as the sunset. The bath smelled of lavender, the books were piled in the shelves of her room. The day ended with her mother's kiss.

All by myself I have to go,

With none to tell me what to do –

All alone beside the streams

And up the mountain-sides of dreams.

Her head felt heavy, her neck weak. Her toes and fingers tingled, and her cup wobbled as her strength eked away. Tea sloshed over the cup's rim and would have scalded her if it had been any hotter. Petra set the tea cup down and stared at her fingers curled around the handle as if they belonged to someone else. She opened her mouth to speak, but Anne had disappeared into the foggy haze that filled the room.

The strangest things are there for me,

Both things to eat and things to see,

And many frightening sights abroad

Till morning in the land of Nod.

Chapter Five

How to Make a Sleeping Draught

Valerian, a flowering plant, can be found throughout Europe. Mix valerian, honey, apple cider vinegar and hot milk. Valerian is also used as a perfume, so you can smell good while you sleep.

—Petra's notes

From the doorway, Emory stared into Anne's bedchamber, aware that this act alone breached a moral code, but he couldn't take his gaze off the girl on the hay stuffed mattress. She was everything he remembered—pink cheeks, red, full lips, clear skin and the most amazingly straight, white teeth. Her mouth hung open and a tiny trickle of drool stained the pillow beneath her hair. It was one of the loveliest things he'd ever seen in his long lifetime. "What have you done to her?" He cleared his throat because his voice sounded strangled.

Anne fidgeted and lowered her gaze to the floor. "I've done nothing. She is fine, merely sleeping."

"You should not have brought her here," Emory said. He wanted to ask how Anne had met her. It seemed remarkable that fate, by way of Anne, had delivered her to him again. "How long has she slept?"

"Since afternoon," Anne replied.

Rohan, standing behind Emory, softly swore, "Zounds."

Emory gave his old friend a cautionary look. Rohan shared Emory's disability when it came to women, although he did not have the effect on them that Emory seemed to. Rohan, in his dark and dusty robe, had a head as round and as bald as the moon, excepting the tufts of gray hair sprouting around his ears. Plus he had fingers and toes as thick as sausages. The women that cast come hither eyes at Emory spared Rohan hardly a glance.

"I pray she will sleep through the night. I believe she has traveled far." Anne's voice lilted upward, as if asking if anyone would believe her lie.

"Tis more than fatigue that has brought her to your bed, Miss Anne," Rohan said, his voice tinged with disapproval— and laughter.

Anne sighed. "'Tis but a sleeping draught. T'will not harm her."

"Such pride in your herbs, Anne." Rohan tisked his tongue. "'Tis a cardinal sin."

Another reason why women would not fawn over Rohan. No one loves a prude. Emory smiled before casting a questioning glance at Anne. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"Do not preach at me," Anne said, sounding more tired than annoyed. "I did not know ought to do. Left on her own, she would surely come to harm in the marketplace. A gentle woman wandering unattended, By faith, 'tis a wonder she made it here unscathed."

"'Til you drugged her?" Emory asked.

"When in doubt, take a nap," Rohan quipped. ""Tis a worthy motto."

Anne shrugged. "Perhaps she will see more clearly when she wakes."

"She is of quality," Emory said. "T'would be unwise to incur her family's wrath."

After a long pause, Anne said, "They need never know."

Soft candlelight bathed the cottage room. The moon and stars shone through the open window from which came the smell of the cow and chickens, yet Emory thought he smelled the girl's perfume, a scent foreign and intoxicating. He fought the urge to step closer.

The girl was still, but her mouth, which had been opened, was now pinched shut. Her nostrils flared.

She is awake, Emory thought, a tingle running over his arms.

"Emory," Anne blew out his name with a sigh, as if she read his thoughts

Emory jumped, and tried to stop staring. "Of course her family will know. She will tell them," Emory said, loudly, trying to communicate to the girl what she must do.

"I'm not sure she will," Anne said. "She seems quite daft."

"These things doth the Lord hate, a proud look, a lying tongue." Rohan scolded Anne. He sounded good-natured, but his words were self-righteous.

"'Tis true. I lie not." Anne shook her head. "She seems to know nothing. Had all the intellectual capabilities of a turnip."

"Which she wouldn't recognize even if she held one in her hand." Emory chuckled. "This afternoon she mistook a turnip for a beet."

"You've met?"

"Briefly. She was throwing vegetables at Lord Garret."

Anne smiled. "Ah, so she has more intelligence than I supposed."

"Perhaps," Rohan said, "more sauce and mettle than intelligence."

"So, did his high and mightiness mind being targeted by vegetables?" Anne asked.

"He never knew. She can add poor athleticism to her list of attributes." He grinned, watching the girl stiffen beneath their onslaught of insults. He wondered what she would say when they met again? Because, although he knew they shouldn't, he also knew they would. He would make sure of it.

"They must be acquainted then," Anne continued. "It seems unlikely that even she would toss vegetables at strangers, especially royal strangers."

Emory watched the girl seethe in mock sleep.

"Perchance," Emory said. "She kept calling him Kyle."

"Kyle? What is a Kyle?" Rohan laughed long and deep and even Anne smiled. Emory watched the girl dig her fingernails into the palm of one hand as if to keep from slapping someone. He couldn't help staring.

"What is this?" The tone of Rohan's voice caught Emory's attention. He held a small, vibrant pink object with a little cap, made of a polished, thin, ore. Underneath the cap, a tiny red cylinder rose when Rohan twisted the tube. It smelled odd, a scent Emory didn't recognize.

Rohan raised it to his nose.

"Poison?" Emory asked, tone grave.

Rohan shook his head. He returned the cap to the cylinder, dropped it back into the purse and pulled out a small, leather book filled with glossy cards. One tag had an amazing likeness of the girl. He ran his finger over the image of her face in wonder.

Next they found a shiny object with characters that sprang to light when they touched it. Beeps in a variety of tones rang out. Rohan held the thing at arm length. "What evil is this?" he asked.

"A musical instrument, perhaps?" Anne guessed.

The thing screeched and Rohan dropped it. "Satan's tool," he gasped.

Outside the window a cow moaned.

"Anne, you said you found her crying over Geoffrey's grave?"

"She cried black tears." Anne gazed out the window. "I best be seeing Buttercup before she bursts."

Emory waited for Anne to leave and then demanded, "You know nothing of this?" Rohan grumbled in dissent. "She is but a lost child."

Emory put his hand on Rohan's arm and lowered his voice. "I need to know, is this your doing? Another trick, another ploy?"

"Come, Emory, be reasonable. Not every event is a ruse of heaven or hell. The longer you live, the more you will learn that to be true."

Emory used an angry whisper. "You and I both know I do not live!"

"Hush, man." Rohan looked right and left, clearly not wanting to be overheard. "Anne said the girl knew Geoffrey."

"She lacks the look of a zealot." Emory motioned toward the thing on the floor. "And by all saints, what is that?"

"Let's see what it can do." Rohan picked it up and lumbered toward a chair. Sitting, he set the thing in front of him.

Emory watched while Rohan pressed buttons and used the tones to create a song. After a few minutes of mastery, Rohan began to sing along with his tune.

"Come live with me and be my love,

And we will all the pleasures prove

That hill and valley, dale and field,

And all the craggy mountains yield."

The lyrics made Emory uncomfortable, and he wondered if his friend had intentionally chosen the song. He sat beside Rohan and pulled the thing to him. He fiddled with the buttons until the device began to ring as if it possessed a hundred bells.

Rohan stopped singing and stared with an open mouth. "Zounds."

***

Hours later, Petra woke. A cool breeze blew through the room carrying noise – crickets, a cow lowing, and a distant dog barking. She lay on her side, a scratchy wool blanket pulled to her shoulder and a feather pillow beneath her head.

Daft? Petra bit back a snort and fought the urge to spit out her SAT results. A flush of anger washed over her, but she held her tongue and body still.

How dare they look through her purse? How dare they drug her, study her, and discuss her as if she were an alien object, an insect on a pin, a brainless cockroach. She bet they didn't know cockroaches were one of earth's hardiest creatures, capable of surviving without food, water and even air for prolonged periods. And a dreamer or a time-traveler, even one caught in a nightmare, was much more clever and competent than a cockroach. A dreamer/time-traveler could accomplish anything, survive any physical hardship. Maybe.

Hoping she was alone, Petra opened her eyes and saw rough plastered walls, a three legged table beneath a window without glass, and the moon and stars.

We both know I do not live. What does that even mean? She didn't know, she didn't care, and she wasn't going to stick around to find out. After listening for sounds of movement in the house, she crawled from the bed. Her arms and legs felt heavy, detached, as if they belonged to someone else, and she needed extra humph to make them move. Standing in the center of the room, she plotted her escape. The door didn't have a knob, but a latch, a latch that would rattle if touched. She tried to think of where Anne and her father slept as the cottage appeared to have only two rooms.

This Anne, even though she looks like Robyn, is not your friend, she told herself as she listened at the door, trying to make sense out of the craziness. Would time continue in Royal Oaks while she was in Dorrington? Was her body here or there? Was she even really here?

And where was Zoe, what was happening at home? Had Zoe returned, reported her disappearance? Their parents would be furious about her abandoning Zoe at the fair, but at some point they would start to worry, right? Had that point arrived? They'd call Robyn, and her other friends.

They'd call the police.

She had to get home before she ended up on the eleven clock news.

Hearing nothing from the other side of the door, she padded to the window. The shutters had been left open, but beyond the cottage gate the world looked dark and frightening. Tall pines swayed in the wind and threw dancing shadows across the road.

The wind screeched through the gaps of the wooden walls of a shed, as if to say "one good huff and away you go." A second structure on tall wooden legs stood beside the shed. Much too small and humble to be a barn, it had seed scattered outside the door. Chicken coop? She would have to walk past the roost, or coop, or whatever. Would chickens make noise? Did they sleep at night? Other than the KFC variety, Petra had never given chickens much thought.

There's a fox in the hen house, Grammy Jean would say when they were playing cards if someone tried to be tricky. Petra's grandmother, who spent all of her life in California, had once been on Hollywood's silver screen. If Grammy had lived to be seventy-something without ever seeing a chicken coop how was it that Petra, at 17, was now wondering about disturbing a herd—or was it a flock? of sleeping chickens?

She thought again of the Girl Scout advice. When lost, stay put until someone finds you. Preferably someone without a sleeping potion. Okay, Girl Scout wisdom didn't always apply. Petra drew a deep breath. She wouldn't wait for the nightmare to end. She'd find her way home.

The wind teased at her hair and she remembered her tiara. Looking around, she spotted the faux diamonds sparkling on a bedside table. She scooped it up and pinned it on, thinking that if dollar bills hadn't any value, glass stones the size of pennies might come in handy.

Across the road lay the inky, black woods. She'd never been outside where there hadn't been a string of streetlights to dim the stars and moon. She thought of the crowded boardwalk that hugged Newport Beach, the lights over Royal's tennis courts, the fireworks bursting over the Angel Stadium. She'd never walked alone at night before.

Petra swung up onto the window ledge. Shivering, she dropped back into the room, grabbed the wool blanket off the bed, wrapped it over her shoulders and then slid out the window into the dark.

Without her purse.

Petra stifled a curse. Not that anything in her purse had any value in this Renaissance world, at least nothing worth the risk of climbing back into the room. Petra brushed off her skirt and pulled the blanket over her head like a cloak. Trying to remember the way to town, she followed the dirt road down a steep hill that led to a fog bank.

The wind that had blown through the trees surrounding Anne's cottage had blown itself out. Mist swirled around the structures and trees lining the road.

Wrapping the wool blanket tighter across her shoulders, Petra tried to be brave, but random thoughts haunted her—highwaymen, wolves and other monsters, like dragons. When she first heard hooves beating down the road she thought it might be her own heart, still she veered into the forest's shadows. The horses passed, but Petra remained in the woods, convinced she'd be safer among the animals than among men.

Unless there were wolves.

She didn't know if England had wolves, but the creatures were common enough in fairy tales. A blood-thirsty pack wouldn't have surprised her. Back home, coyotes, lean and rangy, roamed the canyons. They knocked over trash cans and scoured the neighborhoods for small dogs and errant cats. No one loved coyotes, but no one, other than pet owners, really feared them, either. A toot of a horn or a get-out-of-here shout typically scared them away. But wolves, at least the ones she'd seen in the zoo, were different. More solid. Menacing. From the edge of the woods she could still see the road, and if someone passed, she could easily fade into the thick woods, but if a wolf approached from the woods, she could run down the road. In her slippers.

A dense, cottony fog hung in the pines, blocking the moonlight. Petra tried singing softly, and night birds answered. Something skittered in a nearby thicket. A twig snapped. She wondered where she was and how far from home.

Suddenly a skin pricking sensation told Petra she wasn't alone. What's not a wolf? she thought, a red fox, a raccoon, skunk, or a possum? Harmless night creatures. Panic caught in Petra's throat. She leaned against a tree, feeling the scratchy bark through the thin fabric of her dress. The fog disguised the forest, turning each tree, shrub and stump into an ogre, troll or ghost. Someone, no something, hid in the dark, watching her. She was sure of it. Petra limped away from the tree, scolding herself for being tired, scared, and hysterical. Perhaps the sleeping draught hadn't worn off. Hunched beneath the blanket, she trudged along on wet noodle legs.

She thought she heard another twig break. She swallowed and chose a stick off the ground and swung it as she walked in what she hoped was the direction of home. Her head thudded with every footfall, but she held it high, careful not to demonstrate weakness or fear. Another twig, closer this time, snapped. Clutching the blanket with one hand and the stick in the other, she broke into a run, praying for a straight path. Heavy breathing followed.

The ground became uneven and rocky, and Petra realized she was running in a dry river bed. She stumbled, mindful of her ankles, feeling every rock and pebble through her insubstantial, worthless slippers. Behind her, someone so close she imagined his breath on the back of her neck. Scrambling out of the riverbed and up the steep bank, she sprinted up an incline into a pasture and saw a roofline poking through the fog. As she raced toward it, her foot caught on something and she pitched forward.

The blanket flew and became lost in the dark. She felt exposed and naked without it. She scrambled blind, looking for her stick.

Hot breath that smelled of old meat blew down her neck. A wet muzzle brushed through her hair. Petra shuddered as waves of relief and terror washed through her. Not a highwayman, not a pack of wolves. She curled herself into a ball, tucking her head into her folded arms. The dog growled and pushed against her shoulder. The animal sounded a tiny bit like Frosty attacking a new chew toy.

Something zinged past her head. Another landed near her foot. The dog yelped.

Petra sat up to watch the biggest dog she'd ever seen lope into the forest. Thicker than a St. Bernard, taller than a Great Dane, a wolfhound? She'd never actually seen one before.

Hot Horse guy from the stables, the same guy she'd heard while pretending sleep, emerged through the fog.

His gaze flicked over her in concern. "Did you see him, then?"

Petra brushed her hair from her face and tugged her dress into place. "Of course I saw him. He had his nose in my hair." She studied the guy, remembering his words, we both know I do not live. He looked alive. Tall, strong, broad, most definitely alive.

His face twisted in pity. "I'm so sorry."

"Well, no harm done, thanks to you. Good aim." Still angry about his making fun of her and rummaging through her things while she slept, she added grudgingly, "I owe you."

Emory's laugh sounded bitter. He picked up her tiara, brushed it off and set it gently on top of her head. "You mustn't waste your time with repayment."

In the moonlight, he looked even more stunning. His hair thick and curly. His long lashes framed his deep brown eyes and his mouth turned down. Rock in hand, his build and stance reminded her of Michelangelo's David.

He must have felt her stare. "My lady?"

"How—why are you here?" Had he followed her?

"I would ask you the same."

"It must be after midnight."

He looked up at the moon clouded behind wispy fog. "Yes. Midnight. You have until midnight."

Chapter Six

The Gypsies had their own language and enjoyed a wandering, insular culture. They didn't mix or mingle with mainstream English society. Gypsies or Romas were said to have heightened psychic abilities, born with such gifts because of their close, respectful relationship with nature and the spirits of the elements. Supposedly, they could grant good fortune and hand out life destroying curses, but could they cause delusional dreams?

—Petra's notes

Petra stood, brushed off her dress and wondered what he meant.

"Where are you heading at this late hour?" he asked.

"I'm going home." Her voice shook, and the unexpected emotion surprised her. I can't remember the way. I'm lost, she wanted to add. She held her voice steady. "My parents will be freaking out."

"Freaking?" He looked confused, but then his eyes turned sympathetic. "Yes, of course. Your father, your brothers, how would they take to your wandering in the dead of night?" He fell in step beside her. "With a strange man?"

How did her father feel about her wandering in the night? He'd never said, nor had he mentioned his thoughts on her roaming the woods with a guy who didn't live. What was he? Ghost? Vampire? Zombie? And why would he call himself a man when he was so young? She should be nervous, yet she was glad for his company, relieved to no longer be alone. "Tell me your name and then we won't be strangers."

He bowed slightly. "I'm called Emory Ravenswood."

She mimicked him with a curtsy. "And I am Petra Baron."

"Baron. You're a baroness."

She shook her head. "No. I don't think so. Not anymore, or at least, not the last I knew."

He squinted at her, clearly puzzled. "No brothers?"

She shook her head.

Emory took a step closer. "Just one mean tempered sister?"

Petra swallowed. "Stepsister."

"And she made the journey from Royal Oaks with you?"

"I thought so." Petra walked on as if she knew where she was headed and yelped when she stubbed her toe on a rock.

Emory reached out and took Petra's arm, sending tingles through her body. She decided that he felt real enough. So he wasn't a ghost, a poltergeist, or hallucination.

"But now you are undecided?" His brow crinkled and he let go of her. "When was the last time you saw her? You were searching the square this morning."

Petra bit her lip, wondering how much to share. She was glad she wasn't alone, but that didn't mean she wanted to confide in the guy who does not live. "I haven't seen her since the fortuneteller's tent."

"The tinkers!" Emory's face lit with understanding. "They are not to be trusted."

Did she hear him right? "Oh, and you are?"

He laughed. "You distrust me?"

"Trust," Petra channeled Laurel, "can't be given, it must be earned."

A smile tugged at his lips. "And what must I do to earn your trust?"

You and I both know that I do not live. She needed to know what that meant, but she didn't know how to ask. If it was tacky to ask after someone's digestion, religion, politics or their bank account, it had to be at least equally rude to ask if they were dead. Especially someone who looked so red-blooded and hot. She shivered.

Emory slipped off his coat and put it across her shoulders. It felt warm and smelled of leather.

"Thank you, but a jacket doesn't buy trust." She slipped her arms into the sleeves of his coat anyway. "Won't you be cold?" Could a dead person feel temperature? He couldn't be dead. Was it possible that there was more than living or dead? Could there be various states in between? It sounded too creepy. She couldn't ask, so she thought of a different question. "You didn't tell me where you're going."

"For a walk." It sounded like a question.

She laughed. "To where?"

"Would you believe I'm following you?" Emory moved closer and folded down the coat's collar.

"Yes." Petra took a step back, out of his reach.

"So where are we going?"

She swallowed. "I'm not sure."

"In that case, perhaps you should follow me." Emory reached past her and pushed back a branch from a pine tree. He headed deeper into the forest.

She balked. "Where are you going?"

"I've been under the impression that you have not known your destination for some time now." She heard the laughter in his response.

Petra stamped her foot. She knew her destination. What she didn't know was her current location in the time-space continuum. But she couldn't tell him that. "I'm not just going to randomly follow you."

"Following you was getting us nowhere except here." He gave a long and exaggerated sigh. "Very well, suit yourself." he let the branch snap back at her face.

Petra stepped away, and stared at the shadowy woods in front of her. Remembering the huge dog snorting through her hair, she shivered again. "Wait!" she called and hurried after Emory.

She caught up to him in a shaft of moonlight that pierced the forest's canopy. "Your coat," she began, breathless as she fumbled with the buttons.

"You keep it," he said, putting a hand over hers.

She sniffed. "So, where are you going?"

He headed into the dark and spoke over his shoulder. "To my home to consult a map. I want to find Royal Oats."

Royal Oaks. Petra thought about correcting him, but decided not to bother. She watched his back disappear into the woods. Putting one foot in front of the other she wondered if this was one of those no going back moments, one of those situations where one choice completely obliterates another. Like trying to return toothpaste to the tube, or taking back words. Some paths couldn't be doubled back, or as Grammy said, some bells couldn't be unrung.

She could still make out Emory's broad back.

Follow him or remain alone, in the dark, at the edge of the wood? She didn't know if following Emory would prove to be a course-changing decision, but she trailed after him anyway. He took a twisty path, and she did her best to keep up.

After what seemed like forever, they emerged from the woods and Petra took a deep breath when she saw that they stood at the edge of a cliff. She pushed her hair back from her face as an owl swoop over a noisy river. Trees, dark shifting shadows, protruded from the stone bank, and moonlight sparkled on the dew clinging to a stone building hugging the embankment.

Is that his home? she wondered, nerves worming in her belly.

She stopped at the cliff's edge when a gray, shaggy dog approached, wiggling a friendly welcome. Although not much smaller, he seemed totally different than the beast that had just snuffled through her hair. She allowed the dog to smell her hand before she scratched the fur between his ears. He sat and lifted a paw, a trick she'd taught to Frosty. They shook—hand to paw.

"How do you do?" she asked him.

He answered by wagging his tail, scattering fallen leaves on the path.

The windows of the house were dark, but a trail of smoke curled from the chimney. It would be possible for his family to be asleep; it was certainly late enough. But the house wore an empty look. "Do you live alone?" she asked.

"Just Cherub and I." Then, as if sensing her nerves, "You have nothing to fear here, my lady." He climbed onto the porch and paused, waiting for her. Two chairs stood to the side of the solid front door, and sawdust surrounded the chair that faced toward the river.

Petra took the step onto the porch. She wasn't allowed in a guy's house unless his parents were home. Until this moment, she'd thought that rule lame, easy to break and difficult to enforce. But this is a dream, or something worse. In her real life she'd never go into a deserted house with a stranger in the middle of the night, but this definitely was nothing like real life. Her heart quickened.

"Where's your family?" she asked.

"They passed on."

Dead? "All of them?" Of course, she knew people sometimes were orphaned and had to live with relatives or grandparents. In her world a foster care system existed, but she didn't know what became of orphans in 1610. She had a brief vision of starving pickpockets, Oliver Twist workhouses and scrawny kids picking through bare fields gleaning left behind potatoes. Emory didn't look like he was starving. And he definitely wasn't a kid. How old was he?

"I only know one person who's died." Her voice sounded small.

She wasn't sure what she believed about an afterlife. At her mother's funeral, the pastor had spoken at length of God and His kingdom, but Petra didn't know how she or her mother fit into that kingdom. But she did believe that when she died, she'd see her mother again.

"Just one?" Pain and puzzlement flashed across Emory's face. "No babes, sailors, a child?"

A chill ran up Petra's spine. "Not a baby or a child. That would be terrible." She paused. Although, depending on who you've lost, it can be terrifying whatever their age, she thought, remembering her mother lying still and silent in the hospital bed.

"How did your family die?" she asked, thinking of Dad, Frosty, Zoe, and even Laurel.

"Death comes early here. Perhaps where you're from – "

Instinctively, she reached for his hand and squeezed it. "I'm so sorry." She knew that in earlier generations life expectancy was shorter. A scratch could become fatally infected, childbirth was often deadly, and a cold could lead to pneumonia.

She held onto Emory's hand a little tighter, anxiety mounting. In the moonlight he looked like a Greek god.

Death had followed those guys too.

Emory pushed open the door, still holding Petra's hand. Coals in the grate glowed orange and red, casting large shadows. Stacks of leather bound books shared the shelves with cooking utensils. A trestle table, two benches and two chairs were all made of ornately carved wood. Maps in a variety of sizes of stained parchment nearly covered three of the walls. The fourth wall had two windows and the door through which they had entered. Another wall had a second door that presumably led to a bedroom.

He moved his hand to the small of her back. She felt its heat through the satiny dress, and her heart sped up. She'd never been so completely alone with anyone. At home, even alone, she was surrounded by neighbors within screaming distance and help was a telephone call away. Here, if she were to call out here, who, other than Cherub or perhaps a squirrel or two, would hear a cry for help?

"Are you tired, my lady? 'Tis the middle of the night." Emory closed the door behind the wiggling dog.

Cherub thumped his tail against the floorboards. It was so quiet. No ticking clocks. No humming refrigerator. No distant traffic or airplanes. She heard her own heart and hoped Emory couldn't hear it as well. "Not really. That sleeping potion messed me up."

Emory laughed and repeated slowly, "Messed me up."

"It's not funny."

"Anne meant you no harm."

"Do you?" Petra wondered, standing in the center of the room, unsure where to go or what to do, ready to run if necessary, And yet, she watched Emory and wondered if he felt the same tingling from their touch. "She could have killed me."

Emory smiled. "But she didn't."

Petra sniffed. "How do you know her?" The thought of Emory and Anne as a couple made her uncomfortable. She remembered them going through her things and frowned.

Emory motioned for her to sit at the table. "I have known Anne since she was a child."

He made it sound as if he was way older than Anne, but that couldn't be true. "You were childhood friends."

She hadn't realized how tired she was until she sat. She took off the tiara and set it near her elbow. Wiggling her exhausted toes, she fought the desire to kick off her slippers. She needed to keep them on in case she needed to run away.

"Something akin to that." Emory reached for a scroll propped against the wall. "How did you know Geoffrey?"

"Geoffrey?"

"Anne's brother who recently died. You did not know? Anne thought you had met."

Petra shook her head.

"Geoffrey fought a battle for light and truth."

Light and truth? What does that mean? It sounded religious, and she'd learned in AP Euro about all the wars fought over religion. "Was he on a crusade?"

"Of sorts." Emory untied a string on a scroll and unrolled a massive map on the table. "I've never heard of Royal Oaks, but perhaps you can recognize it."

Petra put her elbows on the table, propped her head on her hand and studied the map while Emory weighed down the corners with smooth, round stones. Nothing looked familiar; many of the names lacked vowels. She doubted she'd be able to pronounce, let alone recognize, any of them. Her gaze strayed to maps on the walls.

"Those are all of lands much further away," Emory said. "I thought since you arrived by horse you must not have come from far." He took two other maps, and smoothed them flat.

Each of the three intricate maps had not only squiggly roads and winding rivers but also pictures of things like landmarks – a burnt stump, a cathedral, an inn. She studied them, impressed by the precision and detail. Emory stood behind her. She looked up at him. "Where did you get these? They're amazing."

Emory flushed. "I made them."

"You? How?" She felt his warmth. "Did you copy them by hand? It must have taken hours."

"By hand?"

"I mean, did you draw them yourself?"

He shifted as if uncomfortable. "I keep a journal and make sketches as I travel. In the evening hours I draw."

Morocco, Asia, the Holy Land. "You've been to all these places? On your own?" She'd thought him close to her age. Besides, how could someone in this century travel so far? "Was your dad a sailor? Did you apprentice on a ship?"

He smirked. "Something akin to that."

"Did you start sailing at age four?" she blurted, hoping she didn't sound rude. She imagined a trip across the ocean with the tide and winds the only engine, taking years. "How old are you?"

"I don't know my birth year," he admitted and because he sounded a little sad, she let it go. Perhaps the I do not live meant I will not die and he had lots of time to travel and draw maps. She caught sight of Jamestown, Virginia, sitting on the edge of a giant mass of borderless wilderness. He would never believe she came from the other side of nothing, just like she didn't believe that he'd traveled the world in some sort of perpetual youth.

He prodded. "Does anything remind you of your home?"

She shook her head and leaned against the table, frustrated and discouraged.

Cherub, who had been resting by the fire, bolted upright and ran to the door, barking.

"Who would come now?" Petra sat up, alarmed, and looked out the window. The moon had climbed high over the river's bank.

Knocking shook the door.

"Worry not." He placed his hands on her shoulders, and his warmth spread down her back and settled around her toes.

The rapping increased to pounding and the door shook.

Cherub barked louder and faster, fighting not to be drowned out.

Petra watched the door. "You should see what they want," she said, although hoping that he wouldn't.

Emory frowned. "I know what he wants." She tried to stand, but he held her.

"Sit, my lady. Study the maps." He pushed his fingers through his hair. "Perhaps you can find the way home while I dispose of my caller."

He stepped outside without her seeing who had knocked. She sagged against the chair, giving in to exhaustion and the heat of the fire. Like the chair from the Three Bears fairy tale, this chair wasn't comfortable: The back was too straight; the wood was too hard; the arm rests were anything but cushy. Still she found her head nodding.

Petra snapped to. She straightened her spine, pushed back her shoulders and rolled her neck. She wouldn't fall asleep. Again.

Can you sleep in dreams? Sleeping would make for a very boring dream. A dream within a dream? That would be new.

Petra looked around the room. Straw-strewn floor. Hand-carved furniture. Not one single modern convenience.

Sure, she'd always had a good imagination. Still, if this were all a hallucination or a dream, wouldn't something be off? Then again, nothing makes sense in dreams, it doesn't have to. The creature in the woods, the sleeping drug, the cockfight. Definitely nightmarish. But Emory? He was a part of a magical dream. The best part.

In dreams, can you smell? Taste? Touch? Petra didn't think so, yet here she smelled the parchment and ink from the maps. Tea had stung her throat. She flushed remembering Emory's touch and raised her hand to her cheek.

Petra stood and crossed the room. The dog followed her to the cupboard. "Shh," she told him.

She didn't mind if he watched, but she didn't want Emory to see her.

Cherub sat and cocked his head, staring at her with large, brown eyes. Petra pinched herself. It hurt and left a small red welt. She put a finger between her teeth and bit. Ow. Pain, she definitely felt pain.

She picked up the knife from the cupboard and held it above her finger. Gripping the handle, she paused. She hated blood – the sight, the smell – especially her own. She wiped the blade on her skirt, remembering the cockfight. She took the knife to the fireplace where coals glowed in the grate and she stuck the blade in a small flame until the point turned black.

If she slept, would the pain wake her? If she was dead, would she bleed? Taking a deep breath, she pressed the knife against her finger as the door opened and then slammed shut.

"My lady?"

The knife slipped. She caught it by the blade and nicked her thumb. Gasping, she stared at the blood oozing from her hand. Pounding sounded in her head, and she clenched her eyes and fists.

Okay, I bleed.

Emory reached her in two strides and grabbed her hand. "By all the saints!"

Cherub barked short, rapid woofs.

Petra tried to wrench away, but he took her elbow and drew her against his solid chest. He held her tight, trying to get at her thumb.

"It's no big deal," she said, her voice strangled, "just a prick."

Emory had her pinned to him with an arm around her waist; he held her wrist with the other. "No. Big. Deal?" he mimicked. "What can that mean? No big deal?"

"I know you think I'm an idiot." Her voice shook. She tucked her bleeding thumb into curled fingers and held her hand against her chest.

"As your bleeding hand would testify," he said into her hair.

She cradled her hand. "It's just my thumb and it made sense at the time. It was supposed to be a prick." Petra watched blood trickle through her fingers.

"Let me see," he said, his voice hard.

Petra shook her head, and he sighed. "Why do you distrust me?"

"Oh, I don't know. How about your friend poisoned me, you rifled through my things while I slept off her drugs, and then you brought me here to where we're isolated..." her voice rose and she felt dizzy.

"So you were trying to speed your death?"

"Of course not. Like I said, it was only to be a prick, but you slammed the door and the knife slipped."

"Why would you do such a thing?"

He already thought her crazy so she blurted, "I wanted to see if I'd bleed."

Emory turned her to face him, his hands on her shoulders. "Why would you think you wouldn't bleed?"

"If I were dead or sleeping, I wouldn't bleed." Her voice sounded small.

Emory clucked his tongue, sat her in a chair, and gently took her hand. "You are not dead, nor are you sleeping." He knelt before her, pressing the wound in her hand with the tail of his shirt. "Did you think I was a part of your dream?" He searched her face.

She nodded.

His lips twitched. "I am a nightmare?"

"Of course not." But she flushed.

"For the moment, you are very much awake and alive," he said with conviction. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"I can't think of any logical reason for my being here."

He reached out and cradled her head in his hand. "Perhaps you've had a bump on your head and have lost your way."

"Temporary amnesia?"

He looked confused.

"A case of forgetfulness." She liked the idea, even if she knew it wasn't true, it made much more sense than what had really happened.

With both of his hands clutching her wounded hand, he held her gaze. His eyes looked pained. "Tell me all you remember."

She took a deep breath and watched his face for signs of disbelief. "I was at a fair, a marketplace, and I went to see a fortuneteller. There was an earthquake, and when I left the tent, everything was different."

"Everything?" He stood, still holding her hand.

She thought back, cataloging all she'd seen: the cemetery, the blacksmith's forge, the tapestries. She shivered, remembering the cockfight.

"Unhappy memories?" he asked.

She shrugged, debating on how much to tell him. "I'm ruining your shirt."

He frowned at her effort to change the subject. "Was nothing the same?" he asked over his shoulder as he left the room.

"There was something, someone," she said when he returned moments later with a bucket and with a strip of white cloth.

He knelt beside her, took her hand in his, dipped a corner of the cloth in the water and began to clean the blood. "Who was that?" he asked gently.

"Kyle."

"Ah. Little Lord Falstaff," his voice hardened. "The Earl's son."

She wanted to see Kyle, but what would she say to him? Hi, I'm a girl from the twenty-first century and I know someone from Orange County, California who looks just like you. She grimaced. No, that didn't sound crazy.

"I think I know him."

Emory tore the cloth in two and dropped the bloody strip into the bucket. "I think that it is possible you do not know him at all."

Did she hear jealousy? "Then I shall get to know him."

He frowned while winding the dry cloth around her thumb. "If this is a ploy to engage the Earl's son, I promise, it won't be successful."

Petra straightened her spine. "I don't ploy."

"I must tell you, his father has plans for him that does not include a miss without memories." Emory pulled the cloth so tight it hurt.

Petra bit her lip to keep from crying out. "It doesn't matter. He's the one person I recognize."

"Only him?"

Petra stopped, mouth open, as she remembered Horse Guy's wink. But he hadn't remembered her at all. Besides, she'd known Kyle since kindergarten.

He'd brought her flowers when her mom died and had drawn a heart on her valentine in sixth grade. Emory had done little more than winked. "I have to speak with Kyle."

Emory stood. "Then you had better learn to call him my lord." He tucked in the edge of the bandage, making it a little too tight. "There's a gypsy camp a few miles outside of town. There's sure to be a chovihanis. Do you remember visiting a gypsy camp?"

She shook her head.

Emory's lips tightened. "If you did, it would make sense your sister is there still." He stood, picked up her tiara and held out a hand. "Shall we go look for her?"

Chapter Seven

The Chained Oak is a gargantuan tree whose branches are held together with yards of thick metal chain. Who did this and why? There are lots of local legends. Most likely the 16th Earl, responsible for planting thousands of trees on his estate, greatly prized the old oaks, whose massive boughs, so large and heavy, often broke because of their own weight. The Chained Oak's branches extended over a busy road. It's possible the Earl ordered the chains to save not only the tree but also anyone who happened along the road. The dark spot on the road beneath the tree is a shadow NOT century old soaked blood.

—Petra's notes

The trail twisted through the forest and craggy outcroppings. Petra, worried about getting lost in the fog, stayed close to Emory. When they emerged from the woods, the mist dissipated and in the meadow stood an oak tree bound with chains. A wind whistled and the chains clinked together without rhythm.

Emory noticed her staring. "Are you not familiar with the legend of the chained oak?"

Petra shook her head, studying the massive tree. The trunk looked as wide as a car, some branches considerably thicker than her waist. Corroded chains had carved grooves into the bark. Streaks ran down the tree like rust colored tears.

"Be very quiet as we pass," Emory said, taking her arm. "We would not want to be responsible for a falling branch."

"Are the chains to hold up the branches?"

Emory nodded. "Legend has it that many years ago on an autumn night while the Earl traveled this road he was approached by an old crone begging for food. When the Earl passed her by, the witch cursed him."

"That's harsh. It's not like the Earl would carry food." Petra looked around and imagined the old woman in the moonlight, standing in the center of the road, demanding a snack. "He was an earl, not a baker or a farmer."

"He might have given her a coin," Emory said. He sent her a sideways look. "The Earl is not the hero of the story. You mustn't sympathize with him."

"Is this Kyle's father?"

"No, a long-ago predecessor."

"Still, I'm not going to sympathize with a witch throwing out curses."

Emory coughed over what could have been a laugh.

"I'm sorry I'm ruining your story, go on."

"The witch said that for every fallen branch of the Old Oak Tree, a member of the Earl's family will die."

"That's why we have to tiptoe past the tree, in case our thunderous footsteps send a branch to the ground?"

Emory, now a good distance from the chained oak, stopped and put a finger to her lips. "Like you, the Earl didn't take heed. In truth, he laughed and continued on his way, but moments later, a violent storm hit. Rain, thunder. A single bolt of lightning struck a branch of the oak. It burst into flames and fell to the ground." Emory's finger fell away from her lips, and he continued down the road.

Petra shook her head and muttered, "How tragic. A branch fell."

"When the Earl arrived home, he found his wife weeping over the loss of their only son. To prevent any further deaths the Earl ordered his servants to chain every branch of the tree."

"You can't believe in curses."

Emory looked grave. "A year later the Earl was out riding and as he passed the old oak a branch fell on him, knocked him from his horse, and killed him instantly."

"Here?" Petra asked.

Emory pointed to a spot on the dusty road. "Just there. Some say you can still see the blood."

Petra squinted. "I think that's a shadow."

He lifted an eyebrow.

Afraid that she'd been insensitive, Petra asked, "Did you know the Earl or his son?" She thought for a moment and then asked, "Or the old woman?"

"This was many, many years ago." He continued looking at her with dark, unreadable eyes.

"That's a horrible story," she said.

"You don't believe in legends."

"Or curses."

Emory considered. "Then why did you venture to the gypsy camp?"

Petra opened her mouth and then closed it.

"You said you last saw your sister at the fortuneteller's tent. I assume you went to have your fortune read. Yet if you don't believe in curses, it stands to reason you would not believe in fortune."

"Oh, I believe in fortune," Petra said, thinking of her home and everything she loved and missed. "I'm a fan of fortune." Good fortune, fortune cookies. Not misfortune.

His eyes swept over her gown. "Yes, I can see that."

She put her hands on her hips, suspecting she'd been insulted. "What does that mean?"

He smiled softly. "Pray tell, my lady—"

"Please don't call me that." Her peevish tone surprised her. "I mean, why would you call me a lady?"

His gaze again swept over her clothes, resting on the tiara she clutched. "Are you not?" he asked, sounding skeptical.

Petra flushed and came to a decision. She couldn't tell him she walked into a 2014 fortuneteller's tent and exited into 1610, so she'd need a story, but one not too complicated. Something close to the truth. "I don't know what or who I am. I don't know where I'm from or how I got here."

A crease appeared between Emory's eyebrows. "I thought you said you were from Royal Oaks."

"Have you ever heard of Royal Oaks?" Panic tinged her voice. When he looked at her blankly, she continued, "Maybe it doesn't exist. Maybe I don't exist."

"And yet, here you are."

She nodded. "With you. Do you exist?"

"It is, perhaps a chance of fate, but am I to assume you don't believe in fate?"

When she shook her head, he said, "I thought as much. Then, please tell me why a gentlewoman such as yourself would venture into the gypsy camp alone."

"I wasn't alone."

"Ah, yes, you had taken a child."

She opened her mouth, but couldn't find a proper response. Nothing she said would make any sense to him.
"What did she tell you?" Emory pressed.

"Who?"

"The chovihanis."

"The what?"

"The fortuneteller. That is the Roma title."

"Well, the Chovi I met didn't tell me anything."

"A chovihanis tells not only the future, but also the past."

"I met a dude named Fester." She tried to think about Fester and his tarot cards. He had called her a fool...a fool on a journey. If you think your life is here and now, you are mistaken. Indeed, there is no time or space.

"A dude? Is that a bad thing?"

Petra smiled. "Sometimes."

"Because he may have arranged the kidnapping of your sister?"

Kidnapping. Petra hadn't considered that. She slowed. "No one would steal my sister. I don't think."

"How did you become separated?"

Overcome by guilt, she couldn't make herself tell him she'd left her sister sitting on a stump outside the tent.

"Just because something seems improbable doesn't mean it is not true," Emory said, his voice kind. "Curse or no."

"I'm hoping Zoe is at home," Petra said.

"Then we must find your home."

Petra sighed. She read nearly everything that came in the house, so sure, she'd heard of wormholes and time machines. When she was young she'd read AWrinkle in Time. She'd even seen the old Back to the Future movies from the eighties. "Don't mess up the time continuum" had been a common mantra. Until she found a way back home, she should interact with as few people as possible and look for a way to be struck by lightning. She needed to find a witch conveniently dead and wearing a pair of magical ruby slippers. Ruby slippers seemed much safer than a bolt of lightning.

She followed Emory's broad back through the woods, trusting him more than either one. The moon flickered through branches as a breeze tossed the leaves. Despite the dark she saw ferns and wild lilies along the path. Even the air smelled differently in 1610. She recognized pine, wood-smoke, and a pungent scent she associated with mushrooms.

They came to a turnstile and a wooden sign, much like one in The Wizard of Oz that told Jane to turn back, only this sign pointed in two directions, Dorrington and Leicester.

Wishing there was a sign that said Royal Oaks, Petra tramped after Emory past black and white timbered cottages with thatched roofs, millponds and barns. They arrived on a bluff that overlooked a meadow filled with brightly colored caravans. The whole world slept it seemed except for the gypsies.

Emory took her hand, drew her to a large stone and sat down, pulling her beside him. Again she had a sensation of comfort and familiarity as he held her hand.

"We should have done this earlier," Emory said as he pulled out a small knife. "The tinkers can be cunning."

"How cunning are you?" Petra asked, watching the blade glint in the moonlight.

He smiled gently. "We've had this discussion. Your crown, my lady."

She held the tiara, one of her last possessions. "Why?"

"With the Romas, nothing is without price."

After a few minutes of watching him pry the jewels from the tiara, she blurted, "They're worthless. Fake."

Emory raised his eyebrows. "Since they look real to me, they'll look real enough to them." He cocked his head at the caravans. "So they are not worthless, Petra."

It was the first time anyone had said her name since she'd arrived in this strange place and time. She liked the way it reminded her of who she was. "I can't repay you."

He looked up from his work. "You're frowning. Have I upset you by taking the jewels from your crown? Everything has a value or a cost." He sounded serious.

She snorted.

"You disbelieve me?"

Petra thought of the Royal city dump, heaps of trash swarming with sea gulls and rodents.

Emory continued, "The Roma believe that all things are alive, that even the trees and rocks possess souls."

"Should I apologize to this stone for sitting on it?"

"Just because you can't see something doesn't mean that it doesn't exist."

He sounded like Doctor Birch, her science teacher, talking about atoms, molecules, and germs.

Below them, brightly colored caravans clustered around smoldering camp fires. Raggedy, smiling children darted through the camp laughing. Above the bleating of goats, she heard a tune on a flute, reminding her of the Renaissance fair. She swallowed hard and stood.

"How will we find the fortuneteller?" she asked, although she knew the chivo-whatever wouldn't be Festus.

Emory rose also, folded his knife and returned it to his pocket. "She has already found us." He nodded at a group of men appeared through a thicket of trees. They arrived without sound, their faces impassive and shuttered.

The one in the middle seemed to be the leader, as he stood slightly ahead of the men on each side. He had an earring in his left ear and a ring on each finger. Gold chains draped around his neck and like Fester he wore red bloomers. His companions, one smaller and one larger, wore similar jewelry. Petra wondered how they had approached without jingling.

Emory greeted them in a strange language.

The leader returned the greeting without a smile. Their gazes flickered over her dress and then rested on her face.

Emory took a defensive step in front of her, shielding her from the gypsies, and opened his palm to reveal one tiny, shining stone. The spokesman didn't flinch, but the small man on the right stepped in for a closer look.

The gypsies seemed to reach a silent agreement. The middle man replied in the strange, lilting tongue and then motioned for Emory and Petra to follow.

"Is gypsy like French?" Petra whispered to Emory as they followed the men.

"They call it the old language. It's unwritten." He placed a hand on her waist, drawing her against him.

"Did you ask about Zoe?"

"They denied seeing her, or you, for that matter."

"Well, of course they'd say that."

He chuckled. "Do you remember being here?"

"No."

"Please stay close. Romany value their women but have little regard for the Gaje fairer sex."

"Am I Gaje?" she asked.

His breath fanned her neck. "Yes."

"Are you Gaje too?"

He nodded. "But not nearly as fair."

As they entered the camp, Petra noticed the gypsies were small and dark, had curly hair and wore bright colored clothing. Petra looked away from their curious gazes as their escorts led them through the camp. A child clutching a rag doll ran forward to touch Petra's blue skirt. Petra smiled at the little girl, and the child grinned back, revealing crooked and brown teeth. A dog with a festering ear limped by, and an old man with one leg leered at her from a rug near a fire. Petra instinctively reached for Emory's hand.

He squeezed her hand. "Who is Mark Baron?"

She sent him a puzzled look and nearly tripped over a speckled goat. The goat bleated a complaint. "So sorry," she said to a young boy leading the creature by a knotty rope. "My father. Why?" She wondered how he knew her father's name, but then she remembered she carried an insurance card in her purse.

Emory stepped in front of her and leaned forward so his forehead nearly touched hers. "Not your husband?"

She shook her head, a nervous laugh bubbling in her throat as she looked into his dark eyes. "I'm not married."

A smile lit his face. He fingered a small gold band that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. "Now you are," he said, slipping the ring onto her finger.

Chapter Eight

A wedding band is a symbol of:

Love

Commitment

Fidelity

Eternity

Honor

A wedding band is not a protection against kidnapping.

—Petra's notes

"By my faith, my lady, this is the safest way," he said, taking her hands in one of his, hampering her futile efforts to remove his ring.

"I don't believe in your faith," Petra whispered as they moved through the camp.

One of their guides sent her a dark look over his shoulder and Petra stopped wrestling with Emory's hand and his ring. Emory chuckled softly. "Your beliefs are irrelevant against the truth."

"We are not married," she whispered in his ear. "That is the truth and we both know it." She suspecting that he referred to a larger, more universal truth, but with the gold ring weighing down her finger, she wasn't interested in metaphysics.

"Yes, thank the Almighty, we are not married. But for tonight, for your safety, we are."

Realization of her dependence on Emory started to sink in as their escorts paused in front of a caravan no bigger than her horses' trailer at home. Each of its four wooden side panels had a scene painted on it, the closest depicting lovers entwined in a dark forest, a doe and buck watching the pair from behind a pine while a flock of birds flew into a faded blue sky. On the next screen brightly speckled fish swimming in a bubbling sea.

"Each depicts an earthly element," Emory told her. "The Roma worship nature, the spirits of the sun, moon, air, earth, wind and fire."

When Earring Dude rapped on the caravan, a panel slid to the side and a gray-haired woman stuck out her head. The two conversed for a moment and then the panel slammed shut.

Emory whispered in her ear, "Is this your dude?"

Petra shook her head. She'd known she wouldn't find Fester—despite managing to find a Kyle look-a-like and Hot Horse Guy—yet disappointment still settled in the pit of her stomach.

The guides looked at Emory with a shrug and then all sat down on logs surrounding a fire. The small one drew a flask from his pocket, uncorked and took a swallow. After a moment, he passed his bottle to his companions.

Petra watched. They didn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. "What did they say? What just happened?"

Emory leaned close. "Our chovihanis is preparing for a healing. That takes precedence. We may as well sit." He settled on another log and one of the men offered him the flask. Emory held it out to Petra as she sat beside him.

She gave him her most disgusted look, one she'd perfected in middle school when she'd been assigned to sit by Lenny Jorgensen. Lenny was a paper chewer, tearing off bits of his assignments and masticating them into oozy tiny wads. He didn't do anything with his wads. He didn't throw them – that Petra would have understood, even if she wouldn't have approved. No, Lenny collected his spit balls on top of his desk like a minuscule, useless munitions pile. Although Emory looked nothing like the concave- chested, slobbery Lenny, Petra felt a familiar frustration.

"We can't just sit here," she said so sharply their chaperones glared at her from beneath their thick eyebrows.

Emory frowned. "We're guests here, my lady. This is their land, not yours."

Petra placed her hands on her hips. "But it's not their land, right?" She glanced around, wondering if any of the gypsies understood English. She spoke quickly and quietly. "Isn't that the point of being a gypsy? Vagabondness?"

"Vagabondness? Is there such a word in even Royal Oaks?"A smile curved his lips and she wondered if he was laughing at her. "Tell me, my lady Petra, if you were given the choice to shun the captivity of walls and ceilings and roam the earth, unburdened by possessions as the spirits direct, would you choose to stay at home?"

Petra swallowed a lump in her throat. She thought of her home, her dad. How since her mother's death, the walls and ceiling had stayed the same but the home itself had changed. Same house, same walls, same furniture, but the home had changed. Too large and too empty. Until Laurel and Zoe came. Since her dad's remarriage, the walls had shrunk and the volume had increased. Same house, different home.

Emory leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "A midnight ride across the earth? A sailing across the ocean at twilight?"

If she moved just an inch, her skin would touch his and she knew it would tingle, as it had before.

Whatever adventure she was on, she needed it to end so that she could continue with her life in Royal. Prom, AP classes, graduation, college, a career, marriage, two children, poodles, a house in the suburbs. No, not a house, a home.

Emory looked at her with intense steadiness. His gaze passed over her face, to her throat, to her waist, before rising back up to settle on her lips.

Petra felt woozy because she saw a life she never could have imagined, a life that defied time or space.

One of the men had lit a pipe, and its smoke curled with the revived campfire. Flames shot into the darkening sky. Embers popped midair. The stars, though faint, winked in the purpling haze. The night was fading. Where would she sleep? Did it matter?

Life in Royal had been perfectly arranged. There she knew exactly what she wanted, what was next on the agenda. As a freshman, she'd mapped out her high school schedule and had never deviated. Classes, clubs, service hours, she had everything she needed for graduation and UCLA. Here she knew next to nothing and had no idea what she needed other than a ticket back to her real life.

Emory picked up Petra's hand and held it in his lap. Nearby, a fiddler began to play, and someone beat a rhythm on a tambourine. Someone added drums. Through the wheels of the caravans she saw other fires burning. Women, barefoot and laughing danced. Their clothes, loose and flowing, billowed, their jewelry glinting.

Emory's thumb rubbed a circle against the pulse skittering in Petra's wrist. Behind her, she heard low chanting. She turned to watch an old woman, the chovihanis, was performing the healing. The jingling tambourines grew louder, drowning out the wail of the fiddle. The healer's voice matched the rising volume; the chants turned to moans and cries.

Emory looked over his shoulder. "She's calling out to the spirits in the Otherworld."

"The Otherworld? What other world?"

"You do not believe in the Otherworld?"

"Do you?"

"What you and I believe doesn't matter. It's the faith of the one being healed that's important." Emory listened. "The chovihanis is trying to stand in the shoes of the sick one."

Petra smiled.

"What?"

She shook her head. "It's just—well, they're all barefoot."

Emory sighed and continued his interpretation. "It seems the lad is troubled by a malevolent spirit. The chovihanis is attempting to lead his problems into one of the three levels of the Otherworld where they belong."

"Do you think she can place me where I belong?"

Emory shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

He reached out and touched her cheek. "Because you don't believe."

"Then why are we here?" Exasperation tinged Petra's voice.

Emory stroked her neck, pulling her closer. She knew she needed to lean away, to break the hypnotic contact. She couldn't trust Emory and yet, sitting beside him in the semi-darkness of the gypsy camp, inhaling the tangy smoke of mugwort and rosemary she felt powerless as he drew her against him.

Emory whispered in her ear. "If need be she can also travel to the three levels of the Otherworld for soul retrieval, which occurs when someone loses a part of their soul in a past or present life. Have you been lost?"

Emory's lips brushed across Petra's cheek, a hint of a kiss. She felt, rather than heard, him laugh softly as her lips looked for his. This is it, then? She wondered. Is this why I'm here? To be with Emory? Could she really give up her home, her family, her life plans to be with this person she'd just barely met?

No. Of course not.

But she didn't want to think that hard. She didn't want to think at all. Not about tomorrow or the next day. At this moment, she just wanted to be.

In this time, in this place, all she felt was Emory pressing against her, his lips looking for hers. And that was all she wanted.

Until the world exploded in fire, smoke, and the sound of guns.

Chapter Nine

Raids on Gypsy tribes were common sport in Elizabethan England because:

Gypsies were accused of spreading disease, particularly the plague.

Unprotected by the law, they were easy to blame for others' unexplained, dirty deeds.

Raiding Gypsy camps had about the same entertainment value as cockfighting.

—Petra's notes

With a racing heart, Petra dropped to the prickly grass. Emory pushed her beneath a caravan and fell upon her. A small cry tore from her. He covered her completely, his knees digging into the ground on either side as he sheltered her with his body.

Another explosion pierced the air, and Petra bit back a scream. She tried to make sense of it, but all she felt was Emory pressing her to the ground, hard and heavy on her back, his ragged breath on her neck. She tried to push onto her elbows and his arms, rigid beside her, pinned her beneath him.

"Hush, Petra," he whispered. "For your health, be still."

Women, children and horses screamed. Goats bleated as horse hooves thundered past. Peering between his shoulder and the dirty ground, she saw scurrying feet, darting dogs and not much else.

"A gypsy hunt," Emory said in her ear. "This, I suppose, is your fortune."

"I don't want this fortune," Petra struggled for breath. Wriggling beneath him, she managed to turn over. Nose to nose with Emory, she debated on whether that had been wise. She tried to rise onto her elbows.

"Are you hurt?" Emory asked, without moving, his lips inches from hers.

Petra shook her head. She couldn't breathe beneath his weight.

"Good." He didn't flinch but remained firm and unmovable.

That's when she realized the pandemonium beyond the caravan had quieted.

Emory had lifted onto his elbows, his face still just inches from hers.

"What happened?" Petra gasped.

"Gunpowder, they must have thrown it into the fire."

Petra managed to get her other elbow beneath her. "But who? Why?"

"The gentry. Land owners hire thugs to drive away the Roma. 'Tis common enough sport."

Petra, in an effort to distract her attention from Emory's body poised above hers, watched the feet and hooves scramble in the dust.

Then the caravan above them rolled away.

"Aye, what have we here?" A portly, bearded man smelling of beer wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Lumbering, ox-like, he drew closer. As he leered at Petra, Emory peeled away from her in a fluid movement and stood in front of her, arms folded.

"We are not Roma," Emory began.

Petra sat up, instantly disliking the beefy man and his raunchy grin.

"But acting none better." The man laughed an unpleasant bark. "A bit of sport amongst the filthy Roms?"

Emory spread his arms, as if trying to hide Petra. "This is a gentle woman."

"A true lady wouldn't be here with the likes of you." The man looked Petra up and down and ran a hand through his beard. "She best be coming with me, boy."

As swift as a cat pouncing upon a mouse, Emory swung his fist into the older man's distended gut. The man whoofed out a puff of smelly breath and then lunged for Emory with a growl. Petra back-crawled away, pebbles and sticks hurting her hands.

"Now, my friend, be reasonable," Emory said, sounding casual and relaxed even as he blocked a heavy blow with his forearm. "You must know a treasure such as she would bring a fair price from her distraught father."

The man, stumbling, reeled toward Emory like a charging bull. "If she's such a treasure," he huffed, "then why is she rolling in the grass with the likes of you?"

"Good question," Emory said, taking a moment to swipe his hair from his eyes before sending his fist into the man's nose.

Petra scrambled to her feet.

Blood spurted down the man's face, and he howled in pain and anger. Emory placed his heel firmly in the man's groin and kicked him into the grass.

Petra, who had never seen a fight that hadn't been choreographed for TV or stage, stared. The spurting blood, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the grunts and puffs of pain transfixed her. When the ox-like man fell to the ground, Emory grabbed her hand and she shook back to life.

"Let's take you home, my sweet," Emory said, pulling her away.

She followed mutely, and then screamed when another thug appeared from behind a caravan, raised his sword and plunged it into Emory's chest. Emory's knees buckled and Petra watched in horror as the sword sunk deeper and a silver tip protruded from his back.

A dark smelly and stiff shadow flew over her, plunging her into darkness. Petra clutched at the cloth covering her head. Someone tied something around her throat. The more she pulled, the more she choked. Petra kicked and flailed her legs when strong arms lifted her off the ground. She smelled yeasty breath and her stomach turned sick.

She tried to remember all that she'd learned in her self-defense class. Bash and dash – both difficult without the use of sight or arms. Breakaway techniques – she struggled to think and then remembered to make her body limp. She slid from her captor's arms, but once her feet hit the ground, the man scooped her up and swung her around. Her head made contact with something solid. Inside the dark bag, Petra saw stars.

***

Moon and stars lit the valley. Emory didn't like being dragged by his heels, his head bouncing along the stone-studded path, but in his long existence he'd learned possum skills. So, eyes half open, body limp and an open wound in his chest, he held his peace while Petra's captors tossed his body down a river bank. He suppressed a grunt of pain when he smacked against a willow and silently thanked the tree for keeping him from the creek. Buried in the tall grass, he watched a man lift Petra onto a horse.

The ox-like man hauled himself up beside Petra, who was hooded and bound. It nauseated Emory to watch the man gather her against his barrel chest.

"Whatcha got, Marshall?" asked the youth who had stabbed Emory.

Marshall.

Marshall's beefy arms circled Petra's waist and rested against her breast. Emory thought he'd explode with pent-up anger.

"Bounty," Marshall grunted.

"Bounty or bootie?" The youth laughed.

Fire flamed behind Emory's eyes. He fought the urge to attack with nothing more than his hands. He tried gathering his thoughts.

He'd have to separate Marshall from the others without raising an alarm. Unless he could get the man off the horse first, the horse would need to fall without injuring Petra. If not for her, he could have startled the horse, causing him to rear and bolt and hopefully cast off Marshall. If she'd been awake, she could be of use, but from her slumped and compliant form he knew that she'd fainted. Normally he detested female vapors, but watching Petra's retreat, his heart twisted as the horses moved away. Marshall lumbered behind the others. Emory couldn't wait much longer; on foot he wouldn't be able to keep up with the overburdened horse.

Crouching, Emory hurried along the creek's grassy edge, jumping downed trees, dodging branches and tripping in and out of rabbit holes.

Ahead, Petra bounced against Marshall. Every jolt increased Emory's ratcheting fury. As they approached a bend in the road, Emory sprinted ahead to position himself behind a boulder. He picked up a couple of large rocks, tested them for loft and then aimed for Marshall's temple. When the other men and their horses disappeared around the bend, Emory let his rock fly.

"Good Gad," the man muttered as the rock whistled past his head. "Demmed bats." He turned in Emory's direction and Emory launched another rock. Marshall's oath died mid-mutter, as the stone smacked his forehead with a sickening thud. With Petra in his arms, Marshall wavered atop of the horse, leaning right and then left, like a leaf held to a branch by a thin stem.

The stallion, tall and beautiful, stood pawing the ground, waiting for the reins to tell him where to go. As Emory dashed forward, Marshall toppled to the right, taking Petra with him. Emory caught her while the big man hit the ground with an earth-shaking thud. Emory carried Petra away from Marshall's crumpled body. To Emory's surprise, the horse stepped over Marshall, and ambled after him.

Emory wondered how long it would be until Marshall's partners noticed his disappearance. Considering their apparent drunkenness, it might be hours. As the sound of horses and men gave way to crickets, creek and owls, Emory clucked to the stallion, picked up the reins and led him away from Marshall's moaning body. Safely hidden in a thicket of trees, Emory laid Petra across the horse's back and then hoisted himself up after her. Positioning in the saddle, he drew Petra against him and turned toward the village.

He debated on whether to remove Petra's hood and binds. His task would be easier if she remained inert. Her head bounced against his chest and he felt his breath matching her own in a gentle rhythm. Slowly, irrevocably, he felt himself melding into her.

This has to stop, he thought. I am Emory Ravenswood, a man whose long life knows no end and no companion. He couldn't keep her with him, tucking her into his home and bed, selfishly asking for her to share his half existence. What he wanted battled with what he knew was right. She needs to return her to her family. Not that he knew any better idea of how to find Royal Oaks than she did.

The horse plodded towards town, hoofs beating a soft cadence that seemed to say, what now, what now, and what now? If he couldn't have Petra, he could, at least, have the horse. He named him Centaur. Centaur could stay at Anne's, but surely both women would be angry if he deposited Petra back into Anne's bed.

The Earl then. Petra had said she knew his son, Little Lord Fartinstaff. He thought of Garret's blond pompadour lifting off his high forehead, his blue know-nothing-refuse-to-see-anything eyes.

Emory shifted, annoyed and uncomfortable. The son was young, he reminded himself. It was the do-nothing-but-collect-taxes father who deserved disdain. Emory could hardly blame the son for the father's misdeeds, or deeds of omission. Yet he did. The thought of leaving Petra in their care made him hate father and son. A new kind of revulsion, strong and bitter, rose from his stomach.

Petra sagged and bounced against him. Emory looked up at the moon as if expecting it to provide answers. It twinkled back at him. Petra's time was short: his time with her shorter still. It was a shame she had to die.

Petra would be gone by the time the Earl returned to Hampton Court. Young Falstaff was an impulsive idiot, but he was harmless and generally kind. He would ensure her final hours were spent in comfort. Perhaps Falstaff could locate her family and provide a fitting burial.

By the time the horse plodded over the last hill, giving Emory a clear view of the village, the chapel, and beyond that the imposing towers of Pennington Place, he knew what he had to do.

Chapter Ten

Bathing was rare but grooming frequent. Nails needed to be cleaned nightly, hair combed daily. Combs were made of ivory, horn or wood. They even had silver ear-spoons, small tools for cleaning out earwax. Ear-spoons can still be found in Asian markets, and there are professional ear cleaners in the streets of many Asian cities.

—Petra's notes

The next time Petra opened her eyes she saw Kyle, leaning over her, his gaze warm and concerned. Her heart lifted. I'm home, the nightmare has ended. "Kyle," she breathed.

"My lady?"

Her elation crashed. Looking around, Petra saw a room of stone walls draped in tapestries and ornately carved bed posts draped in gossamer. A silver candelabrum with unlit candles sat on a bedside table.

Kyle wore a simple white tunic and tan breeches. A young woman behind him wore a blue gown and a white apron, and a man standing in a corner wore a dark, unreadable expression. How long had she slept? She tried to rise, but her head thundered. She slipped back down among the pillows.

Gypsies, music, healing, the Otherworld, rosemary and mug-wort, Emory, the sword. She was still trapped and, now, friendless. Tears of disappointment and loss came to her eyes. With her thumb, she felt Emory's ring.

We both know I do not live. That's what he'd said. Did that mean that he couldn't die? No. The shock on his face, the sudden stillness in his eyes, that horrible, ragged noise from his lips, and the blood gushing from his belly—his death had looked more real than anything she had seen in the movies, much more gruesome than her mother's slow fading.

Petra turned away from Kyle's gaze to look out the window at rolling acres of lawn, distant farmland, and a thick wood. "Where am I?"

"Pennington Place, my lady." Despite the Harry Potter accent, he even sounded like Kyle.

Petra clutched at the quilt and pulled it to her shoulders like a shield. "How did I come here?"

"My man Fritz found you by the front gate. You have suffered a head wound."

Petra clung to that. "A head wound. Yes."

The man with the frown and massive eyebrows left his corner and stepped closer. "If you would tell us your family, we will send word of your safety.

Safety? She'd seen her only friend in this time warp run through with a sword. She'd been kidnapped, bagged and beaten. No, she wasn't safe. She rubbed the knot on her head, feeling its size and wondering if it would turn purple. "I remember little."

"You do not recall who brought you to our gate?" Suspicion tinged the man's nasal voice. He had a beak like a buzzard. Perhaps anyone doomed to spend a lifetime with such a nose would be cranky.

A line from the book of Alice in Wonderland sprung to Petra's lips and she had to bite it back. One would never undertake a journey without a porpoise. Who had said that? The Caterpillar? The Cheshire Cat? That was what she needed, Petra decided, a mythical mentor.

Petra turned to Kyle, who, if not mythical, was at least familiar. "Have we met?"

Kyle smiled and shook his head. "I do not believe so. I would have remembered such good fortune."

She smiled because he was so Kyle. Even if he wasn't. "You look familiar, like someone I know from somewhere else."

"What is your name, my lady?" the Buzzard Man in the corner asked. His question, though reasonable, sounded like an accusation.

"Petra Baron." She struggled to sit up and ended by bracing herself on her elbows.

The Kyle look-a-like stepped closer to the bed. "I am Garret Falstaff and this is Lord Chambers." He motioned to the man behind him, but didn't introduce the young woman, who was probably a maid. "You are safe here at Pennington Place."

***

Petra watched a parade of maids fill a copper tub with a scalding, lavender-scented water. Mary, the tiny blond maid in charge of the brigade, scuttled between the bedroom and presumably the kitchen with brimming buckets.

"T'won't be but a minute now, miss," Mary huffed as she poured a final bucket into the copper tub. After dismissing the other girls, Mary pulled up a sleeve, exposed her forearm, and dipped her elbow in the steaming water. "Very good, miss." Mary placed her hands on her hips and gave Petra an encouraging smile.

When Petra didn't budge, Mary scowled and spoke slowly, encouragingly, as if Petra was a child. "Would you like me to undo your gown, miss?"

The dress had a row of tiny buttons parading down her back, but it also had a side zipper, making the buttons unnecessary. But Mary wouldn't know that.

"Um, no, I can manage." When Mary didn't budge, Petra slid a cautious glance at her and then unzipped the side of her dress.

"Coo?" the maid whispered, clearly fascinated. She stepped closer to inspect the zipper.

Mary circled Petra, and Petra rotated.

"You can go now," Petra said, trying to sound dismissive yet polite.

Mary's mouth dropped open, and she blinked hard. "But your bath – "

Petra cleared her throat. "I can handle it," she said, while stepping out of the dress.

When Mary remained motionless, Petra continued, "I like to bathe alone."

Mary's eyes widened to the point of bulging.

"It's how it's done in my country," Petra said. "We bathe privately." She spoke clearly, loudly, using the voice she used on her dog and her stepsister when she didn't want an argument.

Mary closed her mouth and blinked back tears.

Petra, unmoved and growing impatient, turned her back on the girl and stepped out of her dress. "I really don't see the problem."

Mary's watery eyes had turned so huge she reminded Petra of a frog. "Gor, miss, is that your—"

Petra looked down at her bra and matching panties, both pink lace.

Mary choked, "But where are your-" she waved her hand toward Petra's midriff. Petra remembered once reading that the women of the earlier centuries wore pounds of undergarments. Her panties and bra although modest compared by Victoria's Secret standards, had to be shocking to poor Mary.

Mary shook her head, gathering Petra's dress from the floor. Then she stopped, frozen, as if in shock. "Your toes, miss. They're purple."

Petra didn't know how to explain Picasso Pinky's Salon.

"With flowers on them," Mary finished.

"Yes," Petra said.

"Did an artist paint —"

"Sort of."

Mary backed toward the door, Petra's dress a bundle in her arms.

"Where are you taking my dress?" Petra asked, panic in her voice.

Mary looked at the dress as if she'd forgotten its existence. "Why, to the washer woman, of course."

"But—"

To launder the dress without a drycleaners would take hours. The dress was dirty, but without it, what would she wear? She could hardly walk around in her underwear. Scandalizing Mary the maid was one thing but an entire village? She had a sudden image of Lady Godiva on a horse. When was Lady Godiva's time and what had become of her? Had they stoned her for her nudity? Made her wear a scarlet A attached to her ta-tas?

Mary gave her a tremulous smile. "My Lord has sent Jenny to retrieve some of the mistress' gowns for you."

"Won't the mistress mind?"

"She would have dreadfully," Mary said, her voice thick with emotion, "but she's passed away five long months ago and no longer has a say."

"And they kept her clothes?"

"Of course. What else would they have done?" Mary gave the tub of water a baleful glance. "Your water will be getting cold, miss."

"I'll get in after you've gone," she told Mary.

Mary looked doubtful. "I will come back?"

Petra folded her arms as a stiff breeze blew in through the window. "Not until I'm out."

"But your hair, miss?"

"I can do my hair," Petra said. It seemed odd to be standing near naked in front of an open window, but from their height she supposed only birds could see in. No airplanes, or helicopters, probably not even hot air balloons.

Mary's lip trembled.

"Fine," Petra said with a scowl. "You can do my hair."

Mary sniffed hard.

"Please go," Petra finally urged.

Mary didn't budge. "But what if you – "

Petra turned her back on her, listening for the door. She peeked and saw Mary give a despondent little shrug and then trundle out the door. At last the door snapped shut with a defiant click.

She was not only dirty, but also bruised and achy. Pulling her hair over the edge, she sank into the water up to her chin and closed her eyes. She tried to let go of everything, all her fears and concerns, but the scene in the gypsy camp kept replaying in her mind. She felt guilty soaking in the tub, being catered to by servants when people in the gypsy camp had been hunted down and maybe even killed.

Emory said the gentry led the hunts. Had Kyle, no, he'd called himself Garret, ordered the raid on the gypsies? What had happened to the children and babies? What about the sick boy who needed healing? How many besides Emory had died?

Emory. One tear rolled down her cheek and then another. Worried she'd break down, she tried to think of her biggest problem—how to get home?

But thinking of home didn't stop her tears.

She splashed her face with water. She was in England, home was in California. Even if she'd been in the right century, crossing an ocean and a continent, without cash, credit cards or passport would be difficult. But crossing four hundred years—impossible.

And yet not impossible, assuming she'd already done it once. Her mother used to say that if you did something once you could do it twice. Which wasn't really true. Some things you could only do once, as her mother's death had proved.

Which raised an interesting question. Had Petra died? Was this her afterlife? Her Otherworld? She wiggled her toes in the water, and the purple flowers made her feel a little better. She felt real, still herself. She didn't feel dead. Placing a hand over her heart, she felt its steady, reassuring thump.

She contemplated the tiny red prick on her finger. She bled and breathed; her heart beat. So, assuming she was still alive and had somehow fallen into a time warp—why this time? Why now?

If she had to time travel, why couldn't she have gone back to when her mother was alive, when she and her parents lived in the yellow house with the red roses, when going to the zoo and seeing the tiger roar was the most terrifying experience of her life? When building a sand castle at the beach and watching the tide demolish her work was her biggest disappointment?

And why was she here? Was that more relevant than how?

The kids in the Chronicles of Narnia were always finding ways in and out of Narnia—a wardrobe, the blast of a horn, a storm. Had she really gotten out of the twenty-first century through the wrong curtain of a fortuneteller's tent? Maybe she's missed the warning: Beware, enter at your own risk; fortunetelling maybe hazardous to your life plans.

"There are no coincidences," Laurel liked to say. Just like she said, "The Baron and McGee family was meant to be." As if in some great design, Petra's mother's death and Zoe's father's abandonment were lodged into their life maps, as inescapable and unavoidable as the setting sun.

Petra sat up and tried to shake off her funk when the door creaked open.

"Just me, miss." Mary poked her head through the door. "I brought ye some gowns." Mary flushed pink. "And if ye don't be minding, some under-things."

***

Standing in the center of the room, grasping a bedpost, Petra gasped as Mary gave a final tug on the corset. Then, before Petra had time to feel shocked, Mary deftly patted Petra's boobs into the chemise. Petra hadn't even the time to complain before Mary had moved on to the buttons. Petra closed her mouth, the grumble dying under the realization that she could hardly breathe, let alone complain. No wonder women on the covers of romance novels were always fainting into Fabio's arms. Either they couldn't breathe, or they were dying of embarrassment because their boobs were about to pop out. Petra blinked, one of the few movements she could manage, and said, "I won't be able to sit or lift a spoon."

Mary gave the laces on the brown velvet gown a tug and then stood back with a satisfied smile. "Gor, miss, you look lovely."

Mary held up a hand mirror for Petra to see. What had been left of her makeup had disintegrated in the bath, but the steam had left her skin pink and moist. Her eyes sparkled blue, her lips red, and her hair had been swept into a thick twisty knot at her neck. She didn't recognize herself. She looked like one of the fainters from the romance novels.

Mary frowned, a tiny crease appearing between her eyebrows. She appeared to be on the verge of spouting a lecture. Petra recognized in Mary the tell-tale signals her stepmother always used just before a rant – lowered eyebrows, clenched fists, tightened jaw. Petra wondered if scolding, primping and manhandling boobs was standard seventeenth century maid practice.

"Miss," Mary began, looking flustered, "to catch my lord's eye—"

Petra tried taking a deep breath. "Catch his eye?"

Mary sucked in her lower lip and began violently brushing Petra's gown. "You mustn't smack your lips or gnaw on bones. Remember to keep your fingers clean."

Etiquette lessons from the maid?

"Don't speak of politics," Mary continued.

As if she knew anything of the time. "Or, let me guess – religion."

Mary stopped brushing, straightened and looked Petra in the eye. "They are the same." Mary placed her hands on her hips. "This is a beautiful dress, and I've made you just as lovely, miss." She sucked in a deep breath. "Don't be spoiling this."

"Spoiling what?"

Mary cocked her head. "Why are you here, then? If not to secure Lord Garret?"

"Secure Lord Garret?" Petra felt herself flush, heat and indignation rising. "Is he insecure?"

"Hush!" Mary hissed when a knock sounded at the door. "A footman, to escort you to the dining hall," Mary explained. "Keep your serviette in your lap."

Which might be easier if you knew what a serviette was.

If Mary thought Petra was there to "secure" Garret, who else might think the same thing? "Tell me again who will be at dinner."

"It's just you, Lord Garret, and Master Chambers."

Petra remembered Chambers with the frowning eyebrows. He radiated dislike and distrust. If he'd been a dog, the hairs on the back of his neck would have pointed upward. She wondered what role he played here. Mary had referred to him as master, so he wasn't a servant. "Where's Lord Garret's father?"

"In the city," Mary said and then added under her breath, "That's why we must hurry." She gave Petra's back a little push.

Petra discovered that, despite the corset, she could walk and breathe at the same time.

***

Chambers and Garret stood when she entered the hall. Late afternoon sun slanted through two-story glass beveled windows and sparkled on the heavy pewter candlesticks on the table. Goblets, spoons and a knife that looked more appropriate for killing deer sat beside china plates.

A child in a blue tunic appeared at Petra's elbow, bearing a bowl of murky water. Petra flashed a look at Garret and Lord Chambers for direction, but Garret appeared to be looking at something outside a window. Lord Chambers frowned at her.

The child pressed the bowl closer to Petra, and she took a guess and dipped her hands into the water. That must have been the right thing to do, because the child then produced a small hand-cloth from his back pocket.

After the men washed their hands, they remained standing and Petra, who had sat, bounced back up to her feet.

Lord Garrett nodded, and Chambers bowed his head. "The Lord is our rock, and our fortress, and our deliverer; in Him will we trust."

Garret had his head bowed and eyes closed, but Petra studied him from under her lashes. His resemblance to Kyle was spooky: height, sturdy build, blond hair, blue eyes, thin lips. Kyle had tan skin from his hours on the lacrosse field and she supposed Garret had his from hours outside doing... what? Hunting? Riding? Fishing? She didn't know what a young seventeenth century earl-to-be did. Kyle and Garret were not the same person; she couldn't forget that.

Petra tuned back into the grace.

"The Lord is our shield, and the horn of salvation, our high tower, and refuge, the Savior from violence."

Unless, of course, you happen to be a gypsy. Petra's heart twisted. Did Lord Garrett/Kyle had anything to do with the gypsy hunt? If he did, she wouldn't stay in his house.

Chambers droned on. By the time the food was finally served, she was hungry, but between a tight corset, Chambers' frown, and fending off Garret's questions, she found it increasingly difficult to chew and swallow.

"Perhaps you were on horseback and thrown from the saddle," Garret guessed. "That would explain the head injury."

"But where are her companions?" Chambers countered, speaking over her head as if she wasn't there. He narrowed his eyes. "The Romas. This is surely their doing."

Garret considered his forkful of pork and nodded.

Anger flashed through Petra. Did these men, the same who prayed for a really long time, order a hunt on the gypsies? How could Chambers go on and on and on about God's goodness and yet condone the raid? Treating people like pests? Hiring exterminators?

She took a bite of something steamy and brown and it tasted like sawdust. She remembered to use her napkin/serviette before speaking. "You can't blame the gypsies," Petra said, putting her napkin/serviette back into her lap.

"You said yourself you have no memory," Chambers said, looking at her from over the top of his goblet.

Petra rubbed her forehead where it had begun to throb. A tiny pulse beat in her temple. She wasn't used to lying. She had no idea what the Renaissance people knew of amnesia, for all she knew those suffering memory loss were thrown into an asylum and spent the remainder of their lives trying to remember who might care enough to rescue them.

"A highwayman," she stammered, recalling a poem that she had memorized in eighth grade. "I think I remember a highwayman and moonlight." She tore into a roll and breathed in its yeasty smell. "A moor and an inn."

"But the moors are far to the north." Garret, fork poised mid-air, looked baffled.

It'd been silly to think that just because Kyle looked like Garret that they were somehow connected, that he would know how to help her home. What I need is a fairy godmother, a wizard or a good witch. Too bad I don't believe in any of those things. .

"It had to be the gypsies." Chambers frowned at his plate. "They kidnapped her from somewhere and brought her here."

"No," Petra said too loudly. She swallowed a lump of bread and it lodged in her throat.

Chambers studied her, eyes calculating.

"At least, I don't think so." Petra stirred the beans on her plate wishing they would turn into chicken nuggets. The limp beans weren't the green kind she knew; they were yellow and looked like worms. If she was going to have a magical moment why couldn't she be someplace that served Ben and Jerry's? If she had wished to be transported to another time and place, she wouldn't have picked this time or this place.

Unless she could have stayed with Emory. He had been the one good thing about her trip to Elizabethan England. By the time the pie arrived she was so angry and depressed she only picked at the berries and longed for ice-cream.

A footman came into the room and bowed before the table.

"Yes, Francis?" Garret said, tapping his lips with a square of linen.

"Sir, pray forgive the interruption, but the tapestry artisan has arrived. I took the liberty of having her sent to the first parlor."

"She?" Garret threw down his napkin, his eyes lit.

"Yes, Miss Carl, sir. It seems her father has been detained abroad."

"Excellent!" He turned to Chambers and Petra with outstretched hands. "Shall we?"

***

Pennington Place reminded Petra of Hogwarts. The first parlor had soaring ceilings and a fireplace with a mantel higher than her head. One wall had a flank of cut-glass windows, another had been lined with bookshelves, and another was blank.

Petra hung in the doorway, not knowing how to respond to Anne, who stood near the blank wall. A rolled tapestry lay near her feet like a colorful log.

Two footmen stood on either side of the tapestry. Anne, dressed in a modest gray gown, bowed her head at Garret, but when she saw Petra, her eyes widened in surprise. Petra held her gaze until Anne looked away.

What should she say to someone who'd drugged her? Petra wanted to forgive Anne simply because she had been friends with Emory. Did Anne know Emory had died? Petra watched Anne greet Garret and quote him the cost of her tapestry. Other than nervous energy, Anne seemed fine.

After moving chairs and tables to make room, the two footmen rolled the tapestry out over the carpet. Riotous colored flowers, coral and sapphire skies, silvery angels – the Satan tapestry. Petra gasped.

Garret leaned toward Anne. "Your work, it's extraordinary."

Anne accepted the compliment with stiff shoulders, but stepped back. He followed at her heels like a sniffing beagle. "My father will purchase it, I've no doubt."

Chambers cleared his throat. "Maybe he'd like to see some of her others before he decides."

"Your father, is he not here?" Anne's face flushed as she shot Chambers a hostile glance.

Garret looked at his shoes. "No, he's away."

Anne's mouth dropped open with a sound as if the air had been knocked from her lungs.

"Tis of no matter. I'm confident my father will be pleased." Garret stood straighter. "I will purchase it."

"Are you sure?" Petra bit her tongue, assuming she shouldn't have spoken.

Chambers studying the tapestry became an unexpected ally. "I agree with Miss Petra."

Garret looked from Petra to Chambers as if they'd grown horns. "It's dazzling!" He shot Anne a warm glance. "It's poetry."

"Dante's Inferno, maybe," Petra muttered.

"What's that?" Garret asked.

Chambers paced the edge of the tapestry. "It's the story of the fall of Satan!"

The color seeped from Garret's face as confusion replaced his enthusiasm. "Ah, so it is," he said slowly. "So it is." Garret straightened and he looked at Anne. "When will your father return?"

Anne met his gaze with open hostility. "I do not know. He has gone abroad to purchase dye."

Petra remembered a second man in Anne's cottage. She'd assumed him to be her father. Maybe he wasn't. Or maybe he was and Anne was lying.

"Do you have other tapestries?" Garret asked.

Anne nodded.

"Then you must bring me another. Monday hence?"

"Perhaps it would be best to wait for the Earl's return," Chambers suggested.

"Nonsense. This room and this estate will soon be mine. I can purchase a tapestry," Garret said, his chest puffing out. "If I should so desire." The words sounded loaded and his eyes locked with Anne's.

Petra felt a current running between them like a live wire.

"Yes, my Lord." Anne ducked her head, but not before Petra saw a spark of defiance.

Garret rocked back on his heels. "Monday then, at the same time."

Anne's shoulders drooped as she watched the two footmen roll up her tapestry.

***

Petra had thought that she'd undress herself, but one look in the mirror at the army of buttons and the tiny tool that Mary used changed her mind. "Do you know how I got to Pennington Place?" Petra asked as Mary crouched behind her. She suspected Mary didn't believe her tale of memory loss.

Mary sighed, pushed back a lock of hair from her forehead and straightened. "According to Fitz t'was the thick of night, he answered the bell and found you dead to the world at the gatehouse door. A bag of jewels and a note had been tucked in your cape."

"A note?"

Mary raised the heavy brocade dress over Petra's head.

"It said to take good care of you until your father arrived," Mary said, lifting an eyebrow. "But aren't you the least bit wondering about your jewels?" She motioned for Petra to turn around.

"Oh, of course, the jewels," Petra said, taking a deep breath, her first since her corset encounter. "Did Garret just keep them?"

"He's keeping you, isn't he?" Mary shrugged.

Petra squirmed. The transaction made her feel more like Frosty at the kennel than Petra at the Marriot. Of course, Frosty had to stay in a kennel surrounded by a choir of barking, whining dogs. She wasn't forced to stay in a cage, but she had to wear a corset, and that was sort of the same thing.

Mary flung a cottony nightgown over Petra's head. While Petra put her arms in the sleeves, she asked, "And Garret?"

"My Lord Garret – " Mary tugged the nightgown into place.

The nightgown, a soft shimmery and see-through affair, was a hundred times more comfortable than the dress. "Lord Garret wasn't suspicious?"

Mary smiled. "Suspicious and yet pleased, miss."

"Mary, you don't know me. Why are you pushing me on Garret?" She corrected herself. "My Lord Garret?"

"Pushing you on Garret?" Mary thought about that as she pulled pins from Petra's hair. "I spent years working my way up to being a lady's maid. Years, mind you. And in the five months since My Lady Falstaff's been gone I've been doing chores like the chamber and scullery maids." She paused the comb above Petra's head. "I don't like emptying chamber pots."

Petra got it. Spending time with other people's pots would make her sick. "Can't you do something else?"

Mary looked like she wanted to use the hair comb as a weapon. "I'm a lady's maid," she said through gritted teeth. She set the comb down, deemed Petra ready and bustled her into bed.

Under the rustle of the covers, Petra heard Mary mumble, "Not all of us have the fortune to wander willy-nilly around the countryside with jewels in our pockets."

Even with the candle extinguished, Petra could easily see. Moonlight shone bright through the windows, and a fire smoldered in the fireplace. The feather bed had a down quilt, and Petra felt like she was floating in a white cloud, but she wasn't tired and didn't want to sleep. She didn't want to wander willy-nilly. She wanted to go home.

If she could Google...but before the Internet, there were libraries. A place like this would have a library, right? She crawled from the bed, shivering in the cold, and searched the room for something to wear.

No clothes. No shoes. Night gown it is.

The latch opened with a soft click, and the door swung silently open. The tapestry that ran down the hall felt soft beneath her feet. Candles flickered in sconces on the stone walls. It couldn't be too late because she heard the rattling and clinking of dishes from below.

Guessing that a library would be on the ground floor, Petra padded down the stairs, keeping an eye out for servants, or worse, Garret and Chambers. A stack of books sat on a table outside the third door to the left. A telling clue, her dad would say.

Biting her lower lip, Petra pushed open the door. Less a library, she decided and more like her dad's office, but some books and maybe some answers.

Petra stood at the threshold, hating that there were so many things she didn't know and didn't understand. She'd been in the seventeenth century for two days. Two days! Who has dreams that last two days?

A massive desk covered with ledgers and papers dominated the generous-sized room. Two chairs flanked a fireplace so large she could have stood among the embers and ashes without hitting her head on the flue.

At home, she knew exactly what to do, what to say, and if she made a mistake, which she almost never did, no one called her on it. Except for Zoe, who didn't count, because of her age and size. Zoe's freckles didn't help; they made her look comical, even when she was angry. Maybe especially when she was angry. Her skin flushed red, the freckles stood out and her hair seemed to stand on end. Furious Zoe looked like a cartoon character being electrocuted.

Petra leaned against the doorjamb, homesickness and loneliness overwhelming her. Casting a critical eye on the leather-bound books, she felt fairly confident that not one of them would provide directions on how to speed travel 400 years, but she stepped in for a closer look.

The books marched across the shelves and she recognized very few titles or authors. A great many had to do with agriculture. The Modern Egg Farmer. How modern can a seventeenth century chicken be? She passed poultry and poetry and spotted Copernicus. Science. A German bible. Religion. Could either help her?

While the shelves and book bindings were spotless, most of the book tops were covered with a thin layer of dust. Curious why One Thousand and One Nights was dust free, she pulled at it. The book slipped forward and the fireplace façade rotated nearly noiselessly. Where once there had been blackened bricks, now an opening.

Astounded, Petra watched the book slide in the shelf and the bricks whirred back into place. She tried it again with the same results – bricks gone, dark passageway, earthy breeze, and moments later, all on its own, the bricks returned.

As did the voices.

Chapter Eleven

Some secret passageways lead to hidden rooms. Hidden rooms are useful for kidnapping, smuggling goods, and other illegal activities. Secret passageways may also be private entrances or tunnels. They're particularly common in episodes of "Scooby-Do."

—Petra's notes

Out in the hall, Chambers spoke with animation. "Of course your father must be informed of the gypsy blight!"

Petra didn't want to explain why she'd wandered from her room. With no time to consider her options or consequences, Petra lifted her nightgown and dashed through the fireplace. Seconds later, the fireplace bricks closed behind her.

Darkness engulfed her. She felt the walls on either side. She stood stock still, afraid that perhaps one wrong move would reopen the door and expose her. She strained to hear, hoping they had skipped the office, but Chambers' voice droned closer and the tenor of his voice changed dramatically after Garret interrupted with a question.

"She cannot stay, my lord. Her people must be located and notified."

Garret said something unintelligible.

"Precisely why she's dangerous!" Chambers retorted.

Dangerous? Were they talking about her? Annoying, bossy, perhaps spoiled, but dangerous?

Petra didn't possess any weapons, or knowledge of how to use one if she happened to find one, but she knew things these men couldn't even dream. All the technological advancements, inventions and discoveries of the past four hundred years.

Of course, at this moment, she didn't have access to anything even slightly useful. Beam me up, Scotty, she thought, itching for a Star Trek gizmo that could rearrange her molecules and put her back where she belonged.

"She's but a chit," Garret laughed, his voice startlingly clear.

Chit? She didn't know what that meant, but she didn't like it. She also didn't like how close Garret sounded. What if they accessed the passageway and found her in the dark? In her nightgown?

As horrible as it would have been to be discovered in an office, being found in a secret passage would be much, much worse. There had to be a way out. Passageways always had a destination.

Cautiously, Petra toed the darkness ahead before taking a step. Nothing happened. Holding her breath, she took another step, and then another. Then she smacked into a wall.

She woofed in surprise, stepped back and rubbed her nose.

The voices rumbling in the office stopped. Petra froze until their murmurs resumed. Stretching out her arms, she felt along the walls, found a corner and slipped around it.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw stone walls, hard-packed dirt floors and a timbered ceiling. She kept her fingertips against the wall to maintain her bearings. As she moved deeper, quiet and darkness seemed to swallow her. Then she heard a scraping noise.

Petra stopped, listening.

Silence.

Her nerves pricked, and her skin tingled as she continued to who-knew-where. Around a corner, she saw a flickering flash of light and smelled the acrid smoke of candles.

The footsteps fell in swift purposeful strides. Someone who knew where they were going, which put them at a distinct advantage. She had nowhere to hide.

Petra hadn't panicked when she'd been nose-to-beak with fighting roosters, or when she'd been drugged in Anne's cottage, or even when she saw Emory die, but now, in this gloomy corridor, adrenaline pumped through her. Fight or flight? Blood pounded in her ears as she picked up her nightgown with frantic hands and ran, stumbling in the dark.

The footsteps overtook her in moments. As she raced forward her foot caught on something and she pitched forward.

She smelled a mix of cloves and leather as hands caught her and lifted her into the air. Imprisoned against a broad chest, Petra kicked as a thigh pressed between her legs. He held her so that her back arched against him, his arms curved under hers, his hand on the side of her neck, one pressing her head sideways.

He spoke quietly in her ear, his voice sending tremors down her spine. "My lady, do not move, or with one twist, I will snap your neck."

But Petra couldn't move. She could barely think. She couldn't hear her thoughts over her beating heart. His grip tightened. Stunned, she gasped, "I saw you die."

He dropped her to the dirt floor. "You?"

Petra craned her neck to look at Emory's face.

He grabbed her wrist, hauled her to her feet, held her against the wall with one hand and lightly ran his other hand over her arms and front as if searching for something. Knowing that she should be outraged, she still found herself grinning at him. They stood so closely that she saw the outline of his hard, chiseled chin and the glint in his dark eyes.

He stopped, as if struck by her expression, and his lips tugged upward. "What are you doing here?"

She suspected he wanted to sound angry and menacing. Disbelieving, she couldn't resist. She placed her hand on his belly where she'd seen the sword stab him. He didn't flinch.

"How?" she asked.

He held his finger to her lips, took her wrist and led her deeper into the passage. Then he turned her question back on her. "I saw you with Black Shuck." It sounded like an accusation.

"Who?"

He shook his head. "Black Shuck, the hound of hell."

She bit back a laugh. "The what?"

He shook his head again as if trying to clear it. "Pray thee, keep thy peace. What are you doing here? Who are you? Who sent you?"

"My answers haven't changed since yesterday. I don't know how I got here or why but... I've stopped wondering about myself and started thinking about you."

He took a step closer and leaned down so his nose nearly touched hers. "I don't know what sort of trick or trap you are, but I won't be fooled."

Her heart skipped as she stared into his eyes. "I'm not a trick. Or a trap."

He frowned and pushed away, but because he still held her wrist, she had no option but to follow. His eyes slid over her, and she suddenly felt grateful for the dark. "What are you wearing?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Petra glanced down at the thin cotton nightgown. By gathering it in a fistful in her middle she created folds that made it a little less sheer. "Mary called it a chemise."

His lips straightened and tightened. "'Tis nearly invisible."

She cut a quick glance at his face and then looked down at her pale, exposed ankles. She laughed. "Do you think this is an inappropriate nightie for creeping in hidden passageways?"

He didn't let go of her hand but towed her after him. "I do not mind for myself, of course – "

She tripped after him. "Of course...You do realize, you haven't answered any of my questions."

"I'm not here to satisfy your curiosity."

"Which begs the question—why are you here? And that leads to how are you here?" Petra ground her heels into the dirt, a fair imitation of Frosty being led to the groomer. "I saw that man stab you." Her voice shook. "I saw the sword go through you!" She ran her hand over his back and felt his muscles quiver.

"Will you stop doing that?" He pressed forward.

"There has to be a wound." Dropping the folds of her chemise, she tugged at the back of his shirt and lifted it to expose the broad unblemished plane of his back. Reaching forward, she ran her hand up and under his shirt.

He stopped and faced her. The shirt, still in her hand, twisted around his waist.

"My lady, I do not know the customs of your Royal Oaks." He tugged the shirt out of her fingers and tucked it into his breeches but not before she saw his rippling, tan, perfect abs. "But I can assure you, in our country, young ladies do not remove a gentleman's clothing."

Embarrassment made her bolder. "Oh, are you a gentleman?" Her thoughts leaped to her stepmother's Regency romance novels hidden in a basket in the den. By Petra's calculations they were currently about two centuries prior to the Regency period, but a gentleman was a gentleman, right?

"If I weren't a gentleman, I wouldn't be worried about your sheer shift."

"Good point," she said. As he stood before her, glowering, she took the opportunity to touch his belly again.

He roared and grabbed her other hand, so that he now held both hands.

She laughed.

He gave her hands a shake, rattling her to the teeth. "This is not a lark!"

She sobered slightly. "I'm just so relieved you are alive."

The frown between his eyebrows eased. "As I am you." He released her and turned away. She trailed after him.

"You must stop touching me," he said over his shoulder.

She sniffed, offended. "As if I wanted to."

He lifted his chin. "Apparently, you do."

She trotted by his side. "I just wanted to see where the sword went in."

He sent her a swift glance. "You thought you saw something. You were mistaken."

Moving through the gloom with grace and speed, he seemed remarkably healthy and fit. He also seemed to know where he was going. "There was a lot of noise, a lot of confusion. You were kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?" She gathered her nightgown in her fists so she could keep up. She wished he'd slow down so she could see his face. She knew he was lying.

"Did you think you flew to the manor?"

She opened her mouth. She didn't remember traveling or arriving at the manor. "Someone put something over my head. If you weren't lying on the ground dying as I'd thought, did you see who it was?"

"If you remember, I had problems of my own."

She grabbed his arm, and he looked down at her face and then at her exposed legs. "Me too. Black Muck and all those hell hounds."

He brushed her off, turned his back and walked away. "It's Shuck," he said over his shoulder.

His indifference stung. Staring after his retreating back, she dropped her nightgown and said, "Well, shuck you."

He paused, as if he understood her near-obscenity and the anger and frustration that'd brought it on. "Go to bed, my lady. You've no business here."

"I don't know where to go," she said in a small voice.

"Left, then right, follow the passageway until you reach the orangery."

Orangery? What the shuck is an orangery? She remained rooted as he turned a corner. A minute later she heard the low murmur of voices coming from further down the passage. A light glowed in the distance.

She really couldn't go back the way she came. Return to the library and face Garret and Chambers? She didn't want to return to her room with more questions than when she'd started out. Not knowing what else to do, she went after Emory, but at a distance, hoping he would lead her out of the passageway.

The path sloped downward, and the deeper they went the more putrid the air. The rank smell made her think of bats. The light grew brighter and Petra recognized the deep voice that had belonged to the second man at Anne's. She turned a corner and bit back a gasp. She ducked, afraid that Emory had seen or heard her, but after a moment, she peeked to watch Emory, a large man in a friar's frock and a heavily bleeding gypsy.

The gypsy lay on a cot, wrapped in what appeared to be gory rags. The passageway opened up to a slightly wider hall lined with a cell made of cut stone with iron doors. The cell where the gypsy lay had a thick chain draped through the bars. A padlock dangled from the links and a key protruded from its hole.

Emory bent over the gypsy, pressing down the wounded man's shoulders while the friar cut away the rags that had presumably once been the gypsy's clothes. The gypsy moaned and writhed. The friar muttered something.

The friar took a clean cloth from the bag lying beside the cot and folded it. With Emory's help, he rolled the gypsy onto his side and wrapped the cloth around the man's middle.

The wound in his belly seemed to match the one in his back, like the sword wound she'd seen on Emory. The gypsy groaned and let out a string of curses Petra didn't recognize but completely understood. Sweat rolled down his pain-contorted face.

The bandage secure, Emory and the friar gently returned the gypsy to his back and Emory mopped the man's face. No longer pinned, the gypsy contorted on the cot. The friar stood still, eyes closed and head bowed. After a moment he raised his eyes to the ceiling as if asking a question. Then the friar and Emory exchanged places, but instead of holding the gypsy's shoulders, the friar put his hands on the gypsy's head and uttered what sounded like a prayer. He took a tiny vile from his pocket, unplugged its cork and poured a drop of slow moving liquid onto the gypsy's head. Immediately the man quieted.

The friar and Emory looked at each other and then the friar looked up and directly into Petra's eyes. Startled, she ducked back around the corner, embarrassed to have been caught spying on such a private moment of...What had she seen? A faith healing? What had been in that bottle?

Petra leaned against the wall, listening. An iron door swung shut with a creak and clank. Footsteps padded away. Clearly, the friar had seen her; Emory probably suspected she hadn't left, but neither approached. The candle light blew out, leaving Petra in the dark.

She heard the gypsy's labored breathing. Must and mildew mingled with the smell of his blood, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. Confident that the friar and Emory had gone, she went to the wounded man.

Eyes closed, lips slack with sleep, his face gleamed with sweat. He looked oddly at peace, despite the bandage wrapped tightly around his torso. She thought she recognized the rings on his fingers and knew she'd seen him earlier in the camp. She had a dozen questions for him, but she didn't want to wake him and she wasn't even sure if he spoke English. Besides, he looked like he needed rest more than she needed answers.

Petra headed in what she hoped was the direction of her room.

***

Emory followed Rohan through the door that led to the chapel's basement. Dungeons and chapels seemed unlikely bedfellows, but they shared a roof and a plot of land. Thumbscrews beneath the alter, chains beneath the choir loft, a scold's bridle beneath the confessional, and a meeting of zealots in the rectory.

Rohan's wide body filled the narrow stairwell and Emory tagged after him. Hearing a noise behind him, he looked over his shoulder and saw rats scurrying in shadowy corners. He smiled, wondering if Petra suffered from squeamishness, if she would turn back, return to her warm bed in the manor. Falstaff's manor.

He knew what he had to do; Petra or no. The time approached. They emerged through a side door that opened to a cloister. Damp night air filled Emory's lungs and he inhaled deeply, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

Rohan, as if reading his thoughts, took note of the moon's position in the sky and said, "They will be here within the hour. I can do this on my own."

Emory cast a swift glance at his friend and saw a rare steely determination. Normally Rohan had the disposition of a sunny day, but at the moment he looked stern.

"I'm going with you," Emory told him.

Rohan cocked his head, motioning for Emory to follow him around the corner. The dark windows of the rectory looked upon them, promising their secrets. Although the rectory looked asleep, Emory knew that Father Priestly must be awake, preparing for the night's tryst. Chambers and perhaps others would soon join him. From the shelter of a lilac bush beneath the front window, Emory and Rohan would listen to the men's plans.

"I'm afraid you are needed elsewhere," Rohan said, his voice a whisper.

Emory shook his head, uncomprehending, until Rohan pointed at the side chapel door creaking open. Breath caught in Emory's throat.

Petra stood in the moonlight, framed by the inky black of the doorway. The moonlight pierced her chemise, revealing every one of her curves. Her hair fell about her shoulders and shone like the color of stars. She moved through the cloister and stopped at the well, staring into it as if lost in thought.

What was she doing here? How had she escaped the curse of Black Shuck? How had she managed to twist her way into his life? Because he'd thought she would die, he'd allowed himself kindness. Knowing she would be but a brief interlude, he'd let down his guard.

Emory flinched beneath his friend's scrutiny. "Who is she?"

"Who is she to you?" Rohan asked.

Emroy flushed. "Is she your doing?"

Rohan shook his head, the smile returning to his eyes. "She is your problem, not mine."

Emory folded his arms across his chest. "No, she is not."

"We can't allow her to stay. We risk exposure."

Exposure. Unable to tear his eyes away from the shimmery chemise, exposure seemed the appropriate word. Emory let out a small groan and hung his head. Damn heaven. Damn hell.

Chapter Twelve

Everyone in Elizabethan England was expected to receive basic religious training. By law, every minister held services on alternate Sundays and on holy days. All children over the age of six had to attend. Parents who didn't send their children might be prosecuted in church courts. Court or church with corrupt priests in charge? Tough call.

—Petra's notes

Had Rohan been speaking? If so, very little had registered. He'd been completely absorbed by Petra's appearance. Nothing could be accomplished if he allowed her to stay. Sighing, he cast Rohan a pained glance and left the rectory's shadow.

She didn't hear his approach. She seemed to be whispering while staring into the well's depth. Perhaps she was making a wish. Her shoulders were slumped, her head bowed, her arms and hands dangled at her side. Even from behind she looked profoundly unhappy.

Emory crept from the shadows and into the moonlight. Four stone paths dissected the cloister and met at the well. Emory stayed on the grass, his gaze never leaving her.

The moon bathed her in a glow. He was close enough to know she smelled of lavender. Looking up, she caught sight of the manor's turrets and her face cleared. Picking up her chemise by the handfuls, she started toward the manor. He trailed after her, past the rectory, past the chapel to a path through the woods to the place where the manor's iron fence had a few missing bars. He wondered how she knew of the short cut.

Across the grounds, the small flicker of a lantern approached. Emory wondered if Petra also saw it and knew the potential danger. He had to warn her. He wouldn't let her stumble into a disastrous meeting.

Emory ducked beneath the low branches of a pine tree, his heart racing. Through the boughs he watched the lantern flash toward where, until moments ago, Petra had walked.

Where had she gone? He held his breath as he searched. Pines, alders, wild brambles, no Petra. Never had he felt so vulnerable. The lantern passed, but Emory stayed in the shelter of the pine.

No voices, no questions. She must have passed Chambers without notice. How had he lost her? He cursed as he headed across the broad lawn toward the manor. Stone-built, the manor had turrets, annexes, towers, and wings.

It embarrassed Emory that despite the size and scope of the place, he knew exactly which window belonged to Petra. He had watched from the woods as a gatekeeper had carried Petra to the manor, as a young footman received her into his arms, as young Falstaff had directed the staff and a parade of candlelight had made its way to a window in the northwest corner. Hours later, as he stood in the shelter of the woods in the early morning light, he had seen Petra standing at the same window.

He knew where she belonged.

Upon reaching the manor, he began the long, slow scale of the wall. One foot up and then another, each hand and foothold searched for and then found in the stone. Midway, he stopped to catch his breath. From his perch he saw the rolling river that led to the village, the sharp point of the chapel's steeple. He hoped Petra had beaten him to her room. He told himself that he only needed to be sure that she had returned safely. He did not intend to hang from a sill waiting for her.

He wondered how Rohan fared and whether they would be able to stop Chambers. If Chambers discovered Rohan's interference, Chambers would have him killed. How many deaths had Rohan endured? Anger and another emotion he couldn't identify flared through him. He reached Petra's windowsill seconds later.

The room was empty. He debated only a moment and then swung over the ledge.

The fire in the grate burned orange. If Petra returned he'd have nowhere to hide and no excuse for being in her bedchamber. If she called out, if he were discovered, conventions would force an immediate marriage. Still, he stood in the center of the room, because he couldn't leave, even though he knew he couldn't stay.

Someone had taken the quilt off her bed and a trail of dirty, Petra sized foot prints led out the door.

He smiled because even though he did not know Petra well, he knew her well enough to know that she would give her quilt to the wounded Roma.

***

Petra woke the next morning when Mary arrived carrying a tray of food. Sitting up on her elbows, Petra pushed the hair out of her eyes.

"Good morning, miss," Mary nearly sang.

Petra grumbled a sleepy reply. "Is breakfast in bed typical?" The day before she'd found it awkward to balance her tray. She hated the thought of spilling something sticky on her sheets.

"Oh, no, miss. Breakfast trays are only for when the master is away." Mary lowered her voice to a whisper. "Lord Garret likes his lie-a-bed." Mary winked as if Petra would find this interesting.

"And the Earl, does he like to lie-whatever too?"

Mary settled the tray beside Petra's knees and looked calculating. "A little lie-about does no harm."

Petra looked at her breakfast and wondered if it could cause any harm. Of course, she really hadn't expected pop-tarts, but she did miss them. Maybe the gypsy would appreciate the hard boiled eggs, slabs of ham, and a scoop of what looked like it might be beans of an unknown variety.

"Does the Earl know I'm here?" Petra asked, sitting up slowly, careful not to jostle the tray.

"How would he know that, miss?"

Petra shrugged and thought about texting, e-mails and instant messaging, not to mention phones, cell phones, telegrams, and the pony express. "If he knew, do you think he'd mind?"

Mary mumbled something like, "Not if he got to keep your jewels," before she went out the door.

Petra picked at a piece of bread and realized that Mary probably wouldn't discuss the Earl, her master, for fear of endangering her job. Through the window Petra saw a tinge of pink. Birds began to call, the morning was waking, but she hoped the occupants of the manor were still asleep. Three outings in her nightie seemed like three too many, but she couldn't wait much longer. Mary would be back for the tray soon.

Slipping out the door with the food tray, Petra tried to think of an excuse for wandering the halls half-clothed but gave up. No one asked much of a half-clothed half-wit. It was a liberating thought. She walked fast, watching the eggs tumble around the tray.

The sudden clamor of church bells almost made her drop the breakfast. Wedding bells? That reminded her that Mary did have expectations...impossible expectations. Petra passed a window and looked out over the rolling estate to the normally busy square beyond the manor's gates. The square looked vacant. No farmers, no vendors.

It's Sunday, she realized. They observe the Sabbath. The thought cheered her and she practically skipped. Would she be invited to attend services? Would Emory and The friar be there? She had plenty of questions for them both.

Thankfully, she didn't pass anyone on the way to the office. Inside, she kicked the door closed with her foot and leaned against the wall, catching her breath. Moments later she was in the now familiar passageway where she couldn't help thinking of Emory.

She flushed remembering how it felt to be in his arms. Just before the attack on the gypsy camp, she had been sure he was going to kiss her. And she had planned on kissing him back. She hadn't wanted anything more or less than that.

And then everything went wrong. She'd thought, she was sure, he'd been killed. The sickness and horror of that moment washed over her.

And then she'd found him in the passageway.

And he wasn't happy to see her.

That hurt. That he hadn't been as touched and moved by seeing her as she'd been hurt. A lot. He'd been shocked to see her, but definitely not happy. The thought of never seeing him again, again, twisted in her belly. It was becoming a familiar feeling.

She turned a corner and told herself to forget Emory. She needed to talk to the man in the monk garb. He'd administered some sort of prayer or blessing on the wounded gypsy and he had found peace as quickly as if the friar had pressed a button. Petra knew that there wasn't a button or potion that could send her home, but maybe...

But she didn't really know that, did she? She'd arrived in Dorrington, England, in the year 1614 without a lot of pain or fanfare, so why shouldn't she be able to return as easily? The friar had some sort of gift. She simply had to persuade him to work his magic on her.

When she turned the corner and came face to face with the empty cells, she asked herself if he had made the gypsy disappear. Where had he gone? Where was her quilt? And now what was she to do with the food? She didn't want to feed the rats.

This was what she really hated about 1614. There were too many questions.

And rats.

***

Dressed in a soft gray dress with a pearl trim bodice, Petra followed Garret and Chambers into the tiny stone church. The congregation of villagers gathered in the chapel, even the flock of sheep trapped in the stained glass window, seemed to stare as she tried to sit in the back pew.

Chambers gave her a heavy frown and Garret sighed deeply when she settled her skirts around her. A family with six children stared at her – six round little mouths hanging open at the sight of a stranger in their spot.

"Oh, do you sit here?" she whispered. She apologized and hurried after Garret, feeling Chambers' frown between her shoulder blades.

As the town's leading citizen it seemed Garret had to sit on the front pew, directly beneath the stern gaze of the priest. Apparently, as the Falstaffs' guest, Petra was expected to also.

The hymns blaring through the organ pipes were giving her a headache and the service hadn't even started.

Garret sat like a statue, clasping a hymnal. Petra tried to peer around him to search for Emory or the friar. Instead she saw Anne slip into the back of the chapel and arrange her blue skirts as her flushed face struggled for calm.

Petra tightened her jaw, straightened her shoulders and fixed her eyes on the priest. She didn't care and wasn't curious about Anne's relationship with Emory.

After the opening prayer, Petra kept her gaze on the pulpit, but her attention wandered. She found it hard to focus, and when she managed to tune in she found the sermon silly. Who, other than a priest with porcupine sideburns, could seriously blame a drought on scandalous behavior?

The priest began droning the Beatitudes, but his message barely scratched Petra's thoughts. I don't want to inherit the earth, she thought; I just want to go home. It didn't seem an unreasonable request when the Lord was promising much greater blessings. The poor, the hungry, the mourners, the meek, the pure in heart, the peacemakers- where did she fit? What about Emory? Where was he and why had he been so mean?

During the closing hymn, Garret's strong bass voice belted out a song Petra didn't know. She mouthed along in monotone and cast him a glance. What if she told him her experiences, how would he react? Would he think her insane? Have her locked away? Would he protect her? Could she hide behind him? Possibly, but that wouldn't be fair. She hadn't a romantic interest in Garret, although she wondered why not. He looked exactly like Kyle. Tall, handsome and kind, yes, but he has the sense of humor of a toad, a small voice in the back of her head told her. Exactly like Kyle. She wondered what she ever saw in him.

Garret caught her watching him, and the corners of his lips lifted, but Petra didn't know if it was a smile or the just the necessary movement to sing chart and compass come from thee.

After the benediction, Petra looked beyond Garret's broad back to watch the friar slipping through the broad double doors. When had he come in? No sign of Emory. Maybe since he couldn't be harmed, he also couldn't walk on hallowed ground, a vampire or demon sort of thing. Not that the congregation appeared so holy. She recognized a few of the parishioners – including Muffin Face, Anne, and some of the men from the cock fighting rink.

Petra didn't believe in vampires or demons, but until a few days ago she hadn't believed in time travel. Maybe she needed to be open minded about all sorts of things including fortunetellers, and even tarot cards. The thought weighed on her. Everything she'd known, or believed to be true, wasn't. When everything seemed possible, then nothing was impossible.

"Absorbing sermon, wouldn't you agree, Miss Baron?" Garret stood between her and the retreating friar as solid and immovable as Mount Sinai.

Petra nodded and tried to snake by, but he followed so close she worried he'd step on her dress.

Outside on the steps of the chapel, the late morning sun streamed through the shade of a maple tree and cast a dappled sunlight on Anne's face as she chatted with the friar and the priest.

Petra stopped beside the priest and laid her hand on Garret's arm. "Good morning." She gave Anne a brief unfriendly nod that she hoped conveyed a small bit of her dislike and then turned to the priest. "Father Knightly, I so enjoyed your sermon."

The priest had an unfortunate resemblance to Abraham Lincoln, the same build and craggy facial features, but with more hair. His eyebrows, dark, thick and long, poked from his forehead like a thorn bush and the front of his hairline had a cowlick that made his hair stand on end.

"Good morning, Miss Carl," Garret sputtered out a greeting to Anne.

Anne lowered her eyes and bobbed a curtsey, looking humble, and yet somehow not.

Petra watched, curious. Did Anne hate Garret, when he so obviously felt differently? Petra's attention flicked from Garret's flushed cheeks and eager eyes to Anne's shuttered face and ramrod-straight back, but then she saw the friar moving down the path toward the church's gates and lost interest in Garret and Anne.

She'd seen historical movies of women running in skirts and decided that they must have been computer animated. Trying to move quickly while wearing a hundred pounds of clothing wasn't going to happen for her. She moved past Muffin Face, navigated through a herd of children, and nearly tripped over an aged woman draped in a shawl.

Spinning around, she didn't see the friar but she caught sight of a plaque nailed on the wooden gate.

"In loving memory of those who fell to Black Shuck, May 1557.

All down the church in midst of fire, the hellish monster flew,

and, passing onward to the quire, he many people slew. "

Beneath the plaque, scorch marks scarred the gate.

"Tis the devil's own fingerprints, that," the woman said, noting Petra's interest.

Chapter Thirteen

Legends as old as the Vikings claim a doom dog known as Black Shuck roams England. It's said that seeing him means certain death within twenty-four hours. He haunts graveyards, side roads, lakes and dark forests. In other tales, he's a protector of lone women. He's also big, ugly and has breath that smells of rotting meat.

—Petra's notes

Petra turned to the woman who came barely to her elbow. Wrapped in the shawl, she must have been warm in the early morning sun, but she looked cold and wizened. Her black eyes stared into Petra's face.

"Black Shuck...is he the devil then?" Petra licked her lips, feeling foolish yet scared.

The woman bent her head. "Not the devil, a hound of hell."

This woman was clearly a relic from the Dark Ages, steeped in what Grammy would have called hoo-hah. Petra tried not to think of her practical Grammy rolling her eyes when she asked, "Black Shuck came here? Others have seen him?"

The woman cackled, exposing a mouth without teeth. "No one lives more than a day after catching sight of Black Shuck."

Petra fought back the shiver that crawled down her spine as she remembered her conversation with Emory. "I'm just so relieved you are alive," she'd said. "As I am you," he'd replied. She'd wondered what he'd meant. He couldn't believe in hell hounds, could he? He had whispered about the legend of the chained oak. Shivering, "No one? Were you here then?"

The woman sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her filthy sleeve. "I was but a bairn on that terrible day."

"Black Shuck came here and everyone who saw him died?" Sarcasm laced Petra's voice as she studied the old woman. She looked as old as a mummy, but according to the plaque, Black Shuck had visited the church only 40 some years ago.

Death comes early, Emory had said, and looking at the woman she supposed that old age came almost as quickly. Petra put her hand to her cheek, wondering if she'd be old in ten or twenty years. She felt a flutter of panic and a renewed sense of urgency to find her way home.

"This black dog, or the devil in such a likeness," the woman said. "God, only He knows how the devil works."

Petra wanted to get away from the witchy old woman; she reminded Petra of the one in the story who cursed the unlucky Earl. She didn't want to hear about a killer canine on a rampage or the devil disguised as a doom dog, and she certainly didn't want to be cursed. But maybe she already was. Was that why she was here? She moved away from the chapel doors, but no longer caring that she might be thought rude.

The woman trailed after her. "Running all along down the body of the church with great swiftness and incredible haste."

Petra hastened toward the gate, but the woman managed to stay at her elbow, speaking and spraying spit.

"He came among the people in a visible form and shape. He passed between two persons as they were kneeling in prayer and wrung the necks off them both at one instant. Clean backward."

Petra managed to reach the cemetery's gate, a stone and wrought iron contraption, but she hadn't been able to shake the old woman.

"Where they kneeled they died," the woman said, leering up at Petra, revealing nostrils ringed with hair.

"That's a terrible story." Petra frowned at the woman. "That's the second worst story I've heard since I've come here."

"Tis not a story – "

"Yes it is!" Even in her own ears her voice sounded screechy. "None of it's true. It's all..." She fought to find the word, "hullabaloo, hoo-hah!" Frustrated that she'd been reduced to her grandmother's terminology, she nearly shouted. "Superstition!"

The woman gaped, her mouth a terrible, smelly hole.

"There are no such things as curses, or hags, or devil dogs!" Petra put a hand on her forehead as if to stop all her wild thoughts. "Please excuse me."

As she stumbled into the cemetery, she realized she'd returned to the spot where she'd first met Anne. Lifting her skirts, Petra walked briskly among the tombstones, as if she knew where she was headed, as if she had a destination to pin point on a map.

She heard a low chuckle. "Hoo-hah? Hullabaloo?"

With her hands on her hips, she turned, ready to defend her vocabulary.

The friar stood among the tombstones, amusement on his face. "Come, my dear, no need to resort to obscenities."

"Hoo-hah and hullabaloo are hardly obscenities." Petra's face flushed with anger.

"But it is derogatory."

"I can be much more derogatorial."

The friar laughed till he had to wipe his eyes.

Despite her aggravation, Petra found herself warming to him. She sat on a tombstone and watched him laugh at her.

"I can do insulting, would you like to hear more?"

Scathing retorts, insulting barbs, the subtle diss—she had a repertory. Not that reducing others to tears was something to brag about, but in the jungle of high school halls, it was a useful tool. One that she intended to use on Emory if she got the chance.

"Will they all be as amusing?" the friar asked. "Perhaps we should first be introduced. I find it very useful to know whom I am insulting." He cleared his throat. "Perhaps that's a lesson you might do well to learn. I am Friar Rohan."

She cocked her head at him, debating on whether or not to remind him that they'd spent some time together last night. "Friar Rohan, I'm Petra, but you already know that. I think Emory told you about me."

"My dear," Rohan said. "I pray that you do not consider yourself the central topic of everyone's conversation."

Petra bit back a sharp remark, one that could perhaps hurt as badly as his, but she knew she needed Friar Rohan, miracle man. She needed a miracle badly. "Has Emory mentioned me?" she asked more meekly.

He nodded, and his eyes twinkled as if he were having a wonderful time.

"I thought so." Petra felt annoyance tingling up her back. "Did he also tell you about mangy Black Shuck, and how I've apparently bucked tradition?"

"Mangy?" Rohan's eyebrows twitched. "Black Shuck is a magnificent beast. I'm sure it'd ruffle his fur to be described as mangy."

"So you've seen him, too? Does Emory know?"

"Not everyone is susceptible to hell's wiles."

Petra snorted. "Or superstition."

"Do not mock what you don't understand," he gently cautioned, not unkindly.

"I'm not mocking. I'm sad and scared."

"Ah yes, so I can see." He squinted at her. "Well, happy up."

Petra inhaled sharply. "What did you say?"

Rohan blinked as he lowered his girth onto a headstone. The marker disappeared beneath the spread of his frock. "Happy up? It's not, perhaps, as derogatorial – "

"Who are you?" Petra asked, studying his face. He looked like a clean-shaven Santa Claus. She'd expect him to say "ho, ho, ho, merry Christmas," or even "happy Christmas," but not "happy up." That was her father's expression. "Happy up," her father would say right before he called her Peevish Petra. She didn't know anyone else who used the saying and she doubted it was a common expression in 1610. Nothing about this man seemed common or ordinary.

He returned her gaze with kind, blue eyes. "I am your friend."

Petra shook her head. "We've just met. Besides, I get the feeling you're not very picky who is, or who isn't, your friend."

Rohan smiled at her. "Not true. For example, Black Shuck is not my friend."

"Is there such a thing?"

Rohan lifted his eyebrows at her. "Any friend of Emory's—"

"Emory is not my friend."

"He most certainly is," Rohan put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. "He just doesn't know it yet."

"And how would you know?"

"Heaven helps me."

Heaven helps me or, heaven help me? An odd thing to say, Petra thought.

"Or, perhaps more fitting to say, I help heaven." He winked. "We're on the same team."

"Whose team do you think I'm on?"

"Your own of course. 'Tis true for most of us, I'm afraid."

"But not you?"

Rohan raised his eyebrows. "He who's not with me is against me."

"You're the easiest person to understand I've met since I've gotten here, and yet, it's like you're talking in riddles. I'm not against you and I'm not on a team."

He chuckled. "Are we not sitting together? And if you are not here, where are you?

When she didn't answer, he pressed, "Where would you like to be?"

"Home," she said.

"And how will you get there?"

She frowned at him. "What has Emory told you about me?"

He laughed and it seemed to come from deep within his belly. She couldn't help smiling.

"With his words, you mean?"

"Of course with his words! How else would he tell you anything?"

Rohan gave her a teasing smile. "Words are perhaps the least effectual form of communication, which our dear Father Knightly so aptly demonstrated in this morning's sermon." He gave a great sigh and looked at the church.

Father Knightly stood on the steps. The two men scowled at each other. Rohan looked sad for a moment and contemplated his hairy toes sticking out of his leather sandals. Then he looked up at her. "For example, the good father and I just enjoyed a little exchange. Did you notice?"

"Would 'enjoy' be the right word?"

"Much more fitting, I believe, than derogatorial." Rohan gave her a small smile. "Forgive my demonstration. I just wanted to prove that there are more means of communication than words. So, do you want to know what Emory said of you with his words? Or otherwise?"

Words could be insulting, but the otherwise? She'd really like to know the otherwise.

"I thought so." Rohan laughed again, looking a fraction wicked. "Last night he said you were...shall we say, derogatorial."

"He was mean, not me." I just wanted to see where he'd been hurt. I still want to see that.

"He said you said to him, 'shuck you.' He didn't know what it meant, but he didn't like it."

"He wasn't meant to." She hated that she sounded contrite. Should she apologize? It did sound pretty offensive, even if it didn't mean a thing. "Did Emory tell you I want to go home?"

"You've lost your way?"

"Yes!" Petra's heart leapt. "Can you help me?"

"Maybe, but you may not like it."

"I really want to go home. I'm desperate to go home."

Rohan considered her and then asked, "Then why don't you?"

"I don't know how!" She would if she could. Of course, she would. Even if it meant never seeing Emory again. He meant nothing to her. She needed to tell him that he was rude and mean, she'd be doing the world a favor by teaching him to be polite.

"Last night I saw you heal the gypsy. He was writhing in pain, and then you did something, said something, and he... calmed down. Now he's gone. He was so bloody and hurt. He couldn't have just walked out. You did something."

Rohan shook his head. "I can't bring you peace, Petra."

She flung out her hands. "But you worked some sort of magic."
"It's not magic, my dear." He sighed. "You're asking the wrong questions."

"What do you mean?"

Rohan scratched the top of his head. "Perhaps instead of asking how, you should ask why."

"Why do I want to go home?" Petra's voice squeaked.

"No, my dear." He studied her with patience. "Why are you here?"

Petra placed her hands on her hips. "I don't know that either."

"But have you asked?"

"And who would I ask? You?" She took a step closer and lowered her face even to his. "Do you know why I'm here?" she asked slowly and steadily, as if she was talking to someone who had difficulty understanding English.

"You're here for the same reason I'm here. Indeed, wherever any of us may be." He grinned at her, which made her even angrier. "To help."

"To help? Help who? Help with what?"

"Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened."

She balled her hands into fists and thought of knocking Rohan on the head. "Show me where to knock, because I'd really like to know."

"Ask and receive not because ye ask amiss."

Petra applauded herself for not knocking the man to the ground.

"Some questions just don't have easy answers."

A snapping twig interrupted their conversation. Petra looked up as a shadow fell across the bench.

"Ah, Miss Baron." Garret took a deep breath and brushed the hair from his eyes. "I've found you." He looked uncomfortable. "Good day, sir, I'd come to accompany Miss Petra to the manor."

Petra didn't consider her conversation with Rohan over; she still had plenty of questions for him, questions she didn't want to ask in front of Garret.

"Shall we go?" Garret asked, his tone the same he'd use if he were asking if she'd like to witness a hanging.

Petra looked over her shoulder and saw Anne talking to Emory. Her heart pinged. He wore dark breeches, a white open shirt, a low-slung belt and despite his simple attire he looked like royalty. She couldn't hear their conversation, but she managed to hear the words 'rendezvous' and 'this afternoon.' From the expression on Garret's face, she knew that he had also heard their plans.

Garret followed her gaze and his scowl deepened. "Come," he urged her toward the waiting carriage. As he took her arm and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, he patted her hand as if to console her. "Good day, sir," he said to Rohan, leading Petra away.

***

Garret looked worse than she felt. He sat in the carriage and stared out the window with lowered eyebrows. He had one leg crossed over the other and the top leg swung like a pendulum. Petra sat across from him, carefully avoiding his boot.

Carriages looked romantic with their velvet interiors and gold gilded paneling, but they smelled of horse poop and bumped and jostled over every rock and pothole. Petra and Garret bounced toward the manor in uneasy, teeth-rattling silence.

Until they stopped.

Garret reached forward and pounded on the dash. "I say, Fritz, how now?"

When Fritz didn't respond, Garret pushed back the curtain that separated the cabin from the driver's perch. No Fritz. Garret muttered a curse that she'd never heard before, but because it must have been bad, he gave her a sideways look and muttered an apology.

Seconds later Fritz appeared at the carriage door holding a large metal contraption in his hand. Garret asked what Petra was wondering. "What is that?"

A pink tinge stained Fritz's neck. "I beg your pardon sir, this is an axle." He cleared his throat. "A broken axle, to be more exact."

"Well, by faith, fix it."

The pink tinge moved to Fritz's cheeks. "I haven't the proper tools with me, sir." He looked balefully at the contraption.

Garret pushed out of the carriage, and Petra watched through the window. "Then how will we get home?" Garret demanded.

"It's not far," Petra said, considering her satin shoes and wondering how they'd hold up in a cow pasture before she said, "We could walk."

"Walk?" Garret's expression said he wouldn't have been more surprised if she had suggested they turned themselves into birds and fly across the field.

She saw the towers of Pennington Place on the other side of the hill. It wouldn't take long. She'd walked much farther last night. "It's right there."

"Walk through the field? With the cows?" Petra smiled because he looked so much like Kyle when he'd been told he had to drive his Uncle Billy's Oldsmobile to school because his Volvo needed an oil change.

She pulled her lips down, attempting to look serious. "Well, they won't hurt us, will they?"

"They're filthy."

"But slow, right?" She didn't know anything about cows, but the ones on the cheese commercials always seemed good-natured.

The pink dominated Fritz's face. Sweat ran down his forehead and he pulled at his collar. He's hiding something, Petra thought. But why?

Chapter Fourteen

A bull is different from cows:

A bull is much more muscular, has larger hooves, a very strong neck, and a big, bony head.

A bull is taller and weighs a lot more.

A bull becomes fertile at about seven months of age.

A bull is nothing like the California happy cows in the TV commercials.

—Petra's notes

Fritz answered by pulling down a basket from the driver's perch. The warm smell of fresh baked bread escaped from beneath the check cloth covering the basket and wafted her way.

Mary, you sly match-making dog, Petra thought.

"Sir, if you and my lady wish to retire in the shade of the tree," Fritz said, his words stiff, as if rehearsed. "I will fix the axle and return herewith." He pulled a quilt from his perch and tucked it over his arm.

Herewith? The blanket suggested a stay overnight. Petra glanced at the cloudless sky, grateful for the sun and warm breeze. "My lord, we can walk," she insisted.

"No!" Fritz said at the same time Garret bellowed, "We will not!"

Petra rolled her eyes, annoyed, but then her annoyance turned to distrust. "Wait. If I stay here, with you, doesn't that...I mean, couldn't that..." she searched her memory. In Laurel's Regency romance novels, there were complicated rules of etiquette and if any were breached a marriage always seemed to be the punishment. Alcoves, terraces, and bed chambers were off limits, of course, but what about a tree in the middle of nowhere? Garret, as the son of an Earl, would be expected to uphold certain standards, but what were those standards? "If we stay too long together, alone, wouldn't that be bad for my reputation?"

Fritz blinked rapidly, his lips forming words he didn't say. Petra watched him through lowered eyelids. What was it with these people? Fritz, Mary, why were they so anxious for her to hook up with Garret?

"I will walk." Petra announced, scrambling out of the carriage. Her skirts caught on the door jamb, pulling her dress up around her thighs. She yanked them free.

Garret stared at her legs with an open mouth. "Alone?"

"Yes, alone." Petra swept a disgusted gaze over him as she righted her skirts and headed for the split-rail fence.

"My lady, I beg of you," Fritz began. "I'll return shortly, you have my oath, but if you're in the field, I won't be able to find you."

"We could have been halfway home by now," Petra said over her shoulder. She pulled up her skirts to climb over the fence. Behind her, she heard gasps.

A hand on her arm stopped her mid climb. "My lady," Garret said. "Please, I know another way. We will be home within an hour."

The panicked expression on Fritz's face had eased, the pink had left his cheeks and returned to his neck.

"We'll have to go through the woods," Garret said in a tone that sounded like, we'll have to go through hell.

They walked silently up the hill beneath sun dappled trees. Garret matched his long stride to Petra's shorter one and she was glad for his quiet, if hostile company. Although she'd ridden to church in the carriage, supposedly on this same road, nothing looked familiar. They could have been transported to Italy for all she knew. "You do know where we are, right?"

"We aren't far from the village," Garret told her.

From a distance, the church bells began to toll long and low and Petra wondered why. It felt bizarre to be walking through the countryside with a strange man in a foreign place while church bells rang an ominous rhythm.

They rounded a corner and came face to face with a monster. Not literally a monster, maybe, but definitely monster-like compared to any creature Petra had ever seen up close and for real. Her mind said bull, but her gut said wooly mammoth. His horns glistened in the midday sun. Leaves of grass poked out of his mouth and twitched as he chewed. Standing three feet away in the middle of the road he seemed larger than any of his family members, distant brown menaces in a field.

Garret took a step backward and put a protective arm in front of Petra. "Let's hope he has already eaten his supper," he said softly.

The creature snorted, as if to say that he preferred humans to grass.

***

Emory squinted through the dust motes that filled the tiny wooden structure's air and counted the powder kegs. Sunlight peeked through broken, gaping slats. Spiders spun in the corners and hay, like a golden mountain, covered nine kegs. The gun powder was easily enough ammunition to blow a wing off Hampton court, destroy the translations, the translators and a few members of the king's court as well.

"My life for tinder and flame," Anne said.

Emory glanced at her. Her fever-bright eyes told him that she was only partly jesting. "Come," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder to draw her away. "We are halfway home. It is almost done."

Anne refused to budge. "But it tempts me so. We should set it now. Imagine the flames."

Emory, who had his own fearful memories of fire and flame, took her hand and pulled her down a cart path. "If we act too soon, they will have time to recover. The distribution is key. Until then, we cannot risk disclosure, nor can we endanger you."

"I have no fear of them," Anne said, shuffling and kicking up small dust devils.

"You should," Emory told her. "I fear for you."

"Because I am a gentle woman? Because you believe I should keep my concerns to home and hearth? But who is to say that the word of God isn't a womanly concern?"

"Chambers and his lot are dangerous, Anne. As you well know, this is not a game."

"Why have you no fear for yourself? Or for Rohan?" Anne asked. "Rohan is not in his youth; he should be safely tucked into a monastery tending herbs and perfecting Latin."

Hearing voices, Emory stopped and placed his hand on Anne's back.

Anne also heard the raised voices and whispered, "Tis the Sabbath. Have they no care?"

Emory slid his gaze toward her, smiling at her hypocrisy and indignation. "Hush, perhaps it is our zealots," he murmured. Then he recognized the voices. Slowing, he crested a small hill and saw Petra, Falstaff carrying what appeared to be a picnic basket, and a bull standing in the middle of the road.

Petra waved a large stick in front of the bull's nose, but the animal didn't seem even mildly threatened. Further down the road was the carriage, lilting to one side with a wheel lying alongside of it.

Watching Falstaff and Petra battling the bull, Emory fought a wave of unreasonable irritation. "It would appear your would-be suitor is seeking another's favor."

"He is not my suitor," Anne said through gritted teeth. She dropped her hand and turned away.

"Not for lack of effort," Emory said. His heart thumped, suddenly off rhythm, when Falstaff pulled Petra against his back.

"I'm glad he's turned his attentions elsewhere," Anne said, lifting her chin and sounding small and young.

Then Emory realized that he was responsible for the roaming bull. "Did you close the gate?" he whispered to Anne.

She leaned toward him. "A manly chore, much too difficult for a gentlewoman such as myself."

Emory's lips twitched. "We must help them."

Anne shielded her eyes from the sun. "They are as helpless as children." She said it casually, fondly even, but Emory heard a steely note in her voice.

Emory knew he had to take Anne home. He had only brought her because she had refused to tell him the information, Rohan's information, unless he'd let her join him. He should have left her in the churchyard and found Rohan himself, but Rohan had been speaking with Petra and he would rather compromise Anne than face Petra.

A bad decision and here he faced another decision. Turn away from Petra, Falstaff and the bull? Before he drew Anne away and bypassed the trio, he heard distant horse hooves. It might be anyone, he thought, but the chill down his spine warned him it was Chambers or his men.

It seemed Petra was not to be avoided.

Chapter Fifteen

King James authorized the Church of England's translation of the Bible in 1604. He appointed 47 clergymen who completed their task in 1611. Many factions of the church disapproved of the availability of the Bible to the common man.

—Petra's notes

"He sounds unfriendly," Garret said.

The bull snorted, pawed the ground and made guttural noises in the back of his throat, but another noise caught Petra's attention. She looked around Garret's back to watch Emory and Anne at the fence.

"And what is friendlier than a Sunday afternoon picnic?" Emory said, stepping onto the road, before helping Anne over the sty. "May we join you?"

"Emory, can you not see they are already dealing with one uninvited guest?" Anne smiled but her eyes were calculating. She shook out her skirts; the hem was dirty and smudged.

In a world where it seemed very few of the opposite sex were on a first name basis, why did Anne get to call him Emory? Why did they get to wander through pastures together when she and Garret had to watch their toes for fear of being punished by marriage?

She looked to see if Garret shared her thoughts, but his attention was firmly focused on the bull. Petra's gaze flew from Emory to Anne and back to the bull, who, snorting and pawing, refused to be ignored.

Emory undid his belt buckle and fashioned a lasso. Petra's heartbeat accelerated as Emory looped his belt over the monster's horns. The bull fought, but Emory, avoiding horns, teeth and hooves pulled the creature behind the fence. Anne locked the gate and Emory vaulted to safety.

The entire episode had taken less than a minute. With his nose to the ground and grass sticking from his mouth, the bull seemed happy enough.

Petra wondered how long she and Garret had faced off with the bull. Maybe it'd only been minutes, but it had seemed like forever. How long would they have stayed there, trying to out-stare the bull if Emory hadn't shown up? She felt a smidgeon of reluctant gratitude.

"Well done, sir," Garret said. He glanced at the basket and quilt, as if he'd forgotten their existence. Gathering his resolve, he turned to Anne and said, "Let us retire to the shade of the oak and share some wine." It was a statement, but Garret made it sounded like a question.

Anne clapped her hands and said, "Splendid idea." All smiles and giddiness, Anne rang false.

"Splendid," Petra muttered. She stood apart, watching Garret spread the blanket over the spotty grass and buttercups. Anne settled on the quilt and drew her skirts over her tiny shoes. Garret drew bread, cloth wrapped cheese, apples and a pair of tin goblets from the basket and set them in front of Anne with a shy smile and a flourish.

"It appears a luncheon made for two," Anne said, cocking her head and smiling at him.

"Tis plenty for all," Garret said, a flush staining his cheeks, "especially for you."

Petra scowled, watching Garret fawn over Anne. Why had Emory and Anne both turned on their charm? What were they doing on this deserted road? Didn't Garret even wonder? What did he see in her? Why was he so into her? And was that hay on the hem of Anne's skirt? Beyond the hill stood some sort of a barn, had Emory and Anne been in the barn? Where were the etiquette police when they were needed?

Not that she wanted to force Anne and Emory into marriage.

"Are you not joining us, Miss Petra?" Anne said, sweetly.

Emory, who'd been looking over her shoulder turned to smile at Petra's left ear. He didn't meet her gaze. She turned to see what he'd been watching. In the far distance, two men on horseback approached the barn. If they came closer, they would have to square off with the bull. She faced Emory and wondered if his sudden save the bull act had anything to do with the men on horses. Were Emory and Anne hiding from them?

A flicker in the back of Petra's mind told her that something more than hunger had brought Emory and Anne to their bull rescue.

"Please, Miss Petra," Garret said, motioning toward the quilt. "As gentlemen, we must remain standing until you sit."

"Or, should we defy convention, we risk of getting cricks in our necks conversing," Emory picked up the wine bottle and studied its markings.

"You must sit down, dear," Anne cooed. "The heat and the excitement of encountering the bull must have frightened you and you wouldn't want to cause yourself further harm."

Petra opened her mouth and then shut it quickly. She wanted to cause serious harm. The two men smiled at her. At that moment, she hated them all, but not knowing what else to do or where to go, she sat.

Garret sliced the apples with a knife that looked capable of taking down the bull. He laid cloth napkins before Petra and Anne and then placed thin apple slices on the cloth.

"Miss Petra, you employ the most interesting turns of phrases," Anne said, picking up an apple slice. "They are charmingly original to my ear."

"Yes," Emory agreed, accepting a slice of cheese from Garret. "Just last night I heard her say shuck you and I've been baffled ever since."

"Oh, I think you know what that means," Petra said, frowning at the apple slices. One had a brown spot, like a worm hole.

Garret looked at their faces. "I was not aware that the two of you had met before."

"Briefly," Petra said.

Emory flinched beneath Garret's gaze.

"Then perchance you can settle the mystery of Lady Baron's sudden arrival," Garret said.

"I am afraid not," Emory said. "Lady Baron is as much a mystery to me as to you."

"But if as you say, you met last night – " Garret pressed.

"Tell us about your village," Anne said, smiling, but definitely interrupting. "Maybe something you say will ring true."

Ring true? As if she was lying? Of course she was lying. She couldn't very well tell the truth, no one would believe her. This was one of those instances where honesty was the worst policy.

"Yes, tell us more of your village, my lady," Emory said.

Petra took a deep breath. "Well, in Royal Oaks, if a gentlemen is nice one day, he'd also be nice the next."

Garret looked at Emory and Anne. "Nicety surely knows no geography," he said.

"You're kindness doesn't," Petra said, smiling into his eyes.

Garrett poured the wine into a goblet and set it in front of Petra.

She shook her head. "I don't drink, especially if there's a possibility of a sleeping potion."

Anne had the grace to blush.

"Suspicion, a malady, I'm afraid," Emory murmured, taking the goblet in front of her. "May I?"

Petra looked over his shoulder and watched horsemen at the shed. She was sure Emory was playing some sort of game and she didn't know the rules, was perhaps, even incapable of learning how to play. She didn't understand any of them. She felt like Alice at the Mad Hatter's tea party.

She stood, determined to not stay another minute. She didn't need funky mushrooms or drugged cakes to help her get away.

The men, surprised, slowly, reluctantly, climbed to their feet.

She nodded stiffly. "Goodbye." She knew she was ruining their party, but she didn't care. Anything seemed better than this. Emory made her feel like he was a cat and she was mouse.

Anne and Garret made her feel in the way.

***

Emory felt sick as he watched Petra leave. He'd caused her pain. Guilt settled across his shoulders. He tried to shake it off, tried to engage in Anne's and Falstaff's conversation, but he kept watching Petra, small and sad, walk away.

Anne laughed, and he supposed it shouldn't surprise him, but it did. He stared at his friend. The anger, where had it gone? What had Falstaff said to make her forget her vengeance for her brother's death?

Falstaff leaned forward. To Emory's amazement, Anne also leaned in. They were practically nose to nose. She looked...mesmerized. Laughter in her eyes, pink staining her cheeks, Emory couldn't watch. It was too intimate.

"Excuse me," Emory said, quickly standing and brushing off his breeches. He cleared his throat and started again. "I'll walk Miss Baron to the manor."

Falstaff and Anne had their eyes locked on each other.

"Would you like us to accompany you?" Falstaff asked without breaking eye contact with Anne. He spoke like at school, saying something he knew that he should, but didn't mean.

Emory wondered what Falstaff would do if he said yes. Emory considered accepting Falstaff's offer, just to see what would happen. But Garret and Anne, caught in their trance, captivated by one another, were unpleasant company. "Thank you, no. I'll be off."

Anne didn't look up when he left.

Emory sped to catch up to Petra. He'd never known a lady who walked so fast. With her skirts clutched in her hands, she was near as brisk as many a man. Although, she looked nothing like a man. With her chin up she looked like an avenging angel.

Once he caught up with her, he wished he'd taken more time, because now, a few strides away, he didn't know what to say.

"If I've given cause for grief, I apologize," Emory addressed Petra's back.

She started to turn toward him, but then caught herself and poked her chin an inch higher, revealing her soft white throat. He waited for her to speak, but she didn't.

"I did not mean to be unkind," Emory said softly.

Petra stared straight ahead and after a few beats of thickening silence said, "You were kind the night before. You gave me a ring."

"To keep you safe."

Her chin lowered a fraction, but she continued to take long, fast strides. "Safe wouldn't be the word I would use to describe that night."

"And yet, here we are, a few days past, quite safe."

She pressed her lips together. "No thanks to you."

He gave a small laugh. "And how, my lady, do you think you landed at the gatehouse?"

She looked at him then. He saw anger, perhaps wounded pride, in her eyes.

"I don't know how you did that since I saw a man run a sword through you, but if you rescued me, why did you take me there?" She tramped ahead. When he didn't respond, she pressed, "Why couldn't I be safe with you?"

He racked his brain for something to say. Turn around, walk away, do not ever look upon her again, a voice in his head urged. He didn't know if he was prolonging both of their pain by matching her stride for stride, but he didn't listen to the voice. He couldn't leave. "You are safe at the manor."

She turned, fists clenched at her side. "With the men who ordered a gypsy hunt?"

"They would never harm you."

"And you would?"

"To your reputation I should cause irreparable damage – "

"And Anne's reputation? What about that? She gets to roll around in the hay with you, but I have to be packed off to the manor for safe-keeping?"

Emory's voice turned hard. "I assure you, Anne and I were not rolling in hay."

Petra sniffed. "You were with her, alone. Hay must have been involved because I saw it on her skirt."

Emory didn't answer.

"Besides, how can I have a reputation when no one here knows me?" Petra asked.

"They will come to know you," Emory said softly. "They will grow to love you."

She flounced away. "I don't want to know them!" she flung over her shoulder. "I don't want them to know me, let alone love me."

He caught up to her in two steps.

"And who is the ominous They?" she asked. "Who are you worried about offending?"

"Everyone lives by the rules dictated by society – "

"You say that, but I don't think it's true." Petra stopped in front of him and pointed her finger at his chest. "Not for you, at least. You might think it's true for me and all mere mortals like me, yet somehow you're above all that." Reaching out, she jabbed him in the belly where the sword wound should have been.

He didn't flinch. Too late, he realized he should have.

"You saw Black Shuck," she made it sound like he'd committed high treason. "Why didn't you die?" Taking a step closer she lowered her voice. "Why are you immune to the devil dog?"

He shook his head and said softly, "Do not mock what you don't understand."

She stood directly in front of him, her face lifted. A frisson tingled through him. One step back, take the step, one and then two, do it. The voice, normally so effective, didn't sway him. He couldn't leave.

Maybe that's why it was so surprising when she did. She was able to do what he dare not. He watched her go.

***

Petra prided herself on grand exits. She knew she did them well. Nothing said "you're zilch to me" as a little butt-swagger. No looking back. Looking back made the grand strut a lie. So when she looked back, she told herself she was looking for Garret and Anne with a cautious over the shoulder glimpse. When she saw Emory's attention fixated, not on her butt as it should be, but on a dusty wagon filled with straw, she flushed with anger.

Slowing, she considered her options. Backtrack to find Anne and Garret or go to the manor? She could look for Rohan and try to persuade him to help her go home, again. Not that she would know where to find him.

The manor's towers poked up over a distant hill. She supposed if she stayed on the same road she'd get there eventually. Garret wouldn't be there, but Chambers might be. Despite the warm sun, she shivered. She knew it was wrong to dislike someone because of their eyebrows, but she did. If she went to the manor, she'd be forced to hide in her room to avoid Chambers.

The dusty road passed farmhouses and barns. Her shoes weren't the walking type and after a few minutes, she stopped and leaned against a fence to remove them. Balancing on one foot, she slipped off her shoe and rubbed her tender heel. She looked up in time to see a hay wagon disappearing into a barn.

A crouching shadow crossed the field. Straightening, Petra watched. The shadow moved to the barn's gaping entrance. Petra stepped closer, just in time to see Emory slip inside.

Crouching, creeping, skulking— stalker words. Why would Emory stalk a hay wagon? It had to have something to do with the horsemen she'd seen him watching earlier. Her cheeks flamed. Covert action. She'd read the term in some book and she'd never had a reason to use it before, but it seemed to fit. Emory had used her for covert action. He and Anne had acted all friendly, but really they were hiding from the horsemen.

Petra climbed the fence and after a careful look for the bull, trailed Emory to the barn. Horses and cows milled around the pasture. The bull, a distant lump of brown, dozed in the shade of an oak.

A sheep trotted forward to inspect Petra's gown. Then, as if reading Petra's mood, bleated away. Petra peeked inside the barn. Dark and smelly, the barn appeared mostly empty, except for a hay wagon.

She caught sight of a pair of pitchforks stabbing and lifting hay off the wagon. She could only see the tops of the hats belonging to the two men. No sign of Emory, she thought, searching the barn's dark corners for movement. A ladder ran to a loft filled with hay. She watched the shifting straw. Not even a breeze moved through the barn.

"Chambers, he be wanting this loaded onto a boat," the man in the straw hat said. "Must be some boat."

Chambers? Boat?

"Laws, man," said the man in black hat. "I told you no names be mentioned!"

A pitch fork pointed at a cow watching them through an open window. "Who you think Betsy goin' be telling? The King?"

A hand swooped off the straw hat and swatted the black hat with it. Black Hat speared the straw hat with his pitchfork and lifted it high into the air.

"Curse you, Darby!" The pitchfork and hat fell to the barn floor, sending up a spray of dust motes.

Petra squelched a sneeze and then another. Turning, she smacked into a broad chest.

An arm went around her waist, pulling her against him, a hand clasped over her mouth. She knew it was him. The arm around her waist was too tight and the hand on her mouth too fixed. She marshaled all her self-defense know-how and elbowed him in the abs. She grinned at his surprised woof. After a quick glance at the hats, who continued their pitch fork work without breaking rhythm or conversation she brought her elbow up to deliver a blow to his nose.

Emory caught her elbow and used it to drag her to the far side of the barn. She let herself go limp and when he was unguarded, she threw her arm back, breaking his hold. Breathing heavily, she faced him.

Emory rubbed his nose. "What are you doing here?" He spoke quietly yet forcibly. With his eyebrows lowered he looked so haughty she wanted to rub his nose in a cow pie. There were plenty to choose from. She thought quickly and remembered the one name she'd overheard from the hats. "Spying on Chambers," she whispered, watching his reaction. He took a step back, obviously surprised. She took a step toward him. "What are you doing here?"

He glared.

"If I scream those men with pitchforks will make short work of you. Maybe you're not afraid of pitchforks, but I bet you're afraid of Chambers." She cocked her head. "Why?"

He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. "Why what?"

"Why aren't you afraid of pitchforks? Why are you interested in the hay wagon? What is Chambers loading onto a boat?"

He didn't reply and so she continued. "I could help you, you know. I'm staying at the manor. I could spend much more time with Chambers...not that he's pleasant company, but I could keep my eye on him."

"Keep your eye on him," he repeated slowly, a smile tugging at his lips. "That sounds uncomfortable." He reached for her, but she twisted away.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes. I find it frightening that I do." He folded his arms across his chest.

She mimicked his stance. "Tell me what's going on or I scream."

He tugged her to a stand of trees where they could talk above whispers. "You are going back to the manor."

She took a deep breath. "One."

He fought back a smile. "One what?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "Tell me by the count of three, or I scream."

"Don't be a fool." He looked toward the barn, uncertain.

"Two." She took a step closer to him. "I'm not a fool. I'm an AP scholar and top student in my honors English course." Tears sprang to her eyes when she considered the muddle she was in and far removed she felt from her real life.

"I do not know what any of that means, but I think you mean me to be impressed." Emory rubbed his nose again.

Petra blinked back another tear. This surprised her. She never cried, but everything was a huge mishmash. She felt like she'd lost not only her way home, but also her identity. Taking another deep breath, she steadied herself and opened her mouth to scream. Screaming was better than crying.

Emory rushed forward, took her in his arms, and silenced her.

Chapter Sixteen

Scientists once believed that people found kissing pleasurable because kissing lips generate an electrical current. This may not be true, but kissing can be shocking.

—Petra's notes

His mouth tasted warm and slightly of wine. A warning somewhere deep within her sounded, but she pushed it away.

"Why would you help me?" he asked softly and she felt his breath and the movement of his lips against her throat. His hands spanned her waist. Before she could answer, his lips found hers again and he bent her backward, leaning over her.

For a few dizzy seconds she couldn't think of anything other than the kiss. "Everyone needs a little help," Petra said, struggling to find her voice. His lips returned to her throat, trailed down the side of her neck and stopped below her ear.

"I do not want or need your help," Emory said, running his hands up and down her back.

"Not exactly true," Petra said, pulling away so she could see his face. "Kissing, for example, is very difficult to do alone. Tell me what you want with Chambers and I'll kiss you again."

He laughed. "You want to kiss me. Again."

She backed away and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I think I learned in biology class that you want to kiss me more."

He took a step toward her, and she bit her lip.

"Biology class? What other secrets did you learn in this biology class?"

She thought about everything science had learned since the 1600s and smiled. At the moment, she didn't want to talk about micro-matter.

"Tell me your secrets, and I'll tell you mine," she said, trying to sound calm, despite the rioting inside. Self preservation told her to run. Her emotions told her to lean into him. Her sensible self said she didn't know Emory and what she did know didn't make any sense. But he could hurt her. A lot. I'm not safe with Emory, she told herself and managed to take two steps back.

"I'm sure you'd find my secrets impossible to believe," he said in a ragged voice, running his hand through his hair.

"I'm pretty sure you won't believe my secrets, either. I wouldn't believe me, but you can trust me to spy on Chambers."

He reached her in one step and placed his hands on either side of her face. Staring into her eyes, he said, "I don't want you around Chambers – "

"You're the one who put me there," she reminded him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "Tell me what to look for." She leaned toward him and kissed him on the lips. Remembering what Rohan had said, she whispered, "I can help. Tomorrow Anne is coming to the manor with another tapestry. I can watch Chambers and pass information to Anne, but first, I need to know what I'm looking for. And why."

"I am not as interested in Chambers as I am in you." Emory let her go and turned. "I shouldn't be interested in you. This is wrong."

She touched his arm, gently. "I agree." She steeled herself and tried to sound more rational than her clamoring emotions. She knew girls who hooked up with a different guy every weekend; they seemed to be able to casual kiss. That she'd never been interested in making out for make-out sake didn't mean it couldn't be done. Girls in the locker-room called it NCMO, noncommittal make-out. "A kiss can just be a kiss."

"It wasn't just a kiss for me." He intertwined their fingers and rubbed his thumb on the inside of her wrist.

Her blood thrummed beneath his touch. "It has to be," she said, squeezing his hand as he pulled her to him. "I don't belong here."

"But you're here now." He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. "How long will you stay?"

She smiled. "Until I can find my way home. And until then, as long as I'm at the manor, I'll help you with your Chambers problem."

"Why?"

"You tell me."

He sighed. "You mustn't endanger yourself. Or take unnecessary risks."

She frowned. Why is he such an adult? she wondered. Why does he act older than my dad?

Then he placed his hand on the back of her neck and kissed her deeply. Suddenly even putting him in the same sentence as her dad seemed creepy. He murmured, "Promise me or the discussion is over."

She wanted him to kiss her again, but held his lips just a few inches away from hers. Finally, she said, "I promise I'll be very, very careful."

"Good." He stepped away, and she felt cold without him near her. "Chambers is dangerous. Worse, he's impassioned."

"About what?"

"He wants to destroy the translations of the King James Bible."

"The King James Bible?"

"You know of it?"

"Sure, the whole world knows of it." Petra immediately realized her mistake.

He looked baffled. "How can that be? It has yet to be distributed."

Petra thought quickly and avoided the question. Remembering the long and boring prayer Chambers had given over every meal at the manor, she thought, What a hypocrite. Why pray if you don't believe?

Turning from Emory's gaze, she stared up into the leaves of the alders and watched the shadows filtering through the branches. She didn't know what she thought about God, but the universe seemed too perfectly balanced to exist without a creator. "Is Chambers an atheist? Is that why he's trying to stop the translations?"

Emory held up his hand. "No more questions. Why would you say the whole world knows of the King James Bible, when I assure you, the whole world does not. A vast majority of the world knows nothing of any Bible."

"That was a question." Petra folded her arms across her chest.

He opened his mouth and then quickly shut it. Obviously, he'd told her more than he thought safe.

She was struggling too. She'd just met Emory and sometime soon, she had to return to Royal Oaks and never see him again.

Emory took a step closer. "What I meant was no more questions from you."

"That's a double standard, isn't it? You're allowed questions, but I'm not?" Petra backed away, and twigs snapped beneath her feet. He didn't get to make up rules.

"That was, I believe, two questions." Emory stood in a shaft of sunlight, looking annoyed.

Petra sighed and wished they'd go back to kissing, but that didn't seem right or responsible. "How's this, I'll answer every question you ask for every question you answer."

He looked at her through narrowed eyes.

"You don't have to play my game," she told him, "but then I don't have to play yours."

He rolled his eyes, but nodded.

"Why weren't you hurt when I saw the sword go through you?"

"Who said you got to go first?" He shook his head. "Where are you really from?"

"You already know that, Royal Oaks." She stamped her foot. "I answered you, now you have to answer me."

Looking up at the heavens, Emory said, "I am immortal."

He had to be lying, yet goose-bumps rose on her arms.

"I believe it is your turn," he said, his voice hard.

She sniffed and her voice wavered. "You don't get to just say you're immortal, because that doesn't happen without... something."

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin. "Would you believe in pixie dust? Dragon's blood? Or, perchance a magical potion?"

"If you have to think up options, you're lying."

"I gave you my answer. Do I get another question?"

"No!"

He took her hand and pulled her to him so that she rested against his chest. She thought about pulling away, but not much. She let his warmth swallow her.

"I refuse to play this fool's game any longer," he said.

"That's because you're lying and losing," she said, smiling.

He wrapped his arms around her and lowered his lips to hers. "I definitely think I am winning. I am the victor."

"Me, too," she said, and for a few minutes, she felt lost to everything else.

"Come," he said, pulling her with him. "I must return you to the manor."

"And to my spy duties," Petra said, smoothing down her dress.

Emory groaned. "Is there any chance you might remain in your room?"

"You didn't tell me why Chambers wants to destroy the Bible," she said, as they walked toward the distant spires.

"I suppose that means no."

She cut him a glance. "What do you think?"

"I think that you would be safe in your room."

She laughed. "Sure. Whatever. Don't tell me, but I could help."

Emory held her hand as they walked through the grove. After a moment of obvious internal debate he said, "Chambers and unfortunately many others believe that only priests, those who have studied and been ordained by the church, should be allowed access to the Bible. They believe all laymen need a mediator with God." He must have read her puzzled expression because he added, "In other words, priests."

"It's a power thing," Petra guessed.

Emory smiled. "Yes. A power thing."

"Well, they won't be successful."

He studied her. "How can you be sure?"

Thinking about all the hotels all over the world with a Bible on every bedside table, she smiled. "I just am."

Suddenly, Anne's being there made perfect sense. "You'd said Anne's brother had been killed for truth and light."

Emory nodded. "He was killed protecting the translators."

Chapter Seventeen

Servants are not just employees. They are members of the household who live with the family. A good maid is attentive, discreet and a little bit psychic. She was there when you needed her but never in the way. She should be gentle with hairpins and corset laces.

—Petra's notes

"You must ask him about falconry, miss," Mary said as she ran the comb through Petra's hair.

At the dressing table, Petra caught the maid's glance in the mirror. "Falconry? I know nothing about falconry."

Mary poised the comb above Petra's head. "It matters not." She might as well have added the word "duh."

"How can I talk of something I know nothing about? I'll look like an idiot."

Mary raised her eyebrows as if to say so what?

Mary dragged the comb through Petra's hair with brutal force. Her face screwed with intensity. "He's into falconry. If a bird can capture his interest, then I am sure my lady might do the same."

"Okay, I get you dislike being a chambermaid, but at least you have a job," Petra said.

Mary blurted, "What if he marries someone who already has a maid? I would be emptying pots for a lifetime." Mary shuddered.

"Since I don't have a maid, that you know of, you think Lord Garret should choose me? That seems a weak basis for a marriage."

Mary placed the comb on the table, giving Petra a moment of relief before she began to vigorously twist Petra's hair into long coils. "Unless haste is taken, Lord Garret will not choose his wife."

"No?"

"No." Mary blew out a sigh and thrust pins into Petra's hair with such force that her scalp tingled. "The master will decide."

The master, she knew it was a turn of phrase common to the day, but it gave her a sinking feeling. What if Anne and Garret belonged together?

"And the master has chosen the Bevan estate," Mary continued. "Mistress Bevan has her own maid."

"Most would, wouldn't they, but not me." Petra studied Mary's unhappy face, there was more the maid wasn't saying. "Is Miss Bevan so bad?"

Mary sniffed. "I have friends at the Bevan estate and have heard stories of their mistress."

Although it was difficult to feel very sympathetic to someone poking her scalp with hairpins, she watched Mary with more compassion. "I'm sorry, Mary, there is no way I'm going to marry Lord Garret."

Mary closed her eyes and pursed her lips as if in pain and suddenly Petra remembered what Rohan had said, "You are here for the same reason I am here. To help." Mary's position could mean her survival. "I can't make Lord Garret fall in love with me, and I certainly won't marry him." She saved this last sentence for when Mary had finished with her hair.

Standing in front of the mirror, liking the way the deep blue gown matched her eyes, Petra thought about how she could help Mary. "You know, I think Lord Garret likes Anne."

Mary looked baffled.

"The tapestry girl."

Behind her, Mary shook her head, addressing the mirror. "Impossible."

"Why not?"

"Because earls sons do not marry artisans."

"I think he might be in love with her." Petra pulled at the lace of her cuffed sleeve. "I'm not sure about her, though."

Mary scoffed. "They'll not be looking for a love match."

"We should all be looking for a love match," Petra argued.

Mary inhaled deeply. "What makes you think he favors her?"

"It's in his body language," Petra said.

"His what?"

Petra thought back to her AP psychology class. She folded her arms and leaned away. "See, this means I'm closed."

"Closed, like a shop?"

"Sort of," Petra said. "It means I'm not interested in what you have to say. But if I lean forward, connect my eyes with yours, like this," she demonstrated, "it means I'm engaged."

"Engaged?" Mary squeaked.

"Not that kind of engaged. It means I'm open to what you have to say."

"Gor, miss, this is a lot to remember."

"Most people don't remember. They just act instinctively, and others pick up on it. For example, if someone wants to kiss someone, they look at their lips."

"Kiss?" Mary muttered, looking doubtful.

"And another sign that they're interested is they cock their head, like this," Petra tilted her head at a forty-five degree angle. Mary imitated her, and they both laughed.

"Anne is coming this afternoon with a tapestry, right? Let's watch their body language."

After Mary left, Petra sat down at the dressing table and studied herself in the mirror. She looked different here. It was more than simply the lack of makeup, the dolled up hair and fancy dress. She felt different.

Putting her chin in her hands, Petra realized she'd been thinking so hard it was making her head hurt. Nothing at home had caused this much – - perplexion. Was that a word? If it wasn't, then it needed to be. She creased her forehead, dragging her thoughts back to her problem.

If she helped with the distribution of the King James Bible, that would be huge. She couldn't think of anything having more of an impact than the Bible, yet bibles dotted the globe and were found in grocery stores, mansions and huts. It wasn't as if she were here to right a wrong. But what if she didn't help? Then maybe they wouldn't. But of course, they would. Right? After all, it was the Bible.

There had to be another reason for her being here. Had she come to the seventeenth century to play matchmaker for Anne and Garret? That didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. Her being in the 1600s seemed like an elaborate and cruel joke. It might make a smidgeon of sense, perhaps, if Garret and Anne were her long forgotten ancestors, but Petra knew her father's people came from Denmark and her mother's family was German.

And Emory? Her heart twisted when she thought of Emory. She wouldn't think about him. He was like a guy at summer camp. A month of fun and then back to reality. Without him. A month? No. A week, tops. It'd already been three days.

Three days. What was her family thinking? That she'd run away? Were there posters with her picture up on telephone poles? Was her profile circling the web? Were police and dogs roaming the canyons searching for her?

What if Rohan was wrong and her being here was random? She couldn't help anyone, could she? In this place she wasn't even capable of taking off her own dress. What if the fortuneteller had sent her here just to be mean? Could a fortuneteller have that kind of power?

A rattle of stones on the drive announced visitors. Petra moved from the mirror to the window. Anne and her tapestries had arrived.

***

Garret studied the tapestry with his head at a forty-five degree angle. Petra sent Mary a glance to see if she'd noted the telling "I'm interested" head tilt. Mary's shrug said it was a hopeless match.

Garret appeared to be considering the tapestry's colors and scenery, but to Petra everything in his face said that all he saw was Anne. No footmen, Petra, Mary, or Chamber—for Garret there was only Anne. Chambers cleared his throat, clearly hauling Garret back to the heavily populated first parlor.

Anne stood at his shoulder, oblivious, and waiting.

"The birds." Garret waved a hand at the tapestry. "And the flowers."

Garret was tongue-tied. Petra wanted to help him, but he had his gaze fixed on Anne's lips. Petra decided there was little she could do about that.

"Possibly you would like to see it on the wall?" Anne suggested. "In a different light?"

"Have you others?" Garret blurted.

"Is this not to your favor, my lord?" Anne looked hurt.

"Tis not that. Not that at all. I just thought that if you have others, perchance I might consider those as well. Before I make a decision." Garret cleared his throat. "Before I commit to a purchase."

"Yes, I suppose." Anne cocked her head at Garret.

Petra wanted to raise her hands and cheer. She'd known that Garret had a thing for Anne. Now, given the head cock, she guessed that Anne felt the same. Petra had to at least try and fuel the fire. "Perhaps Miss Gilroy has more at her home," Petra said.

Anne flashed her a startled look. "T'would be highly irregular for Lord Garret—"

"I will come to your home," Garret said, a happy flush staining his cheeks.

"But my father is away," Anne stammered.

"Mine too," Garret said, as if thrilled by this shared commonality.

"My Lord, it would be highly unseemly," Chambers said, stepping forward.

"We shall go now. Prepare the carriage." Garret turned to Fitz, his back to Chambers. "Will you do me the honor of escorting me to your studio?" he said, offering Anne his arm.

Studio? Anne had little more than a two room cottage, but she didn't look embarrassed or unhappy about Garret dropping in. In fact, she glowed.

"My Lord, your father would not approve," Chambers began. As he moved to block Anne and Garret's departure, he stepped onto the tapestry.

Garret cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Chambers' boots. Chambers looked down at the lovers he had stepped upon, but didn't budge.

"My father would wish me to make an informed acquisition." Garret turned to Petra. "My Lady Baron, would you please accompany us?"

"Oh, yeah," Petra said.

Chambers cleared his throat.

"Of course, Chambers, you may also come." Garret rose to his toes. "And because I am hungry we will stop at the bakery for tarts." He looked at Anne and Petra as if daring them to contradict. "Which flavor do you prefer, Miss Clar?"

Anne looked pleased. "Currant jelly?"

Garret laughed as if she'd said the cleverest and wittiest thing. "Is that an answer or a question?" He snapped his fingers at Fitz. "Tell Chester to prepare the carriage."

Because Garret and Anne spent the ride to the bakery discussing tart flavors, Garret bought one of each flavor. At the cottage, Garret took Anne's hand to help her down from the carriage and then touched her face with a finger to wipe away a small smear of jelly.

Chambers wore a sour expression, and Petra guessed it had nothing to do with his rhubarb tart.

***

"I must see her again," Garret said, leaning into the velvet cushions.

"You've already bought her entire tapestry collection and commissioned another," Petra said, tapping her chin and thinking.

The carriage passed fields, a collection of barns, geese, and mill wheels; it looked like a perfect backdrop for fairy tales. Garret and Anne were like Prince Charming and Cinderella and everyone knew how that turned out. Although Petra knew not every romance had a happily ever after, she wanted to nudge Anne and Garret together.

Chambers glowered at her, as if he read her thoughts. "My lord, your father will never approve."

"Stuff and nonsense," Garret began. "I can afford tapestries."

Chambers sat up. "It is nonsense to engage the girl's affections."

Garret flushed red and studied the landscape flashing past. "I have said nothing of her affections."

"It is a great unkindness to trifle with her," Chambers said.

Garret looked at first at Petra and then at Chambers. "Do you think I have engaged her affections?"

"My Lord, have pity on the girl, I pray," Chambers said. "Do not lead her to where you cannot follow."

Garret returned his attention to the passing countryside, his face sad.

"It would never do," Chambers persisted. "You know your father."

"Yes, but—"

Hooves beat after the coach and a man's voice called, "Hail!" The carriage lurched to a stop. The horseman drew even with the coach, pulled the reins and brought his horse to a prancing halt. A horse tethered behind him pulled up short.

The horseman took off his black hat and Petra recognized one of the pitchfork-wielding men from the barn. "My lord, well met," he said, catching his breath.

"Well met, my good man," Garret said.

"I've come from Hampton Court," the man said, "with news from the Earl."

"My father?" Garret leaned out the window. "Is he well?"

The man tipped his head. "He is well. He sends his regard and requests your immediate attendance, my lord."

"Now?" Garret asked. "That seems highly irregular."

The man cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon, not you, my lord. 'Tis Master Chambers he wishes to see."

"Ah, very well then." Garret leaned back into the carriage, looking pleased.

Chambers did not look pleased. Petra watched Chambers and the horseman exchange loaded looks. The horseman rubbed a hand over his horse's neck, trying to calm the animal. "Post haste, sir. I have taken the liberty of bringing you a mount."

Garret smiled, but Chambers did not.

"Please ask my father to send word of when he plans to return," Garret said to Chambers.

Chambers climbed out of the carriage and leveled a glance at Garret from under his heavy eyebrows. "I will do that, my lord."

"Good day then, Chambers." Garret's voice had a singsong quality. "God speed."

"Good day," Chambers said, sounding as if he expected nothing good to come of it.

The carriage seemed empty without him, but empty in a nice, friendly way, as if a bad-tempered dog had been removed. They continued down the road in an easy silence and after a moment Petra asked, "How about a ball? A masquerade ball!"

Garret stared at her, considering. "But what if... no one will come?"

"I think everyone you want to come will come." Petra knew by "no one" he meant Anne. She tapped her chin.

"What makes you say so?"

Petra shrugged, liking her idea. "I just know but it will have to be soon. Chambers probably won't stay long. He didn't even take a bag."

"Chambers I can manage," Garret said. Left unspoken was, but not my father. Which to Petra, sounded very brave and a little stupid, but she didn't challenge him.

***

Within the hour Petra, Mary and Fitz arrived at Anne's cottage. Fitz set down the trunk on the porch with a woof, and rolled his shoulders. Mary laughed. "I will be making it up to you, Mr. Fitzroy," she said.

Petra smiled. She didn't want to know how Mary planned on repaying Fitz. She rapped on Anne's door, and Anne answered with a puzzled look.

"Good day, Anne," Petra said, smiling and pushing her way into the room. "I'm here for two things."

Anne, who had her hair tied in a knot on her head and a smudge of ash on her nose, looked flustered and unhappy to have Petra in her home.

"First, I've brought you this." Petra handed Anne an envelope. "It's to a ball."

Anne looked at the invitation with a pained expression.

"And this," Petra motioned to the trunk, "is full of ball gowns."

Anne opened her mouth to protest.

Petra put up a hand. "Oh, you'll go. And you'll wear one of the gowns. You might even have a wonderful time."

Anne shook her head, but Petra stepped forward and opened the trunk. Inside were three of the Countess' dresses: a red brocade, a blue silk, and a creamy lace. "I'm sure they'll fit," Petra said, smiling. She knelt by the trunk and held up the red one. The edge of a note peeked out from the bodice.

Anne stepped forward, curious.

Petra stood. After an over-the-shoulder glance at Mary and Fitz who waited like statues at the door, she turned and whispered, "I have a message for Emory. You'll both be interested."

She didn't know if Mary or Fitz had an allegiance with Chambers, but she was sure Anne would read the note and pass on the information. Glancing down at her ink spotted hands, she hoped her struggle with the quill would pay off and that Emory would follow Chambers to Hampton Court immediately.

Anne's expression turned from wary to curious.

"You have to come to the ball tomorrow night," Petra said, no longer whispering. "Promise me."

Anne looked at the invitation and then at the slip of paper poking out of the red bodice, a small crease between her eyebrows.

"I think the red will look stunning," Petra said.

Chapter Eighteen

Masquerade balls were elaborate dances held by and for members of the upper classes. The parties became notorious throughout mainland Europe in the 17th and 18th centuries. They had a reputation for "improper" behavior such as unescorted women, lover trysts, and other secret activities. They deserved their bad reputation.

—Petra's notes

"Dorrington has not changed in one hundred years," Rohan sighed over his glass of ale. "Babies are born, grow old and die, but the families remain."

"Carrying on where their fathers left off," Emory agreed, watching the crowd milling around the packed ballroom. Despite the masks, he picked out the Biddens with their carrot red hair and the Trents' characteristic baboon length arms.

"Bakers still bake, cobblers still cobble, farmers till and plow." Rohan set down his glass of ale and frowned at the musicians stumbling, already worse for drink. "Why are we still here?"

"Tired of me, old friend?" Emory asked.

Rohan grunted and then nodded toward the door where Petra stood, holding the arm of Falstaff. She looked stunning in the blue gown, as nearly all the Dorringtons took note.

The villagers expected a match. Surely, the future earl would marry the wealthy, mysterious beauty; it was all anyone spoke of.

Typically Emory didn't listen to gossip, but tonight he heard it swirling around him. He set down his drink with enough force to shake the table.

Dorrington remained a small village a stone's throw from London. All those who frequented social events inevitably rubbed shoulders. Which is why Emory kept his shoulders to the sideline. In a world where children grew to parents, he couldn't risk recognition. He safeguarded his solitude. The sleepy village had grown in the past decade. Shops, farms, and a host of other businesses sprouted like weeds along the smelly river port, over the hills, and out into the countryside. A few even came close to his territory. He grimaced, at the thought of neighbors. He'd have to disappear again. Soon.

"What is Petra Baron doing here?" Emory asked. What had caused her to leave wherever she'd come from and rouse him from seclusion? How had she managed to get him to a ball? In a mask?

"An even better question, why are you at a masquerade ball?" Rohan echoed his thoughts.

Emory sighed. It had once bothered him how Rohan had an uncanny ability to read his mind, but he'd long grown used to Rohan and his ways. "You know I need to speak to her."

"A task I happily would have undertaken in your stead," Rohan muttered, bemused.

As usual, Rohan was right. Emory should have asked Rohan to make the request. Anne, given her new...giddiness, Emory couldn't depend upon, but he completely trusted Rohan. "I should leave." Emory stared into his ale, his voice heavy.

"No, you should stay," Rohan said, settling back against his chair and propping his fat feet in front of him. He wore a mask and his frock, which did little to disguise his pot-belly.

Emory also wore a mask, but he had changed from his everyday brown breeches to black velvet breeches and a ruffled white shirt. He felt ridiculous and not just because of the peacock feathers in his hat. His attendance had been wildly imprudent. He and Chambers had been practically nose to nose at Hampton Court, and his appearance at the ball would be all the more suspicious.

The musicians picked up their fiddles. The men, obviously self-trained, burst into a rousing rendition of Barbra Jean. Perhaps they were the best Falstaff could do on short notice. Their noise mingled with Emory's jumbled thoughts. He would go mad if he stayed. He pushed away from the table to seek out Petra.

"Will you dance?" Rohan asked, laughing.

Emory sent him a withering look and bumped into a woman with furiously batting eyelashes. He brushed past with a quick apology and scanned the room for Petra, but instead his gaze landed on Anne.

Anne typically had a calm, practical, almost level-headed approach to her plots of revenge, but when he had last seen her, she'd seemed almost flighty. Why?

He flushed, because he knew. Young Falstaff. Or rather, Young Falstaff's feelings for her. Her feelings for him. The emotions had changed her from the sad, angry fighter he'd known, into a lovesick girl. This worried him. He didn't wish her further pain.

Speaking of pain, he ran his finger along his collar, pulling at the ruffles. He hated constantly changing fashion in general and ruffled collars in particular.

Mrs. Livingston and her daughter, Jane, had spotted him. If they recognized him, so would Chambers. He'd managed to skirt the attention of most of the villagers, but somehow he'd fallen into Mrs. Livingston's path and she refused to let him be. Tonight she wore a ruby red dress with faux jewels studded across her enormous bosom. Jane, who lacked her mother's impressive prow, looked hot and uncomfortable in a yellow dress that gave her a jaundiced appearance. The feathers on her mask matched the color of her skin, giving her a washed out raccoon look. He tried not to watch as they twittered behind Mrs. Livingston's fan.

His being here, hobnobbing with gentry, this was Petra's doing. He should be angry with her, but he felt desperate to see her. Alone.

***

Petra tried to keep track of Anne and Garret, but they kept weaving in and out of the dancing couples. From the whispers she'd heard, no one recognized Anne in the late countess' ball gown and everyone wanted to know about the mysterious stranger dancing with the future earl.

Petra clung to the back wall, trying to eavesdrop and yet be invisible, but a growing collection of men bounced around her. Who were these guys and why were they hounding her? Had Garret sent flunkies? Irritation flashed through her. He'd promised that she wouldn't be a wallflower, his word, and an interesting one, that obviously meant some sort of party pity person. What had he told his... what were they, these guys? Friends? Dorchester with the concave chest, Littleton with the hair sprouting from his ears, the duke of something with a wart on the side of his nose. Who were these people to Garret and what did he expect her to do with them? Dance, she supposed, but she had other ideas. She sighed, looking over the crowd for Emory.

"Excuse me, Miss." A guy with a ruddy-cheeked fresh-scrubbed look touched Petra's elbow. He had red hair brushed off his forehead and freckles dotting his skin. "Would you do me the honor?" He held out his hand.

"Honor? Oh, you mean dance." She wouldn't look him in the face. "No, I'm sorry," she said, addressing his boots. "But no. I've a headache." True. Technically, her head didn't hurt, but these guys were a headache. Besides, she didn't dare dance in this odd parade of bows, curtsies and the occasional foot stomp. She wondered what these people would think of the Royal High school prom.

"Perhaps I might fetch you lemonade?" he asked.

Petra smiled. "That would be awesome."

"Awesome?" Behind the mask, his eyes looked confused.

"Hum...lovely?"

After the guy left, Petra felt a touch on her arm and she knew who it was even before he spoke in her ear.

"That's the fourth partner you have turned down," Emory said.

Petra attempted a laugh to cover her rising temperature. How did he do this to her? Why did his touch skyrocket her blood pressure? When did he get this power over her? She kept her voice light. "You're keeping score? I thought you've been too busy lurking in dark corners to keep track of my dance card."

She looked down at the card in her hand with its lines and signatures. She didn't know exactly how it worked and she'd been too embarrassed or afraid to ask. She wished Mary had come with her, so that she'd have at least one friend in the crowded room. She looked at Emory in his black velvet breeches and feathered mask. Was he her friend, or something more?

They both watched the ruddy boy weave through the crowd bearing the lemonade like a lantern. "And now you will have to chat with him to repay his kindness, and he looks about as conversational as a turnip. Or a beet."

Petra, refusing to be teased, pointed across the room at Anne and Garret. She'd convinced Garret to wear a red scarf and vest thingy and she'd told Anne to wear the red dress. "They match."

"Is that your doing?" Emory's mouth turned down.

"You know it's Garret's doing."

"And where did Anne find a gown at such a late hour?"

Petra sniffed. "I think they look sweet."

"It will never do."

"Why not? I mean, I know they're young."

"Everyone here expects him to marry you, the wealthy, mysterious stranger." Emory leaned forward and murmured in her ear.

The whisper of his breath on her throat sent her blood swooshing which she tried to ignore. She opened her mouth to protest.

He stepped back. "You did not know?"

She shook her head. "I'm as dull as a turnip or a beet, remember?"

"Your beauty is the subject of all of Dorrington's gossips."

"Then I'm glad I can provide some entertainment." She swallowed and tried to turn the conversation to something less personal. "How about you? Did you find any of my information useful?"

He glanced over his shoulder at the approaching Mrs. Livingston.

Petra followed his gaze and laughed. "Is she why you're hiding out with me?"

"There is little I prefer to hiding with you." He took her arm. "Perhaps we should have this conversation on the terrace."

"The terrace?" A nervous laugh, bordering on a giggle, escaped. She abhorred giggling, but she couldn't stop. "Isn't that where lovers go for scandalous activities?"

Emory ran his fingers through his hair. "I promise no scandalous behavior."

Petra frowned. "Well, that's disappointing. If you won't promise scandalous behavior then I think I want to stay here and watch you face off with Mrs. Tremendous Tatas."

Emory scowled and groaned. "Pray tell, what are tremendous tatas?"

"Do you really need to ask?" She laughed when he blushed.

"Outside, lest we're overheard."

"So you admit it," Petra said. "You are hiding."

"As are you!" Emory said.

Petra tried to recall the social rules of Laurel's Regency romances. "I remember young women became somehow tainted if go on terraces or into alcoves with men."

"I thought you hadn't a memory."

She balked.

"A walk in the garden then?" he persisted. "We have walked in gardens before."

"I will not marry you, really marry you, no matter who finds us where." She knew she shouldn't go. She knew her resolve, when it came to Emory, was weak. He was like chocolate, a sticky mess, impossible to resist.

"Good." Laughing, Emory took her elbow and led her through the back of the room. Above the center of the dance floor hung a chandelier strung with innumerable candles and pieces of cut crystal, but Emory stayed where the chairs lined the walls, mindful to stay in the corners where flickering sconces did little to break the darkness.

The double doors stood open, and a cool breeze blew down the deserted hall. Petra took a deep breath. It felt good to be free of the perfume and body odors that filled the ballroom. The music, blaring and jingling, was now muted to background noise, and she found the tension in her shoulders easing. A cool moist breeze blew in from the river and played with her curls. The night air felt good.

"Wait here," Emory said. Seconds later he returned with a heavy cloak that he threw around her shoulders. It smelled of leather and cloves.

Emory stopped beneath an arbor, swearing beneath his breath. "Chambers saw me when I retrieved my cloak. I hope the mask had been ample disguise."

Rose buds dotted the thorny vines climbing the trellis. In a few weeks the buds would blossom, but for the moment, they were pinched closed, each a promise. Heady-scented honeysuckle spread over the soggy ground. Petra swallowed as a dark figure in a swirling cape emerged from the manor's wide double doors and paused on the steps. He looked over the garden and Petra saw his porcupine eyebrows and the long shadow he cast over the stone walk. She took a deep breath and clutched Emory's arm.

"Follow me," she whispered, pulling at Emory's sleeve. She raised the hood of the cloak and hurried around the manor, unaware if Emory had followed. Careful to keep her footing on the uneven bricks, she stopped at the kitchen garden's picket fence. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw Emory right behind.

Emory pulled her to him as she lifted her skirts and attempted to step into the garden. "There's a fence for a reason," Emory said.

"Yes, to keep out rabbits." Petra shook off his arm.

Emory tightened his hold, forcing her to straddle the knee-high fence which snagged her skirts and exposed her ankles. He watched Chambers and then turned back to Petra.

Petra climbed to the far side of the fence and Emory followed. Keeping her face averted from the approaching Chambers, she whispered, "Tell me what happened in Hampton Court. You went, didn't you?"

"You there!" Chambers called from across the grounds. "A word!"

With her head turned she whispered, "You should see what he wants. He might get suspicious if you don't."

"He already is suspicious. We met at Hampton Court."

Petra's jaw and stomach dropped. "What will you do?"

"As I have previously planned. The true question is, what will you do?"

"Me? Why?" Petra asked, nerves jangling. "Is our being together in the dark garden, how did you say it, damaging to my reputation?"

Emory released her elbow and pulled the hood of the cloak to cover more of her face. Tucking her hair into the hood, he asked, "You would rather I leave you alone in the dark?"

Petra waved her arm in the general direction of the crowd emerging from the manor's double doors. The moon beneath the clouds had risen to its zenith. The hour was late, and departing guests trooped down the broad steps and lingered on the walk. Carriages stood waiting in the moonlight, horses shook their harnesses and stamped their hooves, impatient to leave. "I'm hardly alone."

Suddenly from inside the manor came a clamor of bells and the beating of a drum. Chambers, who had stood on the edge of the departing crowd, disappeared in the crush.

"What's going on?" Petra asked, watching the villagers rush into the manor.

"There must be an announcement." Emory took her arm and guided her toward the stables. "Come."

Petra shook off his hold and started toward the ballroom, but he captured her hand. "I thought you wanted to hear about Hampton Court," he said.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes. "I do, but aren't you curious?"

"Perchance, but I would not risk another meeting with Chambers."

When cheers and applause erupted from the manor, Petra felt like she'd missed the final touchdown of a close football game.

"We will never have a better opportunity to speak," Emory said.

She raised her eyebrows. "Really? Why not just break into my room again and we can talk there." She smiled when he started. "Who else would return my quilt?"

He flushed, and turned.

"Did you eat the food as well?"

Emory studied the moon, but after a few moments, he replied, "Tam ate the food."

"Tam the gypsy?" She moved to stand in front of him.

He folded his arms. "They prefer to be called Roma."

The music and the noise of the crowd rose to a deafening level. Petra cocked her head at the manor and asked, almost yelling, "Don't you want to know – "

Emory shook his head, frowning. "I believe I already know."

"You do? What is it?"

"Young Falstaff's announced his engagement."

Petra stared at the manor wishing she could see inside. She had an image of a crumpled Anne lost in a dark corner, pompous Garret standing on the platform with the plain and rich Miss Bevan. "Poor Anne."

Emory looked grim. "Indeed. She'll have a hard time of it."

Anger flashed through Petra. Why would Garret spend the evening dancing with Anne when he knew he would marry Miss Bevan? Why would he lead her on, buy her tarts, commission her tapestries when his marriage to the Bevan estate was a signed and sealed deal? "I guess his dad will be happy."

Emory looked surprised. "No. He'll be furious, which is exactly why Young Falstaff acted during his father's absence."

"Do you mean he's marrying Anne?" Petra's voice nearly squeaked. "How can he, they just barely – "

"When an earl, or in his case, an almost earl, decides what he wants, he generally gets it."

Petra closed her open mouth. It sounded so like herself. "But she's so sensible; I'm surprised she said yes."

Emory barked a small laugh. "Do you suppose he asked for her hand?"

"Wait. What? He didn't ask? He just assumed she'd say yes?"

"If he'd asked her, as you said, perchance she'd refuse." Emory took her hand and led her to the side of the manor where it was quieter. Away from the crowd's clamor she heard crickets, a hoot owl, and animal noises coming from the stables.

"Young Falstaff had to act quickly while the timing worked in his favor. How opportune to have his father and her father away at the same time. He'll have the bans at the church drawn up before their return."

"You make it sound like a bad thing. I know it's quick, they must hardly know each other, and they are very young."

Emory looked out over the manor's lands. "His family, particularly his father, not to mention the neighboring gentry and friends will cause her hell and she'll be cut off from her own people."

Petra waved at the manor. "The neighbors sound happy – extremely happy."

"I am sure Falstaff uncorked his father's wine cellar in celebration. Be sure, my lady, Anne's days of trial will come."

"Well, if he loves her – "

"He has spent a total of ten minutes of conversation with her, how can he know if he loves her?"

A dead feeling crept over Petra. "He should marry whoever he wants," she said.

"Some matches are impossible." Emory looked bleak, and Petra wondered if he were no longer talking of Anne and Garret.

"Improbable, not impossible," she said, quoting Laurel. She touched his hand. "I'm going to assume they'll be happy. Being happy is a head game."

During her mother's illness, Grammy Jean had taken her to a counselor to "help you make sense of your changing world." Doctor Hartman, a middle-aged motherly sort with a mustache and a fondness for peppermints, liked to speak in platitudes. Petra, though only eleven, had rewritten a few. She who dares wins became she who tries dies, and seize the day turned to sneeze the day.

Back then, she had hated visiting Hairy Hartman. She had much better things to do with her after-school hours than chat up with some old, weepy woman. Odd that now, in another time and place, Doctor Hartman would suddenly make sense. She shook herself out of the memory, determined not to give in to the mopes—another of Hartman's phrases—or the dopes.

She turned to Emory. In the gentle starlight, he was beautiful and he was here. And so was she. True, she didn't know how long she'd stay. She knew she couldn't take him with her when she left, but according to Hartman, she should be happy right here, right now, doing something she knew was important to the world, not just in her world, but the world in general... meaning everyone.

"What happened at Hampton Court?" she asked.

He moved away from her. She knew he didn't want her involved in his save the Bible crusade. Well, too bad.

"They had trouble getting the kegs in the cellar, but eventually they did."

"You just watched?"

Emory stiffened under her implied criticism. "The King needs to discover the plot and those involved. We have to wait for the right moment."

Petra sniffed.

"Unfortunately, I believe Chambers saw me." Emory shrugged.

"But if he really thought you were a threat, he would have come after you."

Emory took a deep breath. "Not necessarily. It is likely that the Earl will hold Chambers at least partly responsible for Young Falstaff's engagement. I would hazard a guess that at this moment Chambers is furious with Young Falstaff. Of me, he may have suspicions, but of Young Falstaff he has concrete reason for anger."

"We should go to Hampton Court."

Emory shook his head. "My lady, there is no 'we', and I am not in any danger."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. You're Mr. Immunity."

He smiled and borrowed one of her phrases. "Something like that."

"But how are we going to stop Chambers?"

"You must watch Chambers and let me know when he leaves again." He pulled her to the side door and lifted her hand. Gently, he kissed the inside of her palm. "I will stop Chambers. Until then, goodnight, Petra."

He turned to leave, footsteps scrunching on the pebbles that led down the path. In the dark moonlight, the world seemed quiet and still on this side of the manor, but on the other side of the manor there would be the crowd of villagers. And Chambers.

"Wait, no," she called after him. "How will I let you know?"

"You may send a message through Anne," he said over his shoulder.

Petra scowled. Anne again. Why did Anne get to play go-between? "Where are you going?"

Turning back, he reached around her to push open the kitchen door and then he pushed her inside. "To bed, of course," he said, shutting the door behind her.

Chapter Nineteen

An engagement or betrothal, seventeenth century style:

A legally binding contract.

Parental permission required for anyone under the age of 21.

Penalty, fines and a trip to the church court could result if anyone got cold feet and tried to renege.

—Petra's notes

Mary bustled into her room, and pulled back the drapes with a flourish. If she'd been an actor in a musical she would have burst into song.

"You're happy about the engagement," Petra guessed, watching Mary dance around the room.

Mary shook a yellow dress at Petra, motioning for her to hurry.

"Am I going somewhere?" Petra ran her tongue over her teeth, longing for a toothbrush.

"You have a visitor, my lady." Mary's voice had a new trill. "Tis Mistress Anne."

"Already?" Petra swung her feet to the floor and stretched. Mary came to pull the nightgown over her head. It still felt odd to have Mary dress her, like she was a life-size doll or a store mannequin.

Mary practically threw her clothes on her and then began attacking her hair with a comb. "Do you know why?" Petra asked.

"Well, if I was her, I would use the excuse to spy out my new home." Mary used the comb to pull Petra's hair.

"She's been here before."

"Not as the future mistress," Mary said, smiling, twisting Petra's hair into long coils.

"Mary, do you think Anne and Lord Garret will be happy together?" Petra asked.

"Happy?" Mary poised a pin above Petra's head.

"I know you're happy about Anne, but do you think Anne will be happy?"

Mary looked as if she'd found flowers sprouting from Petra's head. "Why would she not be happy?"

"Will people be nice to her?"

Mary lowered the comb, confusion creasing her forehead. "I thought you disliked Mistress Anne?"

Petra took a deep breath. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, you were not sunshine and happiness when you met. You discouraged Lord Garret from purchasing her tapestry."

The first time she'd met Anne, Anne had drugged her, poked through her things and had called her stupid.

"And when we went to her cottage, you were..." for once Mary seemed to be considering her words, "telling her what to do."

She'd been bossy. Being bossy in some situations was a good thing. It made her good with animals, it made her a good editor of the Royal Oaks high school newspaper, but probably not a good friend.

"I want people to be nice to Anne. I..." she faltered. "I wish I'd been nicer."

Mary didn't look up from Petra's buttons. "You'll be kind to her, won't you Mary?"

Mary snorted.

"Of course you will. You can't afford to lose your job." How sad if her only "friends" were people who were paid to be kind to her.

"Mary, are you sure Anne is here to visit me? Perhaps she's here to see Lord Garret."

Mary, who'd been bent over the buttons, straightened. "A lady would never presume to call upon a gentleman."

"Even one she's going to marry?"

Mary lifted her eyebrows. "Besides, Lord Garret has gone to London to speak to his father." Mary gave Petra a broad, encouraging smile and pushed her toward the door.

"Well, that'll be interesting." Petra wondered what kind of man he was. He probably wasn't horrible because Garret wasn't horrible.

But he did have a torture chamber in his basement.

And he had hired Chambers. Hadn't he?

***

Anne stood in the first parlor, wringing her hands, eyes red. She rushed toward Petra and caught her in a hug.

"Good morning, my Lady Petra," she said loudly enough for the servants to hear.

Then she whispered in Petra's ear, "Friar Rohan has been arrested. I would not have come, because I hate to disturb you, but I cannot find Master Emory."

Petra stepped away, taking Anne's hands in her own, wondering which of the questions flying through her head to ask first. Where is Rohan? Why was he arrested? Why are you looking for Emory? Where have you looked? Do you often look for Emory?

Anne moved to the table and placed a hand on Petra's purse. "I've returned your things. I believe you must have left them at my house the other morning."

Petra opened the purse, not expecting to find answers, but for something to do with her hands. When an answer came, it surprised her. The phone, Zoe's Girl Scout Gadget, the lipstick—they reminded her of a faraway world. Her world. In time, would she be more at home in 1610 than 2014? She thought of her family and felt sad. "Would you care to walk in the garden?"

When Anne nodded, Petra took her hand and picked up the purse. "Follow me," she said, drawing her to the French doors.

Not a great day for walking, Petra decided when she opened the doors and a bank of fog rolled in. Cold moist air hung between them. When they passed the rose trellis, away from the ears of the servants, Petra asked, "Where have you looked for Emory?"

"Everywhere!"

A twinge of jealousy pricked. It bothered Petra that Anne, engaged to Garret, worried about Emory enough to look everywhere for him. She shivered, remembering the torture chamber. "Do you know where Rohan is?"

"In a cell at the edge of town."

Petra relaxed a fraction. A cell at the edge of town sounded much kinder than the rack and pulleys in the chamber. She reminded herself that Rohan seemed to have amazing healing abilities. "Do you know why?"

Anne shook her head. "I'm sure it has something to do with the trip to Hampton Court yesterday."

Emory had said Chambers had seen him. Had he also seen Rohan? "They can't just throw someone in jail for going to Hampton Court."

Anne looked at her blankly. "Of course they can. My Lord Garret is away, and that leaves Chambers in charge. He can do as he sees fit. He usually does."

Petra thought. Anne had Garret tied around her finger, and Garret had more weight than Chambers. "We just need for Rohan to be safe until Lord Garret returns."

Anne wrung her hands. "We don't know when that will be."

"Not long, though, right? Hampton Court isn't far."

Anne looked bleak. "Perchance 'tis long enough."

Long enough? Court cases in the twenty-first century took eons, but maybe not so in the seventeenth.

"If Emory were here, he could free Rohan." Panic tinged Anne's voice.

Petra wondered exactly how Anne's brother had been killed.

We don't need Emory, Petra decided. She took Anne's hand and pulled her back to the manor. "We'll get him out," Petra said. "I've got an idea."

***

Raiding Anne's father's chest of clothes gave Petra an odd sense of déjà vu. It reminded her of when she and Robyn had put on their old prom dresses for the Renaissance fair. They'd been dressing up, playacting, then too, although the stakes had dramatically changed. Now, just four days later, it seemed silly that she'd thought a date to the prom had been so all consuming important. Anne's brother had died trying to protect the translators of the Bible. Rohan had gone to jail, and Emory had disappeared. The prom seemed trivial in comparison.

Anne tossed out breeches and shirts. "You cannot guess what has become of Master Emory?"

Petra shook her head, wondering if Anne was in love with Emory. The thought gave her a sick feeling, even though she knew she couldn't have a future with him. Whatever her future was. A cottage with milk cows? The suburbs with a minivan? A city with a briefcase? Did Emory fit in any scenario other than the one with a cottage and cows? She didn't even like cows, and she really didn't like bulls.

Even though she knew she shouldn't, the thought of Anne's relationship with Emory worried her. If Anne loved Emory, why would she marry Garret?

Petra bolstered up the nerve to ask something she'd wanted to know for a long time. "Anne," she said. "How do you know Rohan and Emory?"

Anne selected a pair of breeches and held them up. "I have always known Rohan," Anne said. "He introduced me to Emory a few years ago." She paused. "I have never shared this, but Emory reminds me of an uncle I had when I was little. But that doesn't make sense, does it? Because Emory, if anything, is younger than me."

Petra reached into her purse and pulled out her panties and bra. They'd been washed and unworn since her arrival at the manor and they reminded her of her other life. She turned her back to Anne, stripped down and put them on. When she turned around, she saw Anne's gaze flinch away, like she didn't want to be caught staring.

"This is what we wear in my village," Petra explained.

Anne blushed and studied her shoes.

Petra looked down at the lacy bra and panties. They were modest by 2014 standards and probably shocking to Anne. To Petra, they felt good, infinitely more comfortable than 1614 underwear. Petra considered a large, ugly jacket made of smelly wool. Maybe smelly could be useful.
"Where did Emory come from?" Petra asked, thinking of the maps in his cottage. She put on a pair of well-worn and loose breeches and tucked them into the baroness' boots she'd borrowed. Then, she rolled the sleeves of the cotton work shirt and shrugged into the wool coat. Tugging at the belt holding up Anne's father's pants, she took a deep breath. It felt so good to move without the weight of skirts, petticoats and stays.

"All I know is he is a friend of Rohan." Anne put on a felt hat and began tucking up her hair. "Are you sure of your plan?"

"Cross dressing always seems to work in Shakespeare's plays," Petra said.

"Shakespeare?" Anne asked. "You know of him? Have you seen his plays?"

Petra started to say she'd read some of them, but then thought better of it. She didn't know if his work had been published in 1614. "A few," she said, squelching the familiar tug of homesickness before it sidetracked her.

Maybe we should wait for nightfall, Petra thought, biting her lip because those hips refused to hide even with a long jacket.

"Hold still," Petra said, trying to a wrap a thin blanket around Anne's waist. If she used the quilt to bind Anne's breasts and thicken her waist, maybe it would give her the appearance of a fat man in an oversized coat.

Petra fashioned a scarf about her neck. "Just keep your chin down and your hands in your pockets." Petra gave Anne's figure a doubtful glance, smiled, and nodded.

Petra looked in the mirror. She'd make a good villain in a melodrama. All she needed was a mustache.

"I still don't understand how you're going to cause a distraction," Anne said moments later, as she followed Petra out the door.

"You will," Petra said, considering, for maybe the tenth time, showing Anne the phone. She simply didn't want a long, impossible conversation on how her tiny phone sounded like it had an entire rock band inside. She'd have to explain what a rock band was, which could possibly lead to a discussion on electric guitars, and techno-pop. And no one could explain techno-pop.

She handed Anne the vial of tincture. "Ready?"

Chapter Twenty

The jail, or gaol, was used for detention, not for the punishment of criminals. It held those waiting trial and those found guilty and awaiting punishment. Sentences were usually whipping, flogging, or death. The detention period was short, which, in most cases, was not a good thing. The jail keeper usually kept his keys on his belt, and this was a good thing.

—Petra's notes

The public house sat at the edge of the square. From the woods Petra could just make out the barred windows. Anne drew her to the other side of the building, where a guard sat on a stool in front of the door. He had a brown jug at his feet and a ring of keys on his belt. A dark cloud hovered, threatening rain.

A few villagers walked up the street, on their way to market. No longer breakfast and not quite midday, the inn beside the jailhouse looked empty, although the innkeeper and his wife were probably inside preparing lunch. The bakery across the lane had pies in the window, and a fragrant smoke rose from the chimney stack. From inside came a scolding voice.

A mean wind blew in, tossing leaves and branches. Undoubtedly it would be better to wait for night, but Anne said conviction and sentencing didn't have to wait for a trial. And a storm waited for no one.

What if they were caught? Chambers might want to put Anne behind bars, but would he risk turning Garret against him? Of course, as far as Chambers was considered, Petra was expendable.

Anne lifted her loom mallet and gave Petra a wide eyed look as if to ask now what? Petra smiled nervously, and took her phone from her purse. She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. I'm here to help, she reminded herself.

Flipping open the phone, she scrolled through the options, and pressed a button. Barking dogs.

The guard, a beefy guy not much taller than Petra but much heavier, looked in their direction, shifted in his chair, pushed back his hat, and closed his eyes. A dog in the street spun in circles, snout lifted for scent.

Anne stared at Petra. Petra flashed her another brief smile and then returned to her phone. Moments later, Breaking Benjamin began to scream. Petra upped the volume and watched the guard dash into the woods.

Anne jumped from behind the log to trip the charging guard and then hit him over the head with her mallet.

Petra switched off the phone, dropped it and lunged for the keys as Anne whacked the guard again.

"Let's hide him behind that boulder." Petra took one arm. Anne grabbed the other and they dragged him a few feet.

"Hurry," Anne urged, her mallet poised over the guard's head.

Keys in hand, Petra took off for the town square, holding the cloak tight to hide her face. The bakery still rang with scolding. Only a tailor, a round man with a gimpy walk, came to watch Petra throw the keys into the cell window.

"Hey!" the tailor called, but Petra sprinted back into the woods, choosing a path that wouldn't lead to Anne and the guard. Hiding behind a cedar, Petra watched the tailor hesitate at the edge of the woods. He scratched his head, and then, after a few moments, limped back to his shop, wiping his forehead from the exertion.

Petra joined Anne in a thicket of alders. "The guard?" Petra asked.

Anne drew the vial of sleeping potion from her pocket. "He won't be waking soon." She grabbed Petra's hand, and they ran into the woods.

***

Petra closed the cottage door and leaned against it, breathless. "You were brilliant!"

Anne took off her hat, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. "So were you!"

"Hush," Petra said, listening for something other than the lowing cow and singing birds. She thought she heard snapping twigs and heavy footsteps.

"Quick!" Anne said, who must have heard also. She pushed Petra into her room. "Change your clothes!"

But Petra had never dressed in the Countess' clothes without Mary. "What about you?" she whispered.

Anne threw on an apron over her pants and opened her shirt to unwind the cloths. Moments later someone pounded on the door.

Petra disappeared into the bedroom before she heard the door screech open.

"Rohan!" Anne shouted.

Petra, halfway out of her breeches, called, "Welcome Sir Rohan!" She pulled on the pants.

By the time she'd buttoned her shirt, Anne and Rohan were at the table, clearly plotting. They looked up when she entered, and stopped talking.

Rohan stared, fighting a smile.

"What?" she asked even as she realized her buttons were cattywampus.

Rohan cleared his throat. "I do not think Emory would approve of your involvement, although he may appreciate your revealing attire."

Revealing attire? She wore a pair of pants four sizes too big and a man's cotton shirt. "I don't care what Emory thinks," she lied, cinching the belt of the breeches. "I'm not going to be left out. If it weren't for me and Anne's trusty hammer, you'd be growing mold in the town jail."

Rohan grinned. "I thought you'd say something like that." He cocked his head. "Have you any other tricks?"

A wave of realization hit her. "Plenty, but I'll only share them if you promise we can help."

"Help with what?"

"Don't toy with us, Friar Rohan," Anne shook a finger at him. "Tell us immediately where is Master Emory."

Rohan looked at his toes.

"Has he been captured by Chambers and the Earl?" Anne demanded.

Rohan gave a small shake of his head.

"He's there; isn't he?" Petra guessed. "He's at Hampton Court." She pulled out a chair and sat at the table, her mind spinning.

Rohan tightened his lips and then spoke slowly, as if unsure of how much to reveal. "Chambers plan begins tonight. Emory is expecting me without a harem."

His implication was clear, but Petra wasn't buying it. She looked at Anne and back at Rohan. "You can't ditch us."

"Yes. You can't leave us in a ditch or in a cottage, for that matter." Anne nodded emphatically. "We are no harem." She took off her apron and showed Rohan her brother's baggy shirt.

"You too, Anne?" Rohan said in mock despair.

"Don't try to leave us," Petra said. "We will just follow."

Wind whistled through the trees, and rain splattered against the shuttered window. Cold seeped through the cracks of the door.

"T'will prove a wild night," Rohan said.

"The storm will be vicious," Anne agreed, but Petra didn't think that that was what Rohan had meant. Anne secured the shutters as rain began to fall

The damp barnyard smell seeped in, giving Petra an idea. "I want to try something," she said.

Anne and Rohan gave her curious looks.

"It might not work, but if it did...I need sugar, no? Well then, honey crystals?"

When Anne nodded, Petra studied the tapestries. "And dye, preferably orange and red." Then she went to the window and looked at the barn. "And whiskey. And cow pies."

Petra dumped the contents of her purse on the table and picked up Zoe's Girl Scout gadget. "And this."

The gadget had a pocket knife, spoon, compass and a tiny pair of scissors, but most importantly, a lighter. Petra flicked it, and a small blue flame shot up.

Rohan and Anne gasped.

"Just wait." Petra sent a silent prayer of gratitude to Bill Nye the Science Guy and Mr. Manning, best chemistry teacher ever.

Chapter Twenty-One

Hampton Court Palace sits on 59 acres. King Henry VIII had a court of over one thousand. At the palace he could feed and house them all and still have room for friends. Did King Henry have friends?

—Petra's notes

"It's enormous," Petra breathed, catching sight of Hampton Court. The size of the palace overwhelmed her. "This is never going to work."

Rohan pulled the wagon beneath a thicket of alders as rain streamed through the dark leaves Petra prayed they were sheltered, if not from weather, then from sight. The horse nickered and shook his mane and the harness tinkled, a small sound blending in with the night noises, barely audible above the rain drip-dropping around them. Rohan swung out of the wagon and then held out a hand to help Anne.

"Have faith," Anne whispered to her as she jumped out of the wagon and then tugged her hat over her ears.

"Happy up," Rohan said to Petra as he held a hand to her. "We don't need to ignite the entire palace, only where Chambers is sleeping."

Petra looked at the massive palace. "This place looks like it has hundreds of rooms."

"Thousands, actually," Rohan said casually.

Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed.

"Don't you see?" Petra said, waving her arms at the palace. "This is hopeless. It can't work."

"My dear, heaven is on our side." Rohan sounded as if he'd talked to heaven and personally orchestrated the lightning storm.

Petra rolled her eyes and hunkered beneath the cape, but clothes provided little protection from the weather. How many years until the invention of plastic? No one had an umbrella or even a poncho. No Nyquil or Sudafed. Any of them could catch pneumonia. Or a million other life threatening diseases.

In the coach house, Petra saw Garret's carriage. Her heart twisted with worry. How could Anne marry someone she barely knew? Did she trust him? Did he sympathize with Chambers? Petra nodded at the carriage. "He won't be happy to see you here, Anne" Petra said, pulling her hood so that it covered more of her face.

Anne frowned at the familiar coach. "Emory won't be happy to see you here either. Although," she said with glistening eyes, "it is a very good plan."

Shifting her feet, Petra decided she wouldn't think about Emory. All of her concentration needed to be focused on right here, right now. She contemplated the palace. The windows were shaded, but occasionally she saw silhouettes and shadows moving past like fleeting pantomimes.

Straightening her shoulders, Petra took a deep breath. "Are you ready?"

Anne grabbed one hand, and Petra reached for Rohan with the other so they formed a chain. Petra squeezed Anne's hand and Anne sent her a squeeze in return.

Lightning flashed and lit upon a lone figure running through the courtyard.

"Well done," Rohan breathed. "Well done."

The man had a cape over his head and it flapped around him. He sprinted to the wagon and stopped short. Emory. Disbelief flickered across his face as his gaze traveled from Petra's boots, up her thighs and rested on Anne's father's baggy shirt.

Rohan held up his hands like a cop stopping traffic. "Before you say a word," he said to Emory, "Lady Petra, blow your fire." He handed her the flask of whiskey.

She looked at him questioning and then, after a glimpse at Emory's livid face, she pulled the gadget from her purse, took a mouthful of whiskey, ignited the lighter and spit the whisky. Flames shot five feet into the air.

Rohan looked proud, Emory shocked.

"Just one of many tricks!" Rohan crowed.

"It's actually Mr. Manning's trick," Petra told them, remembering the afternoon in the parking lot when the students had taken turns blowing fire. They'd used corn starch, but whiskey worked even better.

When the blood returned to Emory's face, he said to Rohan, "Despite her parlor trick, she cannot stay."

Rohan flexed his jaw. "She must."

Rain, like tears, trickled down Emory's face. He groaned and flicked his gaze between Petra and Anne. "They have no place here."

"Oh, like this is your place?" Petra took a step forward and brushed the rain from her eyes.

"You, I have no doubt, will prove a distraction." It could have been a compliment, but it wasn't. Emory stood in front of her and lowered his voice. "I cannot worry about your safety."

"Then don't." Petra studied Hampton Court. Moments ago she'd been sure the plan would fail, but with Emory's disapproval egging her on, she itched to set the place on fire. Sort of.

"Did you find Chambers?" Rohan asked Emory.

Emory pointed to a window on the ground floor of the east side. "Unfortunately, the king and his men have left the residence."

Rohan, looked at his boots, his face pained. "We waited in vain."

Emory nodded. "The opportunity to expose the Earl, for the time being, has passed."

"The Earl?" Anne asked, her voice rising an octave.

"The kegs?" Rohan asked.

"In the cellar." Emory spoke confidently. "There's only one guard."

Rohan nodded and reached to the floor of the wagon and then tossed a coil of rope and a strip of cloth to Emory.

"Are those for the guard?" Petra grimaced.

Emory considered his weapons, a smile glinting in his eye, "They are for you, should you refuse to stay in the wagon."

"I'm not staying in the wagon." She laughed and folded her arms across her chest. "You can't do this without me."

Rain dripped off Emory's nose. "We can, and we will."

"I bet you can't do this," Petra flicked the gadget and a small flame flickered.

"And you don't have this," Anne held up her vial of sleeping potion.

"They have proven to be exceptionally resourceful," Rohan said, stepping forward and placing his hand on Emory's shoulder. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps even heaven-sent."

Emory shot Petra a harsh look. "I do not see—" he began.

Rohan laughed. "You will see, you will hear, and you will smell." He gave Anne the whiskey, dye and the basket of cow pies. Anne gave him the vial.

"God speed, my friends," Rohan said, placing his hands on the small of their backs and giving each of them a push forward.

***

When Emory tried to follow, a crack of thunder drowned out Rohan's words. Petra knew they weren't words that Emory wanted to hear. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Emory and Rohan argue as she hurried after Anne.

Sloshing through mud, they crept to one side of the massive hall. Wind pulled at their clothes and spat rain in their faces, but it also masked the sound of their footsteps. Over the noisy storm, she heard her thundering heart.

What was she doing here? When she'd first arrived in 1610 she'd had misgivings about being alone in the dark outdoors. But now, it was after midnight, and she held the makings of a bomb in her hands. A bomb! This wasn't a shoot-em up movie or an episode of CSI where-ever. This bizarre situation was real and she knew the consequences were serious.

Behind her, Anne trembled as they crept alongside the palace. The downstairs rooms had shuttered windows; Petra watched the shadows, hoping to see Chambers' tall frame.

Anne pointed at the doors of a root cellar and a faint glow radiating up the steps. Within a moment Petra heard rustling, a grunt, and then a muffled cry of pain and panic. Who panicked? Was it Rohan or the guard? Anne flashed her a worried look.

Squaring her shoulders against the unknown, Anne set up the explosives. Petra couldn't think why someone would prowl the grounds at midnight in the rain, but still she prayed they wouldn't be caught.

"This plan has holes big enough for a truck to drive through," she said to Anne.

Anne looked up, rain dribbling off her hat. "What is a truck?"

Petra bit back a nervous laugh. If someone had told her a few days ago that she'd be hanging around a palace at midnight in a thunder storm trying to save the King James Bible, she'd have thought they were certifiable. If she ever told anyone that she'd spent an evening setting off smoke bombs in 1614, they would have her committed. Justifiably so. Yet here she was, feeling like her heart would explode, if nothing else. She nervously fingered the powder horn.

Lightning, thunder, the smoke bomb, fire blown outside Chambers' window. Simple really, Petra thought. Easy peas.

***

Emory crept down the palace halls, mind and heart racing. Candles cast a warm, flickering light down the corridor. He counted doors even as his mind turned with questions. Who was Petra Baron and why had she come? Why did everything about her seem foreign yet familiar? In just days the girl seemed to have affected all she met. How had she persuaded Anne to dress as a boy and storm Hampton Court? What if Young Falstaff learned of the escapade? What was Anne thinking? She wasn't a weak character, easily manipulated or influenced.

And Rohan? What had possessed him to go along with a plan involving maids? Granted, removing Chambers seemed easier than removing nine powder kegs, and with Chambers gone they could empty the kegs at their leisure, one bucket at a time. That made sense.

Petra and Anne did not. Until five minutes ago he would have sworn she and Petra would have rather clawed out each other's eyes than hold hands in the rain.

So engrossed in his thoughts was he that he nearly tripped over a sleeping hound. Stumbling, he caught himself and hid in darkened doorway a black mastiff twitched his tail and repositioned his head on his paws. The dog looked capable of clamping down on a man's head and tearing it from its neck. In fact, beside the dog lay the jawbone of a cow. The dog looked nearly big enough to have killed the cow and eaten all but the largest bones and the few teeth.

Emory leaned against the door as the dog stirred. Only then did he realize he'd lost count of the doors.

***

Petra shook from nerves and cold. She flexed her fingers to keep them warm. The plan depended on thunder. Who depended on thunder? Thunder, like lightning, just happened. It came and went. It wasn't summoned. This is a very silly and wet plan, she thought, brushing her sodden hair away from her face.

Anne shivered and tried to keep her hood up over her brown curls. How long would they have to sit in the storm, waiting on something that might not come? Petra curled her hands into balls and blew.

Anne twitched, frowning. "I wish Lord Garret were not here." Her whisper sounded small and uncertain.

"This place is massive," Petra said. "Hopefully, we can distract Chambers and get rid of the powder kegs without anyone, especially Garret, knowing what's up."

"What's up?" Anne murmured. "Moon, stars, owls..."

"Anne," Petra said, "what if he does find out you're here?"

"Perchance he would not recognize me."

"But what if he did? What if he called off your wedding?" Nosy much? Petra added, "I know it's none of my business..."

"I have known Lord Garret since birth."

"But a few days ago, it seemed like you didn't even like him."

Anne pushed back her hood, exposing her face. "I thought...I thought he was like Chambers, partially responsible for my brother's death, but as I spend more time with him, I see he is extremely sweet, generous, good-intentioned. True, he's impetuous and impulsive; our hasty engagement reflects that well."

Anne sighed. "I am completely devoted to the efforts of bringing an English bible to the people. If I did not love Garret, chances are that I would marry him anyway. I can accomplish more good as a countess than as an artisan. That I happen to find Lord Garret charming, witty and appealing is my good fortune."

Petra sniffed and wondered how charming or witty he would be if he could see them now, prowling around the palace and firing up smoke bombs.

Lightning lit the garden; Petra's nerves tingled. Now. She had to light the bomb to coordinate with the thunder. Petra took a mouthful of whiskey and then snapped the lighter over the makeshift fuse of whiskey soaked linen. Nothing. She struck the lighter again. Whiskey burned in her mouth, stung the back of her throat. In the rain, the tiny flame wavered and then winked away. Ready to burst with frustration and impatience, she struck the lighter again. Orange and yellow methane fueled smoke curled from the cow pie.

Chambers flung open his window at the very moment Petra spit whiskey and blew a flame of fire. Gasping, Chambers stumbled back. Petra tossed the smoke bomb through the window and through a cloud of orange and red haze, she and Anne watched Chambers trip over a chair.

The entire plan depended on Chambers believing that the powder kegs had been set off. He had to run out the door and into Emory, not out the window and into them. Petra held her breath waiting and watching for his next move.

***

Thunder shook the palace. Smoke billowed out of the door he leaned against. From its other side came cursing and scrambling. The dog twitched in his sleep. Emory grabbed the jawbone, heavy and slimy in his hand. Its few remaining teeth pointed up. "I'll borrow this," he whispered to the snoring dog. Mallet in one hand and jawbone in the other, Emory braced himself. The door latch clicked.

Chambers burst out of the smoke-filled room, eyes terror-filled and hair wild. Emory whacked him over the head. The jawbone connected with a sickening crack. Cow teeth flew. Before Chambers crumpled to the floor Emory caught him underneath the arms and dragged his deadweight into the reeking room. The mastiff rose to his legs, shook himself and howled about the theft of his bone. Emory kicked the door closed in the poor dog's face.

Smoke billowed from the cow pie, filling the room with an orange, and red-colored barnyard stench. Keeping hold of Chambers and trying not to gag, Emory dropped the bone and maneuvered Chambers to a chair. Outside the door, he heard footsteps and the mastiff's frantic barking.

Emory slid a bolt through the door and stared at Chambers through the haze, amazed that the plan had, so far, worked. Looking out the window, he saw Petra smiling and pointing her thumb in the air. She looked so beautiful, wet and happy with her thumb protruded he wanted to vault over the sill and swing her in his arms.

For the moment he had a heavier and uglier armful. Not for long, he promised himself, not for long. He dropped Chambers into a chair.

***

Although part of her wanted to vault into the room and help Emory with Chambers, Petra knew they had to get back to the wagon. She tugged at Anne's hand. "Anne," Petra whispered, "Come on."

Anne's face was chalk-white. Petra followed her gaze and saw an equally stupefied Garret staring at them through the window that neighbored Chambers.

Rain trickled down Petra's back, sending icy streams along her spine. "It's not what you think," Petra told him, wrapping a protective arm around Anne.

"Pray tell, my lady, what do I think?" Garret said in a strangled voice.

Anne had frozen. She held herself perfectly rigid; she didn't blink and didn't try to speak. Petra took a deep breath and then stuttered, "I...I..I don't know. What do you think?"

Garret's eyes lingered on Anne's breeches. Throwing open the window, he climbed out, exposing long and hairy legs. He wore a cotton button up job that looked like a knee-length pillowcase with sleeves.

Petra rushed over and shut the window, squelching the billowing smoke. Standing in front of the window, trying to block its radiating orange and red haze, she realized that she needn't have bothered. Garret, now outside and striding across the wet grass, had eyes only for Anne.

Garret pulled Anne against his chest and wrapped her in his arms. "By my faith, 'tis heaven to see you." Bending her backward, he kissed her long and deeply. When he lifted his lips from hers, he said, "That you would risk coming here, in the dead of night, in a raging storm, for us to be together." His voice choked with emotion.

Petra stood, rooted at being witness to such an intimate moment.

"My lord, I, I – " Anne stammered.

Garret put a finger to her lips. "Hush. Come away from this charade. Let us go to Scotland and be married immediately." He pulled her toward the carriage house.

"But your father..." Anne seemed to be struggling to bring her truth up to speed with Garret's fiction.

"My father is of no importance." Garret strode away, towing Anne after him, his bare feet splashing through the sodden grass. Rain and mud splattered up his legs.

Anne balked. "Of no importance? Your lands, your title? They matter not to me, but I won't let you give them up!"

"Fear not, t'will all be mine upon his death." He spoke as if that couldn't happen too soon. "I tried reasoning with my father, but he's controlled by greed. Gold dictates all his logic. Fortunately, I'm also heir to my mother's fortune. Until my father asks for forgiveness for his hardness and bigotry or dies, we shall live as man and wife on my mother's Scottish estate. We'll leave now."

"Pray wait, my Lord. This is all new to me. What about my father?"

Garret took off Anne's hat and ran his fingers through her hair. He smiled as the hair tumbled through his fingers. "We'll send word. He may join us, should he choose." He stared into Anne's eyes, and put a hand on her cheek. "Have you not come to be with me? That is why you're here, is it not?"

Tell him the truth, Petra mentally urged.

Anne answered him with a soft kiss on his lips.

"How you knew that I would be longing for you, how you knew that I would need you tonight, it astounds me. You amaze me." He caressed her cheek with his thumb.

"My lord, I am not amazing; you must not think of me so." Anne cast Petra a nervous glance. "I would travel anywhere to be with you, but – "

"You are good, kind, and modest." Garret scooped her into his arms, and headed toward the carriage house. "Nothing matters but our life together."

Anne giggled. "My lord, you're wearing naught but your nightclothes."

Naught is right. Petra flushed and looked away. Rain pelted him and the wet fabric clung. He wore nothing, naught, beneath the cotton night shirt.

"I've ample clothes in Yorkshire," Garret said, not breaking stride.

"And I am hardly dressed for a wedding."

"We shall go to your cottage for a trunk, if we must." Garret stopped, as if suddenly remembering Petra. "How now, my lady?" Glancing at Anne's face, for the first time that evening, Garret seemed confused.

Petra looked toward the woods and watched Rohan shepherding a rolling powder keg toward the river.

"Go, Anne," Petra said. "We've... I mean, you have what you came for." She motioned toward Garret.

"Petra must come with us." Anne said. "We cannot leave her here."

Garret nodded at Anne but scowled at Petra. "Come along then." He marched away.

"Umm, I don't think so," Petra said to his retreating back. "I think I'll go with Rohan."

"The friar?" Garret turned. "What, pray tell, is he doing here?"

What an ego. Did Garret really think that she and Anne would disguise themselves as men and ride to Hampton Court to see him? Petra shifted her feet and felt the cold damp seep through her boots.

"Tis a long tale," Anne said, smiling up into his face. "Best told in a coach, away from the wind and weather."

"Of course, forgive me. You are soaked through." Garret looked down at her, his eyes shining, as if he couldn't wait to have Anne to himself. They disappeared into the carriage house and Petra wondered what the stable hands would think. Could the future Earl ride away in his pajamas? And what about the current Earl? What would he say about his son and an artisan traveling in the dead of night? With naught on? Garret definitely didn't seem to care what his dad thought. Was that because his father didn't mind his marrying Anne? No, it was probably the opposite. His father didn't approve, so if Garret wanted to marry Anne they had no choice but to elope.

Petra watched, curious, resisting the urge to get closer for a peek. It took several minutes, but in time, Garret's coach rolled from the carriage house. On the perch, Fritz huddled beneath a large black cape and slapped the reins. The horses looked as sleepy and reluctant.

Petra felt a twinge of sadness knowing that she would probably never see either of them again. Even if she spent the rest of her life in the seventeenth century, she didn't know where she would stay and travel to Scotland seemed unlikely. What would become of her?

Petra shot the dark window a quick glance, but Emory had gone, presumably taking Chambers with him. Smoke milled about the empty room, the bomb remnants fading to a small golden glow.

A second explosion ripped through the air. Petra covered her ears with her hands and closed her eyes. When she opened them she was dangling two feet off the ground.

Hands like a vice clamped around her waist. Petra screamed and flailed. She hadn't seen or heard anyone, which wasn't surprising. Her ears still rang, and everything sounded underwater. She couldn't hear above the ringing in her ears or see through the rain pelting her face, but she could fight.

Although not from midair.

She kicked, squirmed, and tried to reach behind her to stop the chuckling. She didn't like being abducted, but she hated being abducted and mocked. Waving her powder horn, she tried to connect with any of her assailant's body parts, but every bit of him seemed out of reach.

"Put. Me. Down." She swung the leather strap that held her powder horn and it whistled through the air, smacking something hard. The impact sent reverberations down her arm. "Ow," she muttered as leaves, twigs and seed pods rained down on her head. She spit and increased her thrashing.

"I knew you'd put up a good fight," said a voice, frustratingly calm and steady.

Her energy flagged even as her temper flared. This guy seemed to be enjoying himself. He also sounded familiar. When she caught a glimpse of his massive forearm, her hopes for escape waned. This vaguely familiar man easily outweighed her by more than a hundred pounds, maybe two hundred pounds.

"I like a fighter," he said.

Petra willed herself still and tried to go limp with a vague idea of slipping through his hands, but her captor tossed her over his shoulder, holding the right wrist while pinning the left ankle. Petra felt like a calf being carted to the slaughter. The powder horn swung from her neck.

A calf that blew fire! She twisted and aimed her lighter for his head, but her captor only chuckled, grabbed the powder horn and tossed it to the ground before depositing her in the back of a hay-filled wagon.

Chapter Twenty-Two

How to blow fire:

You need fuel (ale) and flame (Girl Scout Gadget)

Step 1: Take as much ale in your mouth as you can hold.

Step 2: Take a deep breath, inhale through your nose.

Step 3: Light the flame source and hold it close to your mouth.

Step 4: Spit.

—Petra's notes

He'd need to wait. Petra and Anne might be able to glide through the smoky confusion without notice, but Emory doubted he'd be able to sling Chambers through the palace without gaining unwanted attention.

The wait in the dark hall amidst vaporous reek of smoldering cow pies may have only been a few minutes, but it seemed an eternity. He easily carried the inert Chambers down the hall, more afraid of asphyxiation than exertion. Finally, Emory pushed open a door and took a deep breath of clean air. Although Chambers' room had pulsed red and orange, it appeared the rest of the palace's occupants had contributed the explosion to thunder. To Emory's relief, not even a dog was in sight.

As he'd hoped, the courtyard was also deserted. Then he noticed a bright flame shoot out of the back of a wagon. The flame died as his heart leapt. Was he mistaken? No, Petra sat up just as lightning brightened the sky and glistened off her round shoulders.

Emory swallowed fear mingling with rage. What was she doing in the back of hay-filled wagon? Where were Anne and Rohan? The wagon lurched over the bridge, sending Petra down again behind the slats holding the straw.

The wagon turned, and light played on the massive forearms of the driver.

Marshall.

***

While Emory's heart thundered in his ears and adrenaline surged, it seemed wrong for Centaur to stand so nonchalantly munching on grass in the thicket of alders where he'd been tied. Emory swung Chambers across the horse's back. Centaur shifted under the unexpected weight and turned to Emory with large, questioning eyes.

Chambers' tied hands and boots pointed to the ground on either side of the horse; he would have a raging headache and a stiff back by morning.

Emory took a last look at the palace as he bound Chambers to the horn of his saddle. Hampton Court looked asleep until Rohan emerged from the root cellar trap door rolling the last powder keg. Emory sprinted to him. "Any sign of Anne?"

Rohan shook his head and then pointed at Centaur's burden. "What you got?"

"Rubbish. I was hoping you might deposit it for me." After a quick explanation to Rohan and transferring Chambers to Rohan's wagon, Emory was off. He knew Centaur could overtake Marshall, who was still in view.

Marshall could have killed Petra—why take her? In any other circumstance it might have been amusing to watch Petra bobble in the wagon. Several times she attempted to stand, or even come to her knees, but the lurching wagon pitched her up, down, and sideways. She appeared unhurt, but that could change in an instant. A well placed bullet or a blow to the head would silence Petra forever, and from his current vantage point, all he'd be able to do was watch. He tried to imagine his long bleak life without her, and disliking the thought, pushed Centaur harder and faster.

Did Marshall know they'd destroyed the powder kegs? Had the kidnapping been random? It couldn't have been directed by the inert and unconscious Chambers. Marshall was a ruffian, hired by who? The Earl? Did the Earl know Petra had staged the explosions?

Emory dodged a low branch. As of yet, neither Petra nor Marshall had noticed him. He prayed that the rattle of the wagon and clip clop of the nag would overpower the rumble of Centaur's hooves.

No such luck.

Marshall slipped a gun out of his holster. The gun barrel gleamed in the moonlight. Marshall glanced at Petra and then turned to Emory's direction, aimed and fired.

***

Petra lay on the wagon floor and gathered the hay in a pile. Then, using the lighter, she set it on fire. Bracing herself, she jumped from the wagon seconds before the horses started screaming. The horses smelled the fire before Marshall and bolted. Marshall fought to control the careening horses, but they clattered away as the wagon burned, Marshall hanging onto the reins.

Stunned, Petra lay on the ground trying to catch her breath. A voice in her head urged her to get up. Emory, the voice said. Struggling to her feet, she lurched toward the palace, searching the dark for him. She found Emory leaning against a tree.

He tried to smile, but she crouched beside him and touched his lips with a finger. "Shh, don't speak," she said.

She had never seen so much blood. She pulled him to her. His labored breath blew hot across her neck, and his blood soaked the front of her shirt. She rolled Emory so that his head nestled onto her lap. Beneath her bare skin the ground felt cold and gritty. She tried to inspect the bullet wound, but blood gushed beneath her shaking fingers and the charred and ragged edges of his shirt. Emory's ashen faced stared up at her, his eyes begging questions she didn't know how to answer.

His life slipped away with his spilling blood. She pinched a strip of her shirt. The cotton tore easily and she took a wad of fabric and held it against Emory's red stain with shaking hands.

"Petra?" Emory's voice sounded something between a moan and a rasp. His lips were chapped, bloody, and soot smeared his face. Violent red streaks crisscrossed his chest and arms, and the wound in his shoulder pumped out blood.

Despite the gore, despite her fatigue, Petra wanted to kiss him. Instead, she brushed the hair off Emory's face. He shifted and attempted to sit up.

"Stay still," Petra whispered, running her fingers through his hair.

"Bossy," Emory croaked, settling against her. "Will you always be so?"

"Forever," Petra promised.

"Forever," he murmured. "There is something you should know about forever."

"Don't speak, Emory, just stay still." Petra tried to hold him

Emory pushed up so that he sat directly in front of her. She watched, mesmerized, as the bleeding staunched, then stopped as if a spigot had been turned off.

Emory took her hand. With his other hand he pulled back his shirt.

Petra stared as the wound healed, the skin turned pink and completely closed around what had been a gaping hole. "Forever, for me, is a very long time," Emory whispered huskily.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Thunderstorms are caused by atmospheric instability and not by an angry heaven or a vengeful hell.

—Petra's notes

"I don't understand." Petra slowly shook her head. True, Emory's healing from that sword wound had been miraculous. She didn't know how that had happened. She guessed it had something to do with Rohan and the faith healing, or whatever it was, that she'd seen him do for the gypsy. It was one thing to know someone had healed way too quickly and another to see it happen right before her eyes, like a trick of television editing or computer animation.

"Come," he said. "It isn't safe here." He uncurled away from her, standing slowly, but clearly without pain. Upright, not favoring the side where he'd been shot. She let him pull her to him, feeling that perhaps she shouldn't, that maybe she should scream. Her mind reeled. She touched his bloody, tattered shirt, and smooth, unblemished chest. At her feet, a metal gun-ball covered in gore lay in a puddle of blood. The bullet, her mind reasoned the unreasonable.

Emory held her elbow with a vice-like grip, and she staggered in his wake.

At the edge of town, Emory put his fingers in his mouth and blew out a long whistle. A big Arabian horse trotted toward them from a thicket of alders. Moments earlier she'd worried that Emory would die in her arms, and now he easily swung her in his arms and placed her on top of the horse. When he tossed her the reins she considered, for only a moment, riding away and leaving him. She'd ride and ride until she found her home—and her own century.

She couldn't let Emory just carry her away. Not without explanations. With her arms around his waist, she jostled against him the way her thoughts jostled and bounced as the horse carried them further and further from the town's sights and sounds. Every lurch should have caused Emory great pain. She touched where he'd been shot and he stiffened beneath her hand.

"You must wonder..." he said over his shoulder.

"And you have to tell me." Petra leaned against his back and spoke into his ear.

"In time." He kept his face turned toward the road.

Petra knew she shouldn't allow herself to be swept away, yet she couldn't muster the nerve to slide off the horse and demand answers. She didn't know what else to say or ask, so she kept quiet, thinking.

"It will not be long before they regroup and come after us," Emory said.

"Why?"

"Because we thwarted their plan. Dorrington won't be safe for us for a long time."

"Time." That word again.

The horse slowed, picking his way along the narrow dirt track that skirted around rocks, stumps and trees until it came to a stream.

The storm had blown itself out, leaving only gray clouds and a cold morning drizzle. The horse flicked its tail at the flies that swarmed along the marshy banks.

Maybe the guy who didn't die belonged with the girl who time traveled, because a more unusual pair couldn't exist. They were meant to be together. Obviously.

"Tell me your secret," she said, wishing she could see his face.

He shook his head. "I want to see you when I tell you. I...want to watch you hear what I'm going to say."

She considered this. "Fair enough, but—"

"Yes?"

"What if after I learn your secrets, I don't want to go away with you?"

He laughed softly.

"Tell me now." A realization made her voice hard, and she pulled away from him, which wasn't easy while riding a horse bareback. To keep from falling, Petra had to hold onto Emory and hug the horse with her thighs. Her legs bumped and rubbed against Emory's. "Stop this horse. I need to know right now."

Emory chuckled and clicked the horse into a gallop. Petra's frustration rose with every clip-clop as sweat formed on the horse's bridle and the animal's heat radiated through her. The faster Emory rode, the tighter Petra held on. She told herself she didn't want to cling to him, but as they flew across the meadow, destination unknown, she decided holding on was the smartest thing to do.

When the late afternoon sun glinted off the distant hills, Emory pulled the horse alongside the river. Boulders lined the bank, stacked like a giant game of Jenga. Emory reined the horse to a walk before sliding off.

"My lady." He held out a hand. Again she had the chance—she could take the reins and ride far, far away, but where would she go?

"My lady?"

"Where are we?" Petra looked at the wild and craggy landscape.

"Half a day's journey from London."

"Where are we going?"

"We have arrived. Further decisions can be made in the morning."

"We're going to stay here?" Her voice broke. "Like camping? But we don't have..."

"We are safe." He continued to hold out his hand. "What more do we need?"

Petra hadn't spent a lot of time camping, but she remembered going with her cousins and a truck full of stuff. "How about sleeping bags, a propane stove, freeze-dried food, insect repellent, a tent, a flashlight for starters."

"I'm sure those items, whatever they may be, would be nice to have, but they are not necessary."

Necessary? She looked around. Of course, there wasn't a restroom or even a port-a-potty. Necessary suddenly seemed relative.

Emory dropped his hand and turned away.

"Where are you going?" she called after his back.

Slowly he pulled his shirt over his head and continued toward the river. Petra slid off the horse, following. Emory sat on a rock and tugged off his boots. Standing a few feet away, Petra's heart began to hammer as Emory stood and undid his belt buckle. She let out a small sigh when she saw he left his pants on. He dove into the river, and the water swirled red and brown around him. Seconds later he surfaced. His chest that been torn and bloody, looked clean and new.

Petra closed her mouth and turned away so that Emory wouldn't catch her staring.

"Join me?"

Dying sun sparkled on the current pulling the water to the sea. Petra hung back. In 2014 her bra and panties would be considered modest on most beaches, but what did women wear swimming in 1614? Bloomers? Or maybe Elizabethan women didn't swim. Undressing in front of Emory was nothing like undressing in front of Mary. Turning her back to him, she unbuttoned the blood crusted shirt and hung it on a low branch. Sitting on a rock, she pulled off her boots. Then she slipped off the pants that reeked of horse sweat and worse.

Emory had his back turned as she waded into the water. The rocks were slippery and she had to catch herself a number of times as the river's current pushed at her legs. She waded out to where the water covered her shoulders, pulled out what remained of her hairpins, lowered her head into the water and let her hair fan out around her. The river washed away the stench of horse, sweat, smoke and ash, and the knot between her shoulders loosened a bit. She rose from the water and saw Emory watching.

"In truth, who are you?" His voice carried over the water.

She'd been waiting for this. What if he didn't believe her? Yet his own story had to be so incredible; hers would probably seem boring in comparison—what's time travel compared to the ability to miraculously heal from lethal bullet and sword wounds? She trusted him enough to know he wouldn't abandon her in the middle of nowhere, even if he didn't believe her.

"I'm Petra Baron from Royal Oaks, California," she began. "About five days ago I went into a fortuneteller's tent at a Renaissance fair. The year was 2014." She took a deep breath, watching his impassive face for a reaction. "When I left the tent, I found myself in Dorrington, England year 1610."

He stood three feet away, not close enough to touch. She thought about wading over to him and taking his hand. Instead, she added quietly, "I don't blame you for not believing me, but it's the truth."

The sun dimmed quickly, slipping behind a cloud in a pink haze. Trees overhanging the creek cast short shadows on Emory. Standing in the sun and water, Petra didn't feel cold, but she wondered if Emory was cold in the shade. She wondered if he felt cold, if he ever felt tired or hungry. She wondered what he felt about her.

Emory gave a small nod, as if he understood the illogical and impossible. How could anyone buy her story? She didn't understand and it had happened to her. "Who are you?" Petra asked. "Or, maybe I should ask, what are you?"

"I'm Emory Ravenswood. In the fourteenth century, when I entered my eighteenth year, my life...changed. Forever."

Petra let out a small gasp and a wave of relief washed over her. "You're like me. We're both time travelers!"

Emory went forward and she went backwards. How amazing that they met in the middle, that they shared this rare and phenomenal experience together, that she didn't have to be alone, that she'd been given someone to share her life with.

"I'm not like you." Emory interrupted her thoughts. "I did not travel through time like you. I am like most men."

"Like most men?" Petra slipped on the rocks. She treaded water until her feet hit sand which shifted as she wrestled with what Emory had told her. "Most men don't live for hundreds of years. Are you saying you're two hundred years old?"

A cold wind picked up, shaking the trees. Leaves danced from the branches and landed in the water. Petra shivered.

Emory, taking note, waded toward her and took her hand. "I've been on this earth since the fourteen hundreds, but my body is eighteen years old. In that, we are the same."

Petra's arms and legs were growing stiff in the cold water. She wanted to drown in disappointment. "We're not the same."

He pulled her to him and held her. She felt lulled by his warmth; she wanted to lean into him, let him take her, but she felt wooden and hollow.

"I've been alone a very long time. It's very difficult to watch the people I love grow old and die." He brushed the wet strands of hair off her face. "Until you, I've managed to keep my distance."

"But Anne? Rohan?"

"I've known Anne since she was a babe. She's the last of my family, the daughter of my brother's grandchild. I could not stay away."

"And Rohan?"

Emory laughed. "Rohan is different. I'm afraid he will always be a part of my existence."

"Why would you say that? Eventually – "

Emory reached one finger out to tilt her chin so that their eyes met. "For Rohan and for myself, there is no eventually."

"What do you mean?"

He stepped away. "It's a very long story best told over a camp fire."

"I've had enough of fires." She didn't want to be led away or distracted from his story. "I want to hear about you and Rohan."

"Come, Petra. It's getting cold." He pulled her toward the riverbank and she followed relunctantly while the river's gentle current pulsed around her legs. He retrieved her shirt and wrapped it over her shoulders. She shrugged into it, despite its smell and filth. It hung past her thighs.

"I'll make a fire and then I'll tell you all you want to know," he said, buttoning a few of her buttons. "And much more that you probably do not."

Chapter Twenty-Four

The thin place:

Where the veil between this world and the Otherworld is thin.

To some it is heaven, the kingdom, or paradise.

To others it may be hell or an abyss.

Maybe the hell is not knowing which.

—Petra's note

Emory disappeared behind an outcrop of rocks and returned moments later with a blanket and a small box. He smiled at her surprise. "I have been here many times before." He cleared his throat. "It is a second residence to me."

She looked around at the small clearing in the grove. "It's nice," she said, sarcasm touching her voice. "It's a wonder you ever leave."

He smiled as he shook out the blanket and wrapped it around her. "I'll have the fire going soon."

She grabbed at his hand. "No, don't do that now. I want to hear—"

He shook his head. "You had a long, sleepless night. You must be hungry and tired."

"But not you, right? You won't be hungry and tired, because you don't need to eat or sleep?"

He tucked the edges of the blanket around her and then pushed her onto a log. She sat with a disgruntled huff.

"Mere moments," he promised.

She called after his back, "In a lifetime of moments that, for you, never end?"

He shook his head as he disappeared into a thicket of aspens. "Wrong," he said, when he reappeared carrying an armful of gathered wood and a leather flask. "My life ended more than two hundred years ago."

Despite the warmth of the blanket, a chill passed up Petra's back. "You're dead?"

"Not exactly." Emory set aside the flask and used a log to clear a circle where he piled his logs and then broke twigs into kindling.

"You're either alive or your dead. There's not an in-between."

"And you know this how?" He arranged the fallen wood into a teepee and placed twigs beneath. Petra wondered how it would start after the drenching rain, but then he uncorked the flask and poured ale on the wood. "There is an in between. The old people call it the thin place."

"The old people? Being two hundred years isn't old?" Petra shivered in the blanket. She'd thought it creepy when Auntie Dee had dated a man twenty years older, even creepier when her forty-something neighbor Mrs. Duncan married her twenty-something gardener. Compared to two hundred, twenty was nothing.

"I'm not so old." He cleared his throat. "Look at me, Petra. I am the same age as you, stuck in the thin place, between the living and the dead."

"Not a ghost?" Even in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket, she shivered with cold and something else. Not dread, not disappointment, more than disbelief—she couldn't categorize her feelings.

"I cannot die because I have already done so." Using flint and tinder, Emory lit the wood.

Petra watched the pile of wood burst into flames.

Emory leaned back on his heels, studying the smoke that curled into the sky. "It's something that can only be done once."

"How? What was it like?" She wrapped the blanket around her a smidge tighter, her shivering increased. "Maybe I've died, too. Maybe that's why I'm here. This is my in-between."

Emory sat beside Petra. Wrapping his arm around her, he pulled her against his chest. "No, you are very much alive. There is no mistaking death."

Pressed against Emory, Petra's shivering eased slightly. "Are there others like you, trapped in the thin place?"

"Not many." He held her tight, resting his chin on the top of her head.

She breathed out a sigh. He didn't feel dead. He felt warm and alive. "Why are you here? Why am I here with you?"

"Those are two different questions."

"Then I want two answers."

"Do you know what happens when we die?"

Of course not. No one living did. She wanted to believe that her mother lived on, somewhere, somehow, and that she'd see her again. In her imagination she'd pictured a reunion with her mother and her father in a heaven of sorts, a place without cancer or accidents. She looked at Emory, confused, fearful and hopeful.

"It is one of life's grand secrets, one all who pass are instructed to keep."

She smiled. "And you're going to tell me?"

He nodded. "Heaven is already angry with me." He turned his lips toward hers and gently kissed her. "Are you willing to be with someone who's on the wrong side of heaven?"

Petra shivered again. The fire and blanket didn't help. If she'd been home and someone had told her he was caught in a thin place, on the wrong side of heaven, it wouldn't matter how hot he was, or how attracted to him she felt, she would have said goodbye and gone on with the rest of her life. But she didn't have a life here. She had no one, nowhere to go and nothing to do. Turning her back on the one person she knew wasn't an option.

"Do not worry. I'm not in league with hell, although they have done their best to recruit me." He kissed her deeply and the earth shook beneath her.

No, really, the earth is shaking. A dark cloud billowed overhead and a mean wind whipped through the trees.

Lifting his lips from hers, he said, "See, they are angry already. Both of them."

"Them who?"

Lightning crackled, thunder rumbled and Emory laughed. "Heaven and hell. I must keep their secrets although they promise me nothing in return."

Scattered rain drops, heavy and stinging, fell. The fire quivered and sizzled. "Will they put out your fire?" Petra didn't know what she believed of heaven or hell, but making either of them angry seemed stupid. She readjusted the blanket. "You shouldn't tell me, then."

"Is that what you want?" he asked, his face inches from hers. He pulled the blanket so that it protected her head from the rain. "Moments ago you were willing to stand in the river until your legs turned to ice if I did not tell you my truth."

Thunder boomed and the rain turned from a few desolate drops to a driving deluge. The fire lost its roar and flames and began to smoke.

"I don't think you should make heaven or hell angry!" Petra said, raising her voice above the escalating storm's noise.

"I thought you didn't believe?"

"Do my beliefs matter?"

He laughed. "Absolutely." He leaned his forehead against hers. "Your belief is the only thing that matters." Standing, he drew her up and led her to an outcropping of rocks.

She trailed after him, tripping over sticks and fallen branches. "I don't even know what that means."

Emory stopped to grab his clothes off the branches where they'd been hung, and then he led her into a cave so deep and dark that she couldn't see the end. She blinked in the gloom. Emory lit torches that hung from the wall and the cave sprung to light. An animal fur rug sat on a dirt packed floor. A stack of wooden crates held a variety of supplies including a jug, a bucket, and a knife.

The ultimate man cave.

As if he could read her thoughts, Emory looked sheepish. "I wasn't expecting company." He sat down on the bear skin and pulled her beside him.

"In the year 1414, I was...foolish."

Outside the cave, the wind howled. The tree branches whipped against each other and moaned in their movement. Looking at the raging storm, Petra said, "I think maybe having this conversation is foolish. I really don't want to make heaven or hell mad." She paused. "Would it help to whisper? Can they hear us?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Heaven and hell aren't easily thwarted."

"And yet, you did it when you were...foolish."

"I was more foolish than most at seventeen. My friends and I were setting a fire. My family died in the fire. And the entire village."

Petra gasped and reached out to touch his arm. "I'm sure it was an accident."

"I'm still responsible. Everyone I knew died, except for my brother who happened to be away. I watched him return," Emory's voice choked. "I saw him realize that he had no one and nothing left."

"But you?"

Emory shook his head and leaned against the stone wall. He pulled her so that she lay against his chest. "Not even me. You see, I had also died." He took a deep breath. "When you die, you're gathered up to your people. Do you know what that means?"

A chill shook her and her body turned cold everywhere except for where she and Emory touched.

"When we die we're gathered to our people," he repeated. Lifting his face toward the roof of the cave, he addressed it. "I've shared nothing that she can't read in the Bible for herself." He smiled. "If you can find the King James version, there'll be no need to learn Latin."

The storm raging beyond the cave's opening seemed to subside. The wind stopped howling and the rain slacked off.

He turned back to her. "There are numerous references on the subject. Genesis gives an account of Jacob dying and being gathered to his people, for example. Should you like more, there are many. I'll admit that at one time I became something of an expert on the subject."

Petra shrugged. She wanted to say I believe you but she wasn't sure if that was true.

Emory's voice turned fierce. "I don't want to be gathered to my people. And as for the judgment bar of God—"

A laugh rang through the cave, echoing off the walls. Emory bolted upright and Petra struggled to her feet. She imagined the arrival of a host of winged avenging angels, carrying bows, swords and righteous indignation.

"You think you can escape the judgments of God?" a voice boomed.

Whirling, Petra breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Chambers standing at the opening of the cave. At least he was human. Although frightening in the flickering torch light, his shadow, long and lean, across the floor.

After Emory's conversation, Petra had half expected an angel or a demon from hell. Although,

Chambers didn't possess unearthly powers, but he did look scary. The wind, whistling through the cave lifted his hair so that it flew about his face. His cloak swirled around him as he lifted his arm, pointed his gun and fired a shot into Emory's chest.

The cave exploded in a haze of smoke and blood.

Chapter Twenty-Five

In Elizabethan times, the church went to great lengths to root out the influences of Satan and his servants. They used torture, such as hot pincers, the thumbscrew, and the 'swimming' of suspects, to force confessions of witchcraft.

—Petra's notes

Petra huddled in the corner of the carriage in a fog of pain. The wheels churning through the mud and the steady clomping of the horses did nothing to ease the driving rain's sting. Above her, the heavens churned in revolt, the clouds heaved, lightning sparked and thunder shook the ground. The horses pulling the coach strained against the bits, pushing toward Dorrington, to find shelter from the storm, food and comfort. Petra knew she wouldn't be so lucky. Where would Chambers take her?

Chambers rode ahead, astride a white stallion, while one henchman drove the coach. Another guy carrying a pistol rode behind. In the scuffle, someone had hit her over the head and she felt the pain with every wagon jolt. Occasionally, as she bounced along the muddy and jutted roads, Petra considered escape. The ropes around her hands and ankles wouldn't prevent her from flinging herself out the carriage door, but then what? The henchmen would most likely pick her back up and toss her back in like a wayward sack of potatoes. She wasn't thinking clearly. Everything jumbled together.

Closing her eyes, Petra replayed a memory in her mind: Emory falling, blood draining from his face and staining his shirt. Petra had to keep reminding herself that he couldn't die. Probably. Yes, she'd seen him heal in minutes from a bullet wound not too many hours ago, but what if it only worked so many times? He hadn't really explained the rules of his existence.

Where was he now? When a henchman had banged her head, she'd lost focus. Maybe just for a moment, or maybe for hours, she didn't know. By the time her vision cleared, all she saw was the sky swimming in rain. Heaven's rage, she thought. It was her last conscious thought for a long time.

***

Petra woke in the dark. As she pushed herself to her elbow, away from the hard, cold ground, her head thundered, though the whistling wind and beating rain had stopped. When her eyes adjusted to the dark she realized that she was no longer in the coach, but inside somewhere. Sitting up, she tried to register her surroundings. Dark, damp, stone walls and floors. She was in a cell identical to the one where she'd seen the gypsy. Maybe close to the torture chamber. She bit back a swell of panic, which seemed to be her go-to emotion whenever Emory wasn't around.

Scooting across the floor so her back rested on a stone wall, Petra took stock. She felt every stone and pebble through the thin fabric of her panties, but that was the least of her pain. Her head, her arm, her belly—she ached everywhere. Pulling her knees to her chest, she rested her forehead on her knees and closed her eyes. Somewhere along the way she'd lost the blanket. Emory. She shivered violently in her filthy shirt, bra and panties.

If Emory couldn't die, why hadn't he rescued her? Where was he? What had happened to him?

When the cell door swung open with a screech, and Petra looked up, hopes raised.

Fritz stood inside the cell bearing a tray of food. Breakfast in bed, she thought. The sight and smell made her stomach roll. She wondered if Chambers had ordered the meal or if Fritz had brought it on his own. Because of his nervous twitching, she guessed the latter. Fritz kept his gaze focused on the ground; he wouldn't look at her. He set the tray on the ground and undid a satchel he had slung over his shoulder.

"Fritz, thank you. Tell Mary thank you too," Petra said, suspecting that Mary had made the tray. Petra braced herself against the wall so she could stand. "How did you know I was here?"

He reached into the satchel and shook out her dress. Wrinkled and dirt smudged, it was better than nudity. "Tis common knowledge." Fritz kept his gaze over her shoulder and made the sign of the cross over his heart with one hand and handed her the dress with the other.

With a sinking feeling, Petra took the dress. "Is why I'm here common knowledge?"

"They be saying you a witch, mistress." Fritz edged toward the door. "They've sent for the examiners."

Examiners? Petra pictured the man at the DMV who gave her the driver's test. She hugged the dress to her body.

Fritz nodded. "The ecclesiastic examiners. They'll be bringing a witch-pricker."

Witch-pricker?

"They'll test my blood?"

"If ye have blood." He looked at her then and focused on her wound. The tightness in his shoulders seemed to ease when he saw that she definitely had blood.

She touched her head and felt the dried blood in her hair. "Who sent for the examiners? Chambers?" Fritz didn't deny it, so she continued. "But Lord Garret, he won't let me be pricked."

"My Lord Garret has eloped with Mistress Anne."

The previous night swam into focus.

"They're saying you be responsible for his enchantment." Fritz continued, looking somber. "His marriage so shortly after his father's death is highly irregular."

"The Earl is dead? How?" Petra rubbed her head.

"He died in the storm at Hampton Court."

Petra considered the news. She wanted to ask more about his death—was it an accident, did anyone suspect foul play—because she did. What if the law, whoever that was, suspected Garret, Rohan or Emory? And what if the law was Chambers until Garret returned? A chill crept through Petra. "Lord Garret falls in love and I'm to blame?"

"Yes, bewitched, miss, so it seems." He gave her an apologetic smile and turned away, locking the door behind him.

***

One or maybe five hours later, a figure in a black robe and hood opened the cell door. For a wild moment, Petra had a flash of hope that the man, the same size and shape as Rohan, had come to rescue her. When the man roughly yanked her to her feet, hope died. He wasn't Rohan in disguise. He was Chambers' henchman.

She understood why Chambers was angry. She'd helped spoil the plot to prevent the distribution of the Bible. Maybe he held her responsible for the death of the Earl. Not that she'd pulled the actual pistol triggers or brandished swords, but she'd been there spitting fire and throwing smoke bombs.

Chambers no doubt would say Petra was on the other side of God. He believed in his cause. With the Earl gone and Garret sitting in his place, what would become of Chambers? Garret seemed to tolerated him, but with Anne whispering in his ear, how long would Chambers have a place in the manor?

The henchman drew her through the catacombs. Petra let loose a sigh of relief when they passed the torture chamber. Pushing open a heavy wooden door, the henchman strong-armed her across the courtyard and up a wooden stairway to an elevated platform.

A noisy, restless crowd milled around the square. Dimly, she recognized a few faces: Mary, red eyed and blotchy skinned, and Muffin Face and her perpetual scowl, Fritz staring straight ahead. Another hooded henchman stepped forward so that the two men flanked her.

Father Knightly slowly climbed the stairs, his face grim. He took center stage and addressed the crowd.

"The judgment of God has fallen on our fair village. Satan has come upon us in great wrath. God, for a wise yet unfathomable reason has left us vulnerable. God's will, in time will be manifest, but only if we repent and purge ourselves of all ungodliness. We must not fall prey to the lion who seeks to destroy us."

Is he seriously comparing me to a lion? Petra's mind reeled.

Father Knightly faced the crowd with outstretched arms. "We must guard ourselves against the wiles of Satan!" His voice boomed, face red, eyes wild. "We must watch, pray and humble ourselves before God!" Spit flew from his mouth.

Good heaven, Petra thought, he really believes what he's saying. He honestly thinks I'm an instrument of Satan. Looking over the crowd, she searched for Emory and Rohan. They had to be nearby. They wouldn't let Chambers win. They would save her. Now is the perfect time for a hero to show up.

"True piety toward God is our only safeguard from the ills of life, our only hope for the life to come. Our village can only be saved through sacrifice and extermination!"

Extermination?

He pointed. "What say ye?"

Petra swallowed. "What charges do you have against me? Why do you think I'm a witch... or a lion?"

Father Knightly circled her, still pointing at her chest. "Do you have a supreme respect for the laws and authority of Gods?"

She shook her head, swiveling to watch his slow rotation of her. "Of course, I – "

"Are you disposed to resist His will and gratify your own?"

This is a good time to lie, she decided, although lying while defending her adherence to God's laws seemed wrong and counterproductive.

"Do you surrender yourself, body and soul, to my service to be employed in whatever way I may judge conducive to the progress of God's kingdom among men?"

"Absolutely not," Petra said, standing straighter. "I don't know who made you judge of this kingdom."

The crowd roared.

Father Knightly took a step closer, dropped his outstretched arm and pulled her cell phone from his robes. He pressed a button and Breaking Benjamin screamed. The jeers, the catcalls and the whistling went silent. Father Knightly spoke quietly, "Can you deny this is an instrument of the devil?"

Petra wanted to laugh. The two men with vice-like grips on her arms were proof that this wasn't funny, yet a nervous giggle bubbled inside of her. "It's an instrument from Apple."

The crowd jeered and cat-called, reminding Petra of the angry crowd in the old Frankenstein movie. They even waved the same pitchforks and clubs. Father Knightly raised his hands for silence. "She admits it!" he screamed over the crowd's roar. "She admits that Satan, who tempted Mother Eve with the first apple, has sent another."

"That's not what I meant!" Petra said as the henchmen tightened their grips and led her to the edge of the stage.

A pole stuck from the middle of a heap of wood. As true realization hit, Petra kicked and screamed. Twisting her legs, she aimed high. Hit 'em where it hurts, she coached herself, but she couldn't seem to hurt them at all. Henchmen secured her arms with leather straps.

"Burn her! Burn her!" the crowd chanted in time.

Panic. Petra writhed as the henchmen lifted her to the pole. Where's Emory? This can't be happening. She took a breath, swallowed her fear, and opened her lungs to yell again, but she could hardly hear her own shrieks over the tumult of the crowd. They tied her to the pole and a man in a dark hooded robe lit the pyre with a flaming torch.

Smoke, heat, and crackling flames. Fire flickered toward her dangling feet.

She heard another roar and another name, her own. She saw Emory shoving through the crowd, tossing aside grown men, women and small children. Insults and fists didn't slow him. The taunts shifted as he shouldered toward the growing fire.

"The witch's lad!" someone shouted.

Another called, "Burn him too. Burn 'em all!"

The fire, many inches below her feet, suddenly rushed toward her. Dimly, she realized that the fire had burnt the pole supporting her. She crashed. Something hit her head. Pain shot through her body and then, suddenly, nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Dreams are:

Images, sounds, or emotions that pass through the mind during sleep.

A response to neural processes.

Reflections of the subconscious.

Predictions.

Messages from gods, the deceased, or from the soul.

Not really understood.

—Petra's notes

Her eyelids felt heavy, as if weighted and yet unsubstantial against the white, unnatural glare. She licked her lips; they were cracked, dry and tasted of blood and ash. Her head pounded. Someone touched her hand and whispered what sounded like an apology. "Petra Pooh?"

"Daddy?" Her eyes flickered open and his face swam into focus. Immediately, she began to cry hot tears that made her cheeks sting. She remembered being tied to a stake and falling into the flames. There had been horrific pain and then nothing. Had she died in the fire? After this life we're gathered back to our people, Emory had said. Her dad, her mom, her people. She tried to swallow and her throat felt raw. "Where's Mom?" she asked.

"Oh, baby," her father said, and his voice cracked. He pressed her against him in a fierce hug, but when she winced in pain he gently let go and settled her against the pillows. She saw his tired, lined face, the gray sprinkling in his hair, and his blue, worried eyes. He was alive and so was she. Her mother was still dead.

Petra slipped a hand into his and looked beyond him to the sterile, white hospital walls. Outside, the distant lights of Santa Maria Boulevard sparkled in the twilight. Cars rushed up and down the parkway; street signals flashed yellow, green and red; a blinking airplane headed for the airport.

I didn't die in 1610. Did I live in 1610? She touched her head where it was tender, she felt the bump beneath her fingers, so she understood the pain, but that didn't explain everything.

Not at all.

She still wore Emory's ring. She closed her eyes and opened them again. Her father was still there. "I missed you," she whispered.

"I've missed you too. After losing your mother..." his voice broke. "I don't know how I would have survived losing you too."

She let her heavy eyes close, trying to make sense of her new world. Her old world. This different world. A world without Emory.

***

A battery of tests and doctors filled the next day. During the poking, prodding, and bandage-changing Petra learned a few things: An earthquake during the Renaissance fair had sparked a fire; she'd been lost beneath the tangle of the fortuneteller's tent for a day. She'd been in the hospital, unconscious, for four.

Petra closed her eyes against all this information. She tried to process the hospital truth with her time in 1610. Intellectually, she lined up coming to the hospital with her arrival at the manor, her swim at the river with Emory with a bed bath given by a nurse, and her phone playing Breaking Benjamin. But while her mind told her one thing and her heart said something else entirely.

"It's common for a patient suffering severe physical and emotional distress to have delusional episodes," Doctor Graham, a mental health counselor told her. "It's your mind trying to escape the horror of your reality." The doctor, a petite blond in an oversized lab coat had purple spotted fingernail polish. She looked a lot like Mary.

"But wouldn't I go to some happy place?" Petra asked through cracked lips. It hurt to speak, her throat dry and scratchy, but she had to try. Worrying that she'd lost her mind was making her crazy.

"Not necessarily," Doctor Graham shifted in the chair beside her and settled a clipboard in her lap, "just as your nightly dreams aren't always happy. There's a great deal of research and controversy concerning the workings of our subconscious. Some say dreams are a random firing of neutrons and have no meaning. Spiritualists believe they are messages from God."

"It seemed so real," Petra muttered, staring past the doctor and out the window, beyond the bustling city to the green hills where the canyon began. "And there are so many things I didn't know, that I couldn't have imagined...like cockfights."

Doctor Graham smiled. "Our subconscious minds are incredibly powerful. We know many things that we've never given much thought, yet our brains have filed away the information." She patted Petra's hand. "You can't believe the nightmare. You can't argue with it, or challenge it. Your only option is to destroy it."

"Destroy it?" Petra thought of Emory, his face, his smile. How could she destroy someone she loved? Because she did love him, even if, or maybe even especially because, he was the work of her imagination.

Doctor Graham gave her a kind and sympathetic look. "It's not real, so it can't be destroyed literally. The only way to defuse its power is to shine your light of reason upon it. There's no other option. You can't believe the lie, but you might find it helpful to write it down. It will help you clarify your feelings. Journaling about such a traumatic experience will let you explore, process and release your emotions."

Now would be a good time to mention the ring. But Petra remained silent. She wasn't ready to try and prove or disprove Emory.

Giggles and voices from down the hall caught Petra's attention. She turned to watch Robyn, Kyle and a giant pink and purple pony approaching. The trio stood hesitantly outside the door.

"Your friends are eager to see you. They've been by many times," the doctor said, gathering her things and rising to her feet. "You're lucky that you have so many people who love you. If you're interested in journaling, I'll get you a pad of paper and a pen."

"Thank you," Petra lisped, wetting her lips and tasting ash. "I'd like that."

Doctor Graham patted Petra's hand and beckoned for the trio to come in. Robyn, Kyle and the pony trooped through the door. Behind the pony, Zoe. Petra's heart leapt and she suddenly realized how grateful she was to see her sister. She desperately needed to apologize.

Kyle and Robyn began talking at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed. They're nervous, Petra thought. She imagined an electrical current running between them. They talked too fast and laughed too much; she barely understood them.

Pushing herself up on the bed, Petra saw her reflection in the window. With her singed hair, chapped, red skin, and the swollen lips, she looked like someone else. She was ugly. She was ugly and she didn't care.

Zoe plopped the pony at the foot of the hospital bed. "This is supposed to be your stallion, and Kyle's supposedly your knight in shining armor."

Robyn rolled her eyes and pushed Zoe into the chair where moments earlier Doctor Graham had sat. "Zoe! You're totally ruining it!"

Zoe rolled her eyes. "As if she cares about prom. Look at her! She can barely sit, let alone dance!"

Petra laughed and it sounded wheezy and it hurt, but she couldn't help it.

Kyle stepped in front of Zoe, and cleared his throat. He shifted from foot to foot, and a pink stain flushed his cheeks. He began.

"When the moon first shines pale in evening's light,

At the senior prom we'll discover delight – "

"Did you write that?" Petra interrupted.

"Wait, there's more," Robyn said, waving her hands and shushing her.

Kyle looked uncomfortable but started again.

"Your beauty – "

"Please stop!" Petra held up her hand. Robyn pinched her lips closed and looked cross. Petra smiled and said, "Thanks, Robyn, Kyle, that was great. You guys are great, but I really, really need to speak to Zoe."

"Zoe?" Robyn and Kyle asked simultaneously.

Petra smiled at Kyle and then with a hand that felt like it weighed a hundred pounds she moved Kyle so that she could see Zoe. "Zoe, I'm so incredibly sorry I lost you at the fair. I worried and worried. I'm so glad you are safe." She took a deep breath. "And you're right. I don't want to go to prom." She turned to Kyle. "I'm sorry. I don't want to go. I don't think I could even if I wanted to. Which I don't."

Zoe beamed and shot Robyn and Kyle I-told-you-so looks.

Petra studied Robyn and Kyle. They looked so much like Garret and Anne, she decided that as soon as possible she'd learn about their ancestry to see if they were distantly related. Oh, after she found out if Anne and Garret Falstaff had even existed anywhere other than in her imagination.

A flash of pain and loss zipped through her that had nothing to do her injuries. She settled against her pillows. "I think that you two should go to the prom together," Petra said.

Robyn's mouth dropped open, and Kyle flushed red and looked out the window.

"But I'm going with Zack Pepper!" Robyn said.

Petra watched her friend, her tele-buddy. They'd always prided themselves on being able to read each other's thoughts. How had she been so clueless? How could anyone know what someone else thinks?

Petra realized she'd probably been projecting what she wanted Robyn to think, which, when she thought about it, really wasn't very nice because it made Robyn less of her own person. "Do you want to go with Zack?" Petra asked, even though she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

Robyn looked at her shoes.

"You guys should be together," Petra said, her gaze going from Robyn to Kyle.

"What?" Kyle said at the same time Robyn said, "You don't mean that!"

Laurel pushed through the door, carrying an enormous basket of fruit. She also had Trader Joe's grocery bags tucked under each arm, most likely filled with whole grain crackers, cartons of hummus, and loaves of gluten-free bread. Petra knew Laurel would turn up her pointy nose at hospital food. Petra smiled watching her tiny stepmother wrangle the groceries. Everyone shows love in their own way.

"You should help her," Petra said to Kyle.

"Robyn doesn't need my help." Kyle looked unhappy.

"Not Robyn." Petra shook her head. "Help Laurel. With the groceries."

Laurel sighed a thank you as Kyle took the basket and set it on the wide window ledge. Laurel settled the Trader Joe's bags on the counter. "Now, you probably won't need all of this since hopefully." She crossed her fingers, "Your dad will get his way and have you out of here tomorrow, but you never know."

Laurel rummaged through a bag and pulled out a bottle of Vitamin E. "To facilitate healing," she said, holding it up. Then she returned to her bags, still talking. "I talked to the nurse about what they've been feeding you through that IV, and it's a wonder you're still alive. And do you know what they were going to give you tonight? Clear chicken broth! Nothing but flavored salt water!" The thought of all that sodium made her shudder.

Petra caught Kyle and Robyn's glances and smiled. "You guys should go before she tries to tofu you."

"Are you sure?" Kyle asked, and Petra knew the question was loaded.

"Yeah."

Robyn turned to Kyle. "Is she breaking up with you?"

"I'm right here, guys," Petra said.

"I think so," Kyle said, not looking hurt but confused.

"Why are you doing this? I don't think you're thinking straight," Robyn said, turning to her and taking her hand.

"I'm still me. I'm still your best friend. Only now I'm Kyle's friend, too." She swallowed. "You know, I don't think I was before and I should have been."

Kyle looked at Robyn and shrugged. He turned to Petra. "I always thought of you as my friend." He flushed. "And more, of course."

"I just want the friend part, now," Petra said. "I can't handle any more. I'm sorry if that hurts you...but I don't think it does."

Kyle bit his lip, and Robyn put her hand on his arm.

Laurel, oblivious as usual, held up a carton. "I bought this Greek yogurt. It'll help your GI tract, which is really important because after so many days in bed you must be constipated."

"Seriously," Petra told her friends. "You should go. This might get ugly."

"Oh, it's already ugly," Zoe said, touching Petra's foot that had escaped the bed sheet.

Petra hadn't noticed that her feet were wrapped in bandages. One black and charred-looking toenail had torn through. She stared at the foot as if it belonged to someone else. An alien perhaps.

"Your feet are the worst." Laurel took a seat on a chair beside Petra's bed.

"No dancing." Zoe gave Robyn and Kyle now-get-out-of- here-looks.

"Well, I guess we'll go then," Kyle said, shuffling.

"See you soon," Robyn said, stooping to kiss Petra.

Laurel stopped her, shaking her head. "Infection," she warned.

Robyn blew a kiss. Kyle picked up Petra's hand and kissed the tip of her pinky finger. She waited for the rush she felt with Emory's touch but felt nothing other than overwhelming relief when they walked out. In the hall, Robyn reached out and took Kyle's hand.

Petra closed her eyes and lay against the pillows, thinking about what she'd do when she got home, when she was well. She opened her eyes and saw her little sister watching her intently. "I want to know everything that happened to you, Zoe. How did you get home from the fair? What was the fire like? How did it start?" Petra had heard the story from doctors, nurses and her parents, but she wanted to hear her sister's version.

Zoe leaned forward, her elbows propped on her knees. "Well, the whole ground shook and the animals went absolutely crazy. People were screaming and running around. The horses were screaming too. Chickens and goats from the petting zoo escaped. There was this pig – E-nor-mous – just running loose, well, almost all the animals were loose. And the Horse Guy, remember the Horse Guy?"

Emory, images of him floated through her. A figment of my imagination, she thought, remembering Doctor Graham. A random firing of neutrons, whatever that means.

"He saved me. He took me home."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah. They didn't want to let him through the guard gate, so we just rode around and JUMPED THE FENCE!"

"You jumped the fence? The fence to Bear Ranch?" Eight feet high, wrought iron, topped with spikes and monitored by security cameras.

"On his horse!" Zoe bounced on her chair. "Remember his horse!"

"Zoe, you know better than to go with a stranger," Petra said, sounding like Laurel and not caring.

Zoe put her hands on her hips. "What was I supposed to do? The funnel cake stand tipped over. The glass blowers oven literally exploded. Everything was on fire. And no one could find you."

Petra looked away, fighting back a wave of guilt. The guilt for leaving Zoe alone on a stump while she waited for Kyle made her sick.

Laurel pushed to the bed waving a glass of a green liquid. "How are you feeling?"

Petra shook her head, blinking back hot tears. "Zoe, I'm so, so, so sorry I lost you that day."

"You already said that." Zoe looked confused. After an awkward moment she shrugged. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," Petra said, trying to stop her tears. "It'll never happen again. I promise."

"If you hadn't gotten lost, I wouldn't have gotten to jump the fence."

And I wouldn't have met Emory. Sobs welled in Petra's chest.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Once upon a time and happily ever after are stock phrases common in fairy tales, but what is the definition of "time" and "ever after?" How does time work? Is it linear, or does it fold and overlap like a Chinese fan? How can you have an after if the ever doesn't exist?

—Petra's notes

Petra spent the next two weeks in bed looking at the wallpaper and reading books from the library and researching on her laptop. Frosty and Zoe kept her company. Frosty wanted to walk. Zoe wanted to go to the stables. Petra could do neither.

She made lists of books for Laurel to pick up, anything on time travel and anything on the England's 17th century. Laurel happily obliged, and books grew like small teetering towers on Petra's bed.

One morning Petra's dad stuck his head in her room to deliver a lecture on a pursuit in history or literature versus the practicality of a business degree. "In today's world, a woman needs to be able to stand on her own financial feet. An intellect like yours shouldn't be wasted on yesterdays' mistakes and—"

"I'm not picking out a career, Dad," she said, not looking at him, her nose buried between the cover of H.G. Wells' The Time Machine. Beside her, her laptop had the flickering image of King James.

"Well then, what are you doing?" he asked, hanging in the doorway and waving at the books.

"I'm just..." She didn't know how to explain it. "Other kids play video games. Laurel reads romances. Zoe rides horses. This is how I waste time. You should be happy I'm not reading gossip magazines."

Her dad didn't look happy or convinced, but Petra had at least another week before she could go back to school, so he said goodbye, shrugged and walked away with his shoulders set, as if he bore the world's financial weight.

Petra put down her book and pulled her laptop closer. There were so many things that she hadn't known; how had she imagined them? Hampton Court was a real place, a huge place. And hell hounds: there were innumerable accounts of hell hounds, including the English legend of Black Shuck. The chained oak, gypsy hunts, ecclesiastical examiners, witch prickers. They had all once existed beyond her imagination. She hadn't known about a controversy surrounding the publication of the King James Bible, so how had she become involved?

At a conference held in 1604 in Hampton Court Palace, a few miles from London, King James I appointed a committee to make a new translation of the Bible. The result, published in 1611, drew heavily on the works of Tyndale and Coverdale, martyrs who had dedicated and sacrificed their lives to bring the word of God to mankind. It is impossible to overestimate its beauty, power and influence. As Galileo's work opened the door allowing science to freely discover God's universe, so did The King James Bible set mankind free to discover God and man's place in His universe. Science and the Bible coexisted in relative comfort alongside each other for the next 200 years.

Two hundred years. She'd read in one of her books that the original translation of "once upon a time" was two hundred years. Curious, she typed 'once upon a time' on her computer's search.

"Once upon a time" is a stock phrase that has been used in some form since at least 1380 (according to the Oxford English Dictionary) in storytelling in the English language, and seems to have become a widely accepted convention for opening oral narratives by around 1600.

The phrase also is frequently used in oral storytelling such as retellings of myths, fables, and folklore. These stories often end with "... and they all lived happily ever after", or, originally, "happily until their deaths".

But what if no one dies? Can there be a happily ever after? Petra lay back against her pillows, suddenly tired of research, tired even of the wallpaper.

Zoe popped her head in. "Can you take me to the stables?"

Petra opened one eye. Zoe had on her riding boots and breeches. She carried a helmet under one arm and a whip in her hand. Petra smiled, wondering if Zoe would turn the whip on her if she said no. "Why aren't you in school?" she asked.

Zoe rolled her eyes. "It's Saturday, dummy."

"Hmm." She'd lost all sense of time since she'd been home. The days and nights melded into each other, and she realized with a start that today must be the prom. She wondered if Robyn was at that moment having her nails done, or her hair, or her make-up. She wondered in a detached other-worldly way where her friends had bought their dresses, where they were going to dinner, who'd they'd hired to take their pictures. It seemed amazing that just a few weeks earlier it'd all seemed so important to her. The clothes, the hair, who was seen with whom. She'd been a part of it. She'd lived in the walking, talking fashion drama.

Soon she'd have to go back to school and make up all the work she'd missed. She didn't care. She supposed she'd have to go to summer school and maybe take classes at the junior college. She'd overheard her parents arguing over hiring a tutor, yet she still didn't care. She'd get into a good university eventually. If that was something she still wanted.

It wasn't that she didn't know what, or who, she wanted. She just didn't know how to get him.

"Stables?" Zoe flicked the whip in her direction.

Petra bit her lip. "You know I can't risk infection."

Zoe sighed. "You didn't use to be all obey-the-rules-or-hell-breaks-loose."

Bored to distraction and tempted, Petra sat up and moved the laptop off her bed. Zoe broke into a happy jig when Petra swung her legs from between the bed sheets. Frosty, who'd been lying nearby, jumped up, as if something momentous was about to happen and he didn't want to get left behind.

Zoe stopped dancing and frowned. "I'll wait for you to shower."

Petra touched her frizzled hair. "Shower?"

"You know, stand under a stream of water so that you don't smell like poop."

"I don't smell like poop!"

Zoe raised her eyebrows. Frosty sat and cocked his head, as if he agreed with Zoe.

"Fine." Petra limped toward the bathroom. Frosty followed, nails clicking on the tile. "Where's Laurel and Hardy?" Petra asked over her shoulder.

"They've gone to the car show, so we've got loads of time."

Loads of time. Two hundred years. Once upon a time. There's no such thing as happily ever after. Petra locked the bathroom door and turned on the shower full blast.

A few minutes later she found Zoe watching TV in the family room. Zoe clicked off the TV and looked her up and down. "Is that what you're going to wear?"

Petra looked at her black toenails sticking out of her flip flops, the jeans that hung on her hip bones like a saggy gray flag below her Blue Man Group t-shirt. "What?"

"At least let me do your hair." Zoe grabbed a hairbrush and elastic from off the table as if she'd been expecting to do Petra's hair.

"Zoe, why am I getting dressed up to watch you ride horses?"

"It's not like you're getting an up-do. I'm just combing it. For once." Zoe twisted an elastic band around Petra's hair.

Looking in the glass doors at her scrubbed clean face and pulled-back hair, Petra decided she looked better than she had since the accident. Frosty even wagged his tail at her.

"You'll do," Zoe said, gathering her whip and helmet.

***

"This is as far as I go," Petra said, staring at the stone-and-timber building across the muddy parking lot.

"Come on," Zoe whined, her hand on the door handle. She gave the stables a mournful look before turning her large green eyes to Petra. "You've come this far. You showered."

Petra laughed. "I know. It's all remarkable and amazing, but I can't ride, and watching someone else ride is boring. Besides, the stable is a pretty infectious place." Leaning over Zoe, she pushed open the passenger door. "You have your phone. Just call when you're done."

Zoe leaned her head against the seat and wailed. "You promised you'd never leave me again!"

Stunned, Petra said, "I'm not leaving you alone. Pete, Rose and probably half a dozen of your friends, human and equine, are just through that gate."

"Come and make sure," Zoe wheedled.

"You know I can't."

"What if someone abducts me?"

"It's ten yards! But if by some random chance someone tries to carry you away, scream and I'll come to your rescue."

"Triple-dog-dare promise." Zoe's mouth was a grim straight line. "Say it."

Petra pushed Zoe's shoulders. "Get out of the car."

Zoe said, "Repeat after me. I, Petra – "

"Fine. I promise that if anything happens to you I have to do triple dog dare."

Zoe beamed. "Then you have to stay. You can't hear me scream from home."

Petra leaned against the seat. At least looking at the canyon was different from looking at wallpaper. "I'll stay within screaming distance."

"Here?"

Petra shook her head and pointed to the trail on the other side of Bear Ranch's gates. A small bench sat beside a water fountain. It looked peaceful and germ-free. Petra picked up her journal and a pen. "I'll be over there."

Zoe looked like she wanted to argue, but suddenly her expression lightened, as if a light went off in her head. "'kay, bye." Zoe slammed out the door and bounced away.

Petra climbed from the car. From the other side of the stable wall she heard Zoe greeting friends, human and animal. Clutching her notebook to her side, Petra put her pen in her pocket and hobbled the short distance to the gate.

Fitz the guard, who looked suspiciously like Fritz from 1610, waved and buzzed open the gate. Smiling, she remembered the time Kyle had tried to break through the gates. He'd been captured on camera climbing the fence and had to spend an hour waiting in the guard house for her to finish her swim meet and rescue him.

Petra took the sidewalk to the trailhead and then sat down on the bench. Flipping open her notebook, she wrote down the Fritz/Fitz similarity. She looked over her weeks of writing. Emory, Rohan, Anne, Robyn, and Kyle. In her head, it was beginning to make some sense, but that didn't make her happy.

Next on her agenda was to do genealogical research on Garret, Earl of Dorrington and Kyle to see if they correlated at all. A long shot, she knew, but she was curious. As a wedding present, a friend of Laurel's had done family history search on Petra's father to see if Laurel's family lines had ever "entwined," her word. Petra had thought it a lame word and an even lamer gift, but now, she wanted to know.

A scream tore the air. Petra bolted up from her bench, heart thumping. Open-mouthed, she watched Emory and Zoe on a giant stallion sail through the air and clear the gate. Horse Guy, the rational part of her brain told her, but her heart was telling her another story, an irrational, emotionally charged story of another time and place.

The stallion and his riders landed on the grass with a rumble of hooves. Zoe laughed while Fitz catapulted from the guard gate, waving his arms and yelling threats laced with obscenities at Emory and Zoe.

Horse Guy swung to the ground and slapped the horse's flanks. The animal took off, carrying Zoe away. Petra stared as Emory/Horse Guy walked toward her.

Logic caught up with her. "Zoe! No!" Petra called after her sister, limping after the horse thundering down the trail. "No! You can't!" She hobbled for a few yards and then stood, horrified, as Zoe and the horse disappeared around a corner. "Fitz, stop her!"

The guard gave Emory a scowl, then took off after Zoe, running, his walkie-talkie pressed against his lips.

Arms from behind wrapped around Petra's waist; lips touched her neck and the familiar zing tingled up her spine. She stiffened in the embrace. Turning, ready to attack, she stopped when he caught her chin. Tipping her head back, he softly lowered his lips to hers and gave her a gentle kiss. All Petra's fight drained away. Once upon a time, happily ever after, happily until death. Her head and emotions sang with questions.

"I've been waiting two hundred years to do that," he said.

Two hundred years. No, four hundred. She didn't say it out loud, because it sounded crazy, but he read her expression.

"Ah, I see you've forgotten Sleepy Hollow." He laughed softly, cradling her face in his hands. "Tis of no matter. This, perhaps, will remind you."

And he kissed her again.

The End

To continue the series with Beyond the Hollow now, click here to visit the author's website: kristystories.blogspot.com

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##    
Nolander  
Emanations  
Book One  
By Becca Mills

##

##

Prologue

The great beast slid through tall, dead grass. The wind had led him here. It had things to show him.

His once-paws sensed broken asphalt and the hardened earth of early April in the northlands, the damp soil still mixed with particles of ice. His crystalline coat moved as the evening breeze greeted it.

The wind was getting reacquainted with him, here. He had not visited the north during the long years of ice, when the storms scoured the surface of the glacier, and the land beneath was remade. When the ice drew back, the fresh place attracted him. He had spent many days here, of late.

The humans brought newness as well, of course, but that interested him less. It had come so quickly. Surely it was ephemeral.

I would know this beast as Ghosteater, though that was not his name. I can't say his name. No living thing in this world remembers it, though he's far from the oldest of creatures.

He gazed at gray clouds, watched as they pressed and crowded one another across the sky. There would be a full moon tonight, but its light would be dim.

He lowered his eyes to the broken place that stood before him. In days past, the humans had used it. Now other creatures came and went — bats, owls, mice, coyote.

But tonight, something here would change, the wind whispered in his ear. No, that wasn't quite right, he thought, sifting through the wind's strange language, seeking understanding. Tonight something would change, and it would begin here.

The wind suggested it concerned him. He could not imagine how. Nevertheless, change was interesting. He settled down to wait.

Chapter One

I kept my face turned to the window, so Matt wouldn't see I was still crying. The streets of Dorf were largely dark — only a few folks around here stayed up this late, even on a Friday night. I watched the houses slide by, picking out the ones with the bluish glow of a TV on in the living room or a warm yellow light upstairs. One in five, maybe.

The silence from the driver's side was oppressive. Matt was really pissed. And probably embarrassed. I wiped quickly at my face. Everything was damp — my neck, even the top of my shirt. It was like I'd sprung a permanent leak.

Finally Matt shifted and took a deep breath, performing his patience for me.

"I just don't see," he said in a gritted-teeth voice, "what could possibly be so scary at T.G.I. Friday's."

"I know."

My voice sounded rough and choked.

"So what happened?"

I shook my head. I couldn't explain it.

I'd been having panic attacks all my life, and I'd never understood them. They tended to happen more often when I was in a crowded place, but sometimes they happened when I was sitting alone in my house. Sometimes they even woke me out of a deep sleep. There was no consistency, no predictability. It was some unknown thing that lurked just under the surface, and when it got hungry, it sank its teeth in and dragged me down.

"I don't know, Matt. I don't get it either. I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything. I guess "I'm sorry" doesn't make up for having your date start shaking and crying, clutch her chest, and then fall out of her chair and barf in the middle of a busy restaurant.

We pulled up in front of my house, and I got out of the car.

"Bye, Matt. Thanks..."

I couldn't very well add "for a lovely evening," so the sentence just petered out.

"Bye, Beth."

I knew finality when I heard it.

He pulled away, leaving me standing on the terrace. I sighed and tried to push back the tears. Matt Kelsey had lasted longer than most. I'd been going out with him for about three months.

I'd been really excited about him at first. It wasn't all that often that someone moved to Dorf, Wisconsin. Only about three thousand people lived there, so everyone pretty much knew everyone, or at least knew about everyone. What they knew about me was that I had fits. That didn't exactly put me at the top of Dorf's datable-women list.

But Matt had just moved to town — he'd been hired as a gym teacher at the high school in Frederick, the next town to the west. So he didn't know about the list, and he didn't know about me. And he was a hottie. With a steady job and no kids, even though he was twenty-seven. Quite a combo.

But with the excitement came worry. No one I'd gone out with had been able to put up with the panic disorder. Standing there on the terrace, I felt the last tendrils of hope withdraw. Three months had been enough time to have four attacks in his presence. I guess he'd reached his limit.

I turned toward my house. The porch light should've been welcoming and cheery, but instead it seemed white and harsh.

I let myself in and saw my camera bag sitting on the entryway table. I immediately felt a little calmer. What I needed was a good photo session. Tomorrow. It would make me feel better.

For now, my bed was waiting for me. I climbed the creaky stairs and dropped my vomit-splattered clothes on the bathroom floor. I showered briefly, then got in bed, tucking Sniggles the bear under my arm. He reminded me of happier times.

Things hadn't been perfect back when Sniggles was a young bear. There'd never been enough money, and I'd always been the kid with the weird problem. But I hadn't been alone. Not like now.

Now I could hear the emptiness all around me. The quiet house was full of it. I lay in my cold sheets and listened. Emptiness sounded like the hum of the furnace and the soft brush of air. It sounded like people turning away and thinking of other things.

Chapter Two

I stamped my boots on the concrete stoop. Clumps of gray slush fell off, speckled with crystals of rapidly softening ice.

"Betty! How you doing, sweetie?"

Fixing a smile on my face, I turned and waved to Suzanne Dreisbach, my next-door neighbor. Looked like she was just getting home from the store. She always shopped on Saturday afternoon. You could set your clock by Suzanne, she was so organized.

She waved back and gave me a bright smile, shifting the paper bag she was carrying from one ample hip to the other. Suzanne was a good neighbor. She'd come to my rescue with my spare key about a dozen times. I was good at locking myself out.

That said, I really hated being called "Betty."

"I'm fine, Suzanne. How're you today?"

"Can't complain, can't complain."

Actually, Suzanne could complain like a champ. Her complaining was one of my guilty pleasures: she was a big gossip and always seemed to know something new about everybody in town. But I just wasn't up for it at the moment. My toes were cold, and my nose had a big drip forming. If she got going, I'd be standing out here for half an hour.

"Good, good. Hey, sorry, gotta get my camera inside pronto — think it got damp out there in all this muck."

Suzanne nodded obligingly and said we should get coffee tomorrow after church. That was nice — sometimes my weekends got lonely. I told her I'd come find her after the service.

I hung my coat up on the porch and left my boots out there too. Northern winters are tough on carpets. Grit, salt — once that stuff gets inside, you never really get rid of it.

I dumped my camera bag on the floor and padded through my little-used living room to the kitchen, where I turned the flame on under the kettle. Not ten minutes later, I was warmly settled in the den, feet curled under me, with a hot cup of tea and a cheese sandwich. I turned on the TV and channel-surfed a little. A very little — I couldn't afford cable, so I only got a few stations.

I think my mind drifted.

I can't really remember what I thought about. Probably it was on the gloomy side, what with the Matt thing weighing on me. No doubt I was grumpy about the weather. I might have worried about seeing my bitchy sister-in-law at church the next day. Maybe I wondered if I'd be able to cover my credit card balance that month, or if I was going to end up paying interest.

It sort of bothers me that I can't really remember what I thought about. Those were the last moments of my old life. Of the old me, actually. I can almost think of that young woman on the couch as someone else. So let me just pause for a moment and mark her there, thinking about something of no consequence, living her boring, lonely, frustrating life — a life that had perks she didn't recognize until they were gone.

* * *

Dorf is in north-central Wisconsin. That part of the state is farm country, and it's sprinkled with towns like mine — little places where farmers can shop, drink, worship, and get a haircut. I'd grown up there and never left. I worked as a receptionist in a doctor's office.

Well, to be more accurate, I lived in the same house I grew up in, and the doctor I worked for was the one who'd been listening to my heart and tapping on my knees since my mother brought me home from the hospital.

If you're from a bigger city, this probably sounds too cute to be true. But that's what life is like in plenty of small places like Dorf: there are only so many people, only so many houses, only so many jobs. Spend a few decades there, and you'll be able to call the whole place up in your mind — not just the landscape and streets and buildings, but all the people, for better or worse. You'll see their connections to one another in your mind's eye. You'll know their histories, stretching back like long, knotted tails. And you'll be able to see their futures stretching ahead of them with nearly as much certainty.

When I was growing up, I hated that sense of having a rigid place in the scheme of things. That's why I was going to leave. I was going to live in the bigger world. I was going to do interesting things. I was going to be someone interesting. So I worked hard in school, got good grades, made friends with the teachers. I was class valedictorian, believe it or not. All so I could get out of Dorf.

But when I went to college, the panic disorder flared. I'd always had attacks a couple times a week, but in Madison, I started having them every day, sometimes three or four times a day. Sometimes in the middle of class. I felt like I was floating in dark water, and terrifying things were sweeping by me at random, brushing my legs. The sense of terror was constant, overwhelming — crippling. I didn't last a semester. I didn't even last two months.

After I got back to Dorf, I figured I'd get an apartment of my own, but then my mother passed. My brother and I inherited her house on Fourth Street. I wasn't quite nineteen, and Mom's death hit me pretty hard, so Ben thought I should just stay in the house.

"What am I going to do with this old place, anyway?" Ben had asked. "Try to find some stranger to rent it? You know Justine'd hate it if I took that on."

Of course Justine would hate it — she hated just about everything.

So there I was, more than four years later, holding down the old fort. I paid Ben a little rent, since he owned the place too, and he had four kids and a stay-at-home wife to support.

One part of me hated living in Dorf. It was claustrophobic. Everyone was in everyone else's business, and nothing ever really changed.

Then again, Dorf had its up-sides: I could afford it. It was easy. And people here knew about my problem. If I had an attack in public, or if I went running off when I felt one coming on, people around here knew what was happening. If they didn't, there'd be someone standing next to them who could lean over and explain in a stage whisper about "poor Betty Ryder." Embarrassing, yeah, but better than waking up in an ambulance and getting the bill a few months later.

Most importantly, being here seemed to calm me a bit — I didn't have nearly as many attacks as I'd had in Madison. And being in Mom's house reminded me of her. If I couldn't have her, at least I could be in the place she'd made a home.

Nevertheless, the more time passed, the more uncomfortable I felt. The year before, it had gotten particularly bad. It's hard to describe the feeling — itchy and antsy, like someone was always watching and judging me, and I could never get any real privacy.

That was new. Sure, I'd had the panic disorder for ages, but except when I was in Madison, I'd always felt reasonably good between attacks. Of course I worried about when the next attack was going to happen. But being intensely anxious all the time? No, that wasn't me.

I figured my growing sense of my own limited future was getting to me, but there wasn't much I could do about the future. I couldn't leave Dorf — my six weeks of college had taught me that much.

What I needed was a diversion. So I'd taken up photography. It was simple chance, really: I came across an old camera at a church flea market. It was silver and black and took pictures on good old-fashioned film. I paid $10 for it and a couple lenses. I bought a few other things used — tripod, flash, that kind of stuff — and found a scanned copy of the camera's hokey 1970s instruction manual online. I printed it up on the sly at work and studied it.

Turned out I wasn't half bad at taking pictures. My subjects weren't adventurous — landscapes, animals, street scenes, shots of people I knew — but I ended up with some pictures that really appealed to me. Sometimes they seemed to capture some essence of the subject that I couldn't have described in words.

Taking those pictures made me feel better. I'm not sure why.

At any rate, after a few months, I realized I'd need to do my own developing and printing. I just couldn't afford it, otherwise. So I switched to black-and-white film and set up a darkroom in the old canning closet in the basement.

It wasn't hard. I got used versions of the small things online. I stretched a hose into the closet from the sink next to the washing machine and ran another out to the drain in the center of the basement floor. Voilà: running water. The chemicals and paper weren't expensive, so long as I limited the number of prints I made. The only pricey item was the enlarger, and I found a used one for a couple hundred bucks. It was a little beat-up, but it worked. Ben got it for me for Christmas.

So there you go. It wasn't the spiffiest darkroom out there, but it saved me a lot of money. And I enjoyed it, too. All the exacting little steps appealed to me — checking temperatures and timing things. I liked how precise and orderly it all was.

On this particular evening, I went down to the darkroom after I'd warmed up on the couch for a couple hours. I unloaded the film I'd shot that afternoon — just a single roll of pictures I'd taken up and down the street of stores, bars, and eateries that Dorf calls its downtown. I developed the film. That created negatives, which I could use to make prints. I let them dry for an hour, then went back to see what might be worth printing.

The weather had been dismal, so I didn't really expect to find many keepers — I always had better luck when I had sunlight and strong shadows to work with. But two frames caught my attention when I held them up to the light.

They were shots of J.T.'s, one of the three watering holes on Center Street. I'd gone across the street to photograph the bar and had gotten a good shot lined up, but just as I was pressing the shutter button, Jim Foley had walked out of the bar. I'd wanted a picture of just the building, with no people, so I'd waited a few seconds until Jim was clear and had taken a second shot.

I remembered this very clearly, but the negatives didn't match my memory. In the first shot, I could see Jim coming out of the bar, but I could also see a second person just entering the field of view from the right. In the second picture, the one I'd been certain showed just the bar, this unknown person was in full view, walking along the sidewalk.

It was a short, slight person — probably a man, given the flat chest. He walked with a pronounced slump. After a few seconds, I realized what I wasn't seeing — clothes. Weird. It'd be pretty remarkable to walk through downtown Dorf naked any time of the year, but in early April it was particularly bizarre. It had been no warmer than the mid-40s that afternoon. It's one thing to get arrested. It's another to get arrested and freeze off your naughty bits at the same time.

Speaking of which... I looked more closely, but the guy's leg obscured his groin.

Feeling a little embarrassed at my own prurient interest, I sat back and tried to figure out who he was.

I knew he wasn't from Dorf because the negative showed hardly any coloration on his skin. Since negatives are reverse-colored, that meant he was actually very dark. Dorf had to be one of the least diverse places in the world. Only a few African Americans lived in town, and none looked like this guy. And I didn't think any of them would go for a walk in their birthday suit, either.

Well, an unknown African American wandering around in the buff was sort of noteworthy, in the way any little thing is noteworthy when you live someplace where nothing happens.

I turned the lights back off and made prints of the J.T.'s shots. After they were dry, I brought them up to the kitchen to examine under good light. The stranger was very slender, but sinewy — I could see ropey muscles in his arms and legs. His posture was oddly stooped, as though he'd been trying to bend over and pick something up while he walked. He had a long neck with a pronounced Adam's apple and was quite small, less than five feet tall, I thought. He had a tiny nose, a prominent mouth, and a weak chin. He seemed to be bald.

Who could he be? Dorf wasn't on the tourist map. What through-traffic we got tended to be Wisconsinites traveling between Wausau and Eau Claire.

Maybe he was a hunter up here for turkey season. But no, a hunter wouldn't streak in downtown Dorf. More likely a college kid on spring break making good on a dare from his buddies. That made sense.

But the more I looked at the photo, the weirder it seemed. The back of my neck started to feel prickly. After I few more seconds, I actually broke out in a nervous sweat.

I didn't understand my own reaction. Okay, he was a stranger, and he was naked, but he'd been walking right through the downtown, not skulking in alleys and peeking in windows. If he was a nut, the police had probably already picked him up.

I felt myself flush — maybe I was anxious just because an unknown black male had shown up in town. God, was I really that much of a racist?

Then again, he had walked right through the picture I was taking, and I hadn't seen him. That was weird, right? Yep, downright spooky — it'd give anyone the creeps. I decided to stick with that explanation. Better to be kooky than a bigot, right?

* * *

The next morning, I slid into an empty seat next to my sister-in-law just as the processional was finishing. I was usually late to church, which annoyed Justine to no end. She expressed her irritation this time by pointedly not looking at me, though Ben did shoot me a quick smile from the far end of the pew.

Ben was eight years older than me. We actually didn't have the same father, but Ben still looked a lot like me — we both had Mom's pale skin, dark brown hair, and gray eyes. Ben and Justine had been married twelve years. They had four daughters, ranging from Tiffany, who was on the verge of teenhood, to Madisyn, a squirmy three-year-old.

Ben and I got together sometimes for lunch, but I was rarely invited to his home because Justine didn't like me. I came to church largely because that way I saw my brother and nieces at least once a week.

I resented having to do it, though. I wasn't much of a believer, and it rubbed me the wrong way to have to pretend otherwise just to see my own family. In contrast, Justine took her faith seriously. She must have known I was faking it. It probably made her dislike me even more.

It had been different before Mom died. When she was around, the Fourth Street house had been our gathering place. Justine hadn't liked me much better then, but she hadn't been willing to snub her mother-in-law, so the whole family got together for dinner a couple times a week. With Mom's death, things fell apart pretty quickly. Mom had been what made things work in a lot of ways.

My eyes wandered down the row toward the kids, and Justine finally glanced my way. The anemic sunlight coming through the windows showed the lines around her eyes and mouth. She looked angry. Angry and mean.

I never could see what Ben saw in her. Maybe what he'd seen was that she'd gotten pregnant with Tiffany by accident, and he'd just had to make the best of it ever since.

The nasty thought was satisfying and left only the slightest aftertaste of guilt. When it came to Justine, I'd long since given up on policing my thoughts. Just policing what I actually said was enough of an effort.

After the service, everyone trickled down to the community room for coffee. I got hugs from Ben and the girls and an oops-I-just-got-distracted-by-someone-who's-not-you from Justine.

"Aunt Beth! Guess what?"

This from little Madisyn, who was twisting around and hopping from one foot to the other. Either she was excited to tell me something, or she had to pee. Maybe both.

"What, baby?"

I reached out to tousle her hair, but she ducked away.

"I'm not a baby," she said crossly.

"'Course not. What'd you want to tell me?"

"I forgot," she said with a pout.

"Then tell me something else."

"Okay, but it's a secret," she said in a semi-whisper, looking around. Our fellow churchgoers were standing about, chatting and drinking their coffee. No one was paying attention. Madisyn took a big breath.

"Nanny Hansen's doggie has glass fur."

I really wasn't sure what to do with that.

"Really? Wow."

"Uh-huh."

Madisyn was grinning up at me excitedly. I wracked my brain for a follow-up.

"Does he talk?"

Madisyn looked surprised.

"How'd you know?"

"Well, lots of dogs can, you know. But they only talk to the very nicest people."

"I don't think most of them can talk," Madisyn said doubtfully.

"Tell the truth, Madisyn," Justine cut in. "Dogs can't talk at all."

Her tone seemed unnecessarily severe to me. Then again, it often did.

Madisyn looked up at her mother with a strange expression. Then she looked at her feet, pushing at the floor tiles with one toe, then the other.

"The doggie says Mommy's leaving us."

Shocked, I glanced up at Ben. He just looked back at me, equally surprised. But Justine reacted with fury.

"Madisyn, shame on you! No lying! Go stand in that corner. Not a sound 'til I come get you."

Madisyn burst into tears and ran to the corner. Practically everyone in the room turned to look. Justine flushed in embarrassment. So did Tiff and Jazzy, the older girls. Lia, who was five, just looked confused and scared. Her lower lip quivered.

I got mad. Justine was overreacting, as usual. Madisyn was a really sweet kid, and she wasn't a liar. She just had a weird imagination and the impulse control of, well, a three-year-old. I took a breath to give Justine a piece of my mind, but she beat me to the punch.

"This is what comes of having your influence around," she hissed. "Stay away from us!"

"Me?" I was totally taken aback. "What could I possibly have to do with it?"

Justine didn't respond, but she stared at me with such unmistakable hatred that I backed away a few steps. I'd always known she didn't care for me, but were her feelings that strong?

"Okay, okay, let's all calm down," my brother soothed. "That was a real humdinger, but it's just attention-getting behavior. Let's not make too much of it."

Justine got a crazy look on her face.

"Oh, 'attention-getting behavior,' is it? What, you been watching Dr. Phil in your spare time?"

This was the point where their arguments always devolved into the "why are you so jealous?" and "why do you always take her side?" stuff, only with more cussing. And a lot of screaming.

That's probably where Madisyn's comment came from, actually. I bet she'd heard Justine threaten to leave a dozen times. That's got to make a kid anxious.

Ben and Justine were looking daggers at each other. Justine was too proper to have any more of the fight here in church, but she'd certainly be dragging the family out the door ASAP to get her licks in.

There was nothing left for me here this week. Feeling sad and angry, I murmured an excuse about having coffee with Suzanne and stalked off.

* * *

My hands were still shaking as I stirred a fourth sugar into my coffee. I wasn't sure why Justine's outburst had thrown me so badly. It's not like I wasn't used to her craziness. I'd been on the receiving end of it since I was a kid. I guess this time it had taken me by surprise. I'd thought we were in strained-but-cordial mode, and I got blindsided.

I looked up to see Suzanne studying me a bit too attentively as she stroked her pretty silver hair. I smiled sweetly and asked her what she'd thought of Pastor Ezra's focus on the metaphor of rebirth in that morning's sermon. Suzanne blinked at me, jolted out of the gossipy tidbit she'd probably been cooking up about how upset I looked after my fight with my sister-in-law.

Gossip about me generally dredged up my mental illness, dead mother, pathetic dating life, or failed try at college — or all four — so diverting Suzanne during her moments of creation was pretty important. It wasn't that she didn't like me — care about me, even. But for Suzanne, all things bowed before the god of gossip.

I reached for the creamer. Dorf wasn't sophisticated enough to have an actual coffee shop, but the ownership of Pete's Eats didn't mind if you sat and talked over a beverage. Unfortunately, Pete's coffee wasn't good — especially the decaf. At home I drank my coffee black. At Pete's I added enough cream and sugar to make it taste like coffee-flavored ice cream. Otherwise, it was too bitter to get down.

Suzanne and I chatted about the weather, which is where Wisconsin small talk almost always starts. From there we moved to the exploits of her son, Tommie, who was a forty-something Milwaukee lawyer and who probably hadn't wanted to be called "Tommie" in several decades. We talked a bit about my work, but since I was always careful not to spread gossip about Dr. Nielsen or my best friend, Janie, who was his accounts manager, that part of the conversation didn't last long.

Suzanne then filled me in on the latest goings-on about town. Samantha Werthauser had left her husband over his affair with Sandy Foley. Josh Smith was thinking of becoming a Catholic. Johnny Cooper, who read meters for the electric co-op, had been caught red-handed trying to steal Godfrey Dingle's best hunting dog. Its collar had gotten caught on the fence Johnny was trying to stuff it over.

"That poor dog set up a yammering you could hear a mile away," Suzanne said. "Even Godfrey could hear it, and you know how deaf he is. Came busting out his back door and nearly filled that boy's ass up with buckshot!"

Suzanne blushed a bit as she laughed. I could tell she was a little proud of herself for saying "ass."

The litany continued. Callie McCallister was trying to organize a boycott of Big Screen Video because they stocked a few NC-17 movies. At the same time, her boyfriend had moved in with her, which was pretty hypocritical. Someone had knocked down fourteen mailboxes over on Marsh Road. Tess Kreugger was in trouble with Animal Control again for putting out peanut butter for raccoons in her back yard.

"She said it was for woodpeckers," Suzanne said, "but how could woodpeckers eat six pounds of peanut butter? That gal's gonna get rabies if she's not careful."

Dorf was going to levy an assessment on downtown property owners for new sidewalks. The Lakeshore Supper Club had a rat infestation. Sara Goshen was expecting twins. It went on and on.

Some of it was old news. For instance, everyone knew the old mill at Bilford Crossing was still burning — the column of smoke off to the northwest had been visible since Saturday morning. Everyone also knew that Kingston Brown, last year's Frederick High homecoming king, was about to undergo a shotgun marriage to Carly Knavel. But some of Suzanne's items were pretty surprising — the thing about Callie living with some guy amazed me. Others were infuriating. Some were surely untrue.

I rolled my eyes a few times and generally laughed along with her. Suzanne was a pretty good storyteller. Just so long as none of her stories were about me.

When she finally ran out of steam, there was an awkward silence. I could tell she was disappointed I wasn't providing any new tidbits. The economy of gossip worked on a barter system, after all. But that was how I justified my bad habit of listening to gossip — I never provided any and never passed on what I'd heard. Fortunately, Suzanne enjoyed the act of giving too much to let my stingy ways put a hitch in our relationship.

But then it occurred to me that, just this once, I did have something to offer. I didn't know the person involved, so I didn't feel honor-bound to silence. And maybe I could get some info that would set my mind at ease.

"So, I saw someone new downtown yesterday when I was taking pictures. Short, balding African American guy with a slender build. You know who he is?"

Suzanne shook her head, looking intrigued.

"No, I haven't run into him yet. Where's he from, Chicago?"

Folks here always seemed to think any black person they encountered was probably "up from Chicago." It was one of those things that gave me Dorf-claustrophobia.

Then I remembered how the picture had creeped me out the night before. Maybe I wasn't any better myself.

"I don't know. I didn't actually talk to him. I just saw him walking in front of J.T.'s."

"Sure it wasn't Grange Consecki or Bob Garter?"

Bob and Grange were the only African American men who lived in Dorf.

"No, he was way shorter than them, and he was really thin. And his skin was super dark."

"Like a Hershey bar?"

"No, more like licorice."

I did not just say that. Oh my god, what was wrong with me?

"Huh. Well I'll ask around and see who he is," Suzanne said. "You know Twanda will want to hear if there's a new man in town," she said, giving me a wink.

Twanda Sullivan was the only single African American woman in town.

Great. Now Suzanne would talk to Twanda, and Twanda would think I thought she wanted to jump every black man who walked through town, no matter who he was.

Why did I bring this up? I needed a fire alarm, so I could escape in the chaos. Or maybe a fistfight. Suzanne would forget all about the mystery man if that happened.

Unfortunately, no one chose that moment to faint or moon us or do anything else the slightest bit distracting.

"Well, we'll just see," Suzanne said, looking like I'd put her on the hunt.

Thank god I hadn't included the nudity thing — that would've had her asking every person in town about him, for sure, and probably calling the cops, too.

It took another twenty minutes to get out of Pete's. I drove home feeling especially shitty for reasons I couldn't exactly put my finger on — some combination of acute racial embarrassment, Justine's outburst, and a nebulous sense of anxiety.

Since the light was better that afternoon than it had been the day before, I picked up my camera and drove out to the old cemetery behind St. Mary's. I shot a whole roll of film. It made me feel better. After that I did the week's grocery shopping. Then I went home, ate dinner, and hit the darkroom.

* * *

I stood there holding a photo of a nineteenth-century grave marker. The eroded carving wasn't legible in the picture, but I'd looked at the stone many times and remembered what it said: "Daught. Died Dec. 25, 1859. Aged 2 yrs. 9 ds." It was such a strange, sad monument. It offered no name for the dead child, yet told us exactly how long she had lived and that she had passed on Christmas Day.

This time, I hadn't noticed the problem on the negative and had printed the picture, expecting nothing unusual. But holding the print, I could see that someone had again walked right by as I took the shot. He'd passed no more than a couple yards in front of me, leaving the frame just as I opened the shutter. His foot, ankle, and a little bit of calf were plainly visible, flexed like he was pushing off for his next step.

There had been no one besides me in the cemetery, certainly not that close to me.

The foot was huge and bare. Its skin was patterned with darker-colored, donut-shaped blotches. It had jagged, horny toenails.

It was a monster foot. Strike that. It was a cliché of a monster foot. If someone had asked me to imagine a monster foot, that's what it would've looked like.

It had to be some kind of joke. But how? I couldn't think of any way someone could've gotten the foot into the picture.

I looked again at the print. I could see the tendons and muscles of the lower leg flexing. It wasn't just some rubber Halloween-costume foot someone had dangled from a tree.

The darkroom's walls started pressing in on me, and my breathing sped up. I backed up to the wall and sat down on the floor. I gave the rubber band on my wrist a hard snap and started focusing on breathing more methodically. In, out, pause. In, out, pause. Slowly the room stabilized.

I groped for an explanation. There had to be one.

A double exposure.

But this had been a new roll of film. I'd opened it that afternoon. The empty box was still in my camera bag.

Still, someone could've played a trick on me. They could've stolen the film, opened the box, loaded the film in their own camera, shot an image of a fake foot in middle of the roll, taken the film out of their camera, returned the roll to the box, glued the box shut, and put it back with my film stash. Elaborate, maybe, but possible. April Fools' Day had been, what, a week ago?

But how had they gotten into my house? And who would do something like that? I didn't think anyone I knew would go to the trouble of such an elaborate prank. I didn't have the kind of friends who would enjoy making me freak out and then laughing about it with me later, and I didn't have enemies committed enough to go to so much trouble.

There was Justine.

I remembered that look she'd given me at church.

I'd never thought of her as an enemy, per se. She'd been more in the category of "family you can't stand, but they're still family." Maybe I'd been wrong, though. Ben did keep a key to the house. She could've gotten in. She didn't work during the day, so there'd have been plenty of opportunity.

But could she have set me up to double-expose a shot like this? Did she even know what a double exposure was or how to use a real camera?

Someone could've helped her.

I studied the print again. The grass the foot was stepping in was of a piece with all the rest of the grass in the picture: dead, wet, and a bit too long to look well kept. The foot was wet and had little bits of sodden grass stuck to it. How could two separate exposures have integrated so perfectly, just by chance? Plus, it just didn't look like a double exposure. The images weren't ghostly and overlapping. It looked real.

Maybe I was hallucinating. The naked guy had also apparently walked right in front of me, and I hadn't seen him. That image looked real, too, but maybe it wasn't.

Serious mental illness often emerged in your early twenties, right? And I already had one — panic disorder. Maybe that put me at risk for others.

But if I really was hallucinating, wouldn't I believe I wasn't?

I slid the photo up on the counter, out of sight, and sat there rubbing my hands on my jeans. I couldn't get rid of the clamminess. I tried to come up with another plausible explanation for the monster foot, but the more I thought about it, the more my chest tightened up.

Finally I pushed the whole issue away, and my mind settled into a fragile state of blankness. Then I could stand up, so I did. Carefully not thinking about the photo, I went upstairs, went to bed, and slept until morning.

* * *

I woke up with a plan. It was so simple I should've thought of it the night before. I would show the weird pictures to someone else and see if they saw what I saw. If they did, then I wasn't going crazy, and it was just a matter of finding out who was messing with me, and why. And how.

Chapter Three

"What is that?" Janie said, scrunching up her nose adorably. She was holding half of her BLT in one hand and the cemetery picture in the other.

Since it was just the three of us in the office, Dr. Nielsen always closed up for an hour at lunchtime. Janie and I usually ate at our desks to save money, but every other Monday, we came to Pete's. I'd put my possibly hallucinatory photos in a folder and brought them along.

Clearly, she could see the monster foot. Some clenched-up thing inside me loosened. I quietly slid the other two photos — the ones of J.T.'s with the mystery man — back into the folder. If the foot wasn't a hallucination, surely Mr. Streaker wasn't either.

"I'm not sure. Someone must be pulling my chain, but I can't figure out how. Any ideas?"

"Dunno... this isn't from a digital camera, is it?"

"No, I took it on film, and I developed and printed it myself. No computers involved."

"Huh. Someone must've been there, and you didn't see them."

"But they would've been so close to me. How could I not have seen them?"

"Huh." Janie turned the print this way and that. "What do you think, Jackie?"

I hadn't realized our waitress was standing behind me. Jackie, a tall, spare redhead, came around to look at the picture. She rolled her eyes.

"Gimme a break. It's some guy wearing a costume." Jackie looked me up and down, not very flatteringly. "You must've been zoning out, and he snuck up on you."

I blushed at the implication that I was spacey. Then I got embarrassed at blushing so easily, which made me blush more. Jesus, I was such a dork sometimes.

"I only knelt there for a few seconds to get the shot. I don't see how someone could've snuck up on me that fast without making noise."

"Well, if you're not paying attention, you don't hear stuff going on around you, do you?" Jackie said, arching an eyebrow as if I were denying the obvious.

Maybe I was. But my memory of the moment seemed so clear. I hadn't zoned out when I was taking those pictures. I'd felt pretty focused. Photography usually made me feel that way: sharp and observant and detail-oriented. It was one reason I liked it so much.

"Sure, that can happen, but if he snuck up on me while I was lining up the shot, where was he when I stood back up a second after I took it?"

"Behind a tree, maybe?"

"What're you gals arguing about?" Doyle Schumaker asked.

Doyle was having lunch with Billy Wozowski at the next table. Billy and Doyle were police officers. Doyle's K-9 partner, a German shepherd named Abby, was snoozing under their table.

"Someone's trying to put one over on Beth. She took this picture at St. Mary's yesterday afternoon, and it has a weird foot in it."

Janie gave him a flirty smile and tossed her hair a little as she handed him the photo.

I spent a little bit of each work day envying Janie. It's not that she'd dated some guy I wanted. I just wished in general I could be more like her, at least in some ways. She was pretty, yeah, but more than that, she just seemed comfortable in her own skin. She was never anxious, never restless. She seemed grounded, like she knew what was important to her and was sure she was going to get it eventually. For lack of a better word, she seemed satisfied. I'd never felt that way.

Maybe it came from growing up in a big farming family. I used to love hanging out at her place when we were kids. There was always a lot of noise and bustle, and plenty of arguments, but it was clearly a happy, loving group of people. Not that my mother hadn't loved me plenty, but for much of my life, it had just been the two of us. Janie's family was different. With a family like that, you'd never be lonely.

Doyle took the print from Janie and looked at it. His expression turned serious. He looked up at me searchingly.

"What time did you take this, exactly?" he asked, casting a meaningful glance across the table at Billy, then handing him the picture.

"Um... about 2:00 in the afternoon, I think. Is something wrong?"

"I might have to take this in as evidence, Betty."

I felt a little breathless.

"Really? Why?"

"About that time yesterday, there was an APB out for a seven-foot-tall bagel monster," he said, waggling his eyebrows at me.

Jackie, Janie, and Billy laughed, and I blushed all over again. Even worse, people at the tables around us started asking what was so funny. Soon the picture was being passed around Pete's Eats to a mixture of guffaws and speculations about Photoshopping.

If Justine had somehow engineered this to make me look stupid in front of the whole town, she'd sure as hell succeeded.

I went back to my meal, watching out of the corner of my eye as Jackie circulated among the tables, laughing with folks — no doubt at my expense. Someone's gaze caught mine. It was Callie McCallister, Dorf's most committed moral crusader. She was holding the photo and looking right at me, fear and revulsion plain on her face. Great. My picture was in the hands of the one person in town most likely to think I'd actually photographed a monster.

Sure enough, on her way out of Pete's ten minutes later, Callie stopped to drop the picture on our table. Her tiny hands were shaking. When she spoke, so was her voice.

"Elizabeth, you have to stop spreading this image. Glorifying hellspawn this way — it's unlawful."

"Callie, come on," I said. "It's just someone's idea of a prank. I'd like to know who, so I can smack 'em."

Callie's expression didn't change one bit. She was a little wisp of a thing, but when she'd made up her mind, she didn't back down. The whole town knew it from experience. Janie rolled her eyes.

A man reached down to our table and picked up the folder containing the other two photos, the ones of the mystery man in front of J.T.'s. I looked up at him in surprise. He was standing right beside Callie, but I hadn't noticed him. Maybe this was the new live-in boyfriend Suzanne had told me about.

He was looking at my pictures without permission, so I didn't hesitate to give him the once-over. He was a white guy of average height with brown hair and eyes and bland, even features. He was wearing jeans and a blue sweatshirt. Thoroughly uninteresting. And really rude.

"Excuse me, you didn't ask to see those," I said, reaching for the folder.

He ignored me except to turn slightly, so that the folder would be out of my reach. Just as I took a breath to object, Janie cut in.

"So," she said, drawing out the word in a way that made me cringe, "you're the one who's living with Our Lady of Christian Virtue, here? Living together outside the bonds of matrimony? Are you sure that's proper?"

Oh god. This was the part of Janie I didn't admire so much: she had the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

The man ignored Janie, but Callie sucked in a scandalized breath and turned tomato-red. That heavy, quiet feeling instantly surrounded us, the one that means every person within earshot is holding very still and listening. Two short-order cooks and a busboy stuck their heads out of the kitchen to watch. Jackie paused with her water pitcher cocked over someone's glass. Pete himself stood up from behind the counter, hands full of the straws and napkins he'd been stocking.

"He's not... I mean, we're not... he's just a houseguest!"

"Oh, right, he's a houseguest," Janie echoed in a knowing tone, added a wink and air-quotes for good measure. "Got it, got it."

"He is! I'd never... you know."

"No, no, of course you wouldn't," Janie said in a soothing tone, which she immediately undercut by snorting loudly.

"Oh," she said, "excuse me." And snorted again.

The man slid the photos back into the folder and reached over to put it back on table. A thick, red scar ran across the back of his wrist. I hadn't noticed it earlier. Yuck. No wonder he wore long sleeves.

Callie stood there another few seconds, stammering out protests. Then the man put his arm around her thin shoulders and guided her out of the restaurant. I could hear her talking as they walked down the sidewalk. I couldn't understand what she was saying, but I could tell from her voice that she was crying.

After another few seconds, conversation and the sounds of eating picked back up. Janie leaned over to me with a grin.

"Whatcha say we tee-pee her house tonight?"

Doyle said "I heard that!" in mock outrage.

"Did you get a load of that guy with her?" Janie said. "Blandy McBlandsville, if you ask me."

"Yeah, I've forgotten him already," Doyle said.

A few people around us laughed.

It was bad. I mean, of course I couldn't let Callie go around claiming I was consorting with demons, or something. Dorf was a fairly religious town, and if people heard that kind of accusation enough, some of them might start believing it. But Janie's way of defending me had been over the top. I had profited from it — before Callie came to our table, I'd been the laughing stock, and now the laughing stock was her. But I felt like a shit.

Janie got busy chatting up Doyle and didn't notice how quiet I'd gotten.

We finished up and headed back to the office. Once there, I set about returning the calls on the answering machine, but I didn't give the task much attention. My mind alternated between feeling guilty over Callie and thinking about the photo.

It was good to know I hadn't hallucinated the foot — for Christ's sake, practically half the town had seen the thing.

But there still wasn't a good explanation for how someone'd managed to create the effect. That was a problem: having been humiliated, Callie would probably be out for blood. She'd be spreading all kinds of crazy ideas about me.

I needed a logical explanation for the photo, and I needed it soon.

* * *

What with all the commotion, Janie and I had taken more than an hour's lunch, which annoyed Dr. Nielsen. I stayed late to make up for it, then headed over to Ben's house. It was something I hadn't done in years — just drop by unannounced. Justine had made it clear she didn't appreciate it.

But this time I actually wanted to see her, not Ben. Maybe if I surprised her with the photo, she'd admit to engineering the prank. Or at least I'd see a hint of guilt or embarrassment on her face.

The late afternoon sun was casting deep shadows across the front yard when I got out of my car. It made Justine's decorative lawn tableau of deer and garden gnomes around a wishing well look sort of sinister.

I rang the doorbell. In my hand I held the folder containing the three photos, now stained by a greasy fry I'd dropped on it during lunch.

Lia, my five-year-old niece, answered.

"Aunt Beth!"

"Hi, sweetie."

"Mommy! Aunt Beth is here! Are you here for dinner? Daddy said Susie could eat with us, so I guess you can too."

"No, honey, I just need to talk to your Mommy for a minute. Who's Susie?"

"She's my dolly, duh!"

Good lord. Glad to see my nieces were learning good manners.

Justine appeared behind Lia and shooed the girl away.

"What do you want?"

She didn't open the screened door. I bent the folder open to the cemetery picture and held it up against the screen.

"What do you know about this?" I asked.

She glanced at it and shrugged.

"It's a picture. Looks bad, so I guess it's one of yours."

"Look at it."

She sighed elaborately.

"That what I have to do to get rid of you? Fine."

She opened the door, took the folder, and thumbed through the three pictures with an obvious lack of interest. Then she stiffened. I could see her knuckles turn white, hear her stop breathing. Slowly she looked up at me. Long seconds passed. She just stared.

It wasn't guilt I saw on her face. It was confusion and fear. No, not fear — terror.

Finally she snapped back to life, as though someone had hit her play button. Without saying a word, she threw the folder at me and slammed the door in my face. The pictures scattered across the front porch. One of them landed in a puddle where the porch roof had leaked.

For a few seconds, I stood there amazed. It hadn't been the reaction I was expecting. At all. I rang the bell again, then knocked on the door when no one answered.

"Justine? Justine?"

I couldn't hear anything at all from inside the house. No voices, no footsteps, no TV. It was as though the whole place had gone to sleep. Strange. I knew at least two people were in there. I went from knocking to something closer to pounding.

"Justine! Ben? Ben! Lia?"

This was weird. Why had Justine freaked out like that? Was she afraid I'd get her in trouble for the prank? Surely not — playing a joke on someone wasn't illegal. I gathered the photos up and walked around the side of the house. The lights were on, but the shades were drawn. I stopped to listen.

It wasn't just quiet. It was still. Utterly still.

The hair prickled on my arms and my pulse sky-rocketed. My mouth went dry and a wave of dizziness sent me staggering against the house. Terror engulfed me. Without even thinking about it, I turned and lurched back to my car, piled in, and locked the doors. Then I sat there, gasping for breath, chest aching. Snapping my rubber band didn't help. I couldn't get enough air. I grabbed the little wastebasket I kept on the passenger side floor and threw up. Then I clawed at my shirt collar, trying to loosen it.

I must've passed out. I came to sprawled awkwardly to the side, clumps of hair sticking to my sweaty face. I sat up, dazed and sick, and did what I always did after an attack — looked around to see who'd witnessed it. In this case, no one. A small favor.

I thought briefly of just going back and knocking on the door like a normal person, but even considering it made my pulse shoot up. I profoundly did not want to get out of the car. I couldn't shake the sense that if I got out, something terrible would happen.

I started the car up and headed home. It was either that or have back-to-back attacks.

My hands trembled on the steering wheel the whole way.

What had been so scary about that situation?

I sighed. I always asked myself that after an attack, and it was almost always a pointless question — there was hardly ever a rational explanation. Hardly ever an irrational explanation, for that matter. They came out of the blue.

Just thinking about Justine and Ben's place made my heart speed up again. I tried to put it out of my mind and focus on my driving.

By the time I parked and got inside my house, the adrenaline rush was fading. It left me exhausted.

I should call Justine.

That thought made the panic begin to rise.

The phone's all the way upstairs, I told myself, and I'll have to look up the number. I never called Ben at home, anymore, and didn't remember it. I'll call her later, I thought. Tomorrow was soon enough, especially after she'd been so rude.

Plus, if I went upstairs, I'd check the answering machine to see if Matt had called, and that would be pathetic. I knew he wasn't going to call.

Besides, I had stuff to do. I needed to clean up the darkroom and make some dinner. Then I'd watch TV and go to bed early — tomorrow was a workday. I tried to push the memory of Ben's house and the attack into the background.

After getting a drink of water, I headed down to the basement to neaten up. I'd left the darkroom a mess the night before, when I'd freaked out about the monster-foot trick. Looked like I'd even left the basement lights on.

I was most of the way down the stairs when I looked up and saw a man standing in the darkroom, going through a sheaf of prints. I froze, not really processing what I was seeing.

After what seemed like ages, he looked up at me. He didn't look at all like a burglar caught in the act — there was nothing surreptitious or guilty in his manner. He just stared at me, then set the prints down on the counter.

That motion jogged me out of my paralysis. I turned and ran back up the stairs, trying to remember where I'd set down my keys.

I'd only made it a few steps when my left foot was jerked out from under me and I fell, banging my forehead on a step hard enough to make me dizzy. I lay there, feeling confused and tangled up in my own limbs.

As though from a distance, I felt the man step over me and heard him close the door at the top of the stairs. Then he dragged me back down the steps and into the darkroom. He leaned me up against the back wall. I promptly slid over onto my side, feeling sick. He closed the darkroom door and went back to what he was doing — looking through stacks of prints. I closed my eyes for a while and just listened to the slippery rustle of photographic paper.

Slowly, the spins and nausea receded. I collected my thoughts a little. It occurred to me that he was probably going to kill me. I'd gotten a good look at him. I'd be able to ID him in a line-up.

My head ached fiercely. It was like I could actually hear it hurting. I thought about pretending to be unconscious, but that didn't seem useful. If he was for sure going to kill me, he'd do it whether I was awake or not. If I talked to him, maybe I could help myself.

I opened my eyes. The man was now going through my shoebox of negatives, holding each strip up to the light and studying it carefully. All my prints were out on the counter in piles — not only those I'd made myself but also those I'd had done professionally before I set up the darkroom.

Something about him nagged at my brain. It took me a minute, but then I realized he had thick scar on his left wrist. And a blue sweatshirt. And jeans.

I stared at him. He had brown hair, but otherwise he looked nothing like the man who'd been with Callie in the restaurant. Whereas that man had been bland enough to fade into a white wall, this guy was anything but. Instead of neat and conservative, his hair looked shaggy and none too clean. His features were severe. He looked a lot bigger, and he was the opposite of unnoticeable. "Dangerous" just roiled off him. If this guy had walked into Pete's Eats, Pete would've reached for his shotgun.

And yet, the scar looked just the same. And the clothes were so similar. Was it the same shirt, or just one very like it? His sleeves were pushed up, so it was hard to be sure. But did it matter? Two men could dress the same, but they wouldn't have the same scar. This must be the same person — a master of disguise, or something.

My god, had "Moral Crusader Callie" gotten herself involved with terrorists?

I took a deep breath. "What do you want?"

No response.

"Are you looking for money? My purse is upstairs."

Silence.

"What are you going to do with me?"

He didn't bother looking up.

I thought about how close my neighbors' houses were. My basement was mostly underground. The few windows were up near the ceiling and only a foot high. Would anyone hear me if I screamed?

As if he'd heard what I was thinking, the man said, "No screaming." He had a slight accent, and his tone was flat, affectless. It sounded unnatural.

He continued going through the negatives, ignoring me. It took quite a while — I had many more negatives than I had prints. I sat there watching, too terrified to think of what to do.

When the task was done, he crouched down in front of me and studied my face.

"Where are the pictures you had at the restaurant?"

I hadn't really believed, not completely, that this was the same guy. Taken by surprise, I blurted out the truth.

"Upstairs. On the kitchen counter."

Then again, I couldn't think of an advantage to lying. He'd already seen them.

"Have you taken pictures of any other Seconds?"

"What?"

"Seconds," he said flatly, as though I were being evasive. "Beings of the Second Emanation."

Oh my god, Callie had convinced him that "hellspawn" were real and that I was passing around pictures of them. Or maybe he was the one who'd convinced her. That thought brought a wave of nausea. Callie's moral crusades were annoying, sure, but they were basically harmless. If this guy was the one launching the crusade, there'd be harm. Lots of harm.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about. I photograph places, people I know, pets — that kind of thing. There's nothing special about my pictures. Someone was just playing a joke on me, sticking that foot in there."

He looked bored, waiting for me to finish talking.

"Why did you photograph the green man?"

"Green?"

He looked at me, silent, waiting.

"Come on, this is crazy. Those pictures show a black guy walking in front of a bar."

He reached back and grabbed a big handful of my hair, close to my scalp. Then he twisted it.

It might seem like a pretty small thing, almost schoolyardish — someone pulling your hair. But no one had ever intentionally hurt me before. It hurt so much more than I would've thought. It was like, in that instant, I knew I was at the mercy of someone who cared nothing about me, maybe someone who enjoyed hurting me. I had no control over what was going to happen to me. Panic surged through me, and I thrashed and flailed, screaming. I would've told anyone anything. Resistance was unthinkable.

I think he only hurt me for a few seconds, but it seemed to go on forever. It was a while after he stopped before I could get any words out.

"Take the pictures! Take the negatives. I don't care. I won't tell anyone. Just leave me alone — please!"

"Tell me why you photographed him."

"I didn't! I was just taking pictures of the bar. I didn't see him!"

For the first time, an emotion crossed his face: surprise. Then he looked thoughtful.

"You never saw it?"

I shook my head. Big mistake — it hurt.

"Did you see the one in the cemetery?"

"No! There was nothing there."

He stood up and leaned back against the counter, thinking. I slumped back against the wall and took deep, shuddering breaths.

"Have you ever taken any other pictures that showed weird things?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I only started taking pictures last year. Everything I've taken is in this room."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

"Why did you start taking pictures?"

My fear started receding a bit. It wasn't that the situation seemed better. I think it's just not possible to maintain that level of terror for very long. In its place came exhaustion. I sensed it was almost over, maybe that I was almost over.

I looked up at him, not really focusing.

"Tell me why you started taking pictures."

"I don't know."

His eyes narrowed.

"I mean, I don't know why it makes me feel better. I get anxious." I seemed unable to get my ideas in the right order.

He was silent for a while. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Fuck."

He knelt down and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. For the first time, I really saw his face close up. It was harsh and heavily lined. No, a lot of those were scars, not lines. His eyes looked too dark. He was terrifying.

"Someone'll come talk to you about this soon. For now, don't tell anyone I was here. Don't take any more pictures. Don't show your pictures to anyone. Don't talk about them with anyone. Don't leave town. Don't attract attention to yourself in any way. If you do any of those things, you'll die. You understand?"

I couldn't have spoken for the world. I just jerked my head.

He stared at me for another few seconds, maybe to make sure I really got it. Then he stood up and left.

For a long time, I just sat there on the darkroom floor, staring at nothing. I had no idea what to do. I felt oddly listless and distant, as though most of me was far away, connected to the rest of me by a thin tether.

What was I going to do?

The first thing was to move. I shifted against the wall, and my body came alive with sensations. None of them was pleasant. My head swam and pounded, my scalp hurt, and my right hand ached where I must've slammed it against the wall. Plus, I was cold and wet. I'd pissed myself.

I thought, This is the worst moment of my life.

I had no idea what to do. He'd said someone would come for me. Someone like him? Who was he? Some sort of religious vigilante? What was going to happen to me?

A single thought crystallized: get away. I had to get far away and never be found. Not by him or anyone like him. Once I realized it, I was completely clear on this point. It was essential.

But no... was that really right?

He'd said I'd die if I told anyone about him or if I tried to leave. I believed he meant it. He would do it himself. It didn't matter what his motives were. It didn't matter that I hadn't done anything wrong. Dead is dead, even if you're killed by a crazy person for a crazy reason.

But he'd also said someone would come for me. I couldn't sit here and wait for that to come again. I could not. It was a terrible struggle not to run screaming from the house that very moment.

It occurred to me that I probably wasn't being rational. I tried to take a step back. What if I sleep on it and decide in the morning?

The very room reacted to the thought, closing in on me, crushing me. My breath came in gasps, and all the strength left my muscles. Black spots rushed at my eyes from the far wall. I flopped forward, trying to claw my way to the door. I didn't make it.

I woke up on the darkroom floor, not sure how long I'd been there. There was no more question about staying in Dorf. All I needed was a head start. I needed time to pack some things, get my money out of the bank, and put gas in my car. Then I was out of there.

I would call the police. I'd say I'd walked in and found Callie McCallister's boyfriend rifling through my stuff. He'd assaulted me, then run off.

I could make it believable. Billy and Doyle had heard Callie accuse me of photographing "hellspawn" in Pete's earlier. He'd been with her and had shown an interest in my pictures.

It could work. I had a big lump on my forehead as evidence of assault. He hadn't been wearing gloves, so he'd probably left fingerprints all over the place. Maybe one of my neighbors had seen him getting in or out of his car — even when he left, it wouldn't have been dark yet.

But would anyone have recognized him? He looked so different.

My mind skittered away from that thought.

Even if the charges didn't stick, I'd have a chance to get out of town before the cops let him go. Doyle was a good guy. He'd be willing to call me with a warning if they were about to release him.

I got up slowly, testing my legs. They worked. I went upstairs and dialed 911. Then I sat down to wait.

During the many hours that followed, the police were unable to find the folder with the three photos. The man had taken them.

Chapter Four

"Betty? Hey, it's Doyle. Honey, the charges aren't gonna stick. Turns out the guy's FBI. Paperwork's going through now. He'll probably be out within the hour."

"He's in the FBI?"

I couldn't believe it.

"Yep. Apparently he's up here investigating a meth ring."

"A meth ring?"

"Yeah, you know, it's this drug..."

"I know what it is, Doyle. I'm just having trouble believing it. I mean, if he's an FBI agent, where's his partner? And why's he living with Callie McCallister?"

"Beats me. Maybe he was undercover or something. Guess we blew that."

God, was he really in the FBI? Was that who the government was hiring now — thugs who broke into people's houses and beat up women?

"You guys checked this out with the FBI directly, right?"

"Sure thing. The chief called Washington and talked to his supervisor. Who was pretty damn pissed, actually."

Suddenly I felt very alone. Very alone and very scared.

"You believe me, don't you, Doyle? About what he did to me, I mean?"

"Sure, Betty, I believe you. All of us do. I mean, you had that knot on your head."

Did I imagine a little bit of doubt in his voice? Maybe he was thinking about other explanations for that so-called evidence. They hadn't found any way to confirm my story. None of my neighbors had noticed the man's car, and somehow he hadn't left any prints. It was just my story and my injury.

"Okay, Doyle, thanks. And thanks for calling to let me know. I really appreciate it. I owe you one."

"No problem. You hang in there, okay? Just give us a call if something seems funny. Hey, maybe have Janie come stay with you for a few days."

"Good idea, Doyle, thanks. Bye."

I gave myself exactly one minute to sit in my car and cry.

Callie's boyfriend's name had turned out to be John Williams. The cops had picked him up early that morning, after spending the night going over my place and hearing my story. Now it was a bit after 2:00 in the afternoon. What with the things I'd had to do before leaving town, I'd gotten less than six hours' head start.

I wiped my face on the back of my sleeve and got out of the car. I was parked in an interstate rest stop, where I'd pulled off to get gas. Heading over to the parking area for the big rigs, I took a moment to tuck my cell phone behind the cab of one of them. It was an ultra-cheap pay-as-you-go model I'd bought that morning, just so I'd be able to get updates from Doyle. I couldn't risk keeping it now — they could track a cell phone's location, right? It had served its purpose, anyway.

I got back on the road. I was glad I'd gotten most of my money out of the bank before leaving Dorf. If Williams was in the FBI, he'd have a lot more resources at his disposal than I'd imagined. I probably shouldn't use my debit or credit card.

Then again, if he was in the FBI, he wouldn't be pursuing me, right? He'd stay in Dorf, investigating meth dealers.

Somehow I didn't believe it. Maybe he wasn't really in the FBI but had contacts in the FBI who would lie for him. That sounded more like it. It also sounded a lot more frightening.

I stayed on 90 westbound for another hour, then turned south and headed down into Iowa on county roads. Hopefully the semi with my phone would keep heading west.

I kept driving until I couldn't stay awake any longer. It was the middle of the night. I stopped in a small town in the southeastern corner of Nebraska. I found a sleazy-looking motel and paid in cash. When I told the clerk I'd lost my wallet and didn't have ID, he just rolled his eyes.

I showered, then made a dinner out of some granola bars and peanut butter I'd brought with me. The sheets were scratchy and the room was cold. My head still ached fiercely from its impact with the stairs. It didn't matter — I hadn't slept in a day and a half, and for a good chunk of that time, I'd been scared to death. I was out as soon as I lay down.

* * *

Morning gave me my first good look at America west of the Mississippi. I'd always thought of Nebraska as flat, but in this part, at least, it was hilly.

I felt a lot better than I had the night before. Calmer, clearer. My head only hurt a little.

Standing at the window looking out, I also felt a lot less certain I'd done the right thing. I'd planned my getaway, yes, but I hadn't really thought about it in a bigger sense. In fact, I dimly remembered deciding not to think about it.

Where exactly was I going to go? If I just kept moving, I'd run out of money pretty fast. I needed to settle some place and get work. But how could I do that without getting found? I didn't know the first thing about getting a job without ID, or about getting fake identification, for that matter.

Did I even have enough to rent a place somewhere while I looked for work? I emptied my wallet and the envelope of cash I'd gotten at the bank. It came to $1,264, plus change. That wasn't much when you factored in a security deposit. Could I get a place here in — I looked at the phone book — Sway Creek for that? And wouldn't any landlord want my social security number?

I drummed my fingers on the bedside table. No solutions presented themselves.

What about Ben? I hadn't told him I was leaving, much less where I was going or how to get in touch with me. Ben and his girls were all the family I had. Was I prepared to never see them again?

I'd called him Monday night right after I called the police. He'd come and met me at the hospital, where they'd taken me to make sure I didn't have a concussion. Ben wasn't the most emotive guy, but that night he looked pretty scared. I'd always known how much I needed my brother. It was a big part of why I resented Justine — she kept him from me. But the reverse hadn't really occurred to me: maybe he needed me, too.

I sat still, holding my breath as an awful new thought tried to crawl to the surface.

What if I wasn't there to hurt, and John Williams hurt Ben instead? Or the kids?

Horror settled over me. It was the feeling of having screwed up. Big.

Should I go back?

No, I couldn't. Williams had given me a direct order not to leave town. He'd also ordered me not to tell anyone about him. If he found me, he'd kill me. Twice.

I needed to call Ben and make sure he was okay. I'd tell him to take the family on a little trip. I could do it from a pay phone, then drive in a random direction for the whole day. It was chancy because it might let Williams track me, but it was the best I could do.

* * *

"Beth? Oh my god, where are you?"

Ben sounded panicked.

"It's okay. I'm okay. I'm just getting out of town for a while, until that Williams guy leaves. You heard they didn't charge him, right?"

"Beth, Justine's gone!"

It so was not the response I was expecting that it took me a moment to grasp it.

"What do you mean, gone? She left you?"

"No, I don't know, she's just gone! She didn't pick the kids up from school yesterday. No one's seen her. Beth, I know something terrible happened to her. She might leave me, but she'd never leave the kids."

I stood there in shock.

"Beth? Beth?"

"I'm here. When's the last time someone saw her?"

"The security camera at the Cenex caught her getting gas a little before noon. That's it. She was supposed to be at the school at 3:30, but she never showed."

Doyle had called me at 2:15 to say Williams would be out soon. "Within the hour," he'd said.

Oh god, oh my god.

He hadn't been able to get at Ben. Ben had been at work, surrounded by people. So he'd taken Justine instead.

"Beth?"

"Did you call the police?"

"Of course! Beth... they want to talk to you about it."

It took me another few seconds to understand what he meant.

"They think I kidnapped Justine? Ben, you can't be serious!"

"I know. They're wasting their fucking time when they could be looking for who really did it. But people saw you two fighting at church." His voice slid from angry to defeated. "I think it's the only lead they have. Could you please just talk to them? Maybe once they let go of that idea, they'll get a better one. Beth, we have to find her. I need her."

"Ben, I'll call you back in just a sec."

"Beth — "

I hung up on him. Then I stumbled to the curb and threw up my breakfast beside someone's junky pickup. I was in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven — the first place I'd seen a pay phone. What a place to be when you find out you're going to die.

* * *

Even taking the most direct route, it took me more than twelve hours to get home.

That morning, I'd bought a bottle of water and rinsed out my mouth. Then I'd called my brother back and told him I'd be there to talk to the police as soon as I could.

Things had been pretty clear to me after I talked to Ben. I'd made a bad mistake when I left Dorf. If I went back now, maybe Williams would let Justine go. Maybe taking her was his way of sending me a message: come back, or else. If he'd already killed her, at least going back now would keep him from hurting anyone else. What he did to me was out of my hands, but maybe I could keep him from doing anything to anybody else. That idea had brought a measure of calm.

That calm was still with me when I pulled into the parking lot in front of the small brick building that served as Dorf's police station.

I sat for a minute, enjoying the warmth and familiarity of my car. It was a '91 Le Mans. It had been my mother's. When I'd gotten the job with Dr. Nielsen, Mom had offered it to me sort of offhandedly. We were cleaning up after dinner one night, just the two of us. She'd said she thought she'd get herself a newer car, but maybe we should hang onto this one for a while so I could drive to work.

I'd been so ashamed, back then, of failing at college. She'd saved for years for me to be able to go. It's not like you make that much, working at a supermarket. She took extra hours whenever she could, even did some house-cleaning on the side. With my scholarships and financial aid and her loans and savings, we'd just been able to make it work. But I'd thrown her money away and all her hopes for me, too, because I was too crazy to do what billions of eighteen-year-olds did every year.

And there she was, still trying to help me.

I should've gotten in her lap and cried like a baby; instead I shrugged and said, "Sounds good," as if it didn't mean the world to me, how much she cared.

She never got that new car, either. Instead, she got run over crossing Center Street.

I sighed and got out. It was uncomfortably cold. The nights still have a lot of bite in early April in northern Wisconsin. I stood next to the car, wondering if Williams was already hunting me. Maybe he'd shoot me from a distance, and I'd never feel a thing.

After a minute, nothing had happened. I gathered my courage and headed into the warmth and light of the station.

* * *

"Yes, Justine and I don't like each other. No, I didn't do anything to her."

I was repeating the same basic information I'd been giving the chief for the last hour. I'd been scared at first. Then fear had faded to nervousness. Now I was just annoyed. Why was he being so dense?

"So, let me get this straight," he said, consulting his notes. "Right after we brought in Agent Williams on Tuesday morning, you left Dorf, even though we'd asked you to remain available."

"That's right."

"And you did this why?"

"I was afraid of him. He told me he'd kill me if I told anyone what he'd done."

I might be a dead woman walking, but like hell if I wasn't going to let people know who killed me. Well, who was going to be responsible for killing me when it happened, that is.

"Betty, do you really think we're going to accept this story of yours again? John Williams is an agent in good standing. He's never been reprimanded. In fact, he's been decorated three times — I have his file right here." The chief patted one of the folders on the table. "You expect us to believe he broke into your house, assaulted you, and tried to steal your photographs?"

"I don't care what you believe. Fact is, I was afraid of him, and I left town at about 8:00 on Tuesday morning. I drove to Nebraska. When I heard from my brother that Justine was missing, I headed back. That's it."

"Problem is, you have no proof of that, which means your whereabouts are unaccounted for during the time that Mrs. Ryder went missing."

This was infuriating — so not helpful to finding Justine. Well, so be it. I guess it's true that no good turn goes unpunished.

"Actually, Officer Shumaker's phone logs should support my story. Since I was so scared Monday night, he was kind enough to call and let me know when Williams was getting out. I talked to him at about 2:15 Tuesday afternoon, and I was already in western Minnesota when I received the call."

The chief looked like he'd bitten into a lemon. I couldn't have kidnapped Justine between 11:45 and 3:30 and also been in Minnesota at 2:15.

"What's the number on your phone?"

I got out my wallet and handed him the scrap of paper where I'd written down the number.

"Where's the phone?"

"I left it in Minnesota after I talked to Officer Shumaker."

"How come?"

"I thought Williams might be able to trace where it was."

The chief looked at me as though he were realizing for the first time that I was the saddest, most pathetic lunatic in Dorf.

"Wait here."

He got up and left the room with the phone number. I felt bad about ratting out Doyle, but I thought he'd probably be okay. The chief was his brother's godfather, so they were family friends.

I sat there for quite a while, twiddling my thumbs. Then, curiosity getting the better of caution, I reached over and opened the folder with the FBI logo on the front. On top was a personnel page, complete with photo. I picked it up.

Special Agent Christopher Duncan resided in Bethesda, Maryland. His middle name was Carlos. He'd been in the FBI for eight years. The picture showed a handsome African American man with short dreads. He was wearing a dark suit and a muted green and burgundy tie.

What was this?

I shifted through the rest of the pages in the folder. They all belonged to this Duncan person. I was totally confused. The chief had definitely pointed to the folder I'd picked up.

At that moment, the chief walked back in. Unfortunately, Williams came in right behind him. The bland Pete's Eats version of him, anyway.

"You shouldn't be looking at that," the chief said. "It's confidential."

He reached down and jerked the personnel page out of my hands. I saw him glance at it as he was putting it back in the folder. I sat there, stupefied. What was going on here? Was the guy blind?

"Agent Williams, your suspect," the chief said, gesturing at me disgustedly.

Finally I found my voice. "But that's not his file!"

The chief glared at me.

I shot a glance at Williams, who was standing quietly by the door.

"Chief, that file belongs to someone named Duncan."

"Nonsense," the chief snapped. He jerked his head at me. "She's all yours. I'll be in touch if her alibi doesn't pan out."

"Wait, you can't give me to him," I protested, all my calm evaporating. "What do you mean I'm 'his suspect'?"

The chief eyed me with displeasure.

"Should've known you'd be wrapped up in something like this."

He stalked out.

Williams's blandness seemed to vanish. Suddenly he looked a lot less like a milquetoast and a lot more like a murderer. He grabbed me by the upper arm and proceeded to drag me out of the building.

Not too long before, I'd been pretty cool with the idea of surrendering myself to get Justine back, but self-sacrifice suddenly seemed a good deal more concrete and terrifying. I did a fair amount of screaming on the way out of the station. No one came to help me.

* * *

Williams had a full-sized van. Not surprising for someone who probably had to dispose of dead bodies regularly. He lifted me into the back of it and cuffed me to a ring in the floor near the front seats. I had to hunch there awkwardly on my hands and knees.

I knew I was past help. I stifled the impulse to beg.

He drove for about an hour, then pulled off the pavement. I flopped around like a Raggedy Ann doll as the van lurched over the hardened ruts of some dirt road. I realized we were driving to a place where he could dump my body.

I wished I'd stopped to see Ben before going to the police station. Why didn't I think of that? Now I'd never see him again.

Finally we stopped. Williams unlocked and relocked my cuffs so I wasn't chained to the floor anymore. He went around and opened the back doors and pulled me out onto the ground. Then he stepped back.

I ended up on my side in half-frozen mud. Slowly I got up onto my knees, eyes averted. I wasn't ready to look at him, yet.

I was at the edge of a corn field. Last year's dried, broken stalks stretched out to my left. To my right was a dark copse of trees. Probably a little stream down there. I looked straight up and saw stars. It was a clear, cold night. Everything was washed in dim silver from the bright half-moon.

Finally I looked at him. He was leaning on the van with his arms crossed, looking down at his feet. He was completely still.

"Why," he finally said, "did you do that?" I could tell from his voice that he was just about as angry as it was possible to be. He actually growled.

I figured "that" encompassed everything I'd done that he'd told me not to do. I didn't know what to say. Couldn't he figure it out?

"I was scared. I thought I could get away."

He stared at me, silent, for several minutes.

Finally he said, "You are a lot of trouble." The words came out at long intervals, as though he were squeezing each one through his teeth with great effort.

"I'm sorry. I'm here now. Could you please just let Justine go?"

He jerked me to my feet.

"I'm going to show you something, and you're going to take a good long look at it."

He pulled me into the trees. When I fell, he just kept walking, dragging me over roots and dead bracken until I managed to scramble back to my feet.

After about five minutes, we reached an outcropping of large boulders. They were bunched at a low point in the land, like cattle pressed together at a watering hole. Williams threaded between them, pulling me along by my cuffed hands. The space in the midst of them was filled with the detritus of the forest — dead branches, leaves, twigs. There was a slight smell of decay, as though some small animal had crawled into the pile and died. We stood there in front of the wreckage.

At first, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be looking at. Then the shadowy shapes began to resolve, taking on new meaning. The shards of wood became bones; the dead leaves became twists of dried, shredded skin. The smell of decay mushroomed. It was overpowering. I gagged.

Dead people. I had no idea how many. They were jumbled together, as if each new body had been dumped on the pile and had slowly broken down into pieces and fallen through the mass as it decayed.

"This," Williams said slowly, "is what I do. Every one of those, I put here."

He gave me a shove, and I fell into the pile. The remains weren't as dried out as they'd looked. The stench was everywhere; it was like someone had soaked a wool blanket in week-old blood and stuffed it in my mouth. Things squished under me as I thrashed around in the dark, trying to get my feet and cuffed hands to work together.

I finally managed to get myself clear of the bodies. I lay there on my side, gasping and retching. Williams nudged me with his foot. I looked up at him. He was just a vague silhouette against the starlit sky. I absolutely hated him.

"Do not fuck with me, Ryder. Not again."

He pulled me back to the van and ran my cuffs through the ring again. We drove. I lay there, shocked and exhausted. That terrible smell was in my hair and on my clothes.

I was too afraid to ask again about Justine. Justine could deal with her own problems.

It was some time before it occurred to me that he hadn't killed me.

* * *

When Williams dragged me out of the van a second time, it was at Callie McCallister's house. Unbelievable. I could not imagine two people who seemed less likely to hook up.

He frogmarched me up the walk. As we approached the front door, Callie opened it. At first she looked apprehensive. Then, when she recognized me, she looked frightened.

"No. No, no, no. We can't shelter her. The order's gone out."

She blocked the door with her body. I expected Williams to shove her aside, but instead he stopped a respectable distance away.

"Let us in, Callie. I'll explain."

He spoke with the kind of gentle, soothing tone a parent would use to calm a scared kid.

Amazing. I wouldn't have thought he had it in him, even for the purposes of manipulation.

"John, this isn't a good choice."

Williams said, "Callie. Trust me."

Callie stared at him for a long while, then nodded slowly. She stood aside.

Williams only took me in as far as the foyer. Callie closed the door and edged around me, wringing her hands nervously.

Williams leaned over and growled "Don't move" in my ear. Then he took Callie's elbow and led her farther into the house for a private conversation.

Williams couldn't see me, so I risked looking around. The house was a rambler with an open floor plan, so I could see much of the living space: a large living room to my left, with a dining area just beyond. The kitchen was straight ahead of me. Beyond the kitchen, I could see a den with a fireplace. The bedrooms must be down the hall to the right.

The place was extremely clean and orderly, which didn't surprise me. It was also really nice, which did. I'd never thought about what Callie's house might look like inside, but if I had, I'd have predicted a wall of kitschy porcelain shepherdesses, some Jesus paintings, and a bunch of lace doilies. It wasn't like that at all. The furnishings were simple and modern, very tasteful. Lots of pale colors and wood tones. It was nicer than my place, that's for sure. Mom's decorating had been less Scandinavian Designs, more St. Vincent de Paul.

I stood there, not moving, until my captors came back. Williams told me to go with Callie. She looked nervous but gave me a tentative nod and headed down the hallway. Just as I went to follow her, Williams caught my arm.

"Do not hurt her."

I could tell from his tone of voice that this was a different category of forbiddenness than "don't move" had been a few minutes earlier. The fact that he squeezed my arm hard enough to leave bruises added to that impression. As soon as he loosened his grip, I jerked away, heart racing. His touch was unbearable.

Callie took me to the master bathroom. She told me I could shower, but that she had to stay in the room with me for now. She sat down on the toilet and discreetly looked away as I stripped.

I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it and scrubbed myself. Then I stood there, just letting it wash over me. Slowly, the muscles in my back and shoulders began to unknot.

As my body relaxed, all the weirdness, disruption, and terror of the past few days came welling up. Oddly, I didn't have a panic attack. Instead, I started crying and couldn't stop. I just stood there and sobbed, minute after minute.

Finally, Callie reached in and turned off the water, which had gone cold. She helped me out and dried me off, making cooing noises, as though I were a baby. She sat me down on the edge of the bed. By that point, I was so tired I could barely move. I was just done. I let her put some sweats on me. They were warm and soft. Then she pressed me down into bed and pulled the covers over me. I slept like the dead.

Chapter Five

It was early afternoon when I woke up. I felt better physically. A lot better.

Mentally, things weren't so good. I had to sit there and figure out what day it was: I'd fled Dorf Tuesday morning, returned Wednesday night, and it had been early Thursday morning by the time Williams had brought me to Callie's. So, now it was midday Thursday.

Shit. I was supposed to have been back at work today.

I went to the bathroom and found that Callie had left a new toothbrush on the sink for me. I brushed and thought about my situation.

First, a group of religious nutcases had kidnapped me and seemed to have some future plans for me that I probably wouldn't like. Second, my sister-in-law was missing. And then there were some ancillary issues. If I didn't show up for work, I was going to lose my job. I'd seen a huge pile of murdered people but didn't know where they were, exactly. Williams was pretending to be an FBI agent, and the police chief seemed to be in on it.

When I got to thinking about it, it was really a bit much. I felt the panic coming on, so I sat down on the bathroom floor and snapped my rubber band, focusing on my breathing. I had to calm down and figure out what to do.

It didn't work.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I lay on the floor, recovering from the attack. The cool tiles felt good against my sweaty cheek. I stayed down until the nausea receded and my heart rate slowed.

Slowly, my ability to think came back. I tried again to consider the situation.

It all went back to the three photographs and the interest they'd generated. If I could convince Williams and Callie that I didn't go around photographing "hell-spawn," maybe they'd cancel their plans for me and let Justine go. Once Justine and I were safe, I could worry about the other stuff.

So, how could I convince Williams and Callie that there was nothing demonic about the pictures I'd taken?

The one showing the naked guy in front of J.T.'s should be easy: all I had to do was find that guy. No one could claim there was anything weird about the photo, then.

But what about the monster foot? Unfortunately, I still hadn't come up with an explanation for it myself. It looked so real. If I couldn't explain it to myself, I'd never be able to convince others it was nothing special.

I retrieved my toothbrush and finished brushing. Then I lowered the toilet seat and sat down to think about it. I wished I had the photo to look at. Damn Williams for taking it. I called the picture up in my mind's eye, which wasn't too difficult, considering how much I'd looked at it. I remembered how you could see the ankle tendons flexing.

What if it was real?

I sat very still. Where had that thought come from? Of course it wasn't real.

I needed something to eat. I checked myself over. No piss or barf this time, thank god. Callie's sweats were too short in the arms and legs, and too tight all over. I wasn't a particularly big woman, but I wasn't tiny and delicate like her. Whatever. I was covered.

When I opened the bedroom door, I could hear a washing machine running somewhere. Maybe my clothes were in it. Frankly, I'd rather have thrown them away.

I stood there, finding it hard to leave the room. I'd felt relatively safe inside.

I reminded myself that was an illusion: I wasn't really any safer in one room than another. Squaring my shoulders, I headed down the hall.

Callie was in the kitchen. No Williams, thank god.

Callie looked up nervously. She blurted out, "You can't leave," then flushed and seemed to remember her manners.

"Would you like some tea?"

"That'd be great, thank you."

Callie made me a cup of tea and then a sandwich, which was nice. She sat down across from me. There followed an awkward silence of several minutes. It felt increasingly weird to eat while she alternately looked at me and stared down at her hands. Finally I couldn't bear it anymore.

"Did Williams go out?"

"Yes, he had something to take care of."

Torturing a puppy to death, maybe.

"Will he be back soon?"

"I'm afraid I don't know."

Well, so much for the questions I really cared about. I wracked my brain for small talk.

"Where did you two meet?"

Callie seemed to be considering whether to answer me.

"I had been taken by Satan's minions," she said at last, "some years ago. They did wicked things to me, sinful things. John rescued me. He told me I could be a warrior against that kind of evil. He has friends who taught me what to do, what not to do. I've been fighting evil ever since."

Right, momentarily forgot about the crazy thing.

Well, maybe I could get a better handle on the way these people thought.

"So, how do you fight evil?"

Callie flushed and looked down at her hands.

"Well, I'm not much of a fighter — not directly. I'm more of a watcher, like a sentinel. When I see evil, I let them know. Sometimes they don't do anything. But sometimes they send John. He's one of the fighters. Sometimes they send others."

I took another bite. It was a good sandwich — chewy, seedy whole-wheat bread and everything.

"Who's 'them,' exactly? Some kind of secret society?"

"I don't know how much I should tell you about that," she said, uncertainly.

I hadn't really expected a clear answer.

"So why don't they always send a fighter when you tell them you've seen evil? Don't they believe you?"

I sure was hoping they didn't.

"No, they believe me. I don't know why they ignore the demons sometimes. I don't understand it, really." She paused, looking troubled. "That creature in the cemetery — it's been there for as long as I've lived here. I keep telling them it's there, but they always say it's okay so long as no one knows about it. I don't see how that could be. It's on holy ground, even."

I stared at her. Maybe my photograph had prompted a full-on psychotic break.

"You could fight it yourself," I suggested.

She looked at me like I'd grown a second head.

"It's eight feet tall and has teeth like a shark. And claws. And horns. It would kill me."

"Ah. Well, it's probably best to leave it alone, then."

Callie nodded, and a few moments passed in silence.

"John says you can't actually see it?" she asked, cocking her head at me.

It was an oddly birdlike gesture. But then, she was vaguely avian — slender and tiny, with a long neck and pale, sharp eyes.

"No, I've never seen it."

She nodded, looking pensive. "That's really unusual, I think."

"Oh?"

She nodded. "I've heard of people who can photograph demons, but not without seeing them first. It's like you make music you can't hear. Well, not exactly."

She drifted off a bit, thinking.

Whoever these people were, they hadn't done Callie any favors on the sanity front, filling her head with this stuff. I felt sort of angry on her behalf, which was surprising since I didn't even like her. Then again, I'd never talked to her at length. There was something childlike about her. I'd always assumed she was nasty, what with all the moral crusading, but maybe she wasn't. Nutty, but not nasty.

"Callie, did you hear that my sister-in-law is missing?"

"No," she said. After some hesitation she asked, "Do you think she's in trouble?"

"I really don't know." Damn, no help there.

"Well, I hope she's all right." She stood up. "Excuse me, I'll just switch the laundry."

She left the kitchen. After a few more bites of sandwich, I followed her. The laundry was in a small room at the end of the hallway. The dryer was running, and she was folding a load of lights.

"Can I help?"

"Oh, no, that's all right. I like folding laundry."

I leaned in the doorway, formulating a plan of attack. I knew I couldn't leave. There was no way I'd try it. Go ahead and call me a coward, but I wasn't going to cross Williams again. I was viscerally afraid of him in a way that made it impossible.

"Callie, I should probably call Ben. I haven't talked to him in more than two days. And maybe my workplace. Would you mind if I used your phone?"

She glanced up at me, unhappy. "I'm sorry, but John said you couldn't."

"He said I couldn't call Ben?"

"He said you couldn't use the phone at all."

"Oh."

I thought for a minute. Maybe there was a way around this.

"He's probably afraid I'll try to tell someone again, but now I know I can't."

She nodded, not looking at me.

"So I won't tell Ben anything, okay? I'll just let him know I'm all right."

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I'd let you if I could, but the phone won't work for you. You just can't make any calls."

"What do you mean the phone won't work for me?"

"There's a barrier around the house. It's something John can do, a gift from the Lord. You can't leave or make calls or wave at someone out the window or anything like that. I'm sorry."

I stared at her. I went to the kitchen and tried the phone. It was dead. I went to the front door, my skepticism momentarily overcoming my fear. I opened it and tried to step out.

There was something in front of me that I couldn't see. It was like running into a massive blob of invisible gelatin. I stepped back from it. The world swayed.

From behind me, Callie said, "You really didn't believe any of it, did you? He said so, but I wasn't sure."

"No," I said, my voice sounding weirdly calm and normal, "I really didn't."

* * *

Callie sat me down in the living room and tried to explain things to me, but honestly, it all sounded like a jumble of crazy. Hell as a vast world full of demons. People like her and Williams as protectors of our world from demons who came here to sow evil and reap souls.

I listened with a fraction of my attention, catching random tidbits. With the rest, I focused on my breathing.

We were still sitting there when Williams got home. He stood there for a second, taking in the tableau — me hunched over, pale and shaking. Callie holding my hand, speaking to me quietly.

"Had a come-to-Jesus moment?" he said nastily.

I stared back at him, too shell-shocked to respond.

"I don't think I'm getting through to her," Callie said. "Can you explain it to her?"

"Nope. Not my job."

He headed into the kitchen, then called out, "Come with me tonight, Callie? I still can't get it closed. Must be stuck on something."

She stiffened slightly beside me.

"Is it safe?"

"I just need you to take a look. No need to leave the barrier."

She nodded but didn't say anything. I wondered what sort of demon they were going to send back to Hell that night. The thought struck me as so ludicrous, so cliché, that I got the giggles. Lord help me, I couldn't stop. Even Williams growling "shut the fuck up" didn't do it. I laughed until I cried. Eventually I got up and wandered into the den and turned on Callie's TV. I channel-surfed until I found a dour episode of Law & Order. Even then, I kept having to stifle laughter. It kept bubbling up, as though it were washing something away.

At last, I curled up on the couch and went to sleep to the drone of the TV.

* * *

Sometime in the wee hours, the front door crashed open. I got into the kitchen just as Williams was setting Callie down on the floor. At first he was in the way, and I couldn't see. When I did, I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. Her face, neck, and upper chest were a dry, grayish white. I couldn't see her features. I could only tell it was her by the gray slacks she was wearing. I didn't understand. What had happened to her?

I came closer and smelled cooked flesh. She had no hair. She had no ears. In a rush, comprehension came — she was burned to char. What I was seeing was ash.

"Not in here," Williams said without looking up.

I rushed out but didn't make it to the bathroom before vomiting. I crouched at the end of the hallway, heaving, for several minutes. Then I gathered myself and struggled back to the kitchen. I was shaking so badly it was hard to walk.

Williams was speaking quietly into a cell phone. He had brought in some couch cushions and put Callie's feet up on them. I looked at her. The unburned parts I could see were a clammy white. Her fingertips were bluish.

When he hung up, I said, "Was that 911?"

He didn't say anything.

"She needs a hospital. Right now."

He turned to me. I cowered, expecting rage, but his face was strangely blank.

"You want to be useful? Hold her hand."

That was it. Even though I knew I was colluding in Callie's death, I didn't say another word.

I sat down on the floor beside her and took her hand. It was unnaturally cool to the touch, and sweaty. I listened to the harsh crackle of her breathing. Her airway must've been burned as well. Williams sat on the other side of her with his back against the cabinets, looking down.

There we waited. For hours.

Callie did regain consciousness briefly at one point. Her hand tightened on mine, and she stirred. I saw the opening that used to be her mouth moving and bent down to hear. I couldn't really understand her. She might've said, "Doesn't hurt."

* * *

Around dawn, I heard the rumble of a motorcycle outside. Moments later, someone entered the house — a woman. She paused in the kitchen doorway.

"Is she alive?"

Williams didn't answer, so I nodded.

"Thank god. Move over."

I glanced at Williams again for guidance, but he was still looking down.

I got up and stepped back. The woman took my place. She was young — in her late teens, maybe twenty, tops. She was quite a bit shorter than me, five-foot-one or -two. Her curly hair was shaved close on the sides and bleached almost white. Her skin was the color of coffee with cream. I wasn't sure of her ethnicity. Latina, maybe. She had several facial piercings, and the edge of a tattoo showed above her collar. But for all the tough-chick fixings, she looked nervous.

She picked up Callie's hand and closed her eyes. As I watched, ash began to slough off Callie, first in a drift of fine, airborne dust, then in chunks. Her chest and face seemed to inflate gently. The ash was followed by bits of flesh — a mixture of black and raw, angry red. Then larger chunks. As the char fell away, I could see new skin underneath. It was bright red and blistered, but it was there. New ears began to emerge, pushing out the blackened nubs that had been there before, like an adult tooth pushing out a baby one. Eyelids and lips formed as well.

Callie was recognizable again — definitely still burned, but recognizable.

The blond woman moaned and slumped back against the cabinets.

Callie began to stir and whimpered in pain.

The blond woman tried to say something. She was shockingly pale. A sheen of sweat stood out on her face. On the second try, she managed to say, "Bag."

I noticed the small duffle in the kitchen doorway only when Williams stood up and fetched it. The woman must've dropped it there when she came in. Williams had to unzip it for her. It was full of medical supplies. Following her directions, he prepared a syringe and injected it into Callie's arm. After a few seconds, Callie's body relaxed, and her breathing slowed. She was unconscious.

She was also largely healed. I mean, she still had serious burns, but the difference was night and day.

If I'd needed further convincing that there was more to the world than I'd believed, I'd just gotten it.

The blond woman sat with her head between her knees and taking deep breaths for about fifteen minutes. Then she looked up at Williams.

"Can you move her to a room where I can sleep too?"

Williams nodded and picked Callie up carefully. He took her down the hallway.

When he got back, the woman said, "Let's take a look at those hands."

Williams knelt in front of her and held out his arms. I noticed then that the backs of his hands and forearms were burned pretty badly. The woman examined the wounds, probing gently at bits of burned cloth that had stuck to the skin.

I watched, expecting to feel sick. It didn't happen. I guess what I was seeing was small potatoes compared to Callie's burns.

The scar I'd noticed before on the back of Williams's left wrist caught my eye. As the woman turned his arm, I saw that it actually went all the way around. It looked like his hand had been cut off and reattached. Was that possible?

"These burns need healing, but it'll have to wait 'til tomorrow. I'm shot."

Williams grunted. When it came to languages, he sure had "Thug" down pat.

The woman directed him to a small aerosol can in her bag. She told him to spray his burns, which he did, then pointed to some pills he could take for the pain. He nodded, then thanked her in a serious tone for healing Callie. The blond woman looked a bit surprised. I was glad I wasn't the only one. Then he got up and left the room. A few seconds later, I heard the front door close.

I felt myself relax marginally. I had no idea who the blond woman was, but at least she wasn't him.

She looked up at me and said, "I'm Kara. Who're you?"

"Beth. I'm new."

"New, huh? Bummer. Well, we can talk about it tomorrow." She struggled to her feet. "Right now, I need to sleep. That's the biggest healing I've ever done."

She shambled off down the hallway. I heard a bedroom door close.

I stood there, looking down at the ash and charred flesh all over the kitchen floor.

The house was quiet. I felt alone. I'd been reborn into a world that looked like the one I knew, but wasn't. Terror surged through me, dank and suffocating.

A two-attack day. Not good.

When I could move again, I just crawled into bed and lay there shaking until sleep came.

Chapter Six

I slept even later than I had the day before — well into the afternoon. The house was quiet. I lay in bed for a while. Very irrationally, I was hoping what I'd seen in the last twenty-four hours would somehow just go away. My mind kept poking at this heap of impossible experiences, as though it might hop up and say in a funny accent, "Why, excuse me, I seem to have wandered into the wrong universe! I'll be on my way now."

Instead, the pile of impossible just sat there, refusing to leave or be integrated with the rest of my psyche.

I knew I couldn't function that way. But deciding to tackle the situation might've been the hardest thing I'd ever done. Every cell in my body resisted the idea.

I understood why. It was in my nature to withdraw. Maybe my panic disorder had made me that way. In the past, new places and experiences had made it flare, so I tried to stick to routines as much as possible. And when something new and scary did happen, my impulse was to get the hell away from it.

It could have been worse — some people with panic disorder end up prisoners in their own homes, too afraid of triggering an attack to go out. That hadn't happened to me, maybe because I had attacks at home, too. But I did try to avoid the new. I mean, photography was literally the only new thing I'd tried since I was eighteen.

But now "the new" was overrunning me, and I was going to have to confront it. If I didn't start trying to make a place for myself in this new world, it would shred me.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. After all, what I'd seen the blond woman, Kara, do — that was miraculous. What if I could do something like that?

I showered, then went hunting for my clothes in Callie's dryer. Someone's snoring was audible in the hallway, even though all the bedroom doors were closed. I hoped it was Kara, not Williams.

When I got to the kitchen, there was someone new there. A man. He was drinking coffee. He looked up at me, and his face shifted into what appeared to be a friendly smile.

"Hi. You must be Elizabeth. I'm Graham. I'm here to show you the ropes."

This was it. I had to confront the new. I seized my courage in both hands and made a bold first move.

"Um. Hi."

Good lord, I was going to have to do better than that.

"Um. Coffee?"

He grinned and motioned toward a can of grounds and some filters on the counter.

I turned my back on the scary stranger and made myself a cup of coffee. Then I brought it over to the table and sat down with him to drink it. It was really good. I didn't usually drink the caffeinated stuff.

"Well," he said, "you seem to be handling all this pretty well."

"Thanks."

He smiled again. Big smiler, this guy.

"Want some breakfast?"

"Okay."

He got up and made enough eggs and toast for two. I watched him. He was good-looking — tall and slender, with brown eyes, blond hair, and a TV anchorman's even, chiseled features. He was wearing khakis and a fitted pale green sweater made out of some fine material. He was at least a few years older than me and carried himself with confidence. I wondered if he was a lawyer or a doctor. He seemed professional, sophisticated.

He brought me a plate, and I thanked him. We ate in silence.

When we were both finished, he pushed back and sat there looking at me, smiling a little. I looked back at him.

Confront the new, I reminded myself.

"Can you explain things to me?" I said.

He nodded. "That's what I'm here for. I oversee the Upper Midwest. New talent is part of my responsibility."

"Oversee? So this is an organization of some sort?"

"You could say that. Basically, we look out for things that shouldn't be happening and try to fix them. We have a territory with different regions. Each region has an overseer."

"What are you called?"

"What, like the 'League of Justice,' or something?" he said, laughing. "We don't have a fancy name for the organization."

"Oh. Okay." I felt dumb.

He sat for a minute or so, drumming his fingers on the table softly.

"It's always a bit hard to know where to start with newbies," he finally said. "It's particularly hard with you, since you're so much older than most. You have the capacity to understand a great deal — you know, unlike a seven-year-old."

This happened to little kids? God, how horrible.

"But if we get into too much detail right off the bat," he continued, "it's going to be overwhelming, and we also won't get to working on your abilities. As I understand it, your development has been a bit unusual. Figuring that out should be our first priority."

"Okay," I said, "so give me what you think I need for now. I'll ask questions if I need to."

He nodded, looking a little impressed. I was sort of impressed with myself, actually.

"Well, the first thing to understand is that there's more than one world," he said, sounding like he'd rattled this stuff off before. "We call the world you see around you right now the First Emanation. That's all the vast majority of people ever see. But there's also a Second Emanation. You can think of it as another world that overlaps or coexists with this one."

"Like a parallel universe?"

"Sort of. They're not so separate as that phrase implies. Some things, like major geographic formations, exist in both worlds at the same time. Some other features are shared, too — usually things that are old for their kind, like big trees, ancient buildings, that sort of stuff. But people and animals only exist in one place or the other."

I nodded and tried to look like I was getting it.

"So, the F-Em has a large population of creatures — animals and people."

"FM?"

"As in 'First Emanation.' Big 'E,' little 'M,' as in 'Emanation.'"

"Oh. Right."

So much for getting it.

"The S-Em has a population as well. We call those beings 'Seconds,' for short. Sometimes you'll also hear people refer to 'Firsts.' That means the people and animals from here."

"Why are these places called 'emanations'?"

"That's probably more than we need to get into right now," he said. "It comes from what the Seconds believe about how they and their world came into being."

"Okay."

"Right. So some Seconds look just like you or me, and some look different. The essential distinction between Seconds and the beings of this world is that they can see and manipulate something we call essence. Working essence enables them to do things that aren't possible for most human beings. They can reshape reality itself in different ways. Usually the effects are small, but they can be substantial."

"Are you talking about magic?"

"Not really. It might seem magical to humans, but to Seconds it's not mysterious or illogical."

He stopped to think.

"You know how our bodies can generate heat and keep themselves warmer than their surroundings? Well, their bodies can touch this other level of reality. To them, it's all very normal and reasonable, just as our bodies' ability to stay the same temperature seems ordinary to us."

"So essence is energy, like heat?"

"No, it's more fundamental than that. It's what lies under all matter and energy — the core of existence itself."

He must've seen my mystified expression.

"Human science can get you part of the way there. See all the things around you? They're all different, right? This is cloth," he said, pointing at a dish towel, "and the table is wood. This plate is ceramic. If you look at them, touch them, they seem different. But those differences are misleading. Actually these things are all made out of the tiny particles that make up atoms, right? Science tells us everything in this room — including us — is just particles and electromagnetic fields and empty space."

I nodded, but that stuff wasn't a big part of high school physics. Building a bridge out of spaghetti I remembered. The more theoretical stuff was foggier.

"Okay, well if you follow me that far, just imagine essence as what makes up the particles and the empty space."

Right. Okay. I guess.

"Are you sure it's not just magic?"

"Yep, I'm sure. Look, what if you went back in time and showed some stone-age people a TV with a remote control? It might seem to them that you were controlling the TV with magic, but to us it's just a piece of technology."

It occurred to me that I didn't really know how a remote control worked. I felt myself blush.

Graham smiled. "Even if you can't explain the details of how a remote works, you know there's a scientist somewhere who could. You don't think it's magic."

Okay, so people on this other world had some kind of amazingly advanced biotechnology, so advanced it seemed like magic. I could accept that. It was like a sci-fi movie.

But what Graham was saying didn't seem to jibe with what Callie had told me.

"Callie described the other world in religious terms."

"Ah." Graham paused for a few seconds. "Callie has her own way of understanding these things. It's what works for her, given her beliefs and experiences, but based on what I know, it's not an accurate picture. What I'm telling you is what everyone else understands to be true."

For some reason, that was a big relief, maybe because all that judgment and hellfire stuff didn't seem to be part of the equation.

"Given your potential," Graham continued, "it would be better if you had a more precise and nuanced understanding of how the S-Em works."

I nodded, but the thing about "potential" didn't sound good. My feeling of relief dissipated. I didn't want these people to have any more interest in me than was absolutely necessary.

"Okay, so like I was saying, beings from this world are called 'Firsts.' The ones from the other world are called 'Seconds.' Firsts can't travel to the S-Em, but some Seconds can travel here. That's where people like us come in — we police the Seconds who come to the human world. If they break the rules, we take care of it."

So, these people were basically a secret branch of law enforcement? Maybe Williams really was in the FBI — some secret X-Filesy part of it.

Then I thought about the place Williams had taken me.

"By 'take care of it,' do you mean you kill them?"

Graham looked a little uncomfortable.

"Most Seconds don't intend any harm to humans. If they come here, they don't cause any problems. But a few of them are dangerous. Sometimes, the only solution is termination."

What he was saying was rubbing me the wrong way. Or maybe it was the pile of decayed corpses I'd rolled around in a couple nights ago that had rubbed me the wrong way.

"Do they get a trial?"

"I'm sure there's a process in place."

Huh. That was pretty vague.

As though feeling the tension, Callie's glass tea kettle cracked with a loud pop. We both jumped. I let out a nervous laugh, and Graham smiled. Steam billowed up from the hot burner as the water drained onto the range.

"I'll get it," he said, standing up and grabbing a dishtowel.

"Weird. These things are supposed to be just about indestructible," he said, mopping up hot water. "Anyway, we're able to deal with troublesome Seconds because we're actually like them: some human beings are also born with the ability to sense and manipulate essence. Those of us with the right abilities can meet Seconds on a more level playing field, especially if we team up. And since a number of powerful Seconds support our activities, they can back us up if we get in trouble."

Wait a minute, said an alarmed little voice in my head. Am I included in that "we"?

"What did you mean when you mentioned 'my potential'? Am I going to have to — "

Just then, Graham's cell phone rang. He pulled it out and looked at it.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. Please excuse me."

He headed into the living room and began a conversation I couldn't quite hear. It lasted a while and seemed to prompt several other calls. Finally he wrapped it up and came back to the kitchen's entrance, pocketing his phone.

"Sorry about that. Hey, why don't we do a few tests to see exactly how your development is coming along?"

"Um, you don't think I can 'reshape reality itself,' do you? 'Cause if so, I have some bad news."

"Hold on," he said, laughing. "Working essence can take a lot of different forms. Most of it isn't so spectacular as that phrase makes it sound. Let's just see what you might be able to do."

I could've told him right then I didn't have any special abilities, other than possibly taking weird pictures. But I followed him to the living room. We settled on one of Callie's comfortable white couches. Graham opened his mouth to say something, then froze, looking over my shoulder.

I turned to look. Kara was standing at the end of the hallway, looking as surprised to see Graham as he was to see her. He recovered first.

"Kara. It's good to see you. What brings you here?"

Kara looked down at her hands, which were gripped together.

"Williams called me early this morning. Callie got hurt. I came to heal her."

"Is she okay?" Graham said, sounding concerned.

"Yeah. I did some more work on her just now. She'll be up and around soon."

"Good, good. So, you'll be heading back to the Twin Cities today?"

"I guess."

"Best not to leave your area unguarded for too long."

She nodded quickly and vanished into the kitchen.

Hm. Kara was afraid of Graham. I studied him a little more carefully as he began to explain the testing process to me. He didn't seem scary. Maybe I was missing something.

* * *

Two hours later, I was well and truly shaken.

Graham had asked me to report whatever I saw. Then he'd changed from one person into another as I watched — a heavyset middle-aged farmer, a schoolmarmish old lady, a slinky beauty, a broken-down old man. Each time, I had to describe the person I saw in detail.

Seeing Graham change like that reminded me of Williams, with his Blandy-McBlandsville disguise. I didn't want to be reminded of Williams.

Afterwards, Graham picked up a decorative bowl from Callie's coffee table, and I watched as it shifted from bowl to football helmet to soccer ball, and finally to a living armadillo, which turned its head and looked right at me. I had to describe each one of those things, too.

Apparently finished with the special effects, Graham sat back with a sigh.

"Well, this has got to be pretty unusual. I haven't seen anything quite like it."

"Is something wrong with me?"

My tone seemed to get his attention. He leaned forward and caught one of my hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Elizabeth, I know this must all be very unsettling. It's always like that at the beginning. I promise, it'll start making sense. You'll adjust, and it'll get better."

"Okay," I said, trying not to sound so quavery.

I reminded myself that I was supposed to be confronting this stuff, not just reacting passively and letting my fear of it rule me.

"I'll explain what's going on, as best I can. Remember how I mentioned earlier that all Seconds and some humans can sense and manipulate essence?"

I nodded.

"There are two ways to manipulate essence. One is called a 'working.' A working changes essence from one state into another. And remember, essence is the substance of everything. That's why I said we're capable of reshaping reality itself — if you change the building blocks, you change the building."

"Right, okay."

"The other kind of manipulation is called a 'half-working' or 'halfing.' When you make a half-working, you don't change essence fully from one state to another. Instead, you let it oscillate really fast between its original state and what you'd like it to be. So long as the essence has the shape you want more than half the time, that's the shape people are going to see."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"It saves a lot of energy. When you make a disguise, like I was doing just now, you might have to keep it up for a long time. Halving your energy use can make all the difference."

"And that's what you were doing just now?"

"Yeah."

It was hard to believe. I hadn't seen any sort of flickering or blurriness. One moment he'd been himself, and the next he'd been someone else.

"So, moving on to how you're developing," Graham said, "when people like us come into our abilities, it happens in four stages, which we call 'castes.' There's actually a little ditty to help kids remember the order: 'sense a working, get a gift, handle essence, learn to work.' It goes to some nursery-rhyme or other."

He thought for a moment, but apparently couldn't dredge up the tune.

"Anyway, 'sense a working' means becoming able to perceive workings and half-workings. Once you can see a halfing, it won't fool you anymore. You'll still see the worked shape, but you'll also see the original. Full workings are different. They change reality completely, so there's no 'original' state of things left to see. Sensing them just means being aware what you're perceiving is the result of a working. Think of the way a jeweler can tell a natural pearl from a cultured one, whereas to most people, a pearl is a pearl — it's like that."

"Okay," I said, trying to commit workings and half-workings to memory.

"Here's the thing: typically, when people hit the first caste, they start seeing halfings and workings all at once. It's an all-or-nothing thing, like throwing a switch. If the essence has been disturbed, they're aware of it. It isn't happening that way for you. You're getting little glimpses, but it's mostly still hidden."

"I don't think I'm seeing either of those things. Workings or half-workings," I said.

"But you are — partially. Most of the halfings I just showed you, you didn't see at all. You perceived the illusion as real. But with a couple, you described something that was part of the original, not the halfing. For instance, the young woman I created had black hair, but you said she was a blonde. That means you saw my real hair color instead of the illusion. I bet you've gotten glimpses of reality through other halfings, too, and just not realized it."

"But I've never seen anything unusual, except in that picture I took."

"Williams led me to believe there was more than one photograph."

"Well, there were three he seemed interested in, but two of them just showed a regular person. I thought so, at least."

"Huh. Can I see them?"

"You'll have to ask Williams. He took them."

Graham frowned. I guess Williams had neglected to tell him about that bit of thievery.

Suddenly I remembered Williams's FBI file. Maybe when the chief had looked at those pages, they hadn't looked like they described some other person. Maybe I'd been seeing through a half-working Williams made.

"Okay, never mind." Graham said. "We can look at them later. For now, take a look at this."

He handed me a boxy and somewhat beat-up camera. It was a Polaroid.

"Is this an instant camera?"

"Yep," he said. "We're going to visit your spooky cemetery and take a picture or two."

A spasm of fear clutched at me. I reached down and gave my rubber band a couple hard snaps. Confront the new, I reminded myself. Exploring what was going on with my pictures was a good step forward.

"So you think the weird pictures are part of this seeing-bits-and-pieces thing?"

"Yeah, I do, and I want to see it in action. Let's wait until dark, though. It'll be easier to disguise our presence."

While we waited for the sun to set, I checked out the Polaroid. It was a straightforward point-and-shoot — you couldn't even disable the flash. So the camera shouldn't be a problem. We'd see how much trouble my subject matter posed.

After I'd examined the camera, I thought I might ask Graham some more questions. Unfortunately, he was on the phone.

I wandered down the hallway, curious about how Callie was doing. I found her and Kara in one of the bedrooms. Kara motioned me in. Callie was still deeply asleep. Her skin looked much better — still red and inflamed, but no longer blistered. I wondered if Williams had been back to the house for healing as well, maybe while I was sleeping away the morning. The thought made me shudder. I didn't want him nearby when I was asleep.

I felt awkward standing there gawking.

"Will I wake her up if I talk?" I whispered.

"No, she's drugged," Kara answered in a more normal tone.

"Is she going to have scars?"

"No. The burn's superficial, now. Even if I left it this way, it wouldn't scar. But I won't leave it this way — it's too painful. I'll do a little more tonight."

I nodded. "What you can do, it's really amazing. If I hadn't seen how bad it was, I would never believe it."

Kara shrugged and looked uncomfortable.

"So," she said, "Graham's here training you?"

"Yeah, I guess."

She didn't follow up, so eventually I took my leave and headed to the room I'd been using, which I thought was Callie's. I wondered if she'd given it to me because the en suite bathroom meant I didn't have to go out into the hallway if I didn't want to. If so, that was really thoughtful. Maybe she understood about being terrified, even if she wasn't scared of Williams herself.

* * *

By 9:00, Graham and I were sitting in his sedan behind St. Mary's. It was quite dark — the sun had set more than an hour earlier.

He said, "Stay here a sec," and got out of the car. He walked into the cemetery. I could vaguely see him moving through the gravestones for a few seconds, and then the dark claimed him.

Before long, he came back to the car and gestured me out. I followed him through the dark cemetery. He led me toward a big maple in the back.

"You see that tree?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Do you see anything near it other than grave markers? Look carefully."

I let my eyes rove around the trunk and the surrounding area. Several stones were close enough to be under the tree's canopy, but I couldn't see anything else. There was only the tree and a bunch of gravestones between us and Gil Jensen's southernmost field, which abutted the church property.

"No, there's nothing else there. Not that I can see, anyway."

"Okay. Take a picture of the tree," he said.

"This little flash isn't nearly enough to light it."

"Just get the trunk."

Feeling a bit silly, I walked to within about ten feet of the trunk, close enough for the flash to do some good, and snapped a picture of it. Then I returned to Graham as the camera was spitting out the developing print.

"Here you go. One tree trunk," I said, holding it out to him.

Instead of taking it, he handed me a little flashlight.

"Look at it. What do you see?" he asked.

I looked down at the print. It had finished developing. It did show a tree trunk. It also showed a standing figure.

"There was no one there!"

"Oh, but there was," Graham said, grinning. "That's Bob."

In the picture, a large creature was standing in front of the tree. He was furry, had long arms, and was very obviously male. He was smiling toothily and waving.

Goosebumps ran up my arms. My heart rate kicked into high gear, and my lungs seemed to close. An attack was coming. I sat down on the ground and snapped my rubber band. Surprisingly, Graham settled down beside me and put his arm around my shoulders, making soothing noises. That startled me, which actually helped. The oncoming panic paused and hovered, then receded. Thank god.

Once I relaxed, Graham scooted away from me a bit, giving me space. I looked up at him and found him watching me with a little smile. A number of seconds ticked by. I really didn't know what to say.

"So," I started, and then cleared my throat. "So, the abominable snowman lives behind St. Mary's?"

Graham laughed. "Pretty close, actually. Bob's a good guy. Never causes any trouble. But some of his people who aren't so law abiding do crop up in the Himalayas."

Yet another thing for which I really had no response. I looked at the photo again. Bob was heavily furred on his torso, but the fur thinned out on his limbs, giving way to leathery skin. That skin was pale green and marked with gray rings. His fur was white with gray rings. Doyle Shumaker had looked at my photo and joked about a "bagel monster." Pretty accurate, actually.

I looked into the darkness beyond the flashlight's glow. Bob the non-abominable snowman might be standing right next to me. He hadn't just disguised himself as something else; he'd made himself invisible. So what else was out there that I couldn't see?

"Elizabeth, it's okay." Graham was looking at me with sympathy. "It's a big adjustment, I know, but it'll be okay."

"Wait," I gasped, and put my head between my knees. I cupped my hands over my mouth and breathed into them, trying to head off hyperventilating. Several long minutes passed before the nausea and dizziness passed, and I could speak.

"Why can't I see it? Why can I take a picture of it but not see it?"

"I don't know. I've never heard of someone photographing Seconds but not being able to see them. I'm guessing it's another way you're glimpsing through half-workings, like I was talking about before. But why your development is working this way, I'm frankly not sure."

He rubbed his face, thinking.

"You know, it might have to do with how late your abilities are manifesting. Most of us reach the first caste as little kids. About twenty percent get there as teens. Your abilities are appearing so late that you already have a set view of the world — what's possible and what isn't. Maybe your mind is resisting the 'impossible' things your eyes are taking in."

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath, "I want to start seeing what's in front of me. How do I do it?"

"Well," Graham said, "let's go have a chat with Bob."

I followed Graham back under the maple. It was nerve-wracking to think that a creature like the snowman was out there, and I was blind to it. I kept expecting something to take a bite out of me.

Graham positioned me about ten feet from the tree's trunk and suggested I sit. Then he sat down right next to the tree and proceeded to have half a conversation with nothing. It was bizarre to watch.

"How's it going, Bob?"

"Really? Well, I'm sorry to hear that. When did you last hear from her?"

"Ah. No, that doesn't sound promising."

"I don't think that would be the best approach, no."

This went on for some time. Apparently Bob was having troubles in the love department. It added new meaning to the word "incongruous." It seemed so absurd, it was hard not to get the giggles. I bit the inside of my lip and tried to sit still.

"Maybe she'd appreciate a small present," Graham was saying.

"No, that'd be too big. It'll make you seem desperate."

"It makes you look needy instead of confident," I said. "That's sort of a turn-off."

Graham stopped and looked at me. The weird thing was, I could sort of feel someone else looking at me, too. Someone big and sad.

Graham said, "Can you see him? Or hear him?"

I shook my head.

"Then why did you answer his question?"

"I don't know. I don't think I actually heard anything."

"You must've on some level. Before you spoke, Bob had just said, 'What's wrong with seeming desperate if you are?'"

It was such a plaintive, naked question that hearing it took some of the absurdity out of the situation. Poor Bob. I could identify.

But I still couldn't see him.

"You getting anything?" Graham asked.

"I have this vague feeling that someone else is here, but that's it. I can't see or hear him."

"Huh. Any ideas, Bob?"

Graham listened.

"He says you won't see him unless you really want to."

"I do want to!"

"Some part of you doesn't, he says."

Great. I was being psychoanalyzed by a walking piece of deep shag.

"Well, it's not a part that's listening to the rest of me. I don't know how to want to see him more than I already do."

Graham looked pensive. "Hey, let me go make a call, okay? Someone who's been around longer than I have might have more ideas."

"Wait! You're not leaving me here, are you?"

"I'll just be a few feet away. Don't worry — Bob wouldn't hurt a fly. A stray cat, maybe, but not a fly."

Graham grinned at me, then got up and walked toward the car, sliding his cell phone out of his pocket. He faded into the night. I started to feel very afraid. I couldn't see Bob, but Bob could see me, and he was huge. I reminded myself that Bob seemed more like a schlemiel than a monster. Sure, a schlemiel with big teeth, some other part of me answered. I shivered. I swear I felt him looming over me, reaching for me with ragged claws, breathing dead-cat breath on me.

I started to feel another attack coming on and scrambled up.

"Graham? Graham!"

Graham didn't come.

I felt sick and dizzy. I tried to run, but my legs wouldn't hold me up, and I flopped back down to the ground.

Just as my vision started to tunnel, I glimpsed a face, more like a remembered image than the face itself. Then an impression of color — a silvery white. Then a sense that someone was speaking just a bit too softly for me to hear.

Clutching my chest, I stared at the place Bob had seemed to be when Graham was talking to him. It was like looking at that duck-rabbit illusion. I always saw the rabbit and had to force myself to see the duck.

Finally, I saw the duck.

It's not that he shimmered into view. He was just suddenly there. All eight furry feet of him. I sat there staring at him until I could get enough air in my lungs to speak.

"Wow. Um. Hi, Bob."

I could also see his not-thereness, which was bizarre. As I thought about him being invisible, he started being more not-there than there. I quickly focused on his thereness, and he came surging back.

He was smiling strangely. I realized he was probably trying to keep his teeth covered.

"Hello, Elizabeth Ryder. You have nothing to fear from me," he said.

Bob's face was definitely humanoid — a somewhat flattened nose, red lips, and large, dark eyes. But the whole thing was covered with short, white fur. He didn't have eyebrows, exactly, but there were large tufts of curly fur above his eyes. Starting on the top and the sides of his head, the hair got longer, blending with the fur on his body to form a thick, shaggy coat. His mouth looked a bit too large for his face. It probably had to be to fit all those teeth inside. Short, sharp horns stuck straight out from the sides of his head. I could imagine him disemboweling a horse with them.

Graham emerged from the dark, grinning broadly.

"Excellent! Great idea, Bob!"

I turned on him.

"You guys did that on purpose?"

"Yup," Graham said. "Bob wondered if needing to see a danger might overcome whatever part of your mind was blocking your sight."

Graham looked pretty pleased with himself.

"Great. That's great. Thanks a lot. You can take me home, now."

I stalked back toward the car. Graham trailed after me.

"Hey, don't be that way. You really did want to see, right?"

I didn't say anything.

"Elizabeth," he said, catching my arm.

"Get off me!"

I think my anger surprised both of us. We just stood there, me seething at him, him looking at me with a mystified expression.

"I don't understand why that upset you so much," he finally said.

I suppressed the urge to just let fly with something nasty and instead let the silence stretch until I calmed down a little.

"Look, I've been getting really scared of nothing all my life, but the last few days have been way worse. Now it's not nothing that's scaring me. It's you people. And you're doing it on purpose. I'm sick of it. I didn't have you pegged as someone who was going to do that to me."

His expression softened, then tightened again in anger.

"Williams."

I looked away so he wouldn't see the fear wash across my face.

"It's unfortunate that he found you. Most unfortunate. He's not cut out for dealing with emerging talents."

"Glad to hear you think so," I said caustically.

Graham looked down. Then he said quietly, "He's very good at what he's assigned to do. That's because he's a sadist."

I shuddered. "Yeah."

"Look," Graham said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have played that trick on you. I didn't know you'd been treated so badly."

He looked very sincere.

"Thanks." I forced a laugh I didn't quite feel. "I guess it worked, right?"

In truth, I wanted to be able to forgive him. I very much wanted to like at least one of these people I'd been thrown in with.

"Yeah, but working isn't everything," he said with a little lopsided grin.

After a few seconds of more companionable silence, he said, "Hey, mind if we go back and chat with Bob a little more? I don't want to leave on a bad note."

"Yeah, sure, I guess."

The snowman still made me nervous.

We headed back to the tree. Bob was looking dejected, but he perked back up when he saw us. We spent fifteen minutes making somewhat awkward small talk. He did seem like a nice enough... person? I wasn't sure how to think of him. Definitely not an animal, though it was beyond weird to converse with something so large and furry. He did have beautiful eyes — big and dark and expressive.

He asked me to come by and talk with him again soon.

"I look forward to getting to know you, Miss Ryder," he said. "I have lived here a long while, watching but never mingling. Sometimes I grow forlorn."

"Why don't you go home?" I asked.

Graham gave my arm a little squeeze, as though I shouldn't have asked that.

Bob didn't seem offended, though. He just sighed and said, "There are reasons I cannot."

Poor guy. He was lonely. The idea of visiting him alone sort of gave me the willies, but I said I would and that I was looking forward to speaking with him again.

We said our goodbyes, and he trundled off into the darkness. Graham and I headed back to the car. He told me I'd handled the conversation well.

"You notice how he didn't call you by your first name? Seconds tend to be pretty formal, compared to contemporary American manners. It isn't wise to be impolite when speaking to them, even if it's a friendly one like Bob."
Yeah, thanks for telling me that beforehand, I thought to myself.

"If they're so formal, why is it okay to call him 'Bob'?"

"We couldn't possibly pronounce his real name — his species is capable of making a number of sounds we can't. He probably chose an F-Em name that was short and simple out of courtesy to us."

We got in the car and headed back toward Callie's.

"Okay," he said, "I think we can feel pretty darn good about the day's work. We figured out where your development was stalled, and we got it moving again. Since you've probably been blocked for a while, the second stage might come quickly. We'll have to do some testing to see if that's the case."

"Can I ask you something first?" I said.

Suddenly I felt nervous. Graham seemed to be an okay guy, but I didn't really know that. Still, I got the sense he wasn't a Williams fan. That might work in my favor.

"Sure, what is it?"

"Do you think Williams could've kidnapped my sister-in-law?"

I could tell I'd taken him completely by surprise. He actually pulled over and turned to face me.

"Why would he have done that?"

"When he first came to talk to me, he told me not to leave town and not to tell anyone about him. But I was so scared that I went to the police. Then I took off. I was gone about a day. When I came back, my brother's wife had gone missing. She disappeared just after the police let Williams go. I thought he might've taken her to get me to come back here. That's why I came back, actually — I called my brother from the road and he told me she was gone and that the police suspected me. They were interrogating me about it when Williams came and got me — they think he's with the FBI."

Graham stared at me, apparently at a loss for words.

Finally he said, "Well, I've never heard of him using quite that kind of tactic. He's usually more direct. What you're describing sounds like it would take some planning, and he's not the brightest bulb. Then again, I don't think there's much he's not capable of."

He paused for a minute, thinking.

"Why don't you let me look into it quietly for a few days. I have some contacts in the organization that don't care much for Williams. Let me get in touch and see what I can find out."

"Thank you," I said, and really meant it. "I'd like to be able to talk to him soon — my brother, I mean."

"Of course you can talk to him," Graham said. "Go see him, if you like. We'll just have to discuss some basic ground rules beforehand."

"What ground rules?"

"Why don't we talk about it tomorrow? It's certainly too late to call or visit anyone tonight, right?"

He pulled the car back out. It was almost 10:00.

"Okay," I said. "Tomorrow."

Chapter Seven

We went to check on Callie when we got back to the house. She was resting comfortably in the guest bedroom. Kara didn't seem to be home, but she'd clearly done more healing. Callie now looked fine. I spent a while standing there marveling at her skin as she slept. It was perfectly restored. In fact, she looked a little younger, as though Kara had taken away some of the years' wear and tear along with the burn.

The memory of what she'd looked like when Williams carried her in rose up powerfully in my mind. The thought twisted my feelings from wonder to anger.

"What was it that burned Callie?" I asked, when I went to sit down in the living room with Graham.

He glanced up at me but didn't answer.

"Graham?"

He sighed. "Williams originally came up here to deal with an S-Em incursion Callie reported — a large fire nearby."

"You mean the old mill up at Bilford Crossing?"

I remembered that you could still see the column of smoke on Sunday, more than a day after it had caught fire.

"Yeah, that's the place."

"So Callie got burned in that fire?"

"I imagine so."

"I don't get it. What does the fire have to do with the other world?"

Graham looked uncomfortable. "There's no reason for you to worry about that kind of stuff, yet. Let's just focus on your development, okay?"

It was nice that he was trying to protect me, but it wasn't going to fly. I needed a better picture of what I was facing. He must've seen it on my face.

"Okay, okay. You remember how I said that some Seconds can travel from their world to this one?"

I nodded.

"There are several ways that can happen. One way is the opening of a strait. A strait is a place where it's easier to pass between the Ems. You might think of the worlds as having skins that are thicker in some places and thinner in others. I've also heard it described as rippling, so that in some places the Ems bulge out and can touch, but in others there's a lot of distance between them."

That confused me. "Well, which one is it?"

"Neither, really. Those are just metaphors. No one really knows how the worlds coexist. There are different theories."

I nodded, feeling a bit dense.

"The mill is built on a strait, which seems to be stuck open. The human fire fighters can't put out the fire because it's actually coming through the strait from the S-Em. They can't get at what's really burning."

"That sounds bad."

"It's actually not too big a deal. It takes a major working to open a strait. You're supposed to design the working to close the strait after you go through it, but sometimes they get stuck. It's not good to have them sitting open, so closing them manually is something we have to do on occasion."

"So, Williams came up here to get it closed, and just happened to find out about me because he saw my pictures?"

"Yes, as I understand it."

So I'd been an added headache from the get-go. And then I'd kept him tied up with the police for hours. No wonder he'd been so monumentally pissed off. Not that I felt bad about that. Well, not so far as he was concerned. I guess I'd feel pretty bad about it if the result was something dangerous coming into our world through the opening.

Then again, he can't have been working on it too hard, not if he'd been having a leisurely brunch with Callie at Pete's Eats on Monday.

"If closing one of these things is no biggie, why'd he take Callie? You should've seen her when he asked to go. She was scared. She told me she's not a fighter, more of a watcher."

"Absolutely right. He should never have taken her," Graham said angrily. "It's ridiculous. Apparently, he very nearly got her killed."

We lapsed into silence. I realized I still didn't have a clear sense of what threat the open strait posed.

"So," I said, "the worry is that something dangerous might come through the opening and start, I don't know, eating my neighbors, or something?"

Just as Graham started to answer, the front door opened and Williams walked in. A shudder rippled over me.

He stopped short when he saw us on the couch. There was no mistaking his anger.

"You're finally showing up? I called you a week ago."

"I expected you to handle the situation on your own," Graham said evenly. "I'm here to work with Elizabeth, not do your job for you."

He showed no sign of being afraid of Williams.

The big man looked like he wanted to put his hands around Graham's neck and squeeze. A tense couple seconds passed before Williams turned and stalked down the hallway.

Graham watched him go, then turned back to me with an expression of patience, as though he often had to deal with difficult underlings.

"Why don't you get some sleep, Elizabeth. It's getting late, and this must've been a tiring day for you."

I nodded and trundled off to bed, trying to feel smug about having seen Williams get the smack-down. Unfortunately, I was still deeply afraid of him, so my satisfaction was half-hearted.

* * *

I showered and got in bed. It was after midnight, but since I'd slept until well past noon, I wasn't all that tired. I lay there, unable to go to sleep.

When Callie woke and went out to the living room to talk to Graham, I heard their voices. I couldn't quite make out what either was saying. I crept to the bedroom door and cracked it open.

"... has to go," Callie was saying. "I'm certain."

"She's not ready for that, Callie," Graham answered, "not any more than you were. I don't want to risk her without more information."

Was he talking about me? I had to be the most unready person here.

"You say she can see the truth, now. If so, it won't be dangerous. Not if she pays attention," Callie said. "If she doesn't go, things are not going to work out."

Graham made a frustrated noise. "Why does she have to go? How are things not going to work out? Can't you be more specific?"

"I assume she'll be able to see better than I could, but I'm not certain. You know the Lord doesn't show me everything. He gives what he gives, and it's up to us to use it for good, with faith that it will be enough."

There was a pause, then Graham said, "All right, I'll think about it."

"It has to happen, Graham," Callie said more insistently. "She must go. I've seen it."

Graham made an angry sound, but didn't say anything further.

I eased the door closed. Callie seemed to have some precognition. At least, she thought so, and Graham hadn't dismissed it.

I quietly got back in bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.

I had a bad feeling the place she wanted me to go was the old mill. That thought made sleep a very long time coming. I mean, confronting the new was all well and good; doing something incredibly stupid wasn't.

* * *

I slept briefly and badly. When I woke, it was about 9:00 in the morning. The house was quiet, and I wondered if everyone else was asleep. Callie was up, though. I found her in the kitchen, cooking something. I stood awkwardly in the doorway, not sure how to interact with someone who'd basically risen from the dead.

"Hi, Callie. How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said, turning and smiling at me. Then her smile faded, and she studied me for a while. Finally she spoke again.

"I was wrong about you, Elizabeth. You do the Lord's work, even though you don't recognize it."

I flushed. It was phrased in Callie-speak, but it was a genuine compliment.

"Thanks, Callie. I don't know that I entirely deserve that, but I appreciate it. And please, call me 'Beth.'"

"Beth," she said, as though trying out the name.

We smiled at each other.

"Callie, I heard you talking to Graham last night about me needing to go somewhere. Can you tell me about that?"

She looked a little worried, so I hurried on.

"It's great that Graham wants to protect me, but I think decisions about where I go and what I do are mine to make. Right? So what is it that you think I need to do, exactly?"

It wasn't really that I wanted to make a decision. I already knew I didn't want to go anywhere near that fire. But I did want to get a sense of what these people were planning for me.

Callie still didn't answer. Instead, her eyes shifted over my right shoulder.

From behind me, Graham said, "Let's you and I discuss this privately, Elizabeth."

Damn it, how had he come down the hall so quietly? I turned and looked at him. He was freshly showered and looked rested. He turned and headed back to his room.

I glanced at Callie. She'd been watching me, but her eyes skittered away. She turned back to the stove.

"Come on, let's talk about it," Graham said over his shoulder.

I followed him back to the other guest bedroom. I wondered in passing where Williams had slept the night before.

Graham sat down on the edge of his neatly made bed and gestured me toward the armchair in the corner of the room. As I turned around to sit, I noticed his eyes were aimed a bit low. Was he checking out my ass? It really sort of looked like he was. I was so surprised that it took me a few seconds to regroup and get my mouth moving.

"I heard some of what you and Callie were talking about last night. I'd like to get the full story."

He nodded. "That's fair enough, Elizabeth." He paused. "I take it you may have guessed at Callie's gift."

"She can see the future?"

"After a fashion. She doesn't see the future in a specific way. It's more like a sensation, a feeling about what we should or shouldn't do. It's not an exact prescription, and there are generally no details."

"Thinking I have to go to the mill, if that's what she was saying — that's pretty specific."

"Yes and no. Where exactly are you supposed to go when you get there? And what are you supposed to do there? Exactly how bad will the results be if you don't go, and how much better will they be if you do? She couldn't or wouldn't tell me any of that."

I nodded. That did leave a lot up in the air.

"Worst of all," he continued, "she doesn't know what the cost will be to you. I wouldn't like it if something happened to you." He paused. "I mean, you're my responsibility. It's my job to protect you until you're really ready for what we do."

"Does she have any sense of why I need to go to the mill? Does it have to do with some ability I might have?"

"She doesn't know, which is part of the reason I think it's a bad idea. I think we should wait and see if she can offer any more information before we take you there."

I nodded. I was still worried, though, because it sounded like Graham was open to the possibility of taking me there later, depending on what Callie came up with.

Graham must've seen I wasn't comfortable with the situation because he added, "The other reason I don't want you there is that we haven't prepared you for that kind of encounter with the S-Em. You've seen firsthand how dangerous that fire is, right? Let's keep you away from it, if we can."

"Yeah, okay," I said, trying not to show how much better that made me feel. I hated to look like a coward, even if that's what I was.

"Hey," he said, "you wanted to see your brother, right? Why don't we do that this morning?"

My mind flew to Ben.

"That'd be wonderful! Also, I should really call my boss. He was expecting me back at work on Thursday."

"Okay, let's go. You can use my phone on the way."

A minute later we were in the car, and I was happily giving him directions to Ben's house. I was so glad Graham recognized that I had no business going near the mill. I mean, I had no idea what I was doing, no idea at all. Thank god, I thought to myself, at least one of these people is sane.

* * *

"Okay, so I said there are ground rules," Graham said as we turned into Ben's neighborhood. "They're pretty simple: don't tell anyone about the S-Em or about the Seconds living among us. Not anyone, for any reason. No exceptions. Don't tell anyone about your abilities or about anyone else's you happen to know about. Don't talk about essence or workings or anything like that."

I waited for him to go on, but apparently there wasn't any more. I was surprised.

"That's it? I would think rules like that would be common sense. Otherwise you'd all be in mental hospitals, or maybe top-secret government research labs."

"Yeah, you'd think," Graham said. "But we take these rules very seriously, so it's important to make them explicit."

He gave me a searching look.

"It means you can't tell your brother, all right? If you get married one day, you can't tell your spouse. You can't even tell your priest."

"I hadn't thought of that," I said.

A small loneliness washed over me.

"Sounds like the rules would make marriage and family pretty hard."

"That might be why we tend to pair off with one another," he said, and gave me a little smile.

Was he flirting with me? No, he couldn't possibly be.

"But seriously," he continued, "you have to be really careful. Don't keep any photos or negatives that show Seconds in their true form — burn them right away. Don't do internet searches on terms like 'Second Emanation' or on the names of any Seconds you get to know. Don't keep a diary. Not an accurate one, at least. Always be certain a person is one of us before saying anything incriminating — at least a few governments around the world have suspicions about this stuff, and you don't want to give information to an undercover agent by accident."

I nodded. I hadn't really thought about how many ways there were to slip up. It occurred to me that I'd already broken the rules in a big way by showing the picture of Bob's foot around Pete's, but if Graham didn't bring it up, I sure as hell wasn't going to.

"So," he said, "why don't you make that call to your boss. Let's think about what you're going to tell him."

As Graham coached me, I realized I was going to have to get used to lying a lot more. His advice was to keep it simple — a straightforward excuse or explanation was easier to remember and often more convincing. It could also be helpful, he said, to blame yourself. That way people spent their time being annoyed at you instead of questioning your story.

"The thing is, I don't know if Dr. Nielsen will have found out about how I left town and then was questioned by the police about Justine. If he knows about that, it's going to get complicated."

Graham pulled into a space a few houses down from Ben's.

"How could he know about that? It's a police matter."

I rolled my eyes. "Clearly, you're not from a small town."

He laughed. "Well, let's think of how you might handle either situation. That way you'll be prepared to follow the conversation wherever it goes."

After some discussion, I called Dr. Nielsen at home and told him I still wasn't feeling well and might need to take another sick day on Monday.

"Beth, that's fine," he said. "Head injuries are unpredictable that way. But why didn't you call earlier? I was expecting you back on Thursday. I've been worried."

"What, really? I thought I said Monday, not Thursday."

"Janie and I both thought it was Thursday. She was really worried, by the way. You should call her."

"I must've been so out of it that I said Thursday when I meant Monday. I'm sorry."

"That's all right, Beth. You did seem a bit disoriented when we spoke. Please let me know how you're feeling Monday, so we know whether to expect you Tuesday. In the meantime, Judith is happy to fill in."

I thanked him and hung up. When Graham nodded his approval of the conversation, I went ahead and called Janie.

"Oh my god, Beth, I've been so worried about you," she said. "When you didn't come in Thursday, I called your house. By the end of the day, I was tearing my hair out! I went to your place and knocked and knocked, but you didn't answer. Friday, too. Where have you been?"

I gave her my story, explaining that I'd been home but must've been on pain meds and sleeping heavily when she called and dropped by. I apologized profusely and tried to sound embarrassed instead of guilty.

"Jeez, don't worry about it. I can totally understand doing something like that. And," she said, lowering her voice, "I think Mrs. Nielsen is sort of enjoying being back at the helm."

"Yeah," I said, "I bet."

Judith Nielsen had been her husband's receptionist from when he opened his practice in the early '80s until four years ago. That's when she'd decided she wanted more leisure time, and he'd hired me to replace her. She was sort of a dragon lady, so I suspected Dr. Nielsen had been a little relieved at her decision. He certainly got away with being a lot more crotchety with me than he had with her.

"Hey, is it really true that Justine up and left Ben without even telling him?" Janie asked. "I heard it from Suzanne yesterday. I've been dying to ask you."

"Well, I don't really know what happened between them. I guess she might've left him."

"Wow." She paused. "Are you psyched or what?"

I laughed. "No, not really — she sucks, yeah, but Ben loves her and the kids must be so upset."

"Yeah, yeah, you would take the high road," Janie said. "Mama always said you were too nice for your own good."

I laughed again, though the compliment wasn't justified — I might be the reason Justine was gone, after all. She might even be dead because of me.

"Okay, I'll see you next week. Feel better, okay? Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do, Janie, thanks."

I hung up and looked at Graham.

"Very good," he said. "The one thing I'd change is that you said, 'I've been at home' when you were explaining yourself. But if you were really making the call from home, you probably would've said, 'I've been here,' right?"

I looked at him, surprised at his recall of what I'd said.

"Yeah, I guess I would."

"Also," he said, "a pronoun like 'here' is more flexible. If you get caught in the lie somehow, you can always say you meant something else by 'here' — not your home, say, but a friend's house."

"Wow, you've really thought about this stuff."

"In our line of work, it's an unfortunate necessity. And it's often the small stuff that catches you up — stuff you say without thinking because it seems so unimportant."

He waited until I nodded my understanding.

"Okay, we should talk about how you're going to handle your brother. That's going to be a more challenging situation."

But the visit with Ben turned out not to be so challenging after all, at least not in the way Graham meant. Ben was too wrapped up in his own fear and sadness to be interested in what I'd been up to for the last few days. He was just angry that I hadn't been there for him. He did say the police had told him I had an alibi for the time Justine disappeared. Beyond that, it was all about his situation — whether their fight on Sunday might've driven Justine away, where she might've gone, whether someone might've kidnapped her, whether she was dead.

There was also a lot of focus on how the kids were handling their mother's absence. The short answer was "not well," but I didn't get the short answer.

We both did a lot of crying, Ben from grief, me from guilt. It was awful. Worst of all was glancing up and seeing Tiffany peeking around the banister to watch her father crying. The look on her face was unbearable.

* * *

"Denny's?" I asked, confused.

After leaving Ben's, I'd gotten in Graham's car, and he'd kindly left me alone with my misery. I hadn't paid attention to where we were going. He'd driven most of the way to Wausau, and I hadn't noticed.

"Sure. Thought we could get a bite to eat."

As soon as I thought of food, I realized I was starving.

"Okay, yeah."

We were seated and got our pitcher of coffee. It occurred to me that Graham might be able to help with Justine, beyond just asking his contacts if they knew anything. He talked about Williams as if he'd known him a while. Maybe he could make some educated guesses on places the bastard would stash someone he'd kidnapped.

Unfortunately, we'd been seated in the center of the main dining room and were surrounded by people. Asking about it here would probably break the rules.

The main course passed pleasantly enough. I could tell Graham was trying to distract me from my worries. He asked about my family and my experiences growing up in Dorf. He touched on a sore spot when he asked about my father, and I had to admit I'd never known him. But he recovered artfully and quickly steered the conversation onto safer ground. He really was quite charming. I sure didn't have the social graces he did. I mean, I could eat a meal without dropping food on myself, but that was about it.

I asked Graham about himself and found out he'd been born in North Carolina and had grown up on the Outer Banks. It seemed like an exciting place to be a kid. When I said as much, he got to talking about shipwrecks and hurricanes. And also beach parties, where "all the girls ran around in bikinis." I could've sworn he glanced at my chest during that story.

Dessert arrived — a piece of cherry pie each. After a few bites, Graham sat back and eyed me. Then he asked if I minded a personal question.

"I guess not," I said. "I mean, you can always ask it, but I might not answer it, if it's too personal."

I flushed. I really could find the most awkward way to handle anything.

He just nodded. Then he said, quietly, "Have you been diagnosed with panic disorder?"

I leaned back, surprised. True, I'd had that near-attack at the cemetery, but most people had never heard of panic disorder.

In answer to my unspoken question, he pointed at the rubber band on my wrist. I fingered it self-consciously. It had been the suggestion of one of the shrinks my mother took me to when I was a kid. When an attack started coming on, the pain of snapping the band was supposed to disrupt whatever chain reaction was causing it. It only worked for me sometimes, but sometimes was better than never.

"Yeah. I was diagnosed when I was six."

He nodded. "I think you'll find you don't have it, after all."

"That sounds like wishful thinking to me. So far, it's pretty much dictated my life."

"Yeah, I bet." He paused and looked around. "Let's talk about it in the car."

Curious but guarded, I followed him out. He opened the car door for me, then got behind the wheel and turned to me.

"People like us are in a terrible position before we begin seeing what's really out there," he said. "Even before we can see Seconds and workings, many of us are able to sense them on some level. Fearfulness, anxiety, panic attacks — that kind of stuff is common in the pre-sighted. The mind doesn't react well to getting contradictory information from the senses, especially about something that could be a threat. Do you see what I mean?"

"So you're saying that every time I have a panic attack, there's a Second nearby that I can sort of sense, but can't see?"

"Maybe. Or it might not be a direct cause-and-effect thing — a Second gets within a hundred feet of you and, bang, you have a panic attack. It is that way for some of us. Others just live in a state of heightened anxiety, and panic attacks are sprinkled in randomly. But in general, the more we're exposed to things we can't see — Seconds, workings, even someone like me, if I'm using a halfing-disguise — the worse the effect. It's very lucky you live in such a small town, where there aren't many Seconds. If you lived in a more populous area, your mind would've been destroyed by now. Late bloomers just don't survive unless they grow up in the boonies."

I sat for a long time, mulling it over.

Finally I said, "Have you ever been to Madison?"

"I live there. It's regional headquarters for the Upper Midwest."

"Are there lots of Seconds there?"

"Tons. They like college towns. A transient population makes it easier to blend in."

I sat there, totally at a loss. I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know how to feel.

My life had had two central constants — my mother and my illness. I'd already lost my mother. Now the other constant was being rewritten, maybe erased. Losing a bad thing should be a good thing, but instead it was profoundly disconcerting. Like I was losing who I was.

After a few minutes, Graham said, "Elizabeth, I know this is very difficult. You've had to deal with being pre-sighted for far longer than most of us do. It's a testament to your strength that you're as sane and stable as you are."

I nodded dully, not really feeling the compliment.

"But just think," he continued, "real panic disorder can be treated, but sometimes it doesn't go away. If that's what you had, you might've struggled with it all your life. But that's not going to happen to you. Your problem was situational, not biochemical. Your panic attacks are going to stop, now that all your senses are on the same page."

"They're going to stop?"

"Yes, almost certainly."

"They're going to stop."

It was starting to sink in. They were going to stop.

I could date. I could go back to school.

I could leave Dorf.

* * *

Lost in a reverie of what my new, panic-free life might be like, I didn't remember to broach the issue of Justine until we were more than halfway home.

"Graham, I know you're checking with your contacts about my sister-in-law, but I wanted to ask you something else about that."

"Yeah, what is it?"

Just at that moment, someone rear-ended us, hard. I was pressed back into my seat, and the fields around us lurched backwards. Then we slowed suddenly, and my seatbelt cut into me. Finally, there was a crunch-bang as we hit a highway sign post and the airbags deployed. We ended up in a ditch. The road sign, which helpfully told us that Dorf was fifteen miles away, was on our windshield.

I looked over at Graham, who groaned and rubbed his head. I saw he'd been wearing his seatbelt as well, thank god.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," he said. "You?"

"I'm okay. We'd better check on the other driver."

Or drivers, plural, I thought. The road between Dorf and Wausau was four lanes. The moron who hit us could've caused a real pile-up.

Fortunately, the other driver wasn't hurt, and hers was the only other car involved. Some witnesses had pulled over and gotten her out of her car. By the time we walked up, she was sitting in someone else's back seat, babbling about her accelerator getting stuck.

"Yeah, sure," a guy standing next to me said under his breath. "Probably drunk."

"In the middle of the day?" someone else said.

"Couple of years ago, everyone's accelerator was getting stuck. Remember that?"

"Dang foreign cars," a fourth person said.

The conversation continued as we all waited for the police.

It took more than an hour for things to get sorted and for Graham to get a tow truck. I watched his car being winched out of the ditch. It looked totaled to me. Graham was sitting in the back of a police car, rubbing his neck — whiplash. I seemed to have gotten off lighter.

Graham had the car towed to Dorf. One of the cops gave us a ride back to town. It was nice of her. Or maybe Graham was also a super-secret FBI agent, like Williams. That'd explain why none of the police on the scene looked twice at me, even though I'd been the prime suspect in a possible kidnapping a few days earlier and was now thought to be part of a meth ring. Christ almighty, how was I ever going to get my reputation straightened out?

As we drew into town, Graham asked if I had a car. I told him I did, but that I'd left it parked in front of the police station on Wednesday.

"Mind if we go pick it up?" he asked. "I think we need to have one on hand, and it'll take me a while to get a rental delivered."

"Sure, no problem. Hopefully they haven't impounded it."

Unfortunately, they had. It took more than two hours of dealing with a pretty surly Dorf PD, plus a fine, to get my car out of lock-up. As far as the local cops went, I clearly hadn't been forgiven for allegedly getting mixed up with drugs, making false charges against an FBI agent, and worst of all, wasting their time.

"Hey," Graham said as we finally pulled out of the police impoundment lot on the edge of town, "if you haven't been home since you left town, maybe you'd like to spend the night there instead at Callie's house?"

"Oh my god, that'd be great!"

"Cool." He turned left and headed toward my neighborhood. "This is good. Not only can you relax and get some fresh clothes, but this'll keep Callie from starting another argument about taking you to the fire."

Boy, did that sound good to me.

Chapter Eight

Graham walked me up to my door, which surprised me a little. Before he left, he gave me a warm smile and stroked my upper arm affectionately, which surprised me even more. The vibe I'd been getting all day from him was a little more than friendly. I hoped I was reading too much into his behavior. Graham seemed nice, and he sure looked good, but I shouldn't get involved with one of these people. There were too many unknowns.

Being on my own was a firmly established habit, anyway. Before Matt had asked me out, I hadn't been on a date in more than a year and a half.

But maybe it doesn't have to be that way, now, I thought. If it weren't for the panic attacks, things would've gone differently with Matt, right? Maybe I wouldn't drive away the next guy who asked me out. Or maybe I could even get back with Matt.

If the panic attacks really did stop. And if I want to have to lie to someone all the time, I thought, remembering Graham's warnings.

Well, no sense in worrying about that right now.

I let myself in. It felt good to be home. I hadn't been gone all that long, but the house had that just-home-from-vacation feeling — the smell was a little off, and it was oddly quiet.

I curled up on the couch with a hot bowl of soup and a cold soda. It seemed like a million years ago that I'd last done this very normal thing. It was great.

I'd only slept a few hours the night before, so I went to bed at 8:00. My own worn, mismatched sheets had never felt so good.

* * *

I came wide awake in the wee hours, certain that something was wrong. I slid out from under the covers, then smoothed them quickly, making the bed look unused. Opening the top drawer of my bedside table, I pulled out my mother's old .38.

When Mom was alive, she always stored the bullets separately. Ben's kids came to the house back then, so loaded guns were a no-no. I no longer bothered with that precaution. I checked by feel to make sure the cylinder was full, then moved as quietly as I could across my bedroom and crouched in the corner behind the door.

Mom had made me go shooting at the range in Frederick a couple times a year. I hadn't done it much since she passed. It just didn't seem like a priority. Dorf was pretty darned safe. I carefully settled my finger outside the guard and thumbed back the hammer. It had been long enough since I'd used the gun that these actions were no longer automatic. I couldn't remember when I'd last cleaned the thing. Damn.

There were footsteps on the stairs. Surprisingly, the intruder didn't sneak into the room. Instead there was a soft knock and a pause before the bedroom door swung open. The light flipped on, and a female voice said, "Beth?" I peaked around the side of the door and saw bleached-blond hair. Kara.

She looked back out the door. "She's not here."

"She's here," Williams said.

Fuck.

I waited until Kara left the room, then stood and moved quickly into the doorway, gun leveled. Putting all the steel into my voice that I could, I said, "Stop."

Kara and Williams stilled. They both had their backs to me and seemed to realize I was armed, maybe from my tone of voice. They'd been about to check the second bedroom, which was right across the landing. Both slowly looked over their shoulders at me. Kara's face was very surprised. Williams's was blank. I took a slow step back, so that I'd be out of lunging range, and shifted the gun toward Williams. The three of us stood there for a few seconds, staring at each other.

It occurred to me that I wasn't feeling a panic attack coming on. I was scared, but I was also angry. I'd had it with these people, especially Williams. A sadist, Graham had said. I could believe it.

I realized I might very well shoot him. A strange sense of calm descended on me.

Williams's expression changed fractionally. A finger on his right hand twitched. He didn't strike me as a twitchy sort of person. I wondered if he'd just put up some sort of force field to protect himself. It would be just my luck to get killed by my own ricochet.

The moment of distraction helped me get a handle on my anger. Good as it'd feel to shoot Williams, he hadn't actually made a move in my direction, yet. I took two more steps back and pulled the gun back and up to my shoulder, still holding it with both hands.

"What do you want?"

"We just want to talk," Kara said.

I waited.

"You need to come out to the mill. We're not getting anywhere with it. Callie says we need you there."

"What, nearly burning one woman to death isn't enough for you?"

If the jab bothered Williams, he didn't show it. In contrast, Kara seemed genuinely upset at the thought.

"That's not going to happen to you! Look, I know it's really fucking scary — it is, totally. But it's also really important. You've got to come."

"How long have you guys been doing this? A year? Ten years? I come along and join your little freak show, and two days later, you can't do it without me? Bullshit."

"I know it's weird. But Callie's never wrong. She doesn't see all that often, but when she does, it's right."

"No."

Williams made a small, exasperated noise and pushed past Kara. Without hesitation, I brought the gun down and fired at him. I only got off one shot before he slammed me back against the wall with one hand and took the gun away with the other. God he was fast.

Either I was right about the force field, or my aim had really gone to shit — he'd been a yard or two away and coming right at me, and I hadn't hit him.

No ricochet had come back at me. I was sort of sorry for that. I'd rather die by gunshot than be burned to death.

Williams dragged me out of the room and down the stairs. Kara followed, looking scared and swearing under her breath. He hauled me around the corner and into the living room, then froze.

Graham was standing in the middle of the room. His expression was only mildly annoyed, but I got the sense he was madder than he looked.

"You're kidnapping my trainee?"

Williams didn't say anything.

From behind us, Kara said, "Graham, we need her out there. Callie says."

Graham cocked his head. "I don't think so."

He brought one hand up and looked at it. At first I thought he was checking out his fingernails. Then I realized he was holding a cell phone.

"How fortunate you just happened to call as you were leaving the house, Kara. I was able to follow along with your progress quite nicely."

Kara blanched. She pulled her own phone out and ended the call she clearly hadn't known was going on.

"Look...," she said.

"Get out." Graham sounded almost bored.

Amazingly, Williams dropped me and stalked out of the house. Kara followed, squeezing to the side, as though she wanted to stay as far away from Graham as possible.

I have to admit, it was sort of weird. They were afraid of him. Well, Kara was obviously afraid of him, and Williams was at least unwilling to challenge him. I still hadn't seen anything particularly scary about Graham. He seemed like a middle-management type — sending people here and there, training people, that kind of thing. What had I missed that Kara saw?

He watched them leave. Once they were gone, he turned back to me, looking concerned.

"Elizabeth, are you all right?"

"Yeah," I said.

I sat down on the couch and reached back to rub my back where it'd hit the wall.

"Just need an ice pack or two. That's getting to be standard with you people."

"Not all of 'us people' are the same," he said quietly, sitting down beside me. "Of course, you have no idea if that's true or not," he added wryly, as though he could read my mind.

He put an arm around my shoulders but must've felt me stiffen, because he just patted me, then let me go.

"Seriously, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I am. Thanks for the save. I'd probably be on my way to dead right now if you hadn't shown up."

That got a big smile.

"Did Kara really call you by accident?"

He grinned. "Yep."

"Man. What a loser kidnapper, eh?"

He laughed. "I don't normally want my people to be losers at anything, but in this case I'm delighted. Now," he said, his expression softening, "why don't you take some Tylenol and try to go back to sleep. I'll hang out here, just to be sure they don't come back."

That didn't exactly make me feel better, but what could I do? Saying I'd be fine alone and he should leave would sound silly, considering what had just happened.

Which reminded me that my neighbors had probably all called the police. A .38 makes a big noise on a quiet night.

But the night was still silent — no sirens, no Suzanne at her front door, hollering to find out if I was okay. In fact, when I went to the window, I didn't see lights on in any of the surrounding houses.

Graham seemed to know what I was thinking.

"They were keeping things quiet. None of your neighbors heard anything."

When I still looked perplexed, he said, "We haven't talked much yet about workings. One thing you can make quite easily is a noise-dampening field. Most of us learn to do that. I'm sure you'll be able make one yourself, once you get to that stage."

"Wow," I said. "That must come in handy. What else can I learn to do?"

He smiled. "Well, lots of us can open locks." He gestured at my front door. "See? They didn't have to break in. One of them did a working to unlock it."

"Huh. I'm surprised more of you don't take up lives of crime."

He laughed a little too hard — it hadn't been that funny. Maybe Graham was a notorious cat burglar on the side.

"Okay," I said, yawning. "I'm going to try to get a little more shut-eye. There's a blanket and an extra pillow in that cabinet over there. Or you can watch TV in the den. Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. Which isn't much."

"Great, sounds good. When you're up and about, we can discuss that second-caste testing I was talking about."

"Okay. Good night."

"Good night. And Elizabeth," he said as I turned toward the stairs, "I'll be having a talk with the others. This won't happen again."

I nodded. I hoped I looked grateful enough. The way he'd said it gave me a little chill, so I had a feeling the talk would be effective.

I headed up to my room. After a moment's hesitation, I locked my bedroom door. After all, what if he'd told me that thing about opening locks just to make me think there was no point in locking my door? Probably dumb, but hey, it couldn't hurt.

I flipped off the overhead and turned on my bedside lamp. Then I got in bed. Lying back, I noticed a bullet hole in my ceiling near the door. So there had been a ricochet, and it went straight up. I guess bulletproofing was par for the course, too.

Not good. The gun had given me a moment's confidence, had let me put anger ahead of fear, however briefly. If I couldn't even shoot these people, I really was helpless.

* * *

I woke at around 7:00 and trundled directly into the bathroom. Callie's place was nice, but I wanted to shower in my own bathroom, with my own shampoo, my own conditioner, and my own shower pouf. I also needed to make serious use of a razor.

When I was clean, I dressed in a sweater and fresh jeans, trying hard not to think about which pair would be most flattering. I was probably wrong about Graham's interest, and even if I wasn't, getting involved with him was out of the question.

When I went downstairs, I found Graham cooking breakfast. He must've actually gone shopping first, since breakfast included bacon, eggs, toast, bananas, and OJ, none of which I'd had on hand. He'd also made coffee. It was all delicious.

After eating, I felt like crawling back into bed for a nap, but instead we got in my car and headed east. I think I dozed part of the way. Big meals early in the day always made me sleepy.

Our destination turned out to be Rib Mountain, a four-mile-long ridge just west of Wausau. It took more than an hour to get there, since we had to wend our way up through the state park that surrounded the mountain.

On the way there, Graham told me a little more.

"You remember about the four castes? 'Sense a working, get a gift, handle essence, learn to work,' right? Okay, so we've got you into the first caste, now — you're seeing worked essence for what it is, instead of getting glimpses while remaining blind to most of it."

I guess I could see, now. I'd seen Bob, at any rate.

"In the next caste, you get what we call a gift. Kara's ability to heal, Callie's ability to sense future events — these are examples of gifts."

"Does Williams have a gift for shields?" I asked, remembering the bullet hole in my ceiling and how I'd been trapped in Callie's house.

"Yes, but we call that sort of thing a 'barrier.' The word 'shield' is too restrictive for what can be done with a barrier."

Good lord, just want I didn't want to hear.

"So," Graham continued, "what we're going to do today is see if your gift has emerged. Usually people spend quite a while in the first caste before reaching the second, but since you were stalled for an unknown amount of time, maybe your gift will come quickly."

"What's the difference between workings and gifts?"

"The word 'gift' is shorthand for a working you can do automatically, without having to actually learn how. Most of us have at least one thing we can just do, without even thinking about it. Sometimes gifted working can be fine-tuned through practice, but the basic ability is always just there from the get-go."

"What about the things you were mentioning last night — making disguises, unlocking doors, and such?"

"Right now you can sense essence that's been disturbed by a working — that's the first caste. In the third caste, you gain the ability to see essence in its natural state. Once that happens, you can begin to do workings aside from your gift. We called that 'learned' working. You can also learn to do half-workings at that point — mainly disguises and false images. Some people devote a lot of time to learned workings and become very adept. Those people are said to have reached the fourth caste. People who rely mostly on their gifts, even though they're capable of learned workings, remain in the third caste."

"So even if I don't have a gift for healing, I might be able to learn to do it?"

"Exactly. People who aren't gifted healers can still learn to do healing work. Their abilities will probably be much more limited than those of a gifted healer like Kara, but it would still be very useful."

We pulled into the parking lot at the top of the mountain. Our car was the only one there. It was too late in the year for skiing, snowshoeing, and other winter sports, and too early to do much else besides slog through cold mud.

That last seemed to be what Graham had in mind. He got a backpack out of the trunk, and we headed into the woods. I think we covered less than a mile, but it took the better part of an hour, since there was no trail to follow.

I realized at one point that Graham must've been telling the truth about the sound-containment thing. I could certainly hear us crashing along through the dead leaves and brush, but nothing else seemed able to — several times we startled wildlife at close range.

At least I wasn't the only one who suffered. About half an hour into our hike, Graham tripped and fell in a pretty substantial mud puddle. He stood up, brushing pointlessly at his pant legs, which were drenched and muddy up to the knees. Then he shot an annoyed look at the snag he'd tripped over.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah. Darn rock."

We continued on. Finally, Graham motioned to stop. He stood still for about a minute with his eyes closed, concentrating on something. Then he nodded to himself and said, "This is good."

He opened his backpack and got out two large trash bags, which he unfolded and laid on the ground. We each sat on one. My butt instantly got very cold.

"Okay," he said, "I'm going to test you for some common gifts. If nothing shows up, that's no big deal. It just means you haven't hit the second caste, yet."

"Is there something about this place that makes it good for testing?"

"Yeah. This mountain's made out of very hard rock, so it's much older than the surrounding land — approaching two billion years. It exists in both emanations, and its essence has been worked and reworked so many times that it's thick with all the echoes and remnants. That makes it a place of power for people like us — the essence is easier to grasp, and sometimes you can build on the remains of someone else's working, which increases what you can do."

"So, the older things are, the more powerful they are?"

"Age is often associated with thickness, but it's not consistent. Sometimes relatively new sites can get pretty thick. It depends on how much working has been done there and how much of it sticks in the essence. Some places seem to be naturally sticky."

Graham spent the next two hours trying to figure out what I could do. He had me see if I could turn myself into mist, which involved trying to "feel transparent," in his words. That didn't go anywhere. He had me try to change into an animal by visualizing it. I remained stubbornly myself.

From that point, the list of failures just grew. I couldn't communicate with him telepathically. I couldn't heal a tiny cut he made on his finger. He pricked my finger with a pin, and I couldn't heal that, either. I didn't seem to have any effect on water or fire or stone or metal or the weather. I couldn't move things with my mind. I wasn't unusually strong or fast. I couldn't speak or understand foreign languages. I couldn't go invisible. And I couldn't fly.

Which of course made me ask if they really had people who could fly. Graham's response — "none living" — wasn't particularly encouraging.

At the end of the session, he sat back with a sigh. A few moments passed.

"Remember, just because you aren't demonstrating a particular gift now doesn't mean you won't be able to do it later."

"Yeah, okay."

I told myself that was good — the less I could do, the less interest this group would have in me.

"So there are other abilities some people have?"

"Yeah, sure, there are lots of different gifts. The stuff I've been testing you for is big — the things that tend to be too impressive to go unnoticed. But there are tons of subtler, more unusual gifts. Sometimes you hear them called 'quirks.' The word's considered pejorative, though, so I try not to use it. Really, every gift is a gift."

I nodded and wondered if he had a so-called quirk himself. I sensed it would be rude to ask, so I kept my mouth shut.

"At any rate, I suspect you just haven't come into your gift, yet. There's a rule of thumb for figuring out how long someone's going to keep developing: you take the person's age at the time they enter the first caste and divide that number in half. Then you add the two numbers together. When the person reaches that number of years, they probably aren't going to develop much more raw power, though they could keep learning and refining their skills."

"So, if you start sensing workings at age ten, you keep developing up to age fifteen?"

"Yes, exactly. There are certainly exceptions, but it holds true for most."

"So if I'm starting at twenty-three..."

"You have a lot of developing to do," Graham finished. "It's possible you'll be able to fly, but not until you're thirty," he said, and winked.

Great. It was all well and fine to develop slowly, but if I could do something now, I'd like to know it. I felt like a guppy who's just realized its aquarium is full of piranhas.

"Is there a way to test for the more unusual gifts?"

"Not specifically. There are literally thousands of them, and some of them are pretty hard to pin down. It's possible that many of us have one or more that we never find out about. For instance, one guy I knew could put anything up his left nostril, so long as he could pick the item up and push it in that direction. But he didn't know about it for the longest time. I mean, who really tries to put a chair up their nose, right?"

"Yeah. Wow."

I hoped that if I had any quirky gifts, they didn't involve bodily orifices.

"Anyway, this last test is open-ended. It might allow an unusual gift to show up. What I'd like you to do is just open yourself to the energy of this place and see what might come to you."

I sat there, feeling dull. "I don't know how to open myself to the energy of a place."

"It's a bit like meditating. Have you ever done that?"

"Nope."

"Well, try closing your eyes and relaxing all your muscle groups one at a time. Then allow yourself to focus on your surroundings — what you feel, what you hear, what you smell. If your mind wanders, just bring it back to those things. Try to notice as much sensory information as you can, but don't think about it. Just notice. That's all you have to do, really."

I sighed and closed my eyes, certain the exercise would be pointless and boring. I tried to focus on my senses. My rear end was going numb, and that occupied all my sensory input at first. Slowly I began noticing other things — the sound of the wind in the bare tree limbs came first. It actually was quite loud, though it had been background noise a minute earlier. The breeze touching my face was obvious, but I found I could also feel colder and warmer spots on my legs, depending on how the wind was striking them. The smell was what I think of as not-quite-spring. It was wet, and that was springlike, but it was still dead, like old leaves. When spring really came, in a few more weeks, it would start to smell like fresh dirt and earthworms in a place like this. Far off I heard a bird call, though I had no idea what kind.

I sat there, just taking those things in. It actually wasn't boring at all. It was interesting and sort of stimulating. I felt energized, more awake to the world than I had in ages. My hands grew warmer, and I could feel my pulse beating in them, which was weird.

After a while, I felt sure there was something in front of me that I needed to pick up. My internal editor immediately pointed out how dumb that was, but I shushed it. Graham was trying to teach me. I'd always been a conscientious student, and that wasn't going to stop now.

Without opening my eyes, I reached down to the ground in front of me. For a moment, it felt strangely slick, as though all the texture had gone out of things. Then my fingers found the dead leaves, dry on top and damp beneath. I brought my hands together in the leaf litter and felt something soft and warm in them. I raised my hands and opened my eyes to see what I had.

It was a small golden-brown mouse. It crouched in my cupped palms, then sat up on its haunches, looking at me and sniffing. It had impressively thick whiskers on its snout. They quivered charmingly. It didn't seem scared at all.

I'd never been afraid of little critters — even snakes and rats and spiders were fine by me. I actually thought this little guy was really cute. Was it a "he"? I checked the back — yup.

"Hi, buddy. What're you doing out this early in the year, huh?"

I looked up at Graham, half expecting him to be repulsed by the fact I'd picked up a rodent. Instead he looked... well, it was hard to describe. There was an element of surprise there, but the word didn't do it justice. Maybe it was a mixture of several feelings. He looked from the mouse to me and back, and didn't say anything at all.

"Um... so, I can tame wild animals?"

He kept staring at me and the mouse, apparently at a loss for words.

Finally he said, "That's really unusual. It's been a long time since I've seen someone do that." He paused. "It's definitely a good ability. Very good."

"Really?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Definitely. Just think how useful it could be."

I was dubious. I mean, what was I going to do, sic a hoard of mice on Williams the next time he came to kidnap me? Maybe Graham was trying to make me feel better about a not-very-useful gift. Come to think of it, maybe the mouse wasn't wild at all. Sometimes people dumped their unwanted pets in places like this.

He got up and opened his back pack to put his trash bag back in.

"You'd best let Mickey there go back to what he was doing."

"Okay." I set my hands down in the leaves, expecting the mouse to hop off, but instead he ran up my arm and into my hair. Like I said, I wasn't afraid of creepy-crawlies, but a mouse in my hair was a bit of a surprise, even for me. I reached up, then hesitated. If I dug around in there, he might bite me.

"Graham..."

The mouse wiggled his way into the collar of my coat and promptly curled up there against my neck. He was so warm and soft. Suddenly, I really wanted to keep him. He just had to be someone's pet — he was so friendly.

"What? Did it take off?"

"Yeah."

I just didn't say where. I got up and handed him my trash bag, and we headed back to the car. The mouse seemed content to sleep all the way home.

* * *

When we got back to my house, Graham walked me up to the door and gave me a kiss on the cheek. When he started bending over to do it, I was a bit worried he'd touch my neck and squash the mouse, but he touched my shoulders instead.

It turned out to be sort of lingering, for a kiss on the cheek. I felt my body sit up and take notice, against my better judgment.

He pulled back and looked at me, then leaned in again and brushed his lips against mine once, twice. His breath touched my lips, and I tipped my head up to him. He kissed me slowly, tracing a fine line along my lower lip with the tip of his tongue. I opened my mouth, and he deepened the kiss gently until our tongues were stroking together. His hand slid down to my lower back and pressed my body into his. I could feel the hardness in his groin, and felt a warm tightening deep in my belly in response.

It had been a long time.

It would have to be a little longer.

My hormones shouted and waved angry placards, but I pulled back anyway. Getting together with Graham right now just wasn't a good idea. He leaned his forehead against mine and gave me a little smile. Instead of pressing things, he looked pleased I'd let him kiss me at all. That was a nice ego boost. Made me want to kiss him again, actually.

I needed a cold-shower line of thought.

"Do you think Williams will come back?" I asked.

"Not a chance," Graham said firmly, giving me a little hug and then letting me go. "They know I'm onto them."

He looked completely confident on this point, so I accepted what he said. Still, I wish I'd managed to tame a wolf instead of a mouse.

He gave me a warm smile, then said he'd come by that night at about dinner time, if that was okay. I said it was, then immediately thought, Why did I say that? I was going to get myself in trouble.

I stepped inside and leaned against the door for a few minutes, gathering my wits.

Chapter Nine

From the silence, Ghosteater watched me kiss Graham. He could smell our arousal. It brought back ancient memories from the time before his difference truly emerged, the time when he still ran with his pack, hunting the great lost beasts of that age, the time when he still hungered to breed and make young. But no she-wolf would have him, even then. They feared him.

He didn't realize, at first, that he was different from the others — bigger and stronger, perhaps, but not truly different.

At some point, though, the hunts began to bore him. Leaping from the tall grass upon a bison or sloth — such creatures presented no challenge. They smelled of rank terror and tasted of it, too. When his kin would not follow him against other, more equal creatures, he left them and wandered alone, hunting the great cats and bears. When he returned at last, his kin ran from him, as terrified of him as any other animal would be.

He grieved, then, afraid he would always be alone, a terrible thing for a wolf. And so he had, mostly. But he had been wrong to fear it. Solitude had its rewards. And he wasn't a wolf, after all — not really.

He scented the air again.

Graham was unfamiliar, but he recognized me as blood kin to the other humans the wind had shown him. That made sense — it was me the wind had brought him there to see.

The wind spoke incessantly, and it liked to be heard. Few things could understand it, so it often sought him out. Usually it simply told him about what it had touched, of late — a months-dead doe just emerging from melting snow, cold drops of water falling toward the forest floor, the line of harder rock protruding from an exposed peak.

But now, for the third time in just a few days, the wind spoke not of what it had touched, but of what it might touch in days to come. When he gave it his attention, it fractured into a thousand competing voices, each running down a different path. Rapid and fleeting, the whispered stories avalanched over him like mist, there and gone before they could be grasped. In the end, he understood only their common thread.

She-pup, she-pup, she.

Intrigued, he crept closer, watching as I went inside.

Then he studied Graham. He sampled the air and tasted anxiety.

Graham walked down the path to his car and got in. Then he sat for several minutes, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Ghosteater could tell his anxiety had to do with me — it was blended with lingering notes of desire. Perhaps he feared for me. But why? I whom the wind had named.

Finally, Graham came to some decision and started the car. He smelled of risk and purpose. When he pulled out, Ghosteater followed him. He loped through the silence behind the car, but only so far as the eastern edge of town. He could not run fast enough to keep up on the highway. Curious, he settled down to see if Graham would return.

Chapter Ten

First things first: I needed a home for Mr. Mouse.

There was an old ten-gallon aquarium in the basement from one of my brother's childhood pets. I brought it up to the kitchen and shredded some newspapers for the bottom. I added a little bowl of water and a slice of bread. Then I carefully scooped the sleeping mouse out of my collar and settled him in a corner of the tank. I put a couple heavy books over the top, leaving some cracks for air.

I made myself a quick sandwich, then went and knocked on Mrs. Gunderson's door and asked if I could borrow her car to run an errand. I would've asked Suzanne, but I knew she'd never be satisfied with the explanation that I'd loaned mine to a friend. She'd want details, and I'd end up lying and getting caught.

Mrs. Gunderson, on the other hand, was getting a little vague. She was happy to loan me her car, no questions asked, so long as I picked up a few things for her at the supermarket while I was out. That was no problem — I did that for her most weeks, anyway.

There was a pet store in Frederick, and it was open on Sundays. I got a lid for the aquarium, a water bottle, some rodent kibble, a tiny bowl, a little wooden house, and a wheel. I also got a bag of paper bedding — I'd hate for the little guy's nice golden fur to get all newsprinty.

After dropping off Mrs. Gunderson's groceries, I went and got the mouse out of his tank. He was awake by that point and seemed glad to see me. He ran up my arm again and snuggled in my hair while I dumped out the newspaper and arranged his new home. When I put him back in the tank, he ran around sniffing everything and quickly settled on the food bowl as the most interesting item. I left him holding a kibble in his cute little pink hands and nibbling away.

I made a cup of tea and settled on the couch in the den to think about Graham.

That kiss had been really nice, but his attention confused me. I just didn't understand why he would be interested in me.

He was older than me — approaching thirty, maybe — and seemed so sophisticated. He didn't speak like I did, didn't dress like I did.

I was a young, uneducated small-town girl. In fact, I had barely been outside Wisconsin. I couldn't see that my personality was the big attraction. I was nice enough, but I wasn't vivacious or incredibly funny. Similarly, I was smart enough, but smarts didn't make up for ignorance. If I'd turned up with some amazing ability, like flying, maybe that would draw his interest, but that hadn't happened either.

I wasn't trying to be down on myself, just realistic. I thought I was reasonably attractive — not stand-out beautiful, but pretty enough. I mean, a guy like Matt wouldn't have asked me out if I didn't look okay. But no way was I attractive enough to overcome what would undoubtedly be a lot of deficits in the eyes of a worldly older man.

I realized I was overanalyzing Graham, probably because it was titillating to keep thinking about him. The long and the short of it was that I didn't trust his motives, and it wasn't the time to be getting involved with someone, anyway. I needed to draw a firmer line the next time I saw him. Hopefully I could do it without having to say something directly, since that would make things uncomfortable.

The phone rang. I thought about letting the machine pick up — I didn't much feel like getting off the couch, which was now nicely warm. It rang again. With a sigh I unfolded myself and climbed the stairs to answer it.

"Beth?"

It was Ben. He sounded distracted and annoyed.

"Ben. What's wrong?"

"It's Tiffany — she's run off. We're at the mall. I know she's in here somewhere, but I can't find her. The mall people are looking for her, and they've called the cops, too. Can you come and pick the rest of the kids up and take them home?"

I was relieved. It didn't sound like a serious situation, just the kind of minor rebellion an upset kid would stage. Tiff was probably hiding in a dressing room somewhere, starting to feel silly.

"Yeah, of course. Tell me where to meet you."

"We're at security. It's by the Younkers."

Also right by T.G.I. Friday's. Great. I'd get to relive my most embarrassing recent memory.

"Okay, I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, Beth."

The mall was south of Eau Claire, more than an hour's drive. I grabbed my wallet and coat and headed back to Mrs. Gunderson's. I explained that I needed her car again for a family emergency. She didn't mind, though she did ask me to go to the grocery store for her on the way home. Along with the keys, she handed me the same list she'd given me earlier that afternoon. She didn't seem to have noticed that all the items on it were crossed out. I didn't bother mentioning it, just pocketed the list and started driving.

I made it to the mall. I didn't make it inside. Just as I was getting out of the car, the van I'd parked beside opened up, and someone pulled me in. I bet you can guess who it was. I struggled, but it didn't help. I ended up bound and gagged on the floor.

Williams shifted to the driver's seat, and we pulled out. Kara leaned over me worriedly. I tried to put my outrage into my stare, but she didn't seem interested in what I was feeling. Something else was worrying her. Maybe it was Graham. I had a moment of satisfaction, but then I remembered Graham didn't know where I'd gone. Shit.

* * *

We drove for about half an hour, then pulled off onto a dirt road. After a few more minutes, the van lurched to a stop. It all seemed sickeningly familiar. At least we hadn't gone far enough to have reached the old mill. Not unless we'd gone twice the speed limit.

Williams went around and opened the back door, then grabbed my feet and hauled me out. Kara held my head so that it didn't bounce along the metal floor on the way. Maybe they were setting up a good-cop, bad-cop routine.

I was surprised when I heard the passenger door close, and Callie appeared. Her eyes widened when she saw me.

"Beth! Are you all right?"

She knelt down beside me and reached for the gag.

"Callie, please get back in the van," Williams said.

She looked up at him, clearly torn.

"She's frightened. Why did you have to frighten her?"

God, what an innocent, I thought. She seemed to have no idea what sort of people she was involved with.

Williams was looking at her with an expression that suggested he might be thinking the same thing. It was probably the only time we'd ever be on the same page. He bent, helped her up, and walked her around the van, speaking quietly.

I took a look at my surroundings. We weren't on a farmer's access road, this time. I found that only marginally reassuring. Williams could have corpse piles scattered all over the Upper Midwest, for all I knew.

We seemed to have pulled into an abandoned homestead overgrown with trees and bushes. A ways to the left stood the ruins of a small house, and behind that a pile of warped wood that might once have been a shed or lean-to. Lone fence posts stuck up here and there, and the ground was littered with rusted pieces of metal. We were completely out of sight of any road. The sun was touching the line of trees on the horizon. It would be dark in less than an hour.

I heard the van door shutting again, and Williams came back alone. I guessed he'd convinced Callie to hang tight in the front seat. That brought a surge of fear — Callie's gentle presence might've restrained the man's violence.

He lifted me up and set me down on a stump. Cold moisture from the wood immediately started seeping through the seat of my jeans. I cringed away from him, but he didn't seem to notice — just looked at Kara and nodded, then backed off a little ways and sat down to watch.

I was mystified. What was Kara going to do to me? She didn't look like she had it in her to beat me, physically. She was quite short, and though she wasn't delicate, like Callie, her mass came from a curvy figure, not muscle. Then again, who knows what havoc she could wreak with her ability — maybe healing was only the positive side of what she could do.

Surprisingly, what she seemed to want to do was talk to me. A whole lot.

"We brought you out here because we need to explain some things to you," she said. "I'm sorry it went down like that. We had to make it fast, and it had to happen out of Graham's range. Callie sensed an opportunity, and we thought it might be our only chance to reach you. We figured you wouldn't come willingly."

She'd figured right. I just stared back at her, which she seemed to find a little unnerving. She shot a glance over at Williams, but I could've told her he wasn't going to help her out with this. The guy wasn't much of a talker.

Kara took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She looked sad. She also looked a lot older than her years, sort of worn out.

"Graham trained me too," she said. "He told me that we protect the world from dangerous Seconds. Sound familiar? It's not true. Our job is to keep humans from finding out about the S-Em. He also told me that we have the support and protection of some powerful Seconds. That's misleading. The real story is they control us. Totally. We're basically slaves. The Seconds tell us what to do, who to fight, who to kill. We don't have any choices."

I felt my body go still, like the world had stopped but only I realized it.

"They don't care if humans are killed, so long as it's kept quiet. I've never been sent on a mission that was supposed to protect humans. The only thing we protect is the secret. I've been sent to kill Seconds that were as harmless as kittens just because they slipped up once, and someone might've seen something funny. And I know of one back in New York that kills a human every couple weeks, but they leave her alone because she's discreet."

I thought about it. Had Graham ever actually said his organization protected humans? Maybe not. He'd said some Seconds were dangerous. Maybe I'd jumped to conclusions.

"He tell you about the open strait?" Kara said.

I nodded.

"I bet he gave you the idea we were trying to keep something dangerous from coming through. That's not true. The only thing that matters is getting the thing closed. A fire that can't be put out is too weird — it might lead to discovery."

"You know, they don't even think we're human," she said.

Now that she'd gotten going, the words just kept coming. Every time I thought she'd reached a conclusion, something new spilled out.

"They call us 'Nolanders.' They basically think we're retarded Seconds — like we were supposed to be Seconds, but we were born stunted and can't work essence well enough to open a strait and enter the S-Em. They used to actually hunt us. We moved up from game animals to slaves because they realized that humans pose a threat, and that we could be useful on that front. They use us until we fail at some task they give us. Then they figure we're not useful anymore, and we die."

She took a few shaky breaths. I honestly didn't know what to think. If she was making this stuff up, she was a great actress. But maybe that's what she was. If this group included receptionists, why not actresses, too?

"I bet he's been coming on to you. Yes? That's what he did with me. I was so stupid. Probably stupider than you are. I mean, I was fifteen fucking years old. Why would some hotshot older guy want me? I was so cocky, I couldn't see how absurd it was." She laughed bitterly. "That's how he works. Gets you all starry-eyed and pumps you full of bullshit, then uses you to get ahead. Makes you do the most fucked-up shit, then takes all the credit. By the time you realize he's using you, he's ready to move on to his next mark."

She stopped.

I sat there, staring at her. My fear had faded. Kara and Williams weren't going to kill me. They were trying to recruit me.

The fear was replaced by frustration. Now I had two versions of things that were completely different. I was supposed to be confronting my new reality instead of being a passive victim. But how could I do that if I couldn't get a handle on what was actually going on?

How the hell was I supposed to decide who was right? I had nothing to go on except what two different people had said.

I risked a glance over at Williams. He had his elbows on his knees and was looking at his hands. No help there — I couldn't even see his face. Callie wouldn't be any help either. I already knew her version of things, and it didn't match Kara's or Graham's.

I wanted to believe what Graham had told me. It was neater, simpler, nicer. He hadn't made it sound like I'd be a slave, subject to the death penalty if I couldn't get something done. Plus, he'd made it sound like we did something noble, protecting humanity from monsters.

But maybe his story was too good to be true. Shouldn't I be more suspicious of the nice story than the horrible one? And just a couple hours ago, I'd decided I didn't trust Graham's romantic interest. That resonated with what Kara had said.

Jesus, had he really seduced her when she was fifteen? That would be rape.

But suspecting Graham was one thing. Throwing in with these people was another. Especially Williams. My tendency was to think that any side he was on was the wrong one. At least Graham had never hurt me.

But had he hurt Kara? It seemed like something had damaged her. The hair, tats, and piercings said "bad ass," but her body language said "broken." She reminded me of Callie, in a way, even though one woman was a conservative Christian adult and the other was a slightly foul-mouthed teen.

I looked down at the long, weedy grass in front of me.

I wasn't sure. I just wasn't sure.

I made a noise to attract Kara's attention, then jerked my head, trying to tell her I wanted the gag removed. She looked at Williams.

He said, "No screaming or running, Ryder," without looking up.

Nervously, Kara came over and cut the gag off me.

"I don't know who to believe."

"Yeah, I know," she said, looking discouraged.

"Do you have any evidence? Anything concrete?"

Kara shook her head, looking miserable.

Williams said, "Graham put the hit out on Bob."

We both turned to look at him. He was still studying his hands.

"Abominable snowman Bob? At the cemetery?"

Bob who was pining after a girl.

"Yup."

I felt cold. "But why? He was nice."

Then Williams did look at me. His stare was icy.

"Dozens of humans saw his foot. Think you were there."

"But... how could he have known he'd show up in my picture? It was just an accident."

I shook my head. It didn't make any sense.

"That's just like I said, Beth," Kara chimed in. "The point is to keep the S-Em secret. That's all they care about. They send us to take out anyone who creates a risk of discovery, human, Nolander, or Second. It doesn't matter how or why."

I said, more to myself than to them, "I don't know that Bob's dead."

Bob the bagel monster.

Williams said, "Want to see him?"

Then I knew where Bob was and who had put him there. Oh god. I fought back nausea, remembering. I put my head down on my knees, struggling.

Things shifted in my mind, and the weight of my belief scraped and groaned over to Kara. I couldn't have told you exactly why. Graham had been so nice to me. But I just knew. Maybe it was because no world that gave Williams a prime place could be as bright and orderly as the one Graham seemed to live in.

As I sat there, my new reality was replaced by an even newer one. It sucked. I'd been wasting my time on pretty lies.

By the time I was able to straighten up and look the latest version of my world in the face, it had gotten pretty dark. That seemed fitting. I had no idea what lay ahead of me. Before, I'd been imagining some combination of my old aspirations and something new — I'd go back to college and protect humanity on the side; I'd eventually be able to afford a new car, but sometimes I'd decide to fly instead. I know that sounds ridiculous, but those were the kinds of combinations my mind had been trying on for size.

Now I realized the rest of my life was going to bear no resemblance to what had come before. I no longer had a likely future stretching before me, a comfortable path through the streets of Dorf. Nor would I be following any of the getting-out-of-Dorf dreams I'd once nurtured. Instead, there was yawning blackness all around. And I was part of that dark unknown. What was I going to become?

I guess I was someone's slave.

And Graham. Goddamn it, I'd liked him. I could almost still feel his hand pressing into the small of my back. Damn.

I felt small and sad and used. And very alone. I was nothing to these people. They only wanted me for what they thought I could do for them. Which made sense, if the punishment for failure was death.

"What do you want from me?" I asked Kara.

"We need you to come to the mill," she answered instantly.

I could've guessed that one.

"Graham thought I wasn't ready. He thought I'd get hurt, like Callie."

Kara sighed. She went and pulled a milk crate out of the back of the van and sat down on it near me. Williams didn't move. He was little more than an area of darker darkness.

"Beth, you have to quit thinking that he has your best interests at heart. Graham has Graham's best interests at heart."

"So why wouldn't he want me there? Doesn't he want that strait thing closed?"

The question was met with silence.

"I don't get it. Why would he want it left open? Won't he get in trouble, too?"

"We don't know," Kara said. "It doesn't make a lot of sense. A strait sitting open can attract human attention in a number of ways. But it really seems like that's what he's doing. I mean, you know Callie's predictions are almost always accurate, right?"

"That's what you keep saying."

"I mean, our lives are on the line. So why didn't Graham rush you out to the strait the minute Callie told him your help was essential? It's weird."

I opened my mouth to object.

"Look," Kara cut in, holding up her fingers to count off her evidence. "First of all, he didn't send anyone up here to close the thing. Callie called him first, but he didn't do anything, so she called Williams. Williams called me. It's like Graham was just going to ignore it. Now he's been here three days, but he says he's here for you, and he hasn't tried to do anything about the strait. The fucker hasn't even gone out to look at it. He's the overseer for the Upper Midwest. Getting it closed should be the Number One priority for him. Instead, he's fucking around with a trainee."

"No offence," she added belatedly.

We all sat there for a moment, digesting. It did sound pretty damning.

Finally I said, "I don't understand how I could help with the strait. I mean, Callie's much more experienced than I am, and it nearly killed her. What could I possibly do?"

"Callie's so strong she can see pretty deep into an open strait. That's why Williams took her there — to see what it was stuck on. She tried, but she couldn't see the snag in this one. We're guessing you'll have better luck."

I felt like laughing, it seemed like such a random hope.

"Why on earth would you think that?"

"Did Graham tell you that the later your abilities manifest, the stronger you're going to end up being?"

She must've heard me stop breathing.

"Yeah, I was guessing he skipped that bit."

That was what Graham had meant when he mentioned my "potential." Kara was kind enough to let me sit there a while and come to grips with what she'd said. Again.

I wondered if it was too late to run. If I moved far away, then I could ignore any Seconds I saw and just live as a normal person. Right?

I thought about it and decided my best source of information was right in front of me.

"Could I get away from all this?" I asked, "Go somewhere far away and keep my head down?"

"It's probably too late for that," Kara said.

Her voice held a note of sympathy.

"You have to understand that they'll want you back really bad, since you have a lot of potential. We all know what you look like, and if they sent one of us after you, we'd have no choice. And if they know about your friends and family, they'll use them to bring you back."

Well, there went that idea. I might as well sign death warrants for Ben and the girls. Janie, too.

Still, it didn't mean I had to go to the mill. Burned Callie flashed through my mind. I could still refuse.

Or maybe not. If successfully following orders was the only way to stay alive, maybe I had to throw my lot in with Kara and Williams and help them do what they'd been ordered to do.

Or I could stick with Graham. But getting wrapped up in whatever game he was playing seemed more dangerous than fire. If I had such potential in these people's eyes, I might become a bargaining chip as Graham tried to meet his goals, whatever they were.

"If I go to the fire with you, how will you keep me safe? I'm, you know... defenseless."

I hated to say it, but it was god's own truth.

Kara's voice brimmed with relief. "You'll be safe if you pay attention and do what Williams says."

Williams. Damn it. "Williams" and "safe" didn't belong in the same world, much less the same sentence.

"What happened to Callie, that was an accident," Kara continued. "She was trying to get a better look, and she walked through his barrier. She's stronger than he is, so it didn't hold her in."

"It was definitely my fault. I just wasn't paying attention," Callie said from behind me. I started, then wondered how long she'd been standing there listening. If she heard that her colleagues understood the other world in non-Christian terms, would it bother her?

"Williams can make different kinds of barriers — it's his gift," Kara said. "A protective one should be strong enough to withstand the fire at the mill. If he doesn't have quite enough juice, I'll be there to feed him some of mine."

So Kara would be coming with us. That made me feel marginally better.

"Okay," I said. "Okay, I'll go."

I felt like I was choosing the slower method of suicide. I hoped we left soon. If we didn't, I was going to chicken out.

Chapter Eleven

Once we were in the van headed toward the mill, Callie started coaching me on what to look for in the open strait. She said openings sometimes "got snagged," which kept them from collapsing after use. The snags were generally visible in the opening, and once located, they could be unhitched from this end if you "grabbed the strait and shook it just right." No kidding, that's what she said.

Snags generally looked to her like a fold or wrinkle in fabric, she said, but some people thought they looked like spots of irritation on skin or like knots in a piece of wood. Basically, I should look for an anomaly. Once I found it, I should tell Williams exactly where the problem was and how big it looked, so he could grab the strait and close it.

When I asked exactly what caused the snags, she said it was "demons who had escaped Hell and were at large in the primordial deep." Neither Williams nor Kara contradicted her, but I suspected they would've offered a different explanation in private.

Even minus the religious stuff, none of it made a great deal of sense. I had trouble envisioning the physical relationship between the worlds and exactly how straits and openings connected them. I'd settled on an elevator-shaft analogy, with the worlds as different floors in a building, but when I ran it by Callie, she explained that the strait here didn't open into S-Em northern Wisconsin, or whatever this part of this continent was called over there. It might open into S-Em London or S-Em Antarctica — there was no way to know. Some straits could connect to just one location, and some could connect to more than one, but they were never just a straight shot between the same spot in both worlds.

I just nodded along and hoped it would suddenly make more sense when I actually saw it. If I actually saw it. I was still unconvinced on that front. They all seemed sure about my "potential," but I sure hadn't seen much sign of it. Maybe I'd luck out and the strait would be caught on a mouse.

"Do you have a phone I can use?" I asked the car at large. "I should call my brother. I was going to meet him at the mall."

"Yeah, sure," Kara said. She handed me a little flip phone. I had to call 411 to get Ben's number, which was sort of embarrassing. I rang his house, but no one picked up. He must still be trying to get the thing with Tiff sorted out. I left a message for him, telling him that my car had broken down on the way and apologizing.

Poor Ben. He was really having a rough time. Speaking of which... Williams was driving, so I seized my courage in both hands and addressed his right shoulder.

"I want to know if you took Justine."

"Who's she?"

"My sister-in-law. She disappeared about the time you were getting out of police custody."

"Wasn't me."

He sounded thoughtful, though. Beside me, Kara perked up immediately.

"Is she a Second?"

"Of course not! She grew up right near me in Dorf."

Neither one of them replied, but Kara was clearly thinking.

Annoyed, I said, "Why would you even ask that? She's a normal woman. A great big bitch, yeah, but normal."

Kara answered. "Well, one thing we've wondered is whether the green man you photographed might be what came through the strait. Green men are bounty hunters — fucking good ones, too. If your sister-in-law took off right about then..."

"No, the picture I took..."

"Did you show her your pictures?" Williams asked.

That stopped me, and not just because it was a complete sentence.

"Yeah. I did."

It was hard to say the next words because I knew they'd latch onto them.

"She freaked out."

"What do you mean?" Kara said. "Don't leave anything out."

Exactly what I was afraid of: Kara sounded as keen as a hound on a three-legged squirrel.

I described my visit to Justine's house, how frightened she'd seemed, and how I'd gotten scared myself and had driven off.

"Damn," Williams said.

"Yeah, totally," Kara said.

"What?"

"That's textbook pre-sighted stuff — you couldn't see what she was, but you sensed her otherness, and it scared you. Used to happen to me all the time until I started sensing workings."

That was the kind of thing Graham had been talking about on the way home from Denny's.

But seriously? Justine?

"Look, I know this stuff seems to fit together, but it's just not possible. I mean, I've known her as long as I can remember. She lived around the block from us. She babysat me when she was a teenager."

"A lot of Seconds can create very convincing disguises. Pretending to be a child wouldn't be hard."

I shook my head. "But I've never had that kind of reaction around her before, even though I have panic attacks constantly."

Kara shrugged. "That is strange, but I still think there's a good chance she's a Second."

"Callie," I said, "I'm sure you've met Justine plenty of times. You'd have noticed if she was different, right?"

Everyone in the car looked expectantly at Callie. She shifted uncomfortably.

"Beth is right — I've met Justine, and I never saw anything strange. If she's a demon, her true form is beyond my sight."

"Huh," Kara said. "Well, Callie's one of the strongest seers out there. If she didn't see anything, I guess there was nothing to see."

She didn't sound convinced, though.

"Well, I'm sure there's nothing weird about her. She's the most conventional person you could imagine. She's a housewife. She never misses church. She goes to the gym four times a week and gets her hair highlighted once a month. She makes the nastiest-ass tuna casserole..."

Suddenly the van lurched and started shuddering.

Williams said, "Blow-out," and pulled over onto the shoulder. For a few seconds, everyone sat stiffly in their seats, as though afraid. I didn't get it. These country highways did cause flat tires occasionally — sharp stuff sometimes fell off farmers' trucks.

We all got out and stood around while Williams changed the tire. Then we got back in. There was still a tension to the air that I didn't quite understand.

We started up again but hadn't gone more than twenty feet when another tire blew with a bang. This time Williams didn't pull over. Instead he put the van in reverse and hit the gas, even though we were obviously riding on the rim. He only paused once, putting on the hazards to let to another vehicle go around us. The other three were clearly worried, so I kept my mouth shut. After about a quarter mile, Williams did a U-turn and continued back the way we'd come. We went another mile before he finally pulled over.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"That was Graham," Kara said. "He must've gone to the mill."

"Graham can blow out tires?" I said, incredulous. I figured he had one of those so-called quirks, but the ability to cause flat tires was even quirkier than I'd imagined.

"Not exactly. Graham's gift is luck. He's the luckiest sonovabitch who ever lived. We just drove into his range, which is about a mile. He doesn't want you at the mill, and his luck is going to keep you from getting there. Goddamn it."

"You must be joking. Come on — that was a coincidence. Or not even: a box of nails probably fell out of someone's truck back there and scattered all over the road."

"Yeah, that's probably exactly what happened. But it happened because of Graham."

I shook my head. "Callie, are you on board with this?"

"Oh yes, Beth. What they're saying about Graham is absolutely true. I used to think it was a sign of his godliness, but I have my doubts, now. Perhaps he bargained with the enemy."

She shuddered.

"I'm sorry, but this sounds really paranoid."

"Didn't you have any weird experiences when you were with him? Like just happening to pocket-dial your boss while you're going behind his back?" Kara asked. "Cock-cankers, that sucked."

"Kara, don't be disgusting," Callie said.

I thought about it. I had tended to get interrupted by one thing or another when I tried to ask Graham questions. By his phone, for instance, or a cracked kettle. Or a car accident.

Sticky accelerator, the other driver had said. I felt cold.

"A couple years ago," Kara said, "I was on a job with this other Nolander named Kyle. Nice guy, but sort of dumb. Turned out he'd been doing half-workings to make fake lottery tickets. At first he was careful and just gave himself little wins. Then he got greedy, made himself a Powerball ticket. It was a big jackpot, and he got on the news. The boss got wind of it, put the hit out on him. Graham took it on. Anything to make himself look good, the bastard."

Kara made a disgusted sound, then continued.

"So, I didn't know about any of this, right? I'm with Kyle on this job, and Graham catches up with us in Des Moines. Now, Kyle might not have been the smartest guy, but he was strong. Double gifts: flight and fire. So the two of them square off, right? And Kyle comes rocketing at Graham with a fireball in each hand. Looks like he's moving way too fast for bad luck to catch him. Graham's just standing there like a dope. You know what happened?"

Kara paused for effect.

"A fucking 1959 Cadillac Eldorado fell out of the sky, landed right on top of Kyle." She shook her head. "Right out of a blue sky. Damnedest thing I ever saw. When the police found him, they called a weather guy. Weather guy said the car must've been picked up in a tornado they'd had earlier that day a hundred miles away. Sure enough, it was registered to some old guy in Omaha. That's the kind of thing that happens when Graham's around."

"But you said his range was a mile, not a hundred miles."

"Kyle wasn't a hundred miles away, right? That's what counts."

"But he had to influence an event a hundred miles away to get the car up in the air."

Kara shrugged. "Yeah, I know. That's how it works, though. It's like he controls everything without even meaning to. There's probably something happening in Timbuktu right now that will end up helping him next week."

It was hard to believe. Really hard. But all these people believed it, and there was that car accident. I shuddered. Jesus.

"Well, this boss guy you mentioned will just have to come out here and take care of things himself," I said.

Kara snorted. "Come on, seriously? The Seconds never 'take care of things themselves.' If they went around doing workings all the time, they might get discovered, and you know what would have to happen then. That's why they have us. We're expendable."

"So what you're saying is that Graham's won? He's unbeatable?"

"Maybe not," Kara said. "We've thought before that someone with significantly more power might be able to evade the bad luck he sent their way, but we've never tested it out."

"Maybe now's the time for me to see if it's true," Callie said, sounding nervous.

"No," said Williams.

There was a finality to his voice that I sure didn't want to contest. Kara didn't say anything either.

We all thought about Graham for a while.

"So he's at the mill, and we can't get any closer to him — not in a car, not on foot, nothing?"

"That pretty much sums it up," Kara said. "He left Dorf for a while this afternoon, and Callie saw it was going to happen. Otherwise we never would've made it out of town ourselves to come get you. We were hoping he'd stay away, but I guess his luck brought him to the mill. Or maybe he figured out what we were doing and knew we'd try to bring you there. Unfortunately, he's not dumb."

We all sat there thinking again. Finally, I had an idea. The kind of idea you have when you're a new set of eyes looking at an old problem, maybe.

"What we need to do is change something so that it becomes lucky for him if we make it to the mill and unlucky if we don't," I said.

"I guess that would work," Kara said dubiously. "But how on earth could we do that? What he wants is the opposite of what we want."

"Well, you mentioned your boss — the guy who wanted Kyle killed? He sounds plenty dangerous. What if we called your boss up and told him that Graham might be trying to keep us from closing the strait? Then, if we close the strait after all and tell him Graham helped, maybe he'll be reassured. We'd be doing Graham a good turn by getting him out of trouble. His luck should be on our side. Maybe."

"So," Callie said, "we would get him into trouble, then try to get him out of that same trouble?"

"Yeah. And during the getting-him-out-of-trouble part, we'll actually be on his side. Even if he doesn't know it."

There was a thoughtful silence.

Kara said, "Lord knows I hate Graham, but ratting him out... I don't know. He's still one of us, not one of them."

Callie nodded. "He's a human being, with a chance at redemption." She paused. "However slight."

Williams said, "We have to close the strait," and everyone looked down.

I could see the writing on the wall, then — their own skins were on the line, and no one was going to make that kind of sacrifice. And why should they? I reminded myself. Graham was putting them in danger by making their task impossible. If he didn't care about their safety, why should they care about his?

"We could call Graham and threaten to rat him out," Kara suggested.

I thought about it.

"I don't think that'd work," I said. "If we're a threat to him, his luck will try to eliminate us, once we get in range. It doesn't really matter if he agrees to cooperate with us — he'll still be safer if we're not alive to tell tales, and his luck will act accordingly. The only way it works is to go ahead and change the game on him while we're out of his range."

Another silence followed, but I could tell it didn't have to do with thinking of other approaches.

Finally Kara said, "We'll have to call Lord Cordus," and shuddered.

"I will not speak to that creature," Callie said flatly. "Not for any reason."

"Well I sure as fuck am not calling him," Kara said.

"I will," Williams growled.

"No way," Kara said. "We'll all end up dead if you talk to him."

"Whatever. I'll do it," I said.

In for a dime, in for a dollar, right? I was going to be on the boss's radar soon enough, if I wasn't already. Why not get off on the right foot with him by warning him of a possible traitor?

"Beth," Kara said, sounding uncomfortable. "He's not like a human being. Talking to him — it's not easy."

"What do you mean?"

She squirmed in her seat. "He can play with your mind, make you feel what he wants. He goes in for sex games. It's pretty sick. God, even thinking about it is awful."

"That sounds like rape."

"Oh yeah. It is, totally. Except you want it while it's happening."

Jesus H. Christ.

"So how do you resist him?"

She looked like the thought had never even occurred to her.

"You'd have to have enough power, I guess. A shitload more than any of us have." She paused. "Sometimes you catch him on a good day. Then he's okay."

"He's never okay," Callie said flatly. "He's a demon among demons. I've never understood why he's involved with us."

I figured it couldn't be that bad. I wasn't sure where this Cordus guy was, but he wasn't close enough to rape me, even if he made me want him to.

"Look, let's just get it over with. If he makes me do something, you guys can handle it, right?"

I tried to leave the "something" as vague as possible in my mind.

There was a resounding silence.

Finally Kara said, "Yeah, sure we can. No problem."

She handed me her phone again, then undercut her own words by getting out of the van as fast as humanly possible.

An entry in her address book was highlighted. It read "Boss Man." I made the call.

"Kara Dolores Sanchez."

My god, his voice. I was instantly aroused. My hand slid toward my crotch. The urge to touch myself was overwhelming.

"It's Beth," I forced out.

There was a pause, during which I managed to drag my hand back. I might be able to imagine more embarrassing things than getting myself off in a car full of people, but not many.

"Elizabeth Joy Ryder," he said in a different tone. He still had a super-sexy voice, but not in a paranormal way.

"Yeah," I said, relaxing a bit. I heard Callie let out a breath, and even Williams's shoulder shifted, as though some tension were leaving him.

"I have been looking forward to speaking with you but did not expect the conversation to occur so soon. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

I took a deep, steadying breath.

"Well, we think we're running into a little problem with the open strait near my town. We're not certain what's going on, so we thought we'd better seek your advice," I said as deferentially as I could.

"I see. What seems to be the problem?"

"A couple days ago, Callie had a premonition that I needed to go to the strait to help. She believes it's essential."

I had to stop myself from getting into how unlikely that seemed to me.

"So she and Williams and Kara have been trying to get me out there, but we think Graham may be trying to stop us."

I tried to suppress the feeling that I was betraying a friend. God, why had I kissed him? So stupid.

I could feel the surprise on the other end.

After a moment, Cordus said, "What evidence can you offer to support your accusation?"

I got the sense that I'd better have some, and it'd better be good.

I reported the conversation I'd overheard between Callie and Graham, and my own conversation with Graham the next morning. I also said Graham had moved me back into my house in part to keep Callie from pressing me. Lastly I described Graham's intervention when Kara and Williams had tried to take me the night before and the two blow-outs we'd just had. I left out the fact that Graham hadn't been out to the mill himself since arriving. That seemed too damning. I didn't know if Graham's luck would help us if he was beyond saving.

"And how long has this strait been open?"

"Since last Friday, so nine days."

The silence on the other end was ominous.

Finally Cordus said, "Please wait a moment," and I heard him set the phone down.

A minute later, he came back on the line.

"I have tried to contact Mr. Ryzik. Apparently, he does not see fit to answer."

His voice was still sexy, but now it also made all the hair on my arms stand up. I realized I had hunched down in my seat, as if someone was shooting at me.

"We may have misunderstood his actions," I said hurriedly.

"I hope that you have, Miss Ryder. I will look into this matter. In the meantime, please do not endanger yourself by trying to approach Mr. Ryzik."

"We'll stay safe," I assured him.

"Good-bye, Miss Ryder. Thank you for calling."

He hung up. I closed Kara's phone and sat there a moment. I never wanted to meet that man. I'd rarely felt so certain about anything. Too bad I probably wasn't going to get my wish.

Williams rolled down his window and motioned to Kara, who got back in.

"How'd it go?" she asked nervously.

I described the call.

"I think we all need to put it firmly in our minds that we are going to the mill to save Graham. Graham is in big trouble with his boss, so we have to get there and help him."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Having a little trouble really feeling that one," Kara said.

Williams grunted, and Callie sighed.

"We have to do it, right? Otherwise a car's going to fall on us, or something."

Callie said, "What's the worst thing you've ever seen the demon do?" After a pause, "Now imagine him doing that to Graham."

Williams grunted.

"Yeah, got it," Kara said. "Good one, Callie."

Wow. And I knew how much Kara hated Graham. Now I really didn't want to meet Cordus.

Graham-saving thoughts firmly in mind, we started up and headed for the strait. Williams looked straight ahead and drove. The van groaned, squealed, and shuddered. He'd probably need a new one after the abuse we were heaping on it. The rest of us sat there swiveling our heads, looking for weird dangers bearing down on us. The yards ticked by. Nothing happened. Soon enough we were pulling into the mill parking lot.

We got out of the van. The parking lot was a jigsaw puzzle of broken asphalt and dead weeds. Flood lights, powered by a noisy generator, illuminated the area. Hoses crisscrossed the lot. It looked like the firefighters had uncovered the mill's old well and were pumping water out of it. Several fire trucks were parked in front of us, and a handful of firefighters had a hose trained on the smoldering pile of wreckage. Occasionally a gout of fire would erupt from the pile, and the hose would be trained on that area, only to be moved to a new spot a few minutes later.

"Aren't they going to see us?" I said.

"Williams has a barrier around us," Kara said. "Can't you feel it?"

I shook my head. Kara looked shocked.

"She wasn't seeing fully a few days ago," Williams said.

"But I am now," I said. "At least, I thought I was."

"Graham said he took her to St. Mary's, and she saw Bob," Callie said.

"Look at me," Williams said.

I looked at him. His Blandy McBlandsville disguise suddenly appeared. It wasn't quite as disconcerting as seeing Bob's disguise along with the real Bob — with Williams, at least there wasn't simultaneous presence and absence.

"You see it?"

"Yeah."

Williams held up his right hand.

"Can you sense this little working?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"What the hell?" Kara said, looking freaked out.

"What the fuck has Graham been doing with you all this time?" Williams said.

His sudden anger reminded me how much he scared me. I shrugged, trying to project submission.

"Today he had me looking for gifts."

"Goddamn it."

"John," Callie said, "you mustn't talk that way."

"Could someone please tell me what's going on?"

"Graham explained about seeing reality — workings and half-workings?" Kara asked.

"Yeah."

"You're seeing half-workings, but not the other."

An obvious answer occurred to me.

"Maybe that's because I'm really weak."

"No," Kara said. "That can't be it. No matter how weak you are, you always see both. The first caste means being sensitive to essence that's been worked."

Was I just ignoring something I should've noticed?

"What does the barrier look like?"

"Well, it's more a feeling than a seeing," Kara said. She glanced at Williams, uncomfortable. "This one's for protection as well as invisibility, so it feels like an area of safeness. Sort of warm and cozy. Like a bubble bath. No offense, Williams."

"I think it's like being buried in puppies," Callie said.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," Williams said.

"John!"

"I definitely don't feel anything like that," I said.

"So what do we do?" Kara said. "Give up? If she can't see workings, she can't see the strait."

"No, we still have to try," Callie said. "I know it doesn't make sense, but somehow she's going to help. I saw it."

"What if she walks through the barrier, like you did? She doesn't know where it is. Can you make one that contains as well as protects?"

"That'd weaken the protection — too risky. Fire turned out to be stronger than I thought it was, last time."

Williams turned and began rooting around in the back of the van. He came up with a rope, which he had me tie around my waist. He tied the other end around himself, leaving about five feet of slack between us.

"This'll keep you inside the barrier," he said. "Don't untie it."

He gave me a look that might've been stern on another face. On his, it looked like the wrath of god.

I was shaken. Obviously something was still wrong with me, and it was a big deal.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the new issue to the back of my mind. Confronting was good, but I couldn't confront everything at once.

We turned back toward the wreckage and stood there for a minute, just taking it in. Slowly, my nerves settled. Kara had said Callie's gift was infallible. There must be some purpose to my being here, even if I was still broken.

"Anyone see Graham?" Kara asked.

"I don't," said Callie.

"We don't need to talk to him," I reminded them. "We just need to do what we can to help him."

Callie nodded and stepped forward. I caught Williams and Kara sharing a look behind her back.

"Callie, why don't you stay here and keep an eye on the van," Kara said.

Callie turned back to us, and I realized she was pale and shaking. Why hadn't I thought of it? She must be terrified. After what had happened to her, she shouldn't even be here.

"Thank you, Kara, but I need to come with you."

"You just think that, or you know it?" Williams asked.

"I know it."

He didn't look happy, but he said, "Okay. Let's go."

As a group, we moved toward the wreckage. We got within about a hundred feet of the pile before Graham stepped out from behind a fire truck. He looked angry. Maybe a little scared, too. My bet was that he'd never expected us to make it this far. He planted himself in front of us, clearly thinking his best offence was to force us to do something he didn't want us to do — walk past him.

But that's just what we did. I said, "We're here to help you," as we went by. He didn't respond but just watched, amazed, as we trooped past.

We stopped about twenty feet from the edge of the wreckage that used to be the old mill. I wasn't sure whether I should focus on Graham or the fire in front of me.

Callie said, "Can you see anything, Beth? The strait's right there."

She pointed at a cavelike area near the center of the wreckage, where some part of the structure hadn't collapsed completely.

"Try focusing really hard. It looks to me like a dark blue tube sock, all stretched out like a hose."

A tube sock? Seriously?

I took a couple steps forward and stared at the spot she'd indicated.

My movement seemed to shake Graham out of his paralysis. He made an angry sound and ran right at me.

Things happened fast. Callie lurched toward Williams, her hand stretched out. Before she could reach him, he grunted like he'd been punched and went down. Graham jumped over Williams and tackled me. I fell hard with Graham on top of me and hit my head on the pavement. A second later, I heard a loud sound, and Graham collapsed on me. Something warm and wet washed down the side of my face.

There was a moment when nothing moved. Dazed and terrified, I tried to figure out what was going on. Then I heard voices from my left — the firefighters, shouting. Graham's limp body was rolled off me, and I sat up, holding the back of my head. Kara knelt beside me and took my hand. My head stopped hurting. I looked around.

Graham was lying beside me. There was a pool of blood forming under his head. He was either unconscious or dead. A little bit to my right, Callie was helping Williams sit up. The big man was as white as a sheet. He looked sick and shaky. Cool.

"Fuck," he said. "No way he should've been that strong. That was as strong as I could make it, and he still broke through."

I looked at Graham, who hadn't moved. I touched the side of my face, and my fingers came away bloody.

"Did someone shoot him?"

"I think his own luck zapped him," Kara said, and laughed a little crazily. "There was an explosion in the wreckage. This thing flew out and hit him in the head."

She toed a dark hunk of metal that was lying at her feet.

"A fireman got hurt too."

Sure enough, the crew had dropped the hose and was helping one of their own across the lot toward the road. The injured man was hopping along. Maybe some debris had hit him in the leg.

"Come on. We still have to try with the strait," Callie said.

I looked around, trying to gather my wits.

"What should we do about Graham?" I said.

"Leave him," Williams said angrily.

"No, we're supposed to be helping him, remember? If we leave him to die of his injury, we're not helping him. The luck will turn against us."

"Not if he's dead, it won't," Williams said.

Kara sighed. "Too big a chance — he could do a lot of damage before he dies. I can heal the head injury but leave him unconscious."

She put her hands on him for a few seconds, then leaned back. I couldn't see any difference.

I had to admit that I didn't really want to see him wake up. Not right then, at any rate. His attack had really rattled me. He'd seemed like a pretty suave guy. I'd have expected some complex and nuanced assault — manipulation, a trick, something like that. Instead he'd just knocked me down like a schoolyard bully.

I gave myself a mental shake. It was dumb to spend time being disturbed about the specific way someone attacked you.

We got ourselves together. Williams staggered up, and Kara and Callie each took hold of one of his hands.

"What are you doing?"

"He needs help making a new barrier," Kara said. "Getting your working busted that way really takes it out of you."

"We can share our strength with others this way — skin-to-skin contact, plus intent," Callie said. "Kara and I don't have John's gift for barriers. Kara's keeping us unseen right now, but she can't protect us from the fire. John can, but he'll need to pull on our strength to do it."

"You should only do this with someone you trust," Kara added. "Once you open yourself to someone, it's pretty easy for them to pull more than you want them to."

Even thinking about doing that with Williams made me feel ill.

When they gave me the go-ahead, I stepped toward the wreckage. The fire was picking up again in the center, now that the firefighters had stopped hosing it down. I peered into the fire, trying to see past it.

"Don't try to look through it," Callie said from behind me. "Look into it. Look deep, not long."

I nodded, though the difference between looking "deep" and looking "long" didn't make a lot of sense to me.

"Remember, you're looking for a catch or hitch — an anomaly of some kind."

I tried to do as she said. I stared at the mound of twisted metal, trying to make out the shapes and colors, the lumps and cavities. I didn't see anything shaped like a tube, much less a tube with a hitch in it.

Fire sprang up in the spot I was studying. I watched it leap and shimmy like a living creature. I noticed its yellow and orange, and the pale white at its heart. There was more to it than what I was seeing, I realized. What I saw was a tiny outpost of a whole world of fire. It drew me. I wanted to see the whole. It was just a little ways away.

"That's good, Beth," Callie said shakily. "I think you're seeing it. When it pulls you, let your sight follow. It will probably look like a tunnel to you."

"It doesn't look like a tube or a tunnel. It doesn't look like anything."

"That's okay," she said. "Whatever it looks like, try to find something out of place."

I again focused on the fire until the pulling feeling happened. I looked deeper. Flames suddenly engulfed me, but they didn't burn. Distantly, I could hear voices, but what held my attention was what I saw — not a tunnel, but an expanse of black, craggy ground, sloping gently upwards toward a low hump that convulsively spewed white-hot fire. Red embers spouted up from the white heat, settling in graceful arcs, and pale gray smoke drifted up against a black sky. Long tendrils of orange wound down the slope toward me, pooling here and there like fire-licked mirrors. A distant sound caught my attention — a clattering roar punctuated by sharp pops and booms. It swelled until I couldn't hear anything else. I began to feel heat on my face.

Was this what the strait looked like inside?

I was supposed to look for an anomaly. I glanced right and saw more of the same — blackness and fire. Then I looked to the left and saw the most surprising thing. A folding lawn chair was perched on the jagged rocks. In it sat a man, or rather, a man-shaped creature. His surface was similar to the black rock all around me, except it seemed to be riding on a molten core, which occasionally blossomed through a crack, then cooled and darkened. He was sizzling softly. Impossibly, he was reading a paperback. As I watched, he shifted and crossed his legs, then glanced up. His eyes narrowed and swept over and around me a few times before catching my gaze. A look of astonishment spread over his face. The book in his hands combusted in a puff of ash and smoke.

Frightened by the realization that he could see me, I pushed the heat and sound away and then pushed harder, reminding myself that I wasn't actually standing in that landscape. It's just a picture in the fire, a picture in the fire, I chanted in my head, Go away, go away, go away. Slowly the scene shrank and lost its sensory richness until it was just an image. I closed my eyes for a long second, and when I opened them, all I could see was smoldering wreckage. I couldn't see any flames.

I looked away and saw that things around me had changed. Callie was still standing next to Williams, holding his hand, but Kara was lying at his feet. Williams himself looked pretty damn wobbly. The asphalt was slagged in an arc around us. I shivered. The fire had come for us, but Williams's barrier had held.

"Is Kara okay?"

"She will be," Callie said. "When the fire surged, John pulled enough to drain her. She'll be back to normal in a few days. Until then, she'll be weak and ill."

It was a damn good thing Callie had come with us, I realized. Williams had needed more than what Kara had.

"We need to back off," Williams said.

It took a while. He gripped Graham by the front of his shirt and dragged him along while keeping a hold on Callie with his other hand. I pulled Kara along by the ankles. She wasn't big, but I wasn't strong, so it was hard. We moved back about a hundred feet before Williams seemed to feel safe dropping the protective barrier.

I was bagged, and Williams looked even worse. Callie might not have been so tired physically, but I could see she was mentally exhausted. I didn't blame her — I couldn't imagine facing that fire again after what had happened to her. I went and sat next to her and took her hand.

"You were really brave to come back here," I told her.

She smiled and squeezed my hand.

Williams said, "What'd you see?"

I described it to them, including the guy in the lawn chair.

There wasn't a moment of stunned silence. There was a full minute of it.

Williams said, "Limu."

Finally Callie said, "You saw through the strait. You saw through and..."

"Talk about that later," Williams interrupted. "We have to tell Cordus about Limu."

"Who's Limu?"

"That's who you saw," Callie said, sounding shaky. "Lord Cordus controls this part of the world. Lord Limu holds the Pacific Rim."

Williams said, "Call Cordus. Now."

"Graham has to do it," I said. "This was all supposed to be helping him, remember?"

"Fuck Graham. It's over. It doesn't matter."

"Oh my god, don't be so dense!" I said, my exhaustion making me forget who I was talking to. "If we were faking it, his luck wouldn't have helped us. But it did help us. That means we really were helping him. Now is the point when we can actually give that help, so we have to do it. From how the luck shook out, we already know what decision we make at this point. We're just following through with what we already know happens. Got it?"

Williams stilled and focused on me. I felt like one of those red dots from a laser sight had appeared right between my eyes.

Callie interceded. "I don't really understand it either, John, but I think we should let Beth decide. It was her idea, and it did work."

If looks could kill, the one Williams gave me would have. It also would have cremated me and scattered my ashes at sea.

I didn't realize I'd tightened my grip on Callie until she started saying my name and patting my arm with her other hand.

"Sorry," I said, letting go.

Don't make him angry, I reminded myself. Maybe he wouldn't hurt me with Callie right here, but she wasn't going to be with me 24/7.

After an uncomfortable silence, I said, "So, any ideas on how to wake Graham?"

Williams hauled himself up and, ignoring Callie's protests, came over and gave Graham a couple kicks. Jesus, what a monster.

Graham groaned and rolled over, holding his side. Then he saw us, and froze. He looked entirely different than the person I'd come to know over the past few days. The confident, friendly, flirty guy was gone. What I was seeing now was a man stripped of everything — horrified, desperate, like an animal in a trap. It hurt seeing him like that, however much of a liar and user he might be. At that moment, for the first time, I really wanted to protect him.

"Here's what's happening," I told him. "Lord Cordus suspects you of scheming to keep the strait open. You are so deep on his shit list I'm surprised you can breathe. We looked into the opening and saw the other end. We're going to let you call and tell Lord Cordus about our success. You can take credit for managing the operation."

"Tell him it's closed," Williams added.

Was it really? I hadn't realized. I looked back at the wreckage. I couldn't see any flames, but the firefighters were dousing it again. Maybe they'd finally knocked it back.

Graham knelt there silently for a while, eyes shifting back and forth among us.

"Why are you letting me call him?" he finally said.

"Because we're just that nice." No reason to clue him in on his gift's loophole.

He thought about it, then nodded. Clearly he didn't see a way out. Being on Cordus's shit list must be very bad indeed.

I rolled Kara over, got her phone out of her pocket, and scrolled down to "Boss Man."

"Tell him you were waiting for us here, and that when we got here, you coached me on looking into the strait. Then hand the phone to me, and I'll tell him what I saw."

I hit "send" and handed him the phone.

Pale and shaking, he put it to his ear. When Cordus answered, though, Graham's voice was steady. I watched, a little nauseated, as he smoothly constructed a version of events in which he'd done no wrong. He mentioned the green man, as though he'd seen my photo and made the connection himself. Then he brought up Justine. Clearly he'd been thinking along the same lines Williams and Kara had — bounty-hunter shows up in town, local woman disappears, bingo. All that stuff about checking with his contacts had been bullshit. He'd never believed Williams was the kidnapper.

When he was done, Graham handed the phone to me without meeting my eyes.

"Elizabeth Joy Ryder," a super-sexy voice murmured in my ear.

My pulse went through the roof.

"I am most impressed. You seem to have found a way to turn Mr. Ryzik's talent against him."

Huh. Cordus had a pretty good bullshit meter.

"I will give Mr. Ryzik a second chance, but only because your strategy has obligated me to do so," he said. "I must ask you not to thus obligate me again. The consequences of such an action would not please you. In addition, I directed you not to approach Mr. Ryzik, and yet there you are, within arm's reach of him. Reliability is as important to me as results, Miss Ryder. Do you understand?"

I squeezed a "yes sir" past the lump in my throat.

"Now," he said, "please describe to me exactly what you saw."

I gave him a detailed account of the place I had seen in the flame. I also described the guy in the lawn chair. I added that Williams said the strait was closed.

He absorbed what I said in silence, then asked, "You heard the sound of the volcano and felt its heat. Is that correct?"

"Yes, especially toward the end. The experience seemed to be getting... I don't know. Richer. Closer. Also, the guy there saw me. I'm not sure how, exactly, but he knew I was there."

"Did he speak to you?"

"No. He seemed surprised, though. He burned up his book."

"Most interesting," Cordus said softly.

"Miss Ryder," he said after a few moments, "Mr. Ryzik's identification of the green man's quarry is likely correct."

"Oh," I said, shocked to my depths. "So it's true? She really might be... one of you?"

"In the sense you intend, yes."

He paused. He certainly had a measured, careful approach to conversation.

Finally he asked, "Has Mrs. McCallister received any premonitions regarding Mrs. Ryder's status or location?"

Mrs. McCallister? That was news to me.

"Not that she's mentioned. Do you want to speak to her?"

"I do not believe that would be productive. Should her ability shed additional light on the situation, however, I would appreciate a call."

"Okay," I said, already feeling like an informant.

"Your team may retire and rest. I will be in touch soon with further instructions. Before we disconnect, however, I must speak with Mr. Ryzik once more."

"Okay. Here he is."

"Thank you, Miss Ryder."

I passed the phone to Graham, who paled noticeably. He said, "Yes, Lord Cordus?" then held the phone to his ear for about thirty seconds, just listening. At last he said, "Yes, I do," then closed the phone and sat there staring out into the darkness and shaking. I was really glad not to have been privy to whatever Cordus had said. I had a feeling it would've made "threatening" sound like a day at the beach.

Once we'd recovered a little longer, Williams drove the damaged van into the brush at the edge of the parking lot and set a barrier around it that, according to Callie, would keep it invisible to regular people for at least a few days.

"How're we going to get home?" I asked.

"There's a working over there," Callie said, pointing to the other side of lot. "It's probably a barrier hiding Graham's car."

She glanced at Graham, who nodded, looking a little confused. He must've been wondering why I hadn't noticed it myself.

Williams picked up Kara, and we all walked to the other side of the lot. As we approached the edge, my car appeared right in front of us.

We got in and headed back to Callie's.

When we arrived, Callie had Williams put Kara in the center of her king-sized bed. Then she and I crawled in on either side of her and slept like stones until morning.

Chapter Twelve

Unfortunately, by "morning" I mean "very early morning." That's when Kara woke up, lunged over me, and vomited. She got most of it on the floor. Then she flopped back with a groan.

"Fucking Williams. Goddamn fucking Williams fucking asshole..." She drifted back to sleep.

From the other side of her, Callie propped herself up and frowned at me. "I wish Kara didn't use language like that. Taking the Lord's name in vain is wrong."

I nodded, filing away for future reference that "goddamn" was a big no-no around Callie. Then I wormed my way out of bed, trying not to touch anything Kara might've hit.

I ended up touching it anyway when I cleaned it up a few minutes later. Whatever. Kara'd probably cleaned up what I left in the hallway a few days back.

When I was done showering, Callie had gone back to sleep. I quietly headed for coffee.

Graham was sitting in the kitchen. Damn. Why was he still with us? I'd have thought Cordus would've wanted to keep an eye on him or something. It seemed impossible that he was just going to keep hanging out with his old crew. Talk about painful and awkward for everyone.

He looked up at me with dead eyes. It took him a while to speak. It was like he'd forgotten how.

"It was your idea, wasn't it? Calling Cordus."

I didn't see much point in lying.

"Yeah."

I waited for him to react, to get angry, but he didn't say anything.

"Kara said they could be killed if they failed to close the strait. You seemed to be putting all our lives at risk."

Again he didn't say anything for a long time, just looked at me. Then he looked down at his hands.

"Callie finding the strait and calling Williams, Williams finding you, Williams calling in Kara — none of that should've happened. No one was supposed to know anything about it. No one was supposed to come here. No one was supposed to be in danger. That's how it should've gone. Things always go the way they're supposed to. Well, almost always."

Huh. Maybe Callie had ended up testing that Graham-luck-evasion hypothesis after all, without realizing it.

"Why were you trying to keep the strait open?"

Graham shook his head. Some secrets were staying secret.

"What're you going to do now?"

He shrugged. "Same thing I was doing before."

But the look he gave me was so empty my throat tightened. I guess he'd gotten the same sense from Cordus that I had: second chances were pretty much in name only.

I really wished I hadn't kissed him. I wondered how many more times I'd have that thought.

I made coffee for both of us and sat down. He took a sip or two, then seemed to forget about it and just sat there. I watched him. The day's first sunlight came through the crack between the window blinds and touched his hair.

"Why did you lie to me?"

I hadn't meant to ask that. It just popped out.

He looked up at me. For a moment, he looked much older than his years. When he finally spoke, he sounded tired.

"What we do, it's ugly. It's easier if you ease new people into it instead of dumping the whole truth on them in one go."

"Oh yeah? Easier for who?"

He looked away, effectively silenced.

"Graham..."

"Just let it go, Elizabeth. There's nothing I can say to you that'll make it better."

I sat there, surprised and saddened. I wished I understood.

"Beth," I said.

He looked up at me, confused.

"No one who really knows me calls me 'Elizabeth.'"

He smiled a little, accepting my olive branch, then looked back down at his cup.

Seeing an opportunity to escape, I took my coffee out to the living room and curled up on the couch to look out the window.

Now that I had no trainer to ask, I was full of questions.

Why would Graham betray Cordus? If we were all little more than slaves, it seemed like a huge risk.

What about the lava man on the lawn chair? Limu. The boss of another region, Callie had said. One of Cordus's rivals, maybe. Was Graham working with him?

Was Justine truly a Second, and was she being hunted by the person I'd photographed? Cordus seemed to think so, and he should know, right?

If she was, did Ben know? What about the kids? Were they really Ben's children?

And what was wrong with me, anyway? One moment I couldn't see some basic thing the others expected me to see, and the next I saw more than I should — all the way into the other world, if I'd understood Callie right.

Trailing along like someone's forgotten kid brother, one last question came into my head. Was Bob really dead?

Well, there was one I might be able to answer.

I got my car keys and headed out the door, moving cautiously until I was sure Williams's barrier was gone.

Okay, Bob, I thought, getting in the Le Mans, I'm coming for that chat, like I promised.

* * *

I sat down on a slanted stone bench near the sad "Daught." monument and took a deep, steadying breath.

Time had paid no attention to my personal drama. Early April had shaded into middle of the month. Today was the first day we'd had where I really smelled spring. It was earthy and wet and promised renewal.

I'd made several full circuits of the cemetery. There was no sign of Bob.

I felt a strong sense of loss — far more than what I'd feel for some human citizen of Dorf I'd met once and talked to for a few minutes. It was mixed liberally with guilt and anger. If he was dead, it was because of me.

I reminded myself that while Bob's presence would've proven he was alive, his absence didn't prove he was dead.

Then again, Williams didn't strike me as the kind of person who'd bother lying.

It'd been silly to come. I'd wanted to escape Callie's house, with all its tensions and sadness, but really, escape was impossible. The whole situation was dreadful.

I looked down at my hands. My nails had gotten too long. Despite the hot shower I'd taken an hour ago, there was crud under them. I set about cleaning them with my thumbnail. Depressing thoughts crowded into my mind.

When I'd looked into the strait, I'd done something that had surprised the others. Unless it turned out to be something bad, it would probably make me more desirable to Cordus than I had been before. And I got the idea that my late development had already made me a hot commodity.

So, what would happen to me? What would they try to make me do?

What we do is ugly.

How ugly?

I didn't just need a bunch of questions answered, I realized. What I needed was good advice. Even if Graham hadn't turned out to be a liar, I still wouldn't have trusted him to advise me, not when I'd only known him a few days. Kara seemed nice, but maybe not stable and seasoned enough to give clear-eyed guidance. Callie couldn't help me either. Because she read all this stuff through her own religious beliefs, she had no idea what she was actually participating in. Maybe that's what she needed to do to survive, but it wasn't going to work for me.

That left me with no idea what my goals should be.

For instance, what should I do about Justine? I felt responsible for her because she was my nieces' mother. But if she was bad news, then trying to save her might be the wrong choice. On the other hand, if she was an innocent person being hunted by this green man creature, then I had to try to help her. Then again, if what Kara said was accurate, I wouldn't really have any choices to make about Justine, anyway. I'd be doing whatever Cordus told me to do.

I'd decided to confront my new reality, but really I was still just reacting to what came down the pike. I felt like a victim, and I didn't know how to change that dynamic.

I was sitting there cultivating a headache when someone spoke my first name, and I just about fell off the bench. Looking over my shoulder, I found an African American woman standing behind me. She had long black hair gathered in a ponytail and was dressed in a flattering pair of dark jeans, a tan tank, and a jaunty little jacket that came down to just below her breasts. It was made out of some kind of exotic-looking brown fur. She was older than me and extraordinarily beautiful.

I stood up nervously. She was a few inches taller than me, but then again her boots had heels. I realized I was staring and flushed.

She looked me over with a neutral expression. Then she said, "I'm Zion. Lord Cordus sent me up here to join your team. I'm a tracker."

"Oh," I said.

Then, because I couldn't think of an indirect, non-embarrassing way to ask, I said, "What are you supposed to track?"

She looked at me like I was the slow kid in class. "A Second who's been living in this town under the alias of Justine Ryder, née Jenson."

"Oh, right. Of course."

I stood there wondering why she was talking to me instead of looking for Justine. Zion looked like she was just managing to keep herself from rolling her eyes.

"I'm told Justine Ryder's been masquerading as your sister-in-law. I need to you take me to her home so that I can get her scent."

"Her scent?"

What was this woman, a magical bloodhound or something?

Annoyance blossomed on Zion's face, and I quickly ran my memory backwards to make sure I hadn't said the "bloodhound" part aloud.

"Excuse me," she said in a carefully polite tone, "Given your age, it's hard to remember you're... uninformed. 'Scent' is trackers' shorthand for someone's essence trace."

"Okie-dokie, then," I said, getting annoyed myself.

It wasn't my fault I was "uninformed." If these people could get their act together and send me a trainer who did his job, I'd get informed as fast as I could.

"Your car or mine?" I said, probably a little snappishly.

We ended up in her car, but only after she'd taken a good long look at mine and found it wanting. Admittedly, the Le Mans was a little worse for wear. In contrast, Zion had a Porsche Panamera. I couldn't even imagine how much it cost.

* * *

Ben was upset with me. He thought it was terrible that I hadn't shown up at the mall. I was suddenly glad I hadn't pulled up in my own car, since it was supposed to be in the shop. Ben also thought it was shockingly insensitive that I'd just left a message the night before and hadn't called back to make sure Tiff was okay. She was, fortunately, though she had made it out of the mall, after all. The cops had picked her up trying to hitchhike southeast on I-94.

Clearly, the situation had been a lot more serious than I had assumed. I was retroactively terrified. "Kidnapped, then out 'til 11:00 p.m. ogling a lava-man," was unfortunately off-limits as an excuse. I couldn't think of a reasonable substitute, so I spent a long time apologizing and talking about what an idiot I was.

The whole time, Zion wandered around the first storey, touching things. She was using a half-working disguise, I realized: I could see the weird doubleness of presence and absence about her, and Ben was clearly unaware of her. I had a hard time not glancing at her — getting chewed out by my big brother in front of a gorgeous and ultra-competent stranger was excruciating.

Eventually, Ben headed upstairs to hurry the girls along, since they'd have to leave for school soon. Zion drifted over to me.

"I'm having a hard time getting her scent. What I'm sensing seems human to me. Has another adult female been living here?"

"Not so far as I know. No, Ben would've mentioned it to me."

"I need to visit her bedroom. That's where her scent will be strongest."

"Okay. Let me offer to stay here with the youngest while Ben takes the other three to school."

Zion's eyes widened and darted toward the stairs.

"She has children? Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I'm sorry," I said sweetly, "I assumed you'd been fully briefed."
She glowered at me. "They may well be Nolanders. If so, they'll see through my disguise. I'll have to hide."

The thought of Ben's girls being like me came as a shock. I guess it made sense — if Justine was a Second, her kids would be half. That might mean they inherited some weirdness. It just hadn't occurred to me.

I headed up the stairs and told Ben I could stay with Madisyn while he took the others to school. That pleased him, since Madisyn was still in her PJs and was ignoring the order to get dressed.

When she saw me, her face lit up.

"Aunt Beth! Nanny Hansen's doggie says you can find Mommy! I wanted to come tell you, but Daddy wouldn't let me."

I glanced at Ben, who was rubbing his forehead. Actually, he was rubbing his eyes.

"Oh, Ben," I said, and put my arms around him.

We stood there for a good while with Madisyn looking up at us and occasionally tugging on my pant leg and saying "doggie" in a loud whisper. The other kids gathered at the door and peeked in, looking sad and a little scared. Finally Ben pulled away from me and throatily told Tiff, Jazzy, and Lia to go get in the car. He followed them out without speaking to me. I didn't hear any shrieks from downstairs, so apparently Zion had gone unnoticed.

Once I heard the car pull out, I knelt down in front of Madisyn.

"Sweetie, do you think I should meet Nanny Hansen's doggie?"

"Yeah, okay!"

She took my hand and led me downstairs and out into the back yard. She looked around carefully, then crossed over to the fence separating Ben's yard from the neighbor's land to the west.

Whoever lived there — Mrs. Hansen, I guess — had a large, overgrown piece of property. Last year's dead grass was thigh-high in places and all gone to seed. In other spots the snow had packed it down into wet humps. A huge stand of sumac had taken over the back of the yard, and a thicket of honeysuckle covered another part. A big maple and a pine loomed over the small house itself, looking like they could take it out completely, given a big enough storm. Compared to Ben's neatly groomed lawn, it was a jungle.

Madisyn gathered herself. I half expected her to display some strange ability, but all she did was holler.

"Doggie! Doggie! Doggie!"

For several minutes, nothing happened. Just when I was sure nothing was going to happen, the sumac swayed gently, as though touched by wind. The honeysuckle rustled, then parted to expose the biggest dog I'd ever seen. It was at least as tall a wolfhound, but massively boned instead of leggy. It must've weighed more than three hundred pounds. I recalled that Madisyn had said its fur was glass. That could be the case, if glass were flexible and floaty. Whatever the animal's coat was made of, it was translucent and shone softly in the morning light. The creature's eyes were golden, like a wolf's.

It studied me for a while in silence, then approached the chain-link fence. Madisyn gave a little squeal and ran over, completely unafraid.

"Doggie!"

"Madisyn," the creature said.

I noticed that its mouth didn't move. I felt like I was hearing it in the normal way, though — not like it was speaking inside my head.

Madisyn stuck her little arms through the fence and buried her hands in the beast's coat.

"Hi, doggie. You're a good doggie. Good doggie."

The dog nosed Madisyn's arm. It seemed friendly enough. Slowly, I came over.

"Hello. I'm Madisyn's aunt. My name is Beth Ryder."

"I know you. You are interesting."

The look it gave me out of its unblinking golden eyes was unreadable.

"Madisyn told me you think I can find her mother, Justine."

"Yes," the creature said.

Madisyn didn't react to the dog's confirmation. She just ran her hands through its fur and murmured "doggie" under her breath.

"Madisyn, would you mind if I spoke to...," and I hesitated. It hadn't introduced itself, and I was pretty sure it wasn't a dog. I decided to go with a pronoun and glanced down. "If I spoke to him alone for a minute?"

She looked up at me. "Grown-up stuff?"

"Yeah. It's important."

"Okay," she said with a sigh, and retreated to the back stoop. I watch her go, then turned back to the not-dog.

"I've told you my name. May I ask yours?"

"Call me Ghosteater."

I suppressed a shudder. Why couldn't this one have gone with something like "Bob"?

"Ghosteater, I'd like to ask you a question, but I'm afraid I'll offend you."

"You will not offend me."

I nodded. He didn't seem to have Bob's formal impulses.

"Do you know what my sister-in-law is, exactly? There's a tracker here with me, and she's having trouble sensing anything special about her. She says Justine feels like a human woman to her."

Ghosteater cocked his head.

"She is unfinished. Your tracker must seek fragment. That is how she will taste her quarry."

"Okay. Thank you very much."

The idea of "fragment" having a particular smell or "essence trace" or whatever seemed weird to me. I hoped it would be enough to help Zion.

"I will ask you a question, now," the beast said.

That worried me a bit.

"When the man left you yesterday, where did he go?"

It took me a few seconds to compute.

"Do you mean Graham?"

"The one with golden hair."

How did he know about Graham? Had he been watching me? I wrestled down the impulse to ask. He'd answered my question. Fair's fair.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know where he went. One of the others, Kara, said he had left town, but that's all I know."

"He went east in a car."

That wasn't very helpful. Half the state was east of here.

"Well, we'd just come back from Rib Mountain when he dropped me off. Maybe he went back there. Maybe he'd accidentally left something behind."

Ghosteater looked at me for so long that I was sure he knew I'd given a bull-shit answer and was considering eating me. Finally, he just turned away.

I hurriedly added, "Thanks for being so kind to my niece."

Ghosteater paused and looked back at me over his shoulder.

"I am not kind."

Then he turned away again, and I saw that he had no paws. His massive legs just faded out at the bottom. He melted silently into the bushes.

Well. You couldn't get much higher on the creep-o-meter than that.

Suddenly the idea of Nanny Hansen living in that little overgrown house seemed unwise. I thought for a moment about knocking on her door and telling her to move the hell out because a monster was living in her backyard. But no. She wouldn't move. Instead, she would call the police and tell them a crazy woman was on her doorstep. Then Cordus's people would kill me for breaking the rules.

Sighing, I headed back to Madisyn. I took her hand and led her into the house. I turned on Sesame Street for her, then hurried upstairs to find Zion. I told her about Ghosteater and what he had said about looking for the scent of fragment. She looked at me like I was losing it, but she did sit down on Ben and Justine's bed and give it a try. After a few minutes, a look of surprise and comprehension washed across her face. She spent a minute just soaking it in with her eyes closed. Then she nodded, satisfied.

Just then, Ben got home, so I hurried downstairs with Zion following behind. I apologized again and took my leave. He nodded and patted me on the arm, clearly too worn out to keep chastising me, even though I deserved it. I left him trying to cajole Madisyn into taking off her PJs, the feet of which were now all wet. Hopefully he wouldn't notice and realize I couldn't even watch one of his kids for twenty minutes without muffing it up.

Chapter Thirteen

Ghosteater watched me and Zion drive away. Then he slid back into the silence and began moving east. He wasn't the fastest of beasts, but he could run a very long way without tiring. His nose would tell him if Graham had gone to the ancient rock twice the day before. If he had, there was the interesting question of why.

Chapter Fourteen

Zion and I headed back to the cemetery to pick up my car. The Porsche purred grumpily through Dorf's little streets. I could almost hear it muttering, I'm a supercar, not a golf-cart, damn it! What did Zion do that she could afford a car like this? I'd never been in anything so nice.

"So, what do we do now? Get the others and go find Justine?"

"Yes. Then we take her to Lord Cordus. Her and you," she added, glancing over at me appraisingly.

Great. That was just great.

"Where does he live?"

"His court's in New York. He has an estate north of the city."

Dread washed through me. I didn't want to take Justine to Cordus. Who knows what he would do to her? And more importantly, I didn't want to see him myself. Meeting that man, or whatever he was, and spending time in his home was at the absolute bottom of my to-do list.

Damned if I could see a way out of it, though. If I tried to run, Williams could easily overpower me, and if I did manage to slip past him, Zion could find me. She'd already found me once — I hadn't told the others I'd be at the cemetery.

* * *

Ten minutes later, I pulled the Le Mans into Callie's driveway behind Zion's Porsche and then sat for a moment, watching her walk inside. I got out and followed her, feeling ignorant, poorly dressed, and anxious.

"... south-southeast, about fifty miles," Zion said as I came through the door and almost fell over some luggage. She was speaking to Williams, who was standing in the living room. Graham was sitting in the kitchen, toying with a coffee cup. I wondered if he'd moved at all since I'd left him there.

"Let's go," Williams said. He looked at me. "Get Kara."

I obeyed without even thinking about it. Callie was in the bedroom with Kara, who was sitting up in bed, looking ill.

"Hey, guys. A tracker named Zion showed up. She has a line on Justine, so we're leaving."

Kara groaned. "So long as I don't have to ride with Williams. I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to drain you," Callie said, looking upset. "The fire just came so suddenly."

"Yeah, well, he should've drawn more from you and less from me. Goddamn it. I feel like three-day-old shit." She sighed. "Okay, help me up."

Callie and I supported her out to the living room and set her down on the couch.

I thought about our travel options. There were six of us, and Justine would make seven, if we found her. Kara's ride was a decrepit motorcycle. Williams's van was back at the mill, trashed, and Graham's car was out of commission. If he'd gotten a rental replacement, I hadn't seen it out front. The Panamera seated four. We'd have to take my car as well.

"Who wants to ride with me?"

"Me," said Kara immediately.

"I will," said Graham, getting up.

Great. Many, many hours of guilt and awkwardness. I looked at Callie.

"Oh," she said, looking uncomfortable. "I couldn't possibly go. There's far too much to do here. I have to get the Big Screen boycott up and running. I haven't put any time into that for the last week."

I stared at her in disbelief. She got to just stay here and pick back up with her normal life as Dorf's moral gadfly? I looked around the room. No one else looked at all surprised. Instead, Williams stepped forward and touched her arm.

"Thank you for letting us stay, Callie. And for helping with the strait."

I wouldn't have thought the man had one and a half vaguely gracious sentences in him.

"Yeah," Kara said, "Thanks. And it was good to see you."

Everyone trooped out. Over her protests, Williams just picked Kara up from the couch and carried her towards my car. I was left standing there with Callie.

"You're really not coming?"

I felt bereft. Callie might be a little nutty, but I was pretty sure she was a genuinely good and brave person. She might be the only one who was. I wanted to have her with me.

She looked down.

"I don't go to New York." She paused. "I suppose Lord Cordus regrets his fall, and that's why he works with us. But he still feels evil to me. I won't go near him."

I didn't understand why she got to make that choice. I said my goodbyes as graciously as I could, but I felt resentful.

* * *

"So why does Callie get to stay home?" I asked, once we were on the road. "Why doesn't she have to suck it up and go deal with Lord Cordus, like the rest of us?"

No one said anything for a few seconds. I glanced over at Kara and saw her slumped against the door. She'd fallen back asleep.

Finally, from the back seat, Graham said, "Lord Cordus makes allowances for her."

"Why?"

"Her ability is very unusual. It's also quite useful, as you've seen," he said bitterly.

I realized he probably blamed Callie for his downfall — she was the one who'd called Williams, and Williams was the one who'd found me, and I was the one who'd ratted him out.

"But she's fragile," Graham continued. "If he wants to be able to use her, he has to be careful with her."

I guess that made sense. I wondered if I could masquerade as fragile and get away from Cordus that way. Probably not. I'd never been very good at pretending. Besides, most "fragile" people he probably just got rid of. Head cases were a lot of trouble, and it's not like I could see the future.

I chewed on it for a few minutes, then decided it was dumb to spend time envying Callie, even if she got to stay home. After all, I sure didn't envy whatever experiences had damaged her. It had sounded like rape and torture the one time she'd mentioned it. I shut up and drove.

* * *

"Almost due west from here," Zion said.

We were all standing on the side of a small road a few miles north of Stevens Point, on the east side of the Wisconsin River. Well, not Kara. She was still asleep in my car.

Zion squinted. "She's less than half a mile away. She's asleep, I think. At least, she hasn't moved in a while."

Asleep or dead, I thought with a shudder. What on earth was Justine doing out here? The area was all marshland.

When we left Callie's, I'd followed Zion to the old mill. There were no firefighters in sight — I guess the strait really was closed. Williams had transferred some stuff from the back of the van into the Porsche. Then he'd set the van on fire. After that we'd driven over to Wausau and headed south on 39. About fifteen minutes ago, we'd gotten off the highway and onto the small local roads. We'd gone as far west as they could take us. The rest of the way would have to be on foot.

For the first time I could remember, I wished it was still winter — wetlands were a lot easier when everything was frozen.

Zion and Williams opened the Porsche's trunk and started to suit up. Zion donned a chainmail vest. That was an eye-opener. Did she do her shopping at Renaissance fairs, or something?

Both armed themselves with knives and handguns. I would've guessed Williams would go for some big-dick gun like a Desert Eagle, but he had a pretty standard looking 9mm. Then he slid a scabbard onto his back and picked up a riot shotgun. Maybe that's where he kept his big stopping power.

"Graham," he said, as he started feeding cartridges into the shotgun. "No weapons."

Graham shrugged, as though the idea was beneath contempt.

"I don't carry weapons. Never needed them."

Williams shot him a look that said something like, A real man would carry anyway. Or maybe, Bet you never needed your cock either.

There certainly was no love lost between those two.

"Mandatory pause for male posturing: check," I murmured. Then I asked aloud, "Is Kara going to be all right if we leave her here?"

Zion shot me an amused look. Guess my murmur was louder than I realized.

"Yeah. Williams will leave her shielded."

She stepped into the brush. Williams gestured for me to follow her. He came next, with Graham bringing up the rear.

First came a roadside ditch with almost a foot of icy-cold standing water. It came in over the tops of my boots. Then came a field of impenetrable waist-high bushes that seemed to have talons instead of twigs. Then a series of marshy oxbows. It sucked. I couldn't imagine why they hadn't left me in the car with Kara. I had no weapons and no abilities, and I wasn't particularly outdoorsy.

At least all the crashing around and swearing I did weren't audible — we passed several large flocks of ducks that ignored us completely. Apparently they couldn't see us, either. But whatever the others were doing to shield our presence, I couldn't sense it. What had happened at the mill hadn't fixed me.

Eventually Zion stopped.

"In there," she said, pointed to a small stand of aspens. The trunks were slender and densely packed. I had no idea how we were going to get through them. Or how Justine had.

We moved forward another twenty feet or so. Then Williams came to the front. He lifted a finger and drew a horizontal circle. Nothing happened, so far as I could tell.

"What did he do?" I asked Graham in a whisper.

"He put a barrier around the trees. She won't be able to get out."

Wow. Useful trick.

Graham was looking at me, puzzled. "Can't you sense it there?"

"Nope. I still can't see workings."

The look of consternation on his face bothered me. I turned away.

We advanced on the stand and almost reached it before something crashed out the far side. I couldn't see what it was at first, but eventually a terrified deer came running around toward us. It kept charging forward and then trying to leap away from the trees, only to hit some invisible wall, then picking itself up and trying again. Poor thing.

"Can't you let it out?"

Williams glanced over at Zion.

"I think..." Zion hesitated. "I think that's actually her. Yes. Yes, that's her."

Justine could turn into a deer? I turned back to look again, then leaned over to Graham. Guess he was still the go-to guy for questions, in this crowd.

"That's a working, right? She's changed herself fully into a deer — that's why I can't see through it?"

"No," he said, watching the animal's increasingly desperate escape attempts. "It's not a working." He glanced at me, clearly at a loss. "So far as I can tell, it's just a deer."

"Me too," Zion said, "but that's what I've been tracking. It's her. How do we catch her?"

Williams pulled his shotgun out of its scabbard.

"Hey!"

He ignored me. I didn't have time to take more than a couple steps toward him before he raised the gun, aimed, and fired. The deer went down, bawling and thrashing. Then he waved a hand, and she stilled.

I stood there in disbelief. Why had he done that?

Williams walked over and began trussing the deer up with a coil of rope he produced from his jacket. I advanced slowly and saw that the deer was still alive. Her large, shining eye looked up at me, panicked. It took me a few seconds to speak without letting out the sob that was lurking somewhere inside.

"Why'd you shoot her? We're supposed to bring her in."

"Beanbag ammunition," he said, without bothering to look up at me.

I looked the deer over more closely. Her left shoulder was twitching violently, but I didn't see any wounds. Thank god.

I knelt down and took her head in my lap. I stroked her face, speaking softly to her.

"What are we going to do with her? We can't travel with her this way."

Williams sat back on his heels.

"Beats me."

He waved a hand over the deer, apparently releasing whatever barrier she'd been inside. She thrashed a few times, but all her legs were bound together, so she wasn't going anywhere.

"She knows you," Zion said. "See if you can get through to her."

Calling the deer "Justine" and asking her to change back didn't do anything. Telling her that her husband and children missed her didn't have any effect, either. Saying that we were there to help her wasn't any better.

We were all just gathered there, wracking our brains, when we heard a strange noise. Something like a laugh, but weird.

Williams drew the shotgun and turned to face the direction we'd come from. Graham turned the other way. Looking perplexed, Zion drew her gun and faced out as well. I stayed down with the deer, out of the line of fire.

"There," Zion said, pointing into a tree about a hundred yards east. I could see something dark and hunched clinging to the trunk.

"Green man," Williams said.

"Son of a bitch," Zion swore, bring her gun around. "Why do I always get the FUBAR assignments?"

Suddenly the hair all over my body stood up. There was a flash and a deafening roar. The tree the green man was on exploded into burning splinters.

My god, had that been lightning? Out of a blue sky? I looked up and saw the leading edge of a massive, anvil-shaped storm cloud thousands of feet above us. It must have been moving really fast — it hadn't been visible a few minutes earlier.

Zion started shooting. The green man was skittering toward us on the ground, unharmed. It ran on two legs, but strangely hunched forward. Its movement had a spastic, random quality that turned my stomach. Lightning struck twice more. Each time the thing contorted itself out of harm's way.

I could finally see why it was called a green man — it looked dull black most of the time, but when the light caught its skin just right, it flashed brilliant green. The effect was like a hummingbird's gorget.

Zion came up empty and started reloading. Williams, who'd held back, started firing the shotgun. The green man evaded, twisting and moving bonelessly. Williams switched to his pistol.

The thing was really close. A huge, protuberant mouth full of small, sharp teeth took up half its face. A thick gray tongue hung out, bobbing to the side of its head. Its nose was almost non-existent — just nostril slits. It was laughing, its eyes gleeful and insane.

Williams got off one last shot, and the thing jerked to the side, and then screeched and fell. Trying to dodge the bullet, it had stepped in a leg-hold trap. I processed the metallic clang a few seconds after the fact.

A big-game trap? Set out in the middle of a field on public land? What were the odds?

The thing lunged at us, slavering and cackling, but the trap jerked it back.

Williams said, "Stay together."

He scooped up the deer and started backing off. We all followed him, staying in a bunch. We got a couple hundred feet away before the green man stopped its mad dance long enough to bend down and figure out how to open the trap.

Williams dropped the deer and grabbed my hand.

I understood. He wanted to use my strength.

The green man or Williams? It should've been no contest. Nevertheless, fear surged through me. I fought the urge to struggle and tried to calm myself.

I felt him reach into me somehow. It was like I was a dog-food can, and a big, filthy mutt was sticking its tongue way down inside to get the last bits at the bottom. It was horrible. I held my breath and tried not to fight it. I felt him drag something out of me. Whatever it was didn't want to go. It hurt tremendously, like he was ripping part of my insides out.

He gestured. This time, I could feel the barrier. It materialized around us like an infinity of cobweb knotted together with extraordinary complexity. It throbbed with weight and menace, almost like a living thing. I'd never perceived something so extraordinary.

A second later, the green man launched into the barrier and rebounded explosively. Through Williams, I could feel the impact as physical pain, though I couldn't tell what part of me hurt. The green man landed about twenty feet back and flopped on the ground, clearly injured. It never stopped its crazy cackling. I bent over, feeling sick.

Williams jerked on my hand. "Offer it. Don't make me drag it out."

"I don't know how!"

"Let me do it," Zion said.

"You don't have enough."

"I'll do it," Graham said.

There was a heavy pause, as we all considered. Graham wasn't safe from the green man. Otherwise his luck wouldn't have come to bear, and it surely had — the leg-hold trap had to be him. He also wasn't strong enough to defeat it alone. The failed lightning strikes had to be him, too. Therefore, he needed us.

Apparently coming to the same conclusion, Williams reached for him and let me go. Thank god. The barrier faded from my perception.

We started moving again. Zion and I wrestled the deer along, which wasn't easy — it wasn't a big one, but it certainly weighed a hundred pounds. There was no sign of the green man pursuing us, but maybe that's because Williams kept the shield up the whole way.

When we reached the cars, we dragged Kara out of mine and put her in Zion's backseat. Then we stuffed the deer into my backseat. Williams took shotgun in my car, and we peeled out. I drove as fast as that little Le Mans would go.

* * *

The wheel vibrated in my hands. The temperature gauge was near the red. I'd been going between eighty and ninety for six hours. Even so, Zion kept surging ahead and then slowing down when we dropped too far behind. I was afraid the Le Mans wouldn't last much longer — if it had ever been built to go this fast, it wasn't up to it now.

I wished Graham was still in my car. I had some questions I wanted answered. No way was I asking Williams, who hadn't said a word.

As though he could hear me thinking about him, he turned from the window and leaned over toward me. My heart rate sped up, and I shrank away. He looked at the dashboard in front of me, then sat back. I relaxed.

I wish I weren't so scared of him, some part of my brain said. I wish he weren't so scary, the other part answered. Good point — it wasn't like I was being a wuss. He was genuinely terrifying.

He got out his phone and placed a call. Up ahead of us, I saw Zion bring her phone to her ear.

"Get off at the next rest stop," he said, then hung up.

We were somewhere in western Ohio. The next rest area came up in about fifteen miles. Zion exited and parked at the very edge of the lot. I pulled in beside her. She and Williams both opened their windows. Hers glided down smoothly. His squeaked as he cranked it open in fits and starts.

"Go get another vehicle," he said to Graham.

Graham got out. He looked a little pale. It had taken us almost fifty minutes to get back to the car with the deer in tow. Maybe he was feeling the strain of having helped power that strong a shield for that long. He walked slowly across the parking lot toward the building.

I saw with a pang that this stop had a Wendy's. When I was a kid, one of the things I'd wished for at every birthday was a Wendy's in Dorf. Mom explained that Dorf was just too small for a fast-food franchise, but I didn't really get it. I mean, I would go every day, right?

Graham was gone for about fifteen minutes. When he came back, he was driving a late-model minivan. He also had a big pile of Wendy's bags.

Well, that was one small upside.

"I am not leaving my car behind," Zion said.

Williams shrugged.

Knowing there was no way to argue for my car, I pulled it off onto the grass at the edge of the lot and got into middle row of the minivan with Kara. Williams settled the deer in the way-back, then got behind the wheel. Graham got shotgun. We pulled out, and Zion followed in the Porsche.

I wondered if Williams had put an invisi-shield around my car. Either way, I doubted I'd ever see it again. The maintenance people would start mowing the grass in a month or so, and when they did, they'd find it the hard way.

Kara, who'd woken up for the change of vehicles, glanced over at me.

"Tomorrow you should call and report it stolen."

"Yeah."

She and I rooted through the food and chose our poisons. I got a cheeseburger and fries.

"Kara, did Zion fill you in on what happened back there?"

"Yeah. In between all the swearing, I think I got most of the story. I'm glad I missed it. She's usually pretty cool about stuff, but she was shitting herself."

She grinned lopsidedly and looked a little like her old self. She must've needed the food.

"Do you think the green man is still following us?"

"Oh yeah. They never give up. Best trackers out there."

I couldn't suppress the shudder. "So what do we do?"

"Hope it was hurt bad enough that we got a good head start. It's not like they can fly or something. It'll have to follow us by car."

The thought of that spastic thing driving was unsettling.

"Can you tell me anything else about them?"

"Sure. They're body-snatchers. When they catch you, they spread themselves all over you like a second skin and sink right in. Once they're in you, they can control you. This one probably planned to catch Justine that way and then walk her right back through the open strait. At least, that's my guess." She shrugged. "I've never actually seen one. You're getting the textbook version of things."

She turned to the front seat.

"Anything to add, fuckface?"

Both men glanced back, which I thought was pretty funny. Neither one said anything.

"So it would've found the nearest person with a car and taken them over, then followed us?"

"Yep. And before you ask, switching cars like we did won't help."

"How can we get away from it, then?"

"We can't. We need to reach Lord Cordus or a Second allied with him who's strong enough to capture or kill it."

She settled back in her seat and shot an angry glance at the back of Williams's head.

"All right, seeing as how I was drained, I'm going back to sleep, now."

* * *

Someone touched me, and I jerked awake. It was Williams.

"Your turn," he said, holding out the keys.

Groggily, I got out. How long had we been driving? It was pitch black out. I checked my watch. It was after 10:00. The minivan's GPS said we were in central Pennsylvania, so we were pretty close.

"I have to pee," I said, embarrassed.

Williams jerked his head at the side of the road. I hesitated.

"I'll go with," Kara said, sliding gingerly out of her seat. "You'll probably have to help me."

For some reason, that made it less embarrassing.

It didn't make it any less scary, though. As soon as I went around the cars, all I could see ahead was darkness. Which I now knew contained monsters. You might think turning my back on all that night and dropping trou would've been a great "up yours!" moment, but instead it just scared me.

By the time we got back, people had shuffled around. Now Williams was driving Zion's car and Graham was riding with him. Zion had claimed shotgun in the minivan and was already almost asleep. Kara stretched out in the middle row, and I climbed into the driver's seat. I hoped there wasn't too much farther to go. From up here I wouldn't be able to check on the deer.

We started up. The Porsche pulled out first, and I followed. Driving the minivan hardly felt like driving. It was more like floating along on cloud. I had no problem hitting ninety and keeping it there.

Unfortunately, my enjoyment of the vehicle was short-lived. We went under an overpass, and something hit the roof with a crash, denting it way in, then swung down hard against the passenger side. The van rocked wildly to the right, and everything slowed down as the world tilted. Then the roof crunched again and we crashed back down onto all four wheels. Zion shouted something, but I couldn't understand her.

The roof peeled away with a weird tearing noise, and the air rushed in. Instinctively, I jammed both feet down on the brake. The antilock brakes kicked in with a stutter. Something large and dark flew off us and skidded down the road in front of me.

The green man.

"Go, go, go!" Zion shouted.

She wanted me to run it down.

It righted itself. Its dark form was hard to distinguish from the road, but I could see its teeth glimmering in the headlights, and patches of its skin blazed green as it moved.

I noticed it had talons. Rip-the-roof-off-your-car talons.

No way was I driving at that thing. It would tear the van apart. I cranked the wheel left and drove into the median. The minivan took it like a champ, bouncing over the uneven ground without tipping. We came out on the westbound side and I hit the gas.

I thought we'd made it. Then the van lurched and green man's head popped up outside what was left of Kara's window, like some sick jack-in-the-box, grinning and cackling. It was clinging to the side of the van. Kara yelled and brought her gun up, but the creature ducked and climbed back along the side. I could hear its claws ripping through the metal. Kara took a couple shots at it, then Zion started shooting toward the rear. The inside mirror was hanging broken, so I couldn't see where the thing was.

I yelled, "Don't shoot the deer!"

We were coming back to the underpass. I thought the green man had climbed around to the passenger side — I could see a dark shape in the outside mirror. I veered back into the median and aimed for the underpass's central pillar.

Zion looked forward and shouted, "Shit! Ryder!"

We reached the pillar. I was a little closer than I'd planned to be, so we not only lost the mirror, but also some paint.

"Did I get it?" I shouted.

"I don't see anything in the road," Zion shouted back.

"I think it's still on us!" Kara yelled, sounding panicked.

"Can you see it?"

"No!"

Shit. Plus we were driving the wrong way on the interstate. Good thing it was the middle of the night. A truck barreled past us, horn booming. No one was keeping up our invisi-shield, I guess.

I slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel, aiming to do one of those powerslide turns you see in the movies. Instead we spun out and ended up sideways, halfway off the shoulder. Heart pounding, I turned back onto the road and gunned it.

"Where is it?" I yelled.

Zion and Kara were huddled toward the center of the vehicle, one watching the passenger side and the other the driver's side. I glanced in the only mirror we still had, on the driver's side. Nothing along the outside of the car, there.

"It's in! It's in!" Kara shrieked.

"Get down!" Zion shouted, and opened fire.

Ears ringing, I risked a look back and saw the horrid thing flowing over the ruined rear window, right into the space where the deer was lying. I jerked the minivan into the median and stopped. We all piled out and ran around to the back of the van. Zion had her gun trained on what was left of the rear door. Kara gave her gun to me and got out her phone.

"Zion. Don't shoot her."

"Like hell I won't," she said, her voice shaking.

"I'm serious. That's my sister-in-law. Don't."

The Porsche roared up, and Williams and Graham jumped out.

Something moved inside the van, rocking it slightly. Then a dark shaped leapt out and hit the ground running. Williams reached out and the shape tumbled to the ground.

We all approached. It was the deer, but now it was the color of the green man — dull black, like a chalkboard, with shimmering patches of green where a passing headlight caught it just so. Williams had it encased in a sort of globe. I couldn't see the barrier itself, but the deer was all balled up.

Kara sat down heavily.

"Girl, that was some sick driving. Sick."

I hoped she meant "sick" in a good way.

Oddly, I didn't feel frightened. Maybe it was because I'd been the one doing things instead of getting things done to me. I remembered I hadn't felt afraid after the thing at the mill, either.

Graham and Williams turned to survey the minivan. They were holding hands. Oh my god, hilarious. I put both hands over my mouth to hold in the laughter. It was so not the time for that. If I pissed Williams off right now, I'd get to play battery instead of Graham.

The van was trashed, so we abandoned it. Williams stuffed the green-man-covered deer, still in its barrier, into the Porsche's trunk, which was already pretty full of gear. Then he and Graham got in back. I perched in between them, though there wasn't actually a seat there, just a space for drinks and doo-dads. Kara took the front passenger seat, and Zion drove.

"Sure not falling asleep anymore," she said, shaking her head. "Goddamn."

* * *

Graham lasted about an hour. Then he started to look sick and faint. I held my hand out to Williams, absolutely dreading it.

"Just relax. Let it happen," he said impatiently.

I nodded, but the advice didn't really help. If anything, realizing that he was already annoyed with me made me tenser.

Some part of him slid into me and pulled something out. The barrier he was working sprang into my awareness, small and dense and rigid in the trunk of the car. He pulled more out of me. It hurt just as much as last time, only this time it didn't stop.

"Goddamn it," he growled, frustrated.

I tried to allow it, tried to be open. Lord knows, I didn't want Justine to get away anymore than he did. But it seemed wholly out of my control. It was like I couldn't tell what he was taking, so I couldn't release it to him.

It was beyond horrible — the pain, the sense of violation. Soon enough, I was sobbing uncontrollably.

Kara leaned back between the seats.

"Beth, I'm going to sedate you, okay?"

I nodded, hiccuping and gasping. She took the arm Williams wasn't holding and injected something. Almost immediately, I loosened. I slumped back against Graham and drifted, only vaguely aware of what was happening to me. I knew it was something bad, but it didn't seem to matter much anymore.

Chapter Fifteen

I surfaced slowly. I was lying on a hard surface. Something was buzzing. Someone was bending over me. Focusing was a struggle. Annoying. I turned my face away. The floor was pleasantly cool and solid. My arms and legs felt heavy, immobile. There was a touch. Someone was touching me. I didn't want to be touched anymore. No more invasion, no more pain. I pushed away, whimpering. I felt myself held and began to struggle.

Suddenly, my head cleared. A strange man was bending over me, touching my face. He was the single most arresting person I'd ever seen. He had a languid, almost bored expression, but I also got the sense of tremendous energy running beneath the surface.

He was astonishingly beautiful — to the point of unreality. He was more like a work of art. Every lock of glossy black hair hung just so around his face. His mouth looked sculpted with light in mind, so that shadows would offset its shape. His nose was bold, faintly aquiline.

I looked into his eyes. Each brown iris contained a tawny starburst pattern, which shifted as his pupils contracted. His complexion was olive and completely even, like he'd not only never aged, but never had a pimple, never scratched a bug bite, never gotten razor burn.

He was no more human than the green man.

This must be Cordus.

I stared up at him, awestruck.

Finally, he looked away, releasing me.

"Have you stolen her capacity?" he asked.

That was definitely the super-sexy voice I'd heard on the phone. His tone reminded me of the one Graham had used when he confronted Williams and Kara in my living room — barely interested, yet menacing. So this was what Graham had been imitating. Palely.

"No, my Lord," Kara said from behind me. "She consented, but she didn't know how to share. It was hurting her, so I sedated her. She consented to that, too."

You couldn't mistake the fear in her voice.

There was one of those long pauses I remembered from talking to him on the phone. Then he looked back down at me.

"Is this true?"

I nodded.

I couldn't have spoken for the world. He terrified me in a way Williams didn't. With Williams, I was frightened of getting hurt, getting killed. Those were terrible things, but at least I could conceive of them. Cordus made me aware that I could suffer the unimaginable.

"Very well," he said.

Kara let out a shaky breath.

He straightened and moved away from me. I stood up and did a quick survey. I was in the grand entryway of what seemed to be a large, opulent house. Everything was white marble shot with pale gray. The central space was at least sixty feet across. Matching staircases swept up either side. A massive silver chandelier sparkled above us, its tiny lights irregularly spaced. It was a beautiful room, but cold and impersonal.

Kara and Zion were standing behind me. Williams and Graham were standing behind them. Neither man looked happy to be there, but the similarity stopped there. Graham was trembling and looking down, clearly frightened. Williams, in contrast, was tracking Cordus like a wolf watching its prey for weakness. Boy, talk about getting things mixed up. Like a wolf stalking a T-rex.

The deer, still wearing the green man, was standing behind everyone, as though it had bolted for the door. It was clearly immobilized. Cordus walked over to it.

"A green man, hunting one of my people, within my territory. How singular. Your ambassador will have much to explain."

He gripped the loose skin at the deer's throat and just tore the green man off of it. The deer collapsed and lay still. For a few seconds, the green man hung there like a flayed deerskin. Then it shivered into its familiar shape. Cordus had it by the neck. It dangled from his fist, for a moment, then began squirming and snapping and hissing.

Its talons caught Cordus in the side.

He flinched, then smiled and said, "That was ill-advised, young one."

The green man brought its right hand up and flexed its clawed fingers. They were tipped with Cordus's blood.

Then the creature reached across its body and, screeching, dug a chunk of flesh out of its own left arm. It dropped the tissue on the floor with a wet plop and dug out another piece.

I watched, horrified.

"Why is Lord Limu hunting this individual?" Cordus asked, drawing the green man's face close.

It continued mutilating its own arm, writhing and screaming as it did so. With a terrible shock, I realized Cordus was forcing the creature to injure itself. I swallowed convulsively, struggling not to throw up on that nice marble floor.

Cordus gazed into the green man's crazed eyes for several long minutes as it tore away chunk after chunk of its arm, until only bones and ligaments remained. He seemed wholly unbothered by its agony.

Then it started in on its belly. Cordus set it down on the floor, and we all stood there, watching it kill itself. It ripped away almost its entire abdomen before it finally died, its hoarse screams fading into whimpers, then gurgling breaths, then silence.

The stench of blood and feces was overpowering. I couldn't believe what I'd just witnessed.

Cordus said, "Mr. Williams."

Williams made a gesture, and the green man's remains drew together into a ball. He bent and picked the mass up by whatever invisible netting was holding it together, and headed outside with it.

Cordus turned to us. If he'd found something out from the creature, he didn't share it.

"You may refresh yourselves and rest in your quarters. I shall speak with you in the morning."

Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, he turned to me.

"Miss Ryder, you will attend me now."

* * *

I stood watching Cordus examine the deer. He'd had it carried to what looked like a guest bedroom and laid on the bed. He'd spent some minutes passing his hands over its body without actually touching it.

I found myself mesmerized by his fingers, which were long and graceful, like a pianist's. I was terrified of him but couldn't stop looking. My eyes strayed to his side, where his shirt was ripped and a little bloody. I wanted to touch him.

"She is alive, but weakened," he said, jolting me back to attention. "I assume her trip here was neither easy nor pleasant."

He turned to me.

"Miss Ryder, do you believe this animal to be your sister-in-law, Justine Jenson Ryder?"

God, I was going to have to talk to him.

"Um, I don't know."

I searched for something else to say.

"Zion was sure it was her."

"I sense only an animal. Odocoileus virginianus, to be exact."

He tilted his head to one side and studied me.

"Why was Zion so certain?"

Haltingly, I told him about taking Zion to Ben's house, and about her inability to sense anything other than a human woman there until I passed on the advice from Ghosteater.

Cordus observed me again in silence.

Finally he said, "'Unfinished' and 'fragment'? The beast used those words, specifically?"

"I think so. That's what I remember, anyway."

"Fascinating," he murmured, turning back to the deer.

He passed his hands over it once more without touching it and then reached down and cupped its nose in his palm.

The reaction was sudden and violent. The deer's eyes shot open and it took a great, shuddering breath. Then it exploded into hundreds of small blue spheres that looked soft, almost fluid, like globules of paint. A few more spheres popped into existence, then all of them regrouped and became Justine. She lay naked on the bed, moaning groggily. The entire transformation took maybe three seconds and made no sound whatsoever.

Slowly, I got up off the floor. I didn't feel too bad about my reaction. Even Cordus had taken a quick step back when the deer exploded. He stood there, looking down and rubbing his chin. No more bored look — I could see his eyes tracking back and forth. He was thinking furiously.

After a few seconds, he went to Justine and touched her arm. She relaxed into unconsciousness. Then he turned to me.

"Elizabeth Joy Ryder, I charge you to reveal nothing of what you have seen here. You will not speak or sing of it or depict it in a work of art. You will not encourage another to guess at it. You will not allude to it indirectly through the use of analogy or any other figure of speech. You will take no action that you suspect might violate this charge, even if I have not specifically forbade that action herein."

All that seemed to call for a formal response, so I said, "I understand."

He stared at me. "You must not only understand the charge, Miss Ryder, but agree to abide by it."

"Right. Yes, I agree," I said, flustered.

He looked around. "I shall have a second bed brought to this room. I am certain Mrs. Ryder will be confused and frightened when she wakes. Perhaps it will help if she is greeted by a familiar face."

"Okay," I said, "but she doesn't like me. I don't know how helpful it'll be to have me here."

I flushed and looked down, annoyed with myself. Why had I told him that? I didn't want him to know any more about me than he already did.

"Why does she dislike you?"

I shrugged. "Jealous of the time her husband spends with me? I don't know. It doesn't matter."

He did the head-tilt thing again.

"Perhaps she recognized you for what you are and feared you would reveal her."

That hadn't occurred to me. Huh.

"I shall leave you for the night. Members of my household will see to your needs. Until tomorrow."

He inclined his head, then turned and walked out.

I let out a long breath. Well. That hadn't been nearly as bad as I thought it would be.

Then again, the green man probably would have disagreed.

* * *

Cordus wasn't entirely right about Justine. She was confused when she woke up, all right, but "angry" would have been more accurate than "frightened." She basically just sat up in bed and started screaming at me — since I was right there, clearly the whole thing was my fault. The central points of her tirade were that I was going to jail for kidnapping and that she was going to sue me.

I wasn't surprised. I also wasn't upset — with what I'd seen in the last week and a half, Justine in full threat display just wasn't disturbing anymore.

"So," I said, when I could finally get a word in, "you don't remember turning into a deer and running off into the woods?"

She stared at me, seemingly speechless.

"You're crazy. Oh my god. You've gone crazy."

Bunching a bed sheet around herself, she got up and backed toward the door, then felt around behind herself and turned the knob without taking her eyes off me. When it opened, she darted down the hall, yelling for help.

Too bad I couldn't scare everyone else off that effectively. It'd be nice to be feared instead of fearful, for a change.

I didn't bother going after her. I had a feeling people didn't leave Cordus's home without permission. For the moment, Justine wasn't my problem. Thank god.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed but jerked my feet up when they touched cold marble. I looked around the room, which I'd been too tired to take in the night before. It was large — big enough to hold two queen-sized beds, a large sitting area, a standing mirror, a desk, and several bookcases without feeling cramped. Daylight streamed through three tall, sheer-draped windows, giving the pale carpets and bedding a soft glow and making the quartz veins in the floor glitter. The dark woods of the furniture stood out richly against the pale fabrics.

In addition to the exit, the room had two doors. Padding over to one, I found a spacious walk-in closet. The other revealed a bathroom with two sinks and a tub separate from the shower. It also had something I guessed was a bidet. The floors, counters, and walls were marble.

I stood in the entrance to the bathroom, looking around and feeling uncomfortable. The place was luxurious, yes, but it felt impersonal, like a hotel. I noticed a thermostat on the wall and went over to kick it up a few degrees, but it was already set above room temperature.

A hot bath or shower would do the trick. And since Justine was busy running around shrieking, I got first use of the bathroom. I guess there are some benefits to having people think you're nuts.

I locked myself in, then drew a bath and eased in. The water was hot and the shape of the tub was perfect. Slowly, I warmed up. I can't say I totally relaxed, but it did feel nice.

My mind bounced around and settled on Graham. He'd been so scared the night before, standing in Cordus's foyer. I remembered the look on his face. He didn't think Cordus was going to give him a true second chance. You could see it.

But he'd really helped us on the way here. Without his weird luck, the green man would've caught Justine north of Stevens Point, maybe killing one of us in the process. If it'd gotten her then, Williams never would've been able to keep a shield on her long enough to reach Cordus. Apparently I could give him enough power for an hour or two, but for twelve? Surely not.

And Graham had nearly let Williams drain him, too. Well, maybe he didn't have a choice. Kara had said it was hard to limit what someone took, once you let them in.

I sighed and shifted in the tub. I felt bad about Graham. Yeah, he'd been up to something, but after what I'd seen Cordus do to the green man the night before, I wasn't sure I blamed him. If you worked for a monster, betraying your boss was understandable — maybe even laudable.

But the way Graham went about the betrayal endangered others, I reminded myself. That was profoundly selfish. I shouldn't make him out to be some noble freedom-fighter.

Then again, he hadn't intended to endanger anyone. He'd assumed no one would find out about the strait.

But what about lying to me and trying to seduce me? If he'd been on the up and up with me, the thing with the strait might seem more like a one-time lapse, less like a larger pattern of deceitfulness.

Damn.

The bath had relaxed me too much — it had let some stuff come up that I really would rather not have thought about. After all, what could I do?

There was a fluffy white robe hanging on the door. I got out and put it on. The fresh scent was comforting. I wondered if Graham had a fresh, fluffy robe in his room.

Jesus, my brain needed an "Escape" button.

When I came out, Justine was sitting on her bed, looking scared. A tall, muscular white woman was guarding the door. She looked to be in her late thirties, and I could see she'd lived through some serious injuries. One particularly nasty scar ran from her jaw up into her hairline, pulling her left eye a little askew. She was almost as tough-looking as Williams. Maybe she did the same kind of work. No wonder Justine looked scared.

When she spoke, though, she sounded calm and rational — not exactly friendly, but certainly not psychotic.

"I'm Gwen. You're Elizabeth?"

"Yeah. Hi."

She nodded civilly. "The staff brought both of you some breakfast and some clothes that should fit. Lord Cordus will visit you soon, so you'd both better eat and get dressed."

She gestured at the untouched breakfast tray on Justine's lap. A similar one was waiting on my bed.

"Cordus?" Justine said in a strange tone.

Gwen and I both turned to look at her. She'd visibly relaxed, and the expression on her face was sort of vacant.

"You know Lord Cordus?" I asked.

She frowned. "I don't know." Her eyes roved around, as though searching for some lost thing. "No," she decided, "but he sounds trustworthy."

She started tucking into her breakfast.

"Mmm, this is good."

I looked back at Gwen. "Did you tell her anything about Lord Cordus?"

She shook her head, looking a little perplexed.

Well, whatever. Cordus could work it out.

* * *

As it turned out, he couldn't. Justine seemed perfectly relaxed in his presence, even happy to see him, yet maintained that she'd never laid eyes on him. She claimed to have no memory of running away or of turning into a deer. The very idea clearly struck her as ludicrous. Such things were simply impossible, and even if they weren't, she was a normal woman — they were impossible for her.

And yet, when Cordus mentioned returning to Dorf, she blanched and said she couldn't.

On the other hand, she couldn't come up with a reason why not.

"I just can't," she said, shaking her head and trembling.

The three of us were perched in the suite's sitting area. Cordus had shown up about half an hour after I came out of the bathroom. Gwen had opened the door for him, then left. He'd questioned Justine extensively, while politely declining to answer any of her questions or to let her call Ben.

"Would you feel safer," Cordus said slowly, "if I were to tell you that the green man is dead?"

Justine again visibly relaxed but at the same time said, "Who's the green man?" A second later she said, "I still can't go home."

Then she accused me again of having kidnapped her and flirtatiously asked Cordus to have me arrested.

He sighed, then reached over and casually brushed his fingers over the back of Justine's hand. Instantly, she slumped over, asleep.

Okay, that was unnerving.

He sat back, legs crossed, and gently bounced his foot, thinking.

Finally he said, "I do not know what to make of Mrs. Ryder. I believe she is telling the truth when she denies any knowledge of me or of what she calls the 'supernatural,' yet her own body gives signs of the very knowledge she denies." He looked up at me. "What are your thoughts?"

"You're asking me?" I couldn't help sounding incredulous.

"Miss Ryder," he said with patience, "you are the only other person who witnessed Mrs. Ryder's transformation early this morning. Thus, you are uniquely positioned to help."

He leaned back again, waiting for my response.

I didn't think the transformation had told me anything except that Justine really was a Second, but I tried to put on my thinking cap. It was either that or sit there staring at him, and if I did that any longer, I was going to have to start thinking about why I was staring.

"Well, it sort of seems like someone erased her memory but didn't get everything. Is that possible?"

He steepled his fingers and watched me. Suddenly I felt like I was being tested.

"There are those who can manipulate memory," he said, "but none I know would do so incomplete a job."

I thought again.

"Well, she seems to be made of those blue ball things. What if they got put back together in the wrong order, and it messed up her memory?"

"An intriguing possibility," he said. He kept bouncing the foot, though, so I guessed I was expected to come up with a third idea.

"Maybe she's hypnotized herself not to remember certain things."

That sounded pretty lame, even to me, but Cordus looked thoughtful. He tapped his index fingers together in time with his bouncing foot for a while.

The way he used his body was striking. He seemed to cycle between rhythmic motions and intense, pointed stillness. The motion hypnotized me. Then I'd get pinned by the sudden, unexpected focusing of his attention.

Even as I had that thought, he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, freezing me in place.

"None of your suggestions account for all the facets of the situation, Miss Ryder, but they are useful nonetheless."

I shifted uneasily under his gaze. Talk about lukewarm praise.

"So," I said, taking the bull by the horns, "what sort of being is she, exactly? I mean, the green man could spread itself all over someone like a second skin, but even it had flesh and blood inside when you... um..."

I just stopped, unable to come up with a phrase that didn't sound judgmental.

He looked at me for quite a while. I started to worry.

Finally he said, "Miss Ryder, you will need to learn that it is considered impolite to ask 'what sort of being' a Second might be. We are, each of us, what we are. Some of us are unique in our persons and abilities, while others, such as the green men, breed true and have produced a group of similar individuals."

I must have looked chastened, because he dismissed my faux pas with a wave.

"I know that you do not yet understand such issues of etiquette. I sought to educate, not to criticize. To answer your question — which is, of course, quite relevant — Mrs. Ryder is likely among the unique. I have never encountered another like her."

"That said," he continued, "I am not old, even among human-derived Seconds, so there may be much I have not yet encountered."

I was surprised by his candor.

"Is it rude to ask someone's age, too?"

"Yes. Extremely."

An uncomfortable silence ensued.

After some time, he said, "Do you have cause to believe Mrs. Ryder is the biological mother of her children?"

"Maybe. I think her youngest might be one of us," I said, remembering how Ghosteater had sought out Madisyn.

"By 'one of us,' do you mean the child is a Nolander?"

I nodded and tried to suppress a grimace. Kara hadn't made it up — they really did think of us as homeless floaters. The realization immediately shifted the dynamic between Cordus and me, reminding me that this was not a conversation between equals, or between teacher and student, or even between employer and employee. He was the master, and I had no rights.

"Nolanders account for slightly more than one in one hundred thousand human births," he continued, "so for another to appear in your small town is statistically unlikely. That said, the potential can run in families, so perhaps your brother is the source of your niece's ability."

"I guess."

I doubted it, though. I was pretty sure Ben couldn't do anything out of the ordinary. If he could, he'd sure kept it quiet. But maybe the curse could skip a generation or only appeared in the family's women. Who knows?

After another bout of quiet thought, Cordus stood and told me he expected me to make a court appearance that evening. At first my mind jumped to the idea of legal proceedings, but then I remembered Zion mentioning he had a court, like a monarch. It would be hard to imagine something less up my alley.

"That sounds great, but I don't have anything to wear," I said, hoping for an easy out.

"My staff will prepare you appropriately."

I nodded, trying not to look grim.

"What about Justine?"

"She will be moved to another room and will remain there, under guard, until I understand why she prompted the green man's incursion into my lands."

What about Graham? I thought to myself, but I didn't say it.

He touched Justine to awaken her, then inclined his head politely to me and left.

Surprisingly, I only had to listen to Justine's accusations and complaints for fifteen minutes before Cordus's staffers showed up to move her out and get me ready. That didn't strike me as a good sign — he'd said I'd be going to court in the "evening," and it wasn't quite 2:00 in the afternoon. How much preparation did I need?

* * *

The answer: a lot. Cordus's staff was more like an army. At least five people had been working on me, and it had been hours. They wove around one another like needles, darting in and out, stitching together a new me.

Six hours later, I had been given another bath. My hair had been cut, styled, and pinned in a loose up-do. My brows had been plucked. My finger- and toenails and cuticles had been shaped and, oddly, oiled lightly rather than polished. Every inch of my skin had been gone over with tweezers, exfoliators, and moisturizers.

I had been made up meticulously. My pale skin was completely even. Every blemish had been eradicated, not with makeup but by an actual healer — I guess Kara wasn't the only one with that gift. My lips were a muted pink, only a little different from their actual color. What at first seemed like an odd combination of smoky and light pink eye shadow made my gray eyes look arrestingly pale and strange, instead of boring.

The dress they put on me was like nothing I'd ever seen, much less worn. It was made mostly of muted black silk that hugged my upper torso, was belted loosely with a ribbon, then fell in a soft sheath to the floor. A high side slit showed a substantial amount of leg. The thin shoulder straps and the breast were a creamy sliver color and were finely detailed with delicate crystal-and-pearl florets. The unadorned black body of the dress made the decorative top stand out beautifully. The top, in turn, made me stand out quite nicely, pressing up my modest breasts and making the most of them with a tastefully small v-shaped central slit. It didn't so much show cleavage as suggest it.

The dress was matched with a pair of open-back black satin pumps with a slender t-strap. Small leaves created from tiny white gems were scattered down the central strap and across the tops of the toes. The shoes put me within a couple inches of six feet, which was cool. So long as I didn't fall down.

Despite the obvious expense of everything else, the sheer black thigh-highs were somehow the biggest shock. I'd never worn that kind of stocking before. They felt perverse — like they'd been invented for the sole purpose of letting you have sex without taking off a scrap of clothing.

The stockings exemplified how strange I felt as I stood in front of the mirror, ogling myself. If I'd seen yesterday, hanging on a wall somewhere, a framed picture of what I was seeing now, I truly wouldn't have recognized myself.

It was disconcerting.

In the last few days, I'd found out that I was someone different on the inside than I thought I was — potentially powerful but flawed, not free, maybe not mentally ill but maybe not quite human. Now who I thought I was on the outside had vanished as well. I mean, even if I came back to my room tonight, showered, and put my jeans and sweater back on, I'd always know I could look like this.

I turned this way and that. Maybe my womanly sensuality and power had been brought to the fore, giving me a whole new set of weapons.

Or maybe I'd just been gussied up into high-class arm candy.

I thought the latter was a lot more likely.

* * *

I heard a low whistle from the doorway and looked up. Kara and Zion had come to collect me. Both were gawking.

"You look really different," Zion finally said.

I wasn't sure it was a compliment.

Kara elbowed her.

"What Zion means is you look totally hot."

Zion shook her head. "Not 'hot.' 'Hot' sounds trashy. That isn't trashy."

A tailor was still on his knees making the last alterations to my dress. Zion and Kara stood there watching him work.

I could tell that neither of them had had the benefit of the full "staff" treatment. Kara was wearing a pretty little black cocktail dress and heels. The dress had a slender line of white ribbon running along the neckline. It looked really nice on her, showing off her great curves without revealing too much, but even I could tell it wasn't an expensive outfit, and it hadn't been custom fitted.

Zion had probably sunk quite a bit more into her vintage black flapper dress and strappy heels. Plus, she was wearing a truly extraordinary diamond barrette in her long hair. Given the Porsche, I was guessing the stones were real. The dress hung beautifully on her tall, lean frame. Strings of tiny black glass beads tinkled all over it as she moved. It was really striking. She also had a fur coat, whereas Kara's was wool.

But I had a feeling what I was wearing could buy the best house in Dorf. Maybe the second- and third-best houses, too, with the Porsche thrown in as a bonus. And there was all the special attention to my skin, hair, and makeup, too.

I started feeling like some 4-H kid's hog going to its first county fair. I'd been washed and brushed like crazy, and now I was going to be paraded around so the judges could assess the depth and leanness of my ham. I was Cordus's latest acquisition. He was going to show me off to my best advantage — or rather, to his best advantage.

Zion must've noticed the look on my face.

"Court appearances get easier after the first one."

I nodded, appreciating the effort. Zion was a tough customer. She probably didn't put on the comforting hat very often.

I noticed Kara didn't say anything, though she did give me a little smile and a shrug when I caught her eye. She looked pale, actually.

"You okay, Kara? Are you back to normal now?"

"Not really. I mean, I'm okay to be up and around, but I need another day or two to be a hundred percent."

The tailor finished working on the dress and went over to the huge rolling wardrobe he'd brought with him. He pulled out a coat made of some short, glossy black fur.

"Let's get this show on the road," Kara said, squaring her shoulders. The tailor helped me into the coat, and Zion, Kara, and I headed down the hall. After a few steps, I realized Kara was shaking. Either she was less well than she'd said, or she was terrified.

* * *

I had imagined Cordus "held court" in some ballroom in the huge house we'd been staying in, but the coats suggested otherwise. Kara and Zion walked me down three floors, into an underground basement, through a tunnel, and then up into a massive garage. We found the Porsche and headed out. Several other cars had left just before us. I could see their tail lights winding downhill as we drove away from the house.

The drive was pleasant — mostly woodlands, with an occasional development or shopping center on the right.

As we drove, Kara gave me some pointers. Some seemed like common sense: don't stare at Seconds; don't touch them; be polite and deferential. Some were less obvious: don't ask any questions, not even in making small talk; don't withdraw from a conversation without leave; never show surprise; don't eat or drink unless they do; don't turn your back on them unless you're at least ten feet away; don't agree to do anything for them.

"What if they ask me to point them to the bathroom or to get them a drink?" I said.

She shook her head. "Definitely don't get them anything to eat or drink. And they can find the bathroom on their own. Just say you don't know."

Zion added, "Say something like, 'I'll just ask Lord Cordus which of his wines he thinks you would like best.' That tells them you're onto their game. Unless they're looking for an excuse to get into it with him, they'll back down."

I'd never felt more like a rube. If I get out of this alive, I thought, I'll be surprised.

The traffic didn't seem heavy, though I knew we must be close to New York City. After about fifteen minutes, we crossed what Kara said was the G.W. Bridge, then took a highway that put the river out our right window. Unfortunately, I couldn't see much — just the twinkle of lights on the far side.

We went around a traffic circle and dove into the city proper. I'd never seen anything like it. The buildings pressed in on us from all sides, and there were cars everywhere, especially taxis. They seemed to have no sense of a safe distance from other vehicles. I was constantly sure one was going to clip us.

Although it was night, the streets were brightly illuminated. Everyone here must have to get black-out curtains for their windows.

Perhaps strangest to my eye was the lack of greenery. Small trees dotted the sidewalks, or lined the center median, but mostly it was stone atop stone, punctuated with metal. It all looked hard and alien.

Our destination turned out to be an imposing building, massive and boxy on the bottom, but topped with slender matching towers. It curved partway round a big traffic circle. The many lighted rectangular windows gave it a stacked look that reminded me of Legos.

We turned onto a street that ran along one side of the building. I'd thought from the front that it contained commercial space, but the entrance we pulled up to looked residential.

A valet, a buff young Asian guy, was waiting to take the car. He gave me an appreciative look as I stepped out. I felt myself blush.

"Hey, Koji," Zion said as she got out of the car. "Not going to scratch her up, are you?"

Koji eyeballed the Porsche. "Fugly car like that, you should thank me if I did."

"Huh. I hear envy."

"Not even. That thing looks like a station wagon."

Zion snorted. "You get your GT-R yet?"

"Naw. Almost ready to take the plunge, though. Any day now."

"Perfect car for you, Koji — a ricer for a..."

"Don't say it, woman. Your hotness will not save you."

She grinned.

"Hey," she said, sobering up, "anything we should know?"

Koji glanced around, then said quietly, "Lady Innin's up there."

"Seriously?" Kara asked.

"Yep. Keep your heads down."

Zion grimaced. "Thanks."

At that point, Koji looked at me over Zion's shoulder, so she turned and introduced me. I put my hand out to shake and blushed all over again when he swept it up dramatically and kissed it, then winked at me.

A doorman let us in. Zion and Kara seemed to know him, too, but didn't stop to chat. He took us into an elevator, using a special key to send it to a top floor.

After he stepped out, the doors closed and the elevator began to rise sluggishly. To pass the time, I asked if Koji and the doorman were Nolanders.

"Yeah," Zion said. "Couldn't you feel it when you touched Koji's hand?"

I shook my head.

"That's... strange," Zion said, looking appalled.

"She also can't see workings," Kara said. "Halfings, yeah, but not workings. Weird, huh?"

"Yeah," Zion said. "I've never heard of that happening."

She looked me over, eyebrows knit. I felt like someone with a rare disease surrounded by astonished medical students.

"Graham didn't even try to do something about it — just tested her for gifts. As if she'd get a gift before seeing workings. Can you believe that?"

"I don't think he knew..."

Zion cut me off. "Sure I can believe it. He didn't want her looking into that strait you had sitting open up there, right? You can't see workings, you can't see a strait — simple as that."

Kara looked stunned. Then her surprise turned to anger.

"That bastard! He really was trying to get us killed."

"What does seeing workings have to do with knowing someone's a Nolander?" I said, feeling uncomfortable and hoping to get them off the subject of Graham.

Still steaming, Kara explained that normally you can get a general feel for someone else's capacity to work essence by touching them.

"It's like your power senses their power. You can definitely tell if they're a Nolander or not. Sometimes you can tell how strong they are, especially if they're weaker than you. That's why you won't see Seconds touching each other very often — not skin to skin."

"I guess that's another way my development's screwed up."

"I'm sure it'll be okay," Kara said.

"Do you think I'll get a replacement trainer?"

Zion cleared her throat. "I heard Lord Cordus wants to teach you himself."

Kara shot me a glance that was pure horror, then quickly looked away.

"As for telling who's a Nolander," Zion said, filling the uncomfortable silence, "just look for black clothes. Seconds don't like wearing black, so that's what we wear at events where we'll be mixing with them. Those of us with significant power wear a little silver or white, like my barrette or the trim on Kara's dress, but that's it."

Koji and the doorman had both been wearing all black. I looked down at the beautiful beaded top of my dress. Not only were the straps whitish, but the top four or so inches of the dress were, too.

"Yeah," Kara said, following my gaze. "That's a lot of white."

"Am I going to get in trouble?" I would've thought Cordus's staff knew the rules.

Zion shook her head. "If that's what Lord Cordus's staff put on you, that's what he wants you to wear." She paused. "It just means you're very strong — the more white, the more power. He's decided to advertise your potential."

"I wonder how much white he'd put on Callie. If he ever got her down here, I mean," Kara mused, looking at my dress.

Before I could think of anything else to say, the doors hissed open. The elevator, along with several others, emptied onto a marble hallway. There were attendants waiting at one end to take our coats. They both looked like tough customers, so I guessed they functioned as guards, too.

After handing off my fur, I followed Zion through a short hallway into a large room, with Kara trailing behind.

I'd been vaguely imagining some medieval scene — everyone standing around watching Cordus sitting on a dais at the end of some ornately decorated hall. Maybe he'd even be on a throne, like a king.

What I'd walked into looked more like a hoity-toity cocktail party. We were in what seemed to be a very large living room. It stretched dozens of feet to both the right and left. The floor was carpeted, and people were standing around in clusters, chatting and drinking. Some were seated at various furniture groupings. Some stood alone or with just one other, near the walls. A few were standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows, taking in the cityscape. I couldn't see much, with all the people in the way, but it seemed we were up pretty high.

The good news was that no one paid us the slightest attention when we came in. The bad news was that the room was full of Seconds. Most had a human shape, but some were bizarre, and a few were terrifying.

I saw a green man standing off to the right. The fact that it was holding a glass of wine and talking to someone made it all the more disturbing. Something in the room's lighting made its skin fluoresce green all over, as though it were made of foil. Or maybe it could control the effect and was showing off.

I saw a snowman that reminded me, with a sharp twinge, of Bob. The snowman was speaking to something that looked like a small dragon.

Across the room, a towering, pale pink, batlike creature hulked near the windows. I could see its grossly long folded arms, pouchy with membranous wings, jutting up above the heads of those standing nearby. I was staring at it, so of course it looked my way. Incongruously, it had the face of a jowly old man, complete with rheumy eyes and a thin, gray comb-over. I quickly looked away.

"Big crowd," Kara said softly at my shoulder.

I nodded. Zion moved away, into the press, but I stood there frozen.

Even the human-shaped Seconds were clearly other to my eyes. As with Cordus's impossible beauty, there was something about each of them that was off. The more I looked at them, the more disturbing they became. They were the non-human stuffed into almost-human packaging. It was eerie, wrong. The idea of walking among them was frightening.

Kara moved forward and took my arm. Again, I could feel her shaking.

"Come on, let's get a drink," she said.

We threaded our way through the crowd to a small bar set up in one corner. Kara introduced me to the barkeep, a pleasant-looking middle-aged white guy dressed all in black. His name was Hank. He too gave me an admiring once-over. My feeling of being on display intensified.

Glasses of white wine in hand, we moved to the windows. The view was stunning. Directly ahead, we looked down on several smaller skyscrapers, then a mixture of tall buildings and smaller ones. Looking slightly left, far taller buildings marched away for blocks and blocks, including some that looked familiar, even to a girl from small-town Wisconsin.

"That's the Empire State Building," Kara said helpfully.

I could see the top of it clearly, bathed in white light. We stood for a few minutes in silence. Kara kept bringing her glass to her lips, then lowering it. I imagined she really wanted to down it, but kept reminding herself it wouldn't be a good idea. That was certainly what I was thinking.

The reflection of movement behind us caught my eye. I looked back to see the snowman I'd noticed earlier looming over us.

"You are Elizabeth Ryder, are you not?" it rumbled.

"Yes," I answered, bowing my head in a way I hoped looked respectful. I felt Kara draw closer behind me.

The snowman observed me quietly for several seconds. It made me uncomfortable, but at least there was nothing overtly sexual in its perusal.

"I have heard that you brought death to one of my people," it said at last.

I looked up at its face. Its expression was not as neutral as its voice had been. Despite the inhumanity of its features, I could see sadness there.

I teared up. I couldn't help it.

"I guess I did," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Will you offer no reason?"

I explained about the photograph I'd taken of Bob's foot and how it'd been passed around in Pete's Eats.

The creature sighed. "A more absurd cause of death can hardly be imagined. Who ordered the execution, and who carried it out?"

"With all due respect, Lady Ambassador," Kara said from behind me, "that's something you should probably take up with Lord Cordus."

The snowman's eyes flicked briefly over my shoulder at her, then focused on me again.

"I certainly shall. But for now I am asking Miss Ryder."

I took a deep breath. "All I've heard is hearsay. I won't pass that along as though it were fact. I'm sorry."

Kara stopped breathing. I felt her take hold of my elbow.

"Perhaps this is an issue we should discuss privately, Lady Ambassador," a super-sexy voice said from behind the snowman.

The creature stepped aside with surprising grace, revealing Cordus.

"Gnaeus Cornelius Marci Filius Cordus," it said, and bowed. "I will look forward to discussing the fate of my kinsman, at your convenience."

It nodded at Kara and me, inclined its head to Cordus, and moved away.

Cordus turned toward us.

"Elizabeth Joy Ryder, you look quite lovely," he said, looking me slowly up and down.

You'd think I'd have been used to it by that point, but I blushed hotly. His eyes dwelt on my face and neck, perhaps enjoying my evident embarrassment. Usually I looked down when I blushed, since it made me so self-conscious, but I couldn't take my eyes off him. I just stared back.

Finally, his eyes shifted over my shoulder.

"Kara Dolores Sanchez," he said in a different voice, one that tugged at my insides even though it wasn't directed at me.

Kara gasped, and her hand tightened painfully on my arm. I felt her press her face against my bare shoulder. Cordus let the moment hang. He seemed to be enjoying it.

Then he smiled slightly and said, "I would speak with Miss Ryder alone."

Cut free, Kara wrenched herself away from me and stumbled off into the crowd.

Cordus watched her go, then turned back to me. He was wearing a slim-cut white shirt and dark pants. I absolutely was not going to look down to get more specific than that on the color. My heart was still racing from catching the edge of what he'd directed at Kara.

"You handled your interaction with the Lady Ambassador reasonably well, Miss Ryder," he said. "However, the death of the ice man in Wisconsin is not your responsibility. You had no cause to apologize."

Burgundy. His pants were burgundy.

God, what was wrong with me?

"On the next such occasion, it would be best simply to refer the matter to me, as Miss Sanchez attempted."

Huh. It would've been nice if he'd complimented Kara, rather than tormenting her and then praising her once she was gone.

"Come," he said, holding out his arm.

I really didn't want to touch him, but there wasn't much choice. I settled my hand on his forearm — which was covered by his shirtsleeve, thank god — and followed along as he led me through the crowd.

Over the next two hours, he stopped and spoke to at least twenty guests. He greeted each one formally, but the long names quickly blended together in my mind. Not a single one of them addressed me, but most seemed to notice me. Several gave my dress a pointed look. A few others revealed displeasure before schooling their features.

They all made me nervous, but the last — a tiny, caramel-complexioned woman with curly black hair and pretty, delicate features — was the only one who really scared me. She was wearing a pair of loose blood-red pants and a matching sleeveless top. The female Seconds seemed to prefer gowns, so her look stood out. They also seemed to like height, but this one was making no effort to look taller than her five-foot-nothing: she was wearing red beaded flats.

She studied me very directly as Cordus greeted her, which the others hadn't done. Finally she turned to him and nodded, greeting him by name.

Then, apropos of nothing, she said, "I will give you Florida for this one."

I was shocked, then flooded with horror. I didn't want to go with that woman, whoever she was. I glanced at Cordus and saw that he was quite surprised himself. He'd actually arched an eyebrow.

A pained silence ensued. Was he considering it? Surely it was a good deal — I couldn't really be worth a whole state.

Finally he said, "Thank you for so handsome an offer, my Lady, but I must decline."

Then he stood there chatting with the woman. She wasn't much of a small-talker, so the conversation was a bit stilted. Maybe she just had trouble keeping up her end because she was so busy staring at me like I was a prize steer.

Cordus finally moved on from the tiny woman. Instead of greeting another guest, he steered me to a dark corner, where a large someone in all black was standing. It was Williams. Great.

"Miss Ryder needs to rest," Cordus said to him. "Keep her company."

Cordus smiled briefly at me — Good girl, I imagined him saying — and moved back off into the crowd. I was left standing there awkwardly.

Well, whatever. At least Williams was human. Sort of.

"Do you know who that small, black-haired woman is?" I asked him.

"Lady Innin."

Shit, the one Koji'd mentioned.

"Is she someone important?"

"She controls the Caribbean and the Gulf — Florida, eastern Mexico, Central America, northern South America."

Wow. I wondered if she was more powerful than Cordus. I felt chilled.

"She just offered to trade Florida for me."

Williams turned and looked at me. Perhaps I'd actually surprised him. Or maybe not. After a few seconds, he shrugged and said, "Florida's gonna be underwater in fifty years, anyway."

No doubt he was trying to be an asshole, but it struck me as funny. Or maybe laughter was just my response to stress. Whatever the reason, I had to clap my hands over my mouth and turn to the wall until I got a handle on myself.

Not much happened for the remainder of the evening. Kara found her way back to me, and we hung out quietly near Williams. Gwen and Zion both drifted by, drinks in hand. Just to be sure, I asked Kara if Graham was there.

"Are you kidding? That sonovabitch is in a world of hurt. No way Lord Cordus is letting him out to play."

I saw the memory of our elevator conversation flit across her face. She frowned.

"Ratfink bastard."

I stifled the impulse to defend him. What did I know? Maybe he'd been negligent not to realize I didn't start seeing workings along with halfings.

After another hour or so, guests began to leave. Eventually, only Cordus and his people were left. Cordus headed into his study to make some calls, and the rest of us hung out in the living room while our cars were brought around.

I got to put names to some new faces. In addition to Hank, there were two other bartenders, Hortensia and Bud. Kristin, James, and Rafiki had been circulating with drinks and hors d'oeuvre. Mary and Valerie had been working in the kitchen. The bruisers taking coats were Andy and Theo.

Looking around at everyone, I started to get a sense of how things worked. Nolanders with less strength or power, or whatever you called it, did lower-status jobs: the waiters, caterers, and bartenders were all wearing all black. Koji and the doorman, who was named Grant, had been too. I'd bet Cordus's estate staff were in the same category.

In contrast, Kara, Zion, Gwen, and I, who were all wearing some white, had been circulating freely among the guests. Andy and Theo, the coat-checkers-slash-guards, were also wearing white — folded pocket handkerchiefs and silver cufflinks. Maybe we were the security detail, or maybe we were just assets to show off.

Though everyone seemed to know one another and be friendly, I noticed that people tended to group according to clothing color. Maybe the members of each group worked with one another more often and had gotten to know each other better.

As the rest of us talked, Williams leaned against the far wall, looking down. He seemed to be profoundly antisocial.

I realized as I watched him that he was an exception to the color-coding — he'd been circulating, but his clothes were all black.

Grant called up to let us know the Porsche was ready, so Zion, Kara, and I got in the elevator. It went down a lot faster than it had gone up.

When we saw the car, it appeared to have a big scrape along the driver's side. It turned out to be masking tape — Koji had put it there to see Zion's reaction. Everyone had a good laugh except Zion, who cuffed Koji on the back of the head. Not hard, though. I could tell she was only pretending to be mad.

* * *

As we crossed the bridge out of the city, I asked Kara and Zion whether they ever hung out with any of the dressed-all-in-black people.

"I'd sure like to hang out more with Koji — he's hot," Kara said. "But I guess it can get a little weird with them sometimes. They're all pretty nice, though," she added.

"How about you, Zion?"

"I don't 'hang out' with any of you people. We're coworkers, not friends."

"Fuck you," Kara said. "That's stupid. There's no one else for us to be friends with."

Zion shrugged. Kara chewed her out a little more, then lapsed into resentful silence. After a minute or two, she said something else pissy.

Zion lost her temper. "You know what, Kara? You need to grow the fuck up."

"What does that mean? You think you're too good for everyone else?"

"What do you think this is, high school? Like we're in different cliques or something? You people are fucking blind."

I was more curious than offended.

"Blind? What do you mean?"

Zion rolled her eyes. "Lord Cordus gives some of us higher status and makes us advertise it to the others. That breaks us into groups that resent each other — we resent the weaklings for not doing the dangerous work, and they resent us because they're menial labor and get paid a lot less. So now there're factions instead of unity. That makes us all easier to control. See?"

The resulting silence was profound.

Finally Kara said, skeptically, "He pays us more?"

"He pays you more if you ask, dumbass. You should be making twice as much as me — you're at least that much stronger. Instead you're probably making what Grant makes."

The genius of Cordus's system started to become clear to me.

"So," I said, "to get the extra pay, you have to ask to be treated better than the others. That means you're the one who has to go to him and claim they're not your equals."

"Got it in one. Bonus for the new girl."

"But why?" Kara said, sounding choked up. "Why would you do that? We're not better than them. I'm not better than you. Beth's not better than me."

"Seriously. That part of the system would fall apart if no one asked him for the raise," I said.

"Who should I answer first," Zion said angrily. "The woman who drives a twenty-year-old Pontiac, or the one who can't afford a car at all?"

"Zion, that is so fucked up. I don't even know you. Jesus Fucking Christ."

Kara slumped back in her seat.

I was still thinking through Cordus's system.

"He gives the strongest people the most perks. That makes them feel more invested in the status quo. That makes sense, since they'd be the most dangerous to him if they rebelled."

"'Rebelled'? We can't rebel — don't even think about it," Zion said. "He would crush us all without lifting a finger."

We stopped at a light, and she turned to give us both a hard stare.

"You two need to get it through your heads that there's nothing we can do about our situation. Lord Cordus can do whatever he wants with us. At least the weak ones live to be old. The three of us are going to live short lives, and we're going to die hard. We'll be lucky to make it out of our twenties. All we can do is try to enjoy what we can, while we can. There's nothing else."

Kara didn't say anything. She'd crossed her arms and drawn her knees up to her chest, physically withdrawing from the conversation.

I thought about Williams. I wondered if he was resisting the system by not wearing white. Maybe he was a little smarter than he looked. Or maybe he was just contrary.

"It seems like Williams gets away with ducking the clothing thing," I said. "He's got to have enough strength to wear white, but he wasn't tonight."

"Yeah, well, Williams is Williams," Zion said. "I don't know why Lord Cordus lets him get away with that shit. He sure wouldn't stand for it from me. Wearing white isn't a choice."

"Is his ability with barriers rare and useful, like Callie's precognition?"

Zion frowned. "I don't think so. He's great with barriers, and that's definitely useful, but most of us can do at least a little barrier work, and there are some others with real strength in that area, like Andy. Callie's literally one in a thousand. Williams isn't."

She thought some more. "He does have a lot of raw strength. Second only to Callie, probably. Maybe that's it."

Third is more like it, I thought, remembering how Graham had broken through Williams's barrier to attack me.

I sat back and let the Porsche's muted rumble seep through me.

I could understand Kara's horrified reaction. What Cordus was doing was so wrong that it was hard to put into words.

But I could also understand Zion's position. I'd seen what had happened to Callie, and I'd noticed how scarred up Gwen and Williams were. And how young everyone seemed to be — Gwen was definitely the oldest person wearing white. The lives of those who hunted Seconds were probably nasty, brutish, and short. Why not enjoy what small pleasures you could?

It all hinged on whether Cordus really was as unbeatable as Zion said. If he was, then resistance would be nothing but a symbolic sacrifice, and no one was likely to do that. But if he wasn't unbeatable, then colluding with him wasn't nearly so forgivable.

Chapter Sixteen

The next morning, I received a letter from Cordus. I could tell from the initialing that it had been typed by a secretary for his signature. It informed me that I was to consider myself a member of his household until further notice. I was not allowed to leave the premises without permission. I was being given that day to wrap up my pre-existing affairs. My wages would be $32,000 per annum, from which my monthly room and board of $2,000 would be deducted. My household membership came with a credit card and a fancy cell phone, which were attached to the letter in a padded envelope. The card was for pre-approved work expenses only. A list of recommended clothing items was also attached — mostly things I'd put in the "business casual" category, though I noticed with a chill that black undergarments were included.

Cordus had added a hand-written note at the bottom: he would be conducting my formal training, and it would begin the following morning. Gwen would be in touch with me about the specifics of my schedule.

I put down the letter and its attachments and just sat there. I'd kept repeating to myself that I had to confront my new reality. But now that reality had been given paper form and slipped under my door, and it clearly had no room for any part of who I'd been — not my house, my job, my family, my friends, or even my existing wardrobe.

I resented it profoundly.

Also, it scared me.

I sat there, expecting the thought of my future to trigger a panic attack, but it didn't. It occurred to me that I hadn't had one in a while. I hoped that Graham had been right and that I didn't have true panic disorder after all.

That's a pretty big silver lining, I told myself. Maybe I'm losing a lot, but that's a huge gain.

It was hard to think positively, though. The losses were too big and too new.

Sighing, I picked the letter back up, wondering how much I could get done today. I turned it over and jotted down a to-do list that started with "quit job" and ended with "black panties."

If I knocked enough things off the list this morning, maybe I could go shopping. The letter said a percentage of my salary could be advanced if I needed funds for clothes or other essentials. I thought of the $1,200 I'd been carrying around in my wallet for the last week. If I spent it carefully, hopefully it would be enough. I didn't want to ask Cordus for an advance. He might decide to treat it as a request for a raise.

Okay, top of the list. I sat there for a while thinking about various lies I could tell the people back in Dorf, especially Ben and Dr. Nielsen. It was hard to come up with something that sounded even vaguely reasonable. In the end, I decided to keep it as simple as possible — I was very upset about having been attacked in my own home and had decided to leave Dorf for a while until I got over the experience. I didn't know where I was going to go, and I'd rather not have people contact me.

Given my well known mental illness, an extreme reaction like that might seem plausible, at least to some people. I went over the story several times in my head, then decided to let it sit for a while, while I did other things.

Cordus's letter had included a mailing address I could use — a post-office box. I used the cell phone to file a mail-forwarding order online. Then I stopped my home phone service and changed the mailing address for my gas-and-electric bill.

I called the Ohio State Highway Patrol and reported my car stolen. I got a call back twenty minutes later: my car had already been found. Maybe Williams hadn't bothered with an invisi-shield, or maybe it had expired. I thanked the trooper and told her I wouldn't be reclaiming the car. I could tell she thought something fishy was going on when she asked why I hadn't reported the theft earlier. I just played dumb. In the end she told me they'd keep the car for ninety days, then donate it to a program that provided job training for at-risk youth.

So much for my mother's last gift to me.

I went back over my story. It still seemed like the best thing I could come up with, so I called Suzanne and tried it out on her. Not surprisingly, she was brimming with questions, but I just kept repeating the party line — I'd be away for a while, I wasn't sure where or for how long, I'd prefer not to be contacted unless it was an emergency. I gave her my cell number and asked her to turn my thermostat down and keep an eye on my house.

Then I remembered the mouse. How could I have forgotten? Poor little guy. I thought quickly about just asking Suzanne to let him go in the backyard, but there were so many cats running loose in the neighborhood. Instead I asked her to hire a trustworthy kid to feed and water him once a week and clean his cage. I told her I'd send her some money to cover it.

After she agreed, we said our goodbyes, and I hung up. I took a deep breath. That had been relatively easy.

Calling Dr. Nielsen was a lot harder. He was intensely worried about me and quite unwilling to let me "just disappear following a traumatic experience," as he put it. I stuck to my guns but had the feeling he'd be calling the police when we hung up. Well, that would come to nothing — I was pretty sure the Dorf PD had written me off.

The next call was Ben. That conversation was awful. He was worried about me, yes, but he was even more worried about his family. How could I just disappear, right when he and the girls needed me most? Sticking to the party line didn't do any good. It just infuriated him. It was horrible. In the end, he hung up on me in disgust.

After about fifteen minutes, the cell phone rang. The caller ID showed Ben's number, but when I answered, it was Tiffany. Jesus, it was really my day for punishment.

"Aunt Beth?"

She spoke in a low, muffled voice, as though she was crouching in a corner and whispering into the phone.

"Hi, sweetie. How're you doing?"

She ignored my question. "Ghosteater said you could find Mom. Did you?"

You'd think, after the last two weeks, I'd have stopped getting caught by surprise. Unfortunately not. I sat there holding the phone, wondering what on earth to say. Just as I was about to answer, Graham's and Kara's warnings about the rules came back to me. I shut my mouth and thought some more.

"Beth?" Tiff whispered, sounding desperate.

I decided I had to take a hard line. Tiff was twelve and had a good head. She could take it.

"Who else is going to find out what I tell you, Tiff?"

"I won't tell anyone except Ghosteater."

"Not Madisyn?"

Tiff paused. When she spoke, she sounded sad.

"No. She's not old enough to keep the secret. It's started too young for her."

Maybe that was a good thing, I thought to myself. If I understood what I'd been told, it meant she had very little strength. If Cordus got a hold of her, she'd get one of those low-paid but safe household positions.

"Are Jazzy and Lia like you and Madisyn?"

"Not yet. It only started for me last year, though."

She'd have been eleven. I wondered where that put her, strengthwise.

"Tiff, do you know how serious the rule is about keeping the secret?"

"Mom said I could never tell anyone about anything special I could do."

"Did she tell you that there are people who will come and kill you if you do tell anyone? Anyone at all, even your Dad?"

From the silence on the other end, I guessed Justine hadn't been that explicit. Maybe she didn't know it herself. She seemed pretty out of it.

"I understand," Tiff finally said in a shaky voice.

"Okay. The good news is that I did find your mother. She's not hurt, and she's staying someplace I think is safe for her. The bad news is that she's not going to be able to come home right now, and there's no way you can visit her or speak to her."

"Why?"

"Honey, that's in the can't-talk-about-it category. I'm sorry."

"Are you with her?"

"I'm staying at the same place she is. I'll try to see her as often as I can."

I paused. "I'm sorry I can't give you better news. You know, I didn't find out about the special stuff until just the last couple weeks. It's all new to me, and I don't understand a lot of it. I don't know what I can do for your Mom, but I'll try my best to help her and keep her safe."

Tiffany took that in. Finally she said, "Okay," in a small voice. She sniffled, then cleared her throat.

"Can I call you?"

"Absolutely. If I don't answer when you call, leave a message telling me when I should call you back and at what number, okay?"

"Okay," she said, sounding marginally better. "I love you, Aunt Beth. I want you to come home."

"Oh sweetie, I love you too, so much. I hope I'll be able to come home soon."

There was a big sniffle, then, "Bye."

I set down the phone.

Damn.

* * *

I took a long, hot shower, trying to rinse away the aftertaste of having lied to and disappointed everyone I cared about.

When I was done, I put on the same clothes I'd been wearing when Williams, Kara, and Callie grabbed me at the mall, days back. The house staff had been laundering them each night, but I was getting pretty tired of them.

I opened my phone's address book. It was programmed with numbers for all the Nolanders I knew so far, and quite a few I hadn't met yet. I called Gwen and told her I'd like to use the afternoon to find some of the clothes on my list. She said she'd check with Cordus, and that if it was all right with him, someone would take me shopping. Half an hour later, Kara and I were on our way in a generic black sedan.

Not surprisingly, the area turned out to have a variety of shopping options. Despite Kara's objections, I started at Kohl's.

"There's no reason to pay a lot for bras and panties," I said as we rooted through the lingerie section. "I don't have that much to spend, and there's a lot on this list."

"Yeah, but..." Kara paused awkwardly, a black bra in each hand.

"What?"

"The lingerie is the most important stuff."

I lowered my voice to a hiss. "Lord Cordus is never going to see it."

"He will, Beth. I'm sorry, but it's going to happen. There's nothing you can do about it."

She turned away before wiping quickly at her eyes.

I felt absolutely cold inside and tried not to think of Tiffany and Madisyn. I waited until I could speak firmly.

"Then look for the cheapest stuff. A rapist doesn't deserve to see a $13.99 bra."

Kara laughed weakly. "You're a braver woman than I am. Here're some on sale, two for $9."

"Perfect."

Kohl's provided not only all my new black underwear, but also some in lighter colors. I found several pairs of jeans and a bunch of black clothing: three pairs of slacks, two sweaters, and a slinky blouse. I was careful to make sure each item was entirely black. I also got three pairs of slacks in other colors and a handful of nice knit tops in muted tones that Kara labeled "tasteful."

Kara insisted on Saks for one item on the list — a black suit. While there, I also got what she identified as a "nice" pair of jeans. Those and the suit knocked me back as much as everything I'd bought at Kohl's.

For shoes, I put my foot down — Saks was out of my league. Kara took me to Nordstrom. Still a lot of sticker-shock for small-town me, but not quite so bad. I left with heeled boots and a pair of pumps, both in black.

Our last stop was a sporting-goods store, where I got most of the other things on my list: sweat pants, running shorts, sports bras, socks, and athletic shoes. That stuff gave me a bad feeling. I'd never tended to put on weight, so I'd never gotten into working out. I didn't particularly want to start.

Then I remembered trying to haul unconscious Kara along by her feet at the mill. Maybe getting a little stronger wasn't such a bad idea.

We didn't have time to buy the one thing left on the list, a black coat. I'd just have to hope spring came on quickly.

We headed back to the estate.

"So," I said to Kara as we drove, "Do you live here most of the time?"

"Thank god, no. I'm based in Minneapolis. Me and Williams and Callie are part of the Upper Midwest group. Graham too. He was in charge of it, actually. I'm sure that's going to change, now."

"Oh. Does that mean you'll head back there, soon?"

"I sure hope so." She must've seen the expression on my face. "I'm sorry, Beth, but I couldn't stay here with you if I wanted to. And god, I don't want to. I'm sorry."

"I know. I understand."

I did understand, but I felt very alone. I liked Kara, but liking someone only mattered so much. Real friendships must be hard when any of us could be sent anywhere, anytime, and where fear was such a dominant force. Another part of Cordus's control system, maybe.

"You'll get to know the New York people. They're good folks. Maybe you'll get to hang out with Koji."

She gave a half-hearted whistle as tribute to his hotness.

"Yeah, maybe so," I said, and tried to smile.

* * *

Gwen knocked on my door at 6:00 the next morning. She suggested I shower and dress, then come with her to breakfast in the dining room at 7:00.

The staff had been bringing my meals on a tray, but I guess that was too good to last.

Noting that Gwen hadn't been wearing black, I put on a pair of beige slacks and a white knit top. Pairing them with the black heels wouldn't have been my first choice, but beggars couldn't be choosers — it was either that or boots.

Breakfast was served in a huge dining room on the second floor. It took up a corner of the house. Tall windows looked out over the front lawn, which swept down and away to the distant tree line. When I stopped by a window and commented on how big the property looked, Gwen said it was over a thousand acres and had been parkland until Cordus took it over in the 1970s.

"He took over a park? How?"

Gwen looked a little uncomfortable.

"Lord Cordus is gifted at influencing others," she said.

I'd seen that gift first-hand with the green man, but that was just one mind. I remembered that it was indelicate to ask about Seconds' abilities. Still, how was I going to find out about these things if I didn't ask?

"But millions of people live around here. Can he really influence that many people?"

"He doesn't have to. A few key people needed influencing. I think they believe it's a top-secret military installation. Everyone else still thinks it's a park. But if they decide to come hiking here, they end up changing their minds at the last minute. If they notice cars coming and going, they forget about it. The roads and buildings don't show up on satellite photos. The barrier around the property takes care of that sort of thing."

At that moment, as I looked out across the lawn, it occurred to me that there might not be any meaningful limit to what Seconds could do in our world. What if one of them decided it was in their interest to assassinate a president? To cause a recession? To start a war? Maybe they'd been shaping our history from behind the scenes for a long time.

It was a shocking thought. I stood at the window, trying to collect myself.

"Come on," Gwen said. "I'm hungry."

There were between twenty and thirty people eating, and I knew fewer than half of them. The room was equipped with a variety of tables, some round, some square or rectangular. You could sit with just one other person, or as many as seven. All the tables were elaborately set with white linens and multiple dishes, glasses, and pieces of silverware. It was going to be a headache figuring out which things to use.

Gwen steered us toward Andy and Theo, the guys who'd been taking coats at court. They were alone at a four-top near the edge of the room. Once we all sat down, the three of them made me feel wispy. Gwen was very tall, and she looked like a bodybuilder. Andy and Theo were big men, both tall and brawny. I felt like a reed in comparison.

A waiter came and began serving us. Coffee and tea were offered, as well as water and a selection of juices. We placed orders for one of a handful of available entrées. I chose the omelet. Fruit and cereal, either hot or cold, were served while we waited for the main course to arrive.

It was certainly the most elaborate breakfast experience I'd ever had.

Once I felt confident I wasn't going to be approached with yet another question or offer of food choices, I relaxed a little and turned my attention to my companions. I realized, looking at Theo and Andy up close, that they looked quite a bit alike.

"Are you guys brothers?"

"Yeah," Theo said. "You got any siblings?"

"Yeah, an older brother."

"Is he a Nolander?"

I shook my head.

"Too bad," Andy said.

"Why's that?"

"Families grow best if everyone gets some manure," he said with a wink.

I laughed.

Theo and Andy might've reminded me a little of Williams when I first saw them, but they turned out to be quite friendly and perfectly capable of normal conversation.

After some questions about Dorf and life in rural Wisconsin, Andy asked what I was doing for the rest of the day.

"I guess Lord Cordus is going to start training me today," I said.

Both men's forks stopped halfway to their mouths. They glanced at Gwen, but she was looking down at her plate, concentrating on mopping up her egg yolk.

"He's training you himself, is he?" Theo said.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Andy said, recovering himself. "It'll be fine. Just listen carefully, try hard, and be really polite."

I nodded.

"And don't be afraid to ask questions," Theo added. "Just, you know, skip the dumb ones." He grinned at me, breaking the tension.

Still, it wasn't the most auspicious start to the day. By the time we finished and Gwen walked me to Cordus's office, I was scared. I felt like I was walking into the proverbial lion's den, except this den belonged to some sicko rapist lion.

She knocked on the door, then opened it and stuck her head in.

"Lord Cordus, I've brought Miss Ryder."

"Thank you, Miss Hegstrom. You may go on to other duties, now."

"Yes, sir."

Gwen opened the door a bit wider and nodded at me to go through. She even gave me an encouraging smile, which looked a little odd on her stern, weathered face.

My return smile felt more like a grimace. I blinked hard and took a deep breath. Then I headed into Cordus's office.

* * *

"Miss Ryder, your development is indeed anomalous."

Cordus removed his fingertips from my arm and leaned back, studying me.

He and I were sitting in leather armchairs at one end of his office.

Actually, it was more like a library than an office — there was a desk at the other end, with several straight-backed chairs in front of it, but most of the room was given over to floor-to-ceiling shelving in some beautiful, dark wood. From what I could see, most of the books on the shelves looked old. Very old. Unlike in the dining room, there were few windows. The effect was cavelike.

It was the only room I'd seen on the estate that had any personality. I liked it. I wondered what it would be like in there on a winter night with a fire in the fireplace. Cozy. So long as Cordus wasn't in there with you.

That said, once again, Cordus's behavior hadn't matched the horror of his reputation. He hadn't tried anything inappropriate; in fact, he'd been polite.

I felt confused. Confused and fascinated. Fascinated and repulsed. It was hard not to stare at him, but when I did, I remembered that same stunning face impassively watching the green man tear itself apart.

At a loss, I'd retreated into the role of student. I was good at being a student, and I liked it. Good students didn't think much about their teachers, and especially not their teachers' looks. Instead, they thought about what they were studying.

He'd begun with exercises similar to what Graham had had me do at Rib Mountain — deep breathing and concentration. Then he'd asked if I could describe my sense of the worked-essence barrier he'd placed around us to keep our lesson private.

I'd told him I wasn't aware of the barrier at all. That was when he'd touched me.

"How is it anomalous, exactly?" I asked.

"Did Mr. Ryzik explain to you the castes of development?"

"Yes: 'sense a working, get a gift, handle essence, learn to work.'"

A trace of a smile ghosted across Cordus's face.

"And he explained what it means to 'sense a working'?"

"Being able to perceive workings and half-workings."

"Correct. And did he explain what the term 'capacity' means?"

"Someone's ability to do workings?"

"Yes. The measure of that ability is your capacity. When one is born, a tiny capacity is present, and it grows over time. When it reaches roughly two-thirds of its full potential, one achieves full sensory perception of worked essence. This is the first caste."

"What about gifts?" I asked.

"They usually remain latent for several more years."

No wonder Graham's approach to training me had struck a false note with the others.

"So why aren't I developing like everyone else?"

"I believe that your capacity lies at the root of the problem. As I said, one enters the first caste when one's capacity has reached roughly two-thirds of its full potential. I believe you began to enter the first caste significantly before your potential reached that mark. Therefore, it is not functioning typically."

"But aren't I old for all this to start?"

"Yes, you are entering the first caste at a comparatively advanced age."

"But..."

"Please ask your question, Miss Ryder."

"It seems like I already have a fair amount of capacity. I had enough to power Mr. Williams's shield for some time when we were on our way here."

He looked at me in silence for several long seconds.

Finally, he said, "Your perception is correct."

A chill ran through me. What was I going to be, when all this was said and done? He allowed me to sit in silence for several minutes, digesting. Then he started back in.

"It would be useful to know what triggered your premature entry into the first caste. Can you describe what, in retrospect, you believe to be the first signs that something unusual was happening?"

I told him how I'd started feeling more anxious a year or so earlier, and how photography had seemed to relieve the anxiety. Then I mentioned the photos I'd taken less than two weeks earlier.

"Yes," Cordus said, "I have seen them. Can you remember any event that may have triggered your anxiety or your ability to photograph Seconds?"

I shook my head.

"And how did you come to see half-workings?"

"Mr. Ryzik got me to see them. He took me to visit a Second I couldn't see and then left me with him. When I got scared enough, I saw him."

Cordus was surprised. The eyebrow went up.

"That approach was unwise," he said. "Trying to engender capacity through fear or other powerful emotions can have unpredictable and dangerous results. I shall have to speak with Mr. Ryzik about his training methods."

"I don't think he knew that's what he was doing. He seemed to think my conscious mind was just suppressing what I was seeing."

Cordus looked at me in silence. I took it to mean the subject of Graham's mistakes was not open for discussion.

Finally, his point seemingly made, he said, "I believe it is safe to proceed, so long as we move carefully. Our lessons must offer your capacity the opportunity to stabilize and grow without applying undue pressure."

"Okay," I said, stifling the impulse to ask how sure he was about the "safe" part.

He held his hand out between us, palm up.

"I have made a small, spherical working three centimeters above my hand. The nature of the working is to create heat: the air within the sphere is fifteen degrees warmer than that in the room at large. Focus your attention on that spot. Try to sense the disruption in the preexisting state of reality."

I concentrated on the air above his palm. It looked perfectly normal. I kept staring at it. Nothing happened. After about thirty seconds, Cordus closed his hand and had me relax for a few minutes. Then he had me try again, but with my eyes closed. No go. The third time, he had me reach out and touch the air above his hand. I could feel that it was warmer, but couldn't sense anything else.

After five efforts, he sat back, and I got the feeling we were done.

"Miss Ryder, please do not attempt to sense workings, except during our lessons. Gentle stimulation of your capacity should do no harm and may help. Doing more than that would be unwise. Is that clear?"

I nodded. He held my gaze for a moment, apparently to convey how very much he meant it. Then he rose and retrieved a folder and a book from his desk.

"We shall meet again at the same time tomorrow morning," he said, "and every day thereafter. In the meanwhile, please read the document in his folder. You will return it to me tomorrow. You may write on it, but do not copy it or take separate notes."

I nodded and accepted the folder. It was slender. There couldn't be more than a few pages in it.

"This," he said, holding up the book, "is a textbook of Baasha, the common language of the S-Em. You will comprehend the first chapter before our next meeting. Keep this book and any notes you make out of sight: most Nolanders do not have the opportunity to pursue this line of study."

I accepted the book with some trepidation. I'd taken French in high school and had loved it, but the idea of being given an "opportunity" others didn't get made me nervous. I took it to mean I'd end up doing things they didn't have to do.

"Lunch is served in the dining room between 11:30 and 1:30," Cordus continued. "I have asked Miss Hegstrom to accompany you to that meal today and to give you a tour of the estate afterwards. I hope you will learn your way around quickly."

I nodded and stood and, after a hesitation, thanked him for his time. It seemed the polite thing to do, even though the lessons were clearly compulsory. He nodded graciously, accepting my thanks, and I left, relieved to have gotten through the first lesson without pissing him off or becoming another unwilling notch on his bedpost.

* * *

"Can you ride?" Gwen asked.

She and I were leaning on the top rail of a white wooden fence, watching a handful of horses graze.

"Yeah, sort of. I mean, I've never had lessons or anything, but my best friend grew up on a farm. They had horses, and we used to ride them a lot. Mostly just bareback around the farm."

I turned back to watch the horses.

"I really like them. They smell good."

Gwen looked at me like I had a screw loose, and I blushed, suddenly feeling like an eight-year-old with a bedroom full of unicorn posters and My Little Ponies.

"Well, different strokes, I guess," she said. "I've had to do stable duty before. What comes out of their asses sure doesn't smell good."

I wouldn't mind doing stable duty — I thought horse shit was pretty innocuous. But I didn't say so.

We'd already walked over some of the grounds, and Gwen had pointed out several trailheads for biking, running, and hiking, warning me to stay alert for the barrier that surrounded the estate. I wasn't to try cross it for any reason — doing so would be dangerous. I didn't mention that I probably wouldn't know it was there until I ran into it. I figured I'd just stay near the house.

She'd also shown me the garage, tennis court, and outdoor pool. The stable was the last stop.

After seeing the grounds, we embarked on a full tour of the house. It had four wings, one of which held Cordus's private quarters. That was a no-go zone, except when invited. The other three wings were full of suites and small apartments for Nolanders. The place could house well over a hundred comfortably and three times that number if people shared space.

Gwen had taken me to see her apartment, which was much larger and fancier than mine. It was also full of weapons — not only guns, but also blades, bows, spears, axes, and other things I couldn't have named. Apparently Gwen was a serious collector. Many of the more beautiful items were displayed on the walls, but she also had an entire room dedicated to storage.

We talked shop about some of her guns. I didn't know much about the more exotic firearms she showed me, but it's hard to grow up in a rural area and not get acquainted with rifles and shotguns — hunting is a big part of life in northern Wisconsin. And even though Mom's handgun was pretty basic, she'd enjoyed browsing the newer models whenever she took me shooting. I'd picked up enough over the years to hold up my end of the conversation, which I hoped made me seem less little-girly in the wake of the horses-smell-good thing.

In addition to the apartments, each wing contained recreation areas; a small kitchen; laundry facilities; and a walk-in supply closet full of bedding, towels, toiletries, and cleaning products. Gwen pointed out the unscented shampoo, conditioner, soap, and deodorant to me and explained that several types of Seconds had very sensitive noses. It was considered rude to wear perfumes around them, so the policy was to avoid scented products entirely. Smoking was prohibited for the same reason.

The central part of the house had several subbasements. I'd visited one of those levels briefly when we used the underground tunnel to the garage. Most of the basement space was dedicated to athletic facilities: an indoor pool, extensive weight and cardio rooms, racquetball and basketball courts, and several rooms set up for martial arts, gymnastics, and other punishing activities. It all gave me a sinking feeling that I'd soon be getting a lot sweatier than I liked.

The basement also housed a sophisticated medical facility. Doctors and nurses were present at all times to deal with emergencies and dispense routine care. Next to the "clinic," which really looked more like a mini-hospital, was a large lending library. That was a much happier discovery for me. I didn't have a chance to explore it, but I hoped they had some things I'd like to read.

Above ground, the main part of the house was all public rooms. A vast ballroom took up the center, but there were at least a dozen smaller rooms for meetings, receptions, parties, and so forth. The Nolanders' quarters had been sized for humans, but the public rooms seemed to have been built to accommodate larger creatures — all had at least twelve-foot ceilings, and the doors were oversized. So was some of the furniture.

The central part of the house also had a number of bathrooms. Some of them had facilities I'd never seen before. Gwen paused to chat with someone, so I poked around in one of the strange ones. It had a toilet that was basically a three-foot-wide sunken tub. When you flushed it, which you did with a floor pedal, a large central hole opened up and tons of water cascaded down the sides.

What sort of creature would require such a thing? I tried to picture Ghosteater squatting at the edge and pooping. It was hard to imagine.

I thought about the document Cordus had given me, which I'd read before lunch. It had turned out to be a short handwritten early history of the other world.

According to what I'd read, the world I was standing in right now was the "First Emanation" because it had emerged through natural processes. The cosmos had come into being, galaxies had formed, the Sun had been born, planets had consolidated around it, life had arisen and evolved on Earth, and so forth. All that sounded familiar.

But after that, the story diverged from what I'd learned in school. On Earth, the document said, living things began to appear that had the capacity to recognize and manipulate essence, which was defined — more poetically than helpfully, I thought — as "the grain of is-ness." The Second Emanation emerged not from the unguided processes of nature, but through acts of creation by these new beings. That meant it was one step removed from the first world's more natural origins. Thus the idea of its being a second emanation.

At first, a few places on Earth gained echoes or shadows — pockets of duplicated space created by essence-workers reshaping their surroundings. Over time, more and more echoes were generated, and they spread and connected with one another until they formed an entire shadow world. The separateness of the S-Em increased as it became a whole. It was still essentially linked to the F-Em, but passage between the two worlds was now difficult. It took a very strong worker to open a strait.

What had surprised me most was the idea that the S-Em began to emerge hundreds of millions of years ago. Countless species had contributed to its creation. The ability to work essence wasn't limited to human beings or even to intelligent animals. Essence-workers appeared among dolphins and crows and elephants, sure, but also among bacteria and trees and goldfish. That meant the other world was the product of a lot more than the human imagination.

It also meant the S-Em had what the history called strata — some places had multiple layers created when different essence-workers reshaped the same space. Movement between strata was usually possible, if challenging. Sometimes, though, they got completely separated from the rest of the S-Em — little worlds unto themselves.

I thought about getting stuck in a bacterial stratum — not fun. And what kind of world would a tree invent for itself? One with twenty-four-hour sunlight and no caterpillars?

I looked down at the tub-toilet and shook my head. My new reality was a strange place.

* * *

Gwen had told me when dinner was served, and I'd said I'd meet her there at 7:30. I walked into the dining room ten minutes late and didn't see her. I looked around the room and didn't recognize anyone. Except Graham. He was sitting at a table by one of the windows, looking out. No one was sitting with him. No one was even sitting nearby. He'd become a pariah.

His untouched place setting suggested he'd only just gotten there himself. After a moment's hesitation, I went over and asked if I could join him. He looked up at me, surprised. Then he nodded at the empty chair across from him, and I sat down.

An awkward silence ensued. Both of us seemed to be trying to think of something to say. Thankfully, a waiter came to take my order, which was a rather lengthy transaction. I had to choose dishes for four courses, as well as beverages. When the waiter described the entrées, I didn't recognize some of the things he mentioned. The process left me a bit flushed and embarrassed.

After the waiter left, Graham gave me the ghost of a smile.

"I wouldn't have guessed you liked snails."

"Snails?"

"The chicken breast comes with escargots."

I must've look dismayed, because he said, "Don't worry, they're on the side."

The waiter filled our water glasses.

"So, how are you settling in?" Graham asked.

"Okay, I guess. It's all..." I paused, at a loss.

"A bit much? Really, really weird? Exciting and terrifying at the same time?"

"Yeah," I said, "all that."

He asked what I'd been up to for the last few days. My first course — an onion soup — arrived as I described my experience at court and my first lesson with Cordus.

Graham nodded. "Any questions?"

I hesitated, perplexed. "Do you still think of yourself as my trainer?"

"No. But I can still answer questions."

I must've looked dubious, because he gave me a sad smile and added, "Just don't ask me something I'll have to lie about."

I gave him the laugh he was looking for, though his comment was painfully close to what I'd actually been thinking.

Well, why not ask some of the questions that had occurred to me over the past couple days, some of the things I couldn't ask Cordus himself? It's not like I had to believe his answers, if I didn't want to. I lowered my voice.

"Why does Lord Cordus let Williams get away with wearing all black?"

Graham looked at me blankly.

"I hadn't realized that was happening. He doesn't go to court, much. I guess I never noticed."

He thought about it.

"I don't know why Lord Cordus would allow that. If you qualify to wear white, you have to."

Our entrées came. My chicken breast was indeed accompanied by a dish of snails, each sitting in its own bath of melted butter. Graham showed me how to fork one out of its shell. It was actually pretty good.

"Do you know anything about the snowman ambassador?"

"No, sorry, she's quite new to the job."

"Good thing you helped with the snail, 'cause a fat lot of good you are on the questions," I said, leaning back.

Graham smiled a little.

"Is Lady Innin stronger than Lord Cordus?"

"No idea. They keep that kind of information to themselves, understandably."

"I thought you could tell if you touch someone."

"Ah, right. First of all, I've never touched Lady Innin. Second, it's more complicated than that. If you touch someone who's weaker than you, you'll probably get a pretty good sense of how strong they are. If you touch someone who's stronger, you'll know they're stronger, but you won't get as accurate a sense of what they can do. Touch someone like Lord Cordus or Lady Innin, and you'll just feel overwhelming power. The fine differences between them won't be discernible."

Okay, that was helpful.

"Do you know how old Lord Cordus is?"

"He was born in Constantinople in the 330s or 340s, I think."

My mind went blank. It was like he'd started speaking another language.

"Going on seventeen hundred years," Graham added, when he saw I wasn't getting it.

"That's impossible."

"Nope. Powerful Seconds can live just about forever if they want to. Some of them are millions of years old. Hundreds of millions, maybe."

I stared at him, amazed.

"How can that be?"

Graham shrugged. "You're talking about beings that can rework the world itself. Reworking their bodies seems like small potatoes next to that, doesn't it?"

It made intellectual sense when he put it like that, but on a gut level, the idea living forever felt profoundly wrong. Like they were ignoring a law so fundamental that it should've been unbreakable. I mean, the world changed. That was the way of things. Everything that happened changed it. But mortality itself? No.

"Isn't the S-Em overpopulated?"

"Not so far as I've heard. Keep in mind we're only talking about the most powerful Seconds, here, not your run-of-the-mill S-Em shop-keeper. The stronger their ability, the longer they can live."

I popped a snail in my mouth and chewed slowly, contemplating this new wrinkle.

"I guess I don't understand why they're so worried about humans finding out about them. Remaking the world, living forever — they seem more like gods than people. Surely they don't have anything to fear from us."

Graham turned and looked out the window. At first I thought I'd strayed into something he couldn't talk about truthfully, but eventually he spoke.

"I saw a nature program a few years back. There were these big birds — toucans, or something — that laid two eggs in a hole in a tree. When the chicks were old enough to stick their heads out, some ants crawled up the trunk. The chicks killed every one of them. The narrator said that if even one ant got back to its nest with news about the chicks' hole, all the ants would come. Later in the program, they showed the nest again. One of the chicks had fledged and flown away, but the ants had gotten the other one. It was still there, sticking its head out of the hole, but it was skeletal, picked clean."

Graham turned back from the window. "The ants were so tiny, and the chick was so big, but it only took one getting away."

"And the Seconds are like that chick? Trapped in a hole? Defenseless?"

"It wasn't defenseless. It killed hundreds of ants. But in the end, when they came back by the millions, it couldn't kill them all."

I had to admit it was a shudder-inducing image.

"Okay, yeah, I get it. But what beings like Lord Cordus can do, it's way beyond having a big beak, or whatever that chick had to work with."

Graham shrugged. "You say they're godlike. Maybe so, but humans kill their gods." He looked up at me. "Humans kill everything. They're nature's own weapon of mass destruction."

The way he said it gave me goose bumps.

We sat in silence for a while as we finished our entrées. Conversation picked up again when our desserts came, but we stuck to lighter topics — the quality of the gym downstairs, what sort of books the library had, and so forth.

Graham and I parted ways awkwardly at the dining room doors. I was glad I'd made the effort to sit with him but relieved he didn't offer to walk me back to my room.

I reminded myself that even if betraying Cordus wasn't a bad thing, Graham's way of doing it had put Kara and the others at risk. That was no good. And he'd physically attacked me, too.

I did feel bad, though. Nothing he'd done struck me as deserving capital punishment, and that was probably what he was going to get. I imagined Cordus doing to Graham what he'd done to the green man. It was an unbearable thought.

Chapter Seventeen

A week or so passed. Every day followed the same schedule, so it was easy to lose track of which day it was. Each morning I got dressed and headed down to breakfast by 7:00, often with Gwen, Andy, and Theo, who seemed to be on the same schedule. Then I had a half-hour lesson with Cordus, followed by a workout. Then lunch, followed by several hours of personal time, an hour of combat training, a shower, and dinner.

The personal time was mixed. I spent a little of it browsing the lending library, which was fun. I found plenty of good books and a bunch of movies I'd like to watch, if I ever had a couple free hours. A few times I hung out with Kara, which was nice, or poked around the stables.

On the other hand, I also used my personal time to visit Justine, who'd been given a first-floor suite not far from my room. Those visits were the opposite of fun. She still seemed unaware that she was anything but human. She swung irrationally back and forth between accusing me of kidnapping her and begging me to protect her from some unspecified threat.

She also mooned over Ben and the girls. That grated on me. Why had she gone and married a human man, anyway? Just to make her cover more convincing? It wasn't fair to Ben or to the half-human children she'd borne.

Several times, Cordus came to see Justine while I was there. Her reaction to him was weird. She claimed not to have met him before the previous week, yet she clearly found his presence comforting.

She flirted with him shamelessly, which annoyed me. She was married to my brother, for god's sake. Couldn't she at least save it for when I wasn't around?

At least he didn't respond to it. Mostly he just asked her the same questions in slightly different ways. As the days passed, she noticed the repetition. I could see the questions were beginning to annoy her a little, though it helped that the asker was so attractive.

The fact that she remembered the questions she'd been asked earlier suggested to me that her mind and memory were working normally. I said as much to Cordus and got his version of "uh-huh" in response — "Your assessment is apt, Miss Ryder."

I also spent a fair amount of time on the phone with Tiffany, which always left me feeling like a heel. I could tell that Ben was having trouble keeping things together. I thought about telling her about Callie, so that there'd be someone in Dorf she could talk to about her abilities. But that would mean exposing her to another person in Cordus's organization, and I didn't want to attract more attention to her and her sisters than I had to. I also wasn't sure Callie's religiously inflected understanding of things would be a net gain for Tiff. It might just confuse her more. Lastly, fingering Callie as a Nolander would be breaking the rules.

I tried to phone Ben a couple times. He seemed to be screening my calls. I couldn't blame him, but it hurt.

So that was my personal time — mixed at best. The rest of my schedule pretty much sucked.

The lessons with Cordus were increasingly frustrating. I still couldn't see any workings, and he only let me try a few times each day. Instead, we spent most of each half-hour working on Baasha, which turned out to be about a million times harder than French.

It just didn't feel like I was making any progress, even though being a student was the one thing I'd always done well.

Plus, Cordus disturbed me. Every day I half expected him to pull his mind-control trick and take advantage of me. The thought of that scared me sick, and I was always knotted up with anxiety before entering his office in the morning. But once inside, I regularly found myself staring at him, my fears forgotten.

My fascination with him was distressing. I suspected he was a monster inside a pretty shell, and I didn't want to find him attractive.

The physical fitness program was a total bummer. Gwen was in charge of that part of my day, and she was a fiend when it came to working out. She made me jog, lift weights, and try out various complicated machines that simulated rowing, skiing, and other forms of torture. It was unrelenting. I was sore all the time.

The combat training was ridiculous. My instructor was one of the people I'd met during my evening at court, Hortensia Tolosa. She was eighteen and went by "Tezzy." Cordus had gotten her in a trade of some sort with another Second soon after she entered the first caste at age five.

If Gwen was a fiend, Tezzy was an ogre. My guess was she'd studied taekwondo in the womb. She made me feel utterly incompetent. I wanted to empathize with someone who'd been traded like livestock when she was a little kid, but it was pretty hard to feel anything but resentful.

I had bruises everywhere. They weren't from Tezzy hitting me — she didn't do that. They were from me falling down while she tried to get me to hit or kick her, or rather, a pad she was holding.

By Day Four, she'd backtracked to just trying to teach me how to stand still. She'd have me assume a particular stance, then coach me on making it solid and resilient. Then she'd walk up to me and try to push me down. I always fell down. Always. I could tell she didn't know what to do with me. It was the pits.

* * *

One morning — I think it was a Friday — Andy and Theo were looking sort of worried when I joined them in the dining room for breakfast.

"Hey, what's up? Something wrong?"

"Lord Limu's in the city," Andy said. "Hank saw him last night."

Limu. That's who Williams and Callie thought I'd seen at the other end of the open strait.

"It's bad that he's here?"

"Dunno. We're trying to figure it out," Theo said. "It's definitely unusual. The regional powers don't enter each others' territories without a good reason, except for formal events."

"Maybe he was invited," I said, remembering how Cordus had asked the green man about him.

Theo cocked his head. "You know something about this?"

"Who, me? I don't know anything about anything," I said, kicking myself.

The two men sat back and studied me, then shared a look. They clearly weren't fooled.

Andy said, "Should we be worried?"

"I honestly don't know. I'm sorry. You know how new I am to all this."

He nodded, but an awkwardness came over the table that hadn't been there before.

"Can you tell me anything about Lord Limu? Just public-knowledge stuff?"

"Well," Theo said, "he controls most of the Pacific Basin. So, the Aleutians and southern Alaska; the west coast of North America; the west coast of South America down through northern Chile — that's all him. And the coast on the other side, from Russia down through Papua New Guinea, and the little islands, like Hawaii. And all that ocean."

"Australia, too?"
"No, someone else holds Australia and New Zealand."

I tried to pull a map together in my mind. Embarrassingly, I didn't know where the Aleutians or Papua New Guinea were.

"He's gifted with fire, and he's strong. Some say he's the strongest of the powers holding F-Em territories. He's a real bad-ass — aggressive, irrational, maybe unstable. Not a good guy, not safe to be around."

A fire-worker. I thought back to the lava-man in the lawn chair. No wonder Williams and Callie had recognized him from my description.

Andy said, "We heard he was holding a strait open up near where you're from."

Dorf wasn't the only place where gossip traveled fast.

"I don't know that it was him."

"Fine, be that way," Andy said, looking annoyed.

"Give her a break," Theo said. "She's a newbie. She's too nervous to gossip."

"Don't worry," he said to me. "You'll get a sense of who you can trust and what it's safe to talk about. FYI, Andy and I are definitely on the trustworthy list."

He winked at me and smiled. A lot of the tension drained away.

I rolled my eyes but smiled back. I didn't know if Theo and Andy were trustworthy or not, but they were certainly likeable.

Just then, Gwen walked in. She joined us and immediately said, "Y'all hear about Lord Limu?"

The conversation that morning had a circular quality.

* * *

Cordus leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

I'd completed the day's five fruitless attempts to sense the working above his hand. I wondered if he was as sick of the exercise as I was. I'd never seen any annoyance in his manner, but that might just mean he had more self-control than I did.

Afraid to look at his face, I focused on his hands. They were as beautiful as the rest of him. Apprehension crawled over me. Just because he hadn't done anything to me so far didn't mean he wasn't going to do something right now.

My nervousness quickly got the better of me, which led to babbling.

"How come I can't tell if someone else is a Nolander by touching them?"

He glanced at me. "Your capacity is almost always dormant. It awakens only when you see a half-working. You would be able to identify another Nolander if you touched him or her during one of those brief moments of awakening."

"Oh. Okay."

Another minute or two of silence ensued. I somehow managed to keep quiet.

"Miss Ryder," Cordus finally said, leaning back, "you will appear in my court this evening."

Outwardly, I nodded. Inwardly, I groaned.

"We will be entertaining an important guest."

"Lord Limu?"

"Yes."

I hesitated, then plunged in. "I'm delighted to be there, of course, but why me? I mean, is there something you want me to do? Of all your people, I seem... uniquely incapable."

"That perception is inaccurate. Do you not recall looking into the strait near your home in Wisconsin and seeing Lord Limu at the other end?"

"Sure, but all I did was see him. That doesn't seem particularly useful. And it's not like he was trying to hide, or anything. He was right there."

Cordus pondered me in silence for at least a minute before answering. He was close enough that I could see the paler starburst pattern in his brown eyes. I found myself staring at it and jumped when he spoke.

"He was not trying to hide, Miss Ryder, because it never occurred to him that someone might be able to see him. He was in the heart of his domain, and he knew that I was here in New York. Who else in this part of the First Emanation could possibly see him through a strait? He felt as safely hidden there on his mountain redoubt as I feel sitting in this room."

I thought about it. He had looked awfully surprised.

"What does that mean, exactly? I mean, what does it mean for me?" God, only I could use "mean" three times in two short sentences. Almost a quarter of what I'd just said was "mean." Oh, don't be so mean to yourself, I thought. I realized I was about to have one of my nervous laughing fits and bit the inside of my cheek.

"Now is not the time for that conversation," he said flatly. "But rest assured that your abilities are of value to this organization."

"As for tonight," he continued, "I suspect Lord Limu will recognize you. We shall see how he reacts to your presence, shall we not?"

* * *

I sat in the back of the limo with Cordus, trying not to fidget.

I had gotten the full-on staff treatment again. The hair and make-up were similar, but my dress this time was more revealing. It had a plunging neckline that snaked down between my breasts, all the way to my navel. My breasts had actually been taped in place. I'd tried my best to ignore the staff-members' hands as they glued me into shape, but it had been distinctly unpleasant. The whole neckline was edged in at least two inches of pearl beading. The beading wrapped around the dress's collar, then snaked down to a point at my ass.

The dress made me feel less like high-class arm candy and more like a pricey hooker. The fact that I was going to show up alone on Cordus's arm underlined that impression. This dress also had even more white than the last one, and the fur stole they'd given me to wear was white, too. I felt highly uncomfortable.

At least Cordus was occupied on the phone. I couldn't hear what he was saying, so I just looked out the window and tried to think of a name for a transparent barrier that blocked sound. By the time we arrived at the building, I'd come up with sound-wall, shush-shield, silenta-sphere, and hushification.

We pulled directly into an underground parking structure. The driver came around and opened the door. Cordus helped me out. I didn't want to touch him, but I pretty much had to — my dress made it hard to get up without falling.

Grant was waiting at the elevator to key us up to the penthouse. The damn thing rose as slowly as it had the last time. I swear it took five minutes. As we stood there, Cordus turned and looked me up and down. Very thoroughly. My pulse shot up, and I blushed. He didn't say anything.

The elevator opened on Williams, who seemed to be standing guard. Again with the all black. He glanced at my flushed face. His upper lip lifted slightly.

Was he sneering at me?

Like any of this was my fault! Anger coursed through me. I balled my hands up and glared at him.

Cordus didn't seem to notice Williams's lack of either manners or white clothing. He just nodded at him and walked by. Fuming, I followed.

Andy was at the coat check, and Theo was in the living room, unobtrusively watching from a corner. I saw Hank and Kristin circulating with drinks and hors d'oeuvre.

There were far fewer Seconds present than last time — sixteen, by my count. Most looked familiar from the circuit I'd made with Cordus the last time. I was relieved not to see Innin, the tiny woman who'd wanted to trade Florida for me.

A green man was lounging on one of the couches. I thought it might be the same one who'd been present at my last visit. As before, the brilliant color mechanism of its skin — scales, maybe? — was all active, so that it glittered like green tinsel. Horrifyingly, Cordus put his arm out for me and headed in that direction.

He stopped to speak with several other Seconds on the way, but all too soon he settled me on the couch across from the green man, then sat down beside me.

"We greet you with honor, Gnaeus Cornelius Marci Filius Cordus," it said in a raspy voice, licking its lips with a dry, gray tongue.

Cordus answered it with a long string of sound that must've been its name, and the two began to converse.

I studied the thing. What the hell was a green man, anyway? I couldn't imagine how I'd ever looked at the small, stooped, naked figure in my picture and seen a human being. The creature in front of me was more reptilian than human. It had no nose and a long, skinny neck with a pronounced kink. Its arms were strangely long and bumpy. And how had I missed all those claws? Each was more than an inch long and shaped like a talon.

I shuddered, remembering what they could do to flesh.

The thing sitting across from me shifted, and its skin twitched, flashing green light in my eyes. Suddenly I realized what I was seeing: feathers. They were mostly tiny, no bigger than a ladybug. The bumpiness on the arms came from an edging of larger ones.

The green man glanced at me. I realized I'd been staring and looked down, abruptly scared. Kara had warned me not to stare. Idiot.

"My Lord, why does it accompany you if it is not yet trained?"

"My apologies, Ambassador. She will be disciplined."

Cordus spoke in a cool, offhanded tone, as though my future punishment was almost too obvious and uninteresting to mention. I felt goose bumps run up my arms.

Cordus and the green man returned to a discussion of events in "the Float of Charms," whatever that was. I kept my eyes trained firmly on my hands, which I'd locked together in my lap so they wouldn't shake. I tried not to think about how Cordus might "discipline" me.

After about twenty more minutes, during which the green man moved on and several other Seconds came over to pay their respects, an expectant pause swept over the room. I looked up and saw Limu coming toward us. Several Seconds I hadn't seen before trailed behind him — his honor guard, maybe.

Cordus and the woman he was speaking to rose, so I did as well. Limu stopped a few feet from the furniture grouping and greeted Cordus by name. He sounded distracted and annoyed. I thought he left out one of the names, actually. Nevertheless, Cordus nodded cordially and greeted Limu by what had to be his full name. I swear it had twenty words.

By the end of it, Limu was practically jigging with impatience. I wondered if Cordus had added some titles, under cover of good manners, just to tick him off.

The woman who'd been sitting with us excused herself. As Limu sat down in her place, my initial impulse was to scramble back: surely the couch would ignite. Of course, it didn't — he'd been walking across the carpet a moment before, hadn't he? It wasn't like that'd gone up in flames.

He looked different than he had when I'd seen him before — less rocky, more metallic. His surface was a glowing orange-red, crusted here and there with craggy, blackened material and ash. In the center of his torso, the color shaded toward blazing yellow. When his mouth opened, I saw white fire inside.

His eyes burned with that fire. They were far too bright to look at directly, but I could tell they were focused on me. He was staring at me even more intensely than Innin had. It was deeply disconcerting. Innin had looked acquisitive. Limu looked vengeful. There was no doubt that he recognized me.

I felt a sudden surge of resentment at Williams and Kara. They'd walked me right into making an enemy of this terrifying creature.

No, to be fair, they hadn't asked me to look through the strait. They'd asked me to look into it. The rest I'd done myself, damn it.

Limu accepted a glass of wine from Hank and leaned back, slowly twirling the stem between his molten fingers. He sipped, then set down his glass, as though dissatisfied with the wine.

"You have something of mine, Lord Cordus. I have come for it."

"Do I?" Cordus said. "I was not aware of it. What is the item?"

"One of my people."

Cordus waited. Obviously that wasn't much of a description. Instead of elaborating, Limu let out a rumbling growl, flexing his hands as though they were cramping.

"Do not play games with me, Lord Cordus. Give her to me."

"My lord, so far as I am aware, the individuals standing behind you are the only members of your household in my lands at this time."

"Fool! Always the same with you — games and playthings. Give her to me. The one calling herself Justine Jenson Ryder. Now."

Cordus leaned back, crossed his legs, and began slowly bouncing his foot.

"If Mrs. Ryder is the person you mean, then we have nothing to discuss, my lord. She has been living in my lands for at least twenty years. I have no reason to believe she belongs to you." He glanced up at Limu. "Unless she bears your stricture, of course."

"She does not," Limu said, seething.

"Then what possible claim can you have upon her, my honored guest?"

"She is my wife."

I saw Cordus's eyebrow go up. I know I was shocked. In what state of mind would Justine marry a being made of fire? I was pretty damn scared just being in the same building with him, much less the same bed.

"Is she, indeed? My congratulations. Nevertheless, marriage does not constitute ownership."

Cordus's tone suggested boredom.

Apparently Limu didn't care for it. Enraged, he threw his head back and roared. The sound was an avalanche of rocks and iron crashing down an endless slope. A fountain of yellow and white fire surged out of his mouth and flowed over the ceiling as though it were liquid. Near the living room door, Williams made a quick circular motion, then closed his hand into a fist. As he did, the fire boiled back in on itself and winked out, leaving a large scorched area on the ceiling. A wisp of smoke was left curling in mid-air.

I sat there, stunned. It was like death had come visiting, then been sent packing, all before I had time to react.

I wasn't the only one who took the threat seriously. Most of Cordus's other guests backed away, but a few moved forward. Andy and Theo advanced from the corners of the room, taking up positions behind Cordus. Williams stayed in the doorway, the shadows hiding his expression.

"My lord," Cordus said coldly, "such behavior is unproductive."

Limu was leaning forward and staring at Cordus, hands clenched, breathing out waves of heat. Cordus must've been shielding us from it. I couldn't feel it, but I could see the shimmer in the air.

Comically, the air-conditioning kicked in.

After almost a minute, Limu straightened up and sat back. Slowly, he opened his fists.

"She is a thief."

"Mrs. Ryder stole something of yours?"

I glanced at Cordus. The eyebrow was back up.

"Yes."

"What did she steal?"

"That is none of your business," Limu snapped. "It is my right to pursue a thief."

"Certainly, so long as the thief remains in your lands," Cordus said. "Once he or she crosses into another power's territory, it becomes a matter for local law-keepers. And," he added, "for possible extradition. Sadly, we have no extradition agreement, my lord, despite my repeated suggestions that we discuss one."

Limu responded with a rumbling growl.

I got the sense that Cordus was goading him. Why was he doing that? It didn't seem wise. Yeah, Williams had apparently contained that last outburst, but it hadn't been a directed attack on someone, just vented frustration.

"Even if you could offer evidence supporting your accusation of thievery, which it seems you will not or cannot," Cordus continued, "given the regrettably lacking state of our treaties, the criminal would remain under my jurisdiction."

"Law-keeping and treaties!"

With a disgusted sound, Limu spat a globule of fire onto the coffee table in front of us. It guttered instantly and went out, leaving a charred spot.

"You have spent too long among humans, whelp. As though power comes from rules and symbols. Power does not come from. Power is."

Cordus leaned forward, all pretense of indifference gone. His beauty seemed to blaze around him, inhuman, terrifying.

"As you say. So then, take her from me."

The room went silent. Not a creature in the place breathed.

Limu's eyes widened. He stared back at Cordus for several seconds. Then, with a howl of fury, he exploded into enveloping fire, boiling and seething just in front of us. I cowered away from it, pointlessly, shielding my face with my arm.

The fire seemed to grow ever denser, hotter, and brighter. Malevolence radiated from it. The fire wanted to expand, to consume. But it didn't. It was being restrained. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cordus, still sitting beside me, staring intently into the flames.

Was he holding Limu back? Yes, he must be.

After a standoff of about thirty seconds, the ball of fire — now so dense it shone like a mini-sun — convulsed and began to dim. Slowly the fire died down, revealing Limu's shape underneath, now pale yellow all over.

Rage and humiliation were plain on his face. Clearly, he'd been bested, and he hadn't expected it. He didn't say anything, just stared at Cordus, shot me a venomous glance, then stalked out.

I think the Seconds arrayed behind us were as surprised as he was. Everyone just stood there. With a sharp crack, the warped steel bars of the flambéed coffee table snapped, and the thing collapsed. Everyone jumped, then started murmuring.

Cordus sat silently for a moment, pondering the burned remnants of furniture in front of us. Then he turned to me.

"Miss Ryder, if Ambassador Cra of the First Kingdom is still present, I would very much like to speak with him again."

He must mean the green man, I thought.

Fresh out of words, I nodded, and went to find the repugnant little bird-creature. Funny how much less frightening the prospect of speaking to Cra seemed than it would have an hour earlier.

* * *

I was less uncomfortable on the ride home than I had been on the way to court. It wasn't that sitting in a plush limo with Cordus had become routine. I just had bigger things to think about.

Cordus had interrogated Cra about the item Justine supposedly stole from Limu.

I'd been only marginally less surprised than Cra when Cordus included me inside the barrier he set up to keep the conversation private.

Leaning back nonchalantly on the remaining couch and using a cool, bored tone, Cordus had hypothesized that the green men surely wouldn't have agreed to send one of their hunters on such a risky mission — risky both individually and diplomatically, Cordus pointed out — without understanding something of the stakes.

At first the ambassador had maintained ignorance, but under Cordus's silent stare, it eventually allowed as how it might've heard a few rumors — wholly unsubstantiated, of course. The scuttlebutt was that Limu had been working on a powerful weapon. Justine had wormed her way into his affections and stolen it from him. Then she'd disappeared.

After Cordus had gotten this information out of Cra, he'd spent a while circulating, but guests starting dropping away quickly. I got the feeling they all wanted to get home and hit the Second equivalent of Twitter to tell others about Limu's humiliating defeat.

I sat in the limo, pondering the idea that Justine was some sort of master thief. It was almost beyond belief.

When Cordus spoke, I jumped.

"Miss Ryder, I am remembering something the one you call Ghosteater said to you when describing the scent of Mrs. Ryder."

"That she was 'unfinished.'"

"Yes, and 'fragmentary.' I ask you again, are you certain those are the terms he used?"

"As certain as I can be, given that it wasn't something I thought I'd need to remember." I paused. "I might be able to ask him, if I went back to Dorf. I got the impression he'd been hanging out there. He might still be in the area."

Cordus didn't respond to the offer. Instead he leaned back and stretched out his legs, then studied his shoes as he tapped them slowly together.

"I begin to have an idea of what Mrs. Ryder may be." He looked up at me. "If I am right, we are facing a rather serious situation."

He focused again on his feet. Tap, tap, tap.

I sat there wondering if there was a way I could avoid getting sucked into his "rather serious situation." Unfortunately, I didn't think so.

"You read the document I gave to you."

I nodded, though it hadn't really been a question.

"Human species have been producing essence-workers for some millions of years — not only Homo sapiens but other members of the genus Homo, as well as several other genera. Some humanoid Seconds are, thus, comparatively old, though the reptiles would scoff if they heard any of us lay claim to that adjective."

I nodded, amazed for about the hundredth time in the last few weeks. So there were Neanderthal Seconds. People who'd been alive for tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of years. How extraordinary.

"That said, many walk among us to whom the lives of our greatest elders would seem but moments. Some of these are old enough to have passed into legend, so that we cannot be quite sure whether they ever existed. They are, in effect, our gods."

Gods to the gods. What a thought.

"One such legend is known as 'Eye of the Heavens.' This ancient being is said to be made of the sky itself. As the legend goes, in times of desperation, the sky looks down upon the creatures crawling in the mud beneath it and takes pity on their miserable lives. It shapes a piece of itself into a champion and sends him down to save and protect those in need."

"You think Justine is this Eye of the Heavens?" I shook my head. "If the sky sent her down here to be our champion, the sky has a pretty sick sense of humor."

Cordus frowned. I guess it wasn't a matter for levity.

"Remember that what I have just recounted is legend," he said. "The legend may be no more than an attempt to concretize and embody vague memories of a being that no one understands, that no one has seen in millennia. Memories, for instance, of an ability to shape-shift so fully that all trace of the original form is lost, memories of a creature whose true matter appears to be a group of sky-blue balls."

Well I'll be damned, I thought. The hair prickled on the back of my neck.

"Do you remember..." I replayed the event in my mind. "Right after the deer exploded into those balls, just a second later, a few more balls seemed to appear out of thin air. Each one made a little flash."

"Yes, I do remember that."

I sat there trying to draw my idea into words.

"Thinking in terms of the legend, it's like the sky only needed a certain amount of itself to make a deer, but it needed more to make a person. So it reused the deer material but had to add some more, too. I mean, Justine definitely weighs more than the deer did."

Cordus nodded. "In addition to sheer mass, she is more intelligent and has a store of existing knowledge that a deer would not have."

I could've quibbled on the "more intelligent" part but let it go.

"But where did her human memories go while she was a deer? Is she really made of sky?"

"That does not seem likely, unless we think of the sky as something other than an expanse of air, clouds, and so forth."

His face was still aimed at his tapping feet, but he was looking up at me out of the corner of his eye. I realized he was waiting for me to catch up to his conclusions. I slipped into student mode and thought about what we already knew and what we still needed to know.

"You're thinking that there's even more of her somewhere, right? And that part — the part that's not in her now — it knows something. Who she is, maybe, or what she stole and where it's hidden."

"Exactly, Miss Ryder. Very good."

"Then we have to find her missing parts."

Cordus studied his feet a while before answering.

"Perhaps, but we must not move precipitously. Lord Limu presents a threat, and it is easy to assume that the enemy of one's enemy is one's friend. Unfortunately, that cliché rarely proves true. I would like to research further the legend of Eye of the Heavens before trying to trigger any changes in Mrs. Ryder."

I nodded, but my mind had doglegged down a different track.

"We should also try to figure out what kind of weapon Limu was making," I said. "Is there any way we can get more information about that?"

"You are certainly correct, Miss Ryder. That line of research must parallel my work on Eye of the Heavens, though we must again proceed with caution. And with absolute secrecy," he added, shooting me a pointed look.

I quickly nodded, afraid he might brainwash me into silence. Frankly, I couldn't quite see why he didn't — he hardly knew me well enough to trust me.

Actually, I couldn't see why he was sharing all this with me to begin with. Maybe he foresaw needing my help later. Even so, it was weird and discomfiting. Being the only Nolander Cordus took into his confidence was worse than being the only Nolander learning Baasha, by an order of magnitude.

"For the time being," he continued, "I can tell you one thing about the weapon: it is likely a thing of great power. Lord Limu seems to have put a noticeable amount of his strength into it. He is markedly weaker than he was when we first became holders of territories in this world, and he is not one who would surrender capacity lightly."

I thought about how easily Limu had let himself be goaded into attacking. Perhaps he'd assumed he could win. Maybe he'd always been the stronger of the two.

But wait.

"You can put your capacity into an object?" I asked. "How is that possible?"

"It is an ancient art, now lost — or so I believed. I can think of no other explanation for his comparative weakness."

He thought for a few seconds, then shook his head.

"Whatever this weapon does, I suspect it will perform its function... what is the contemporary expression? 'To the nth degree.'"

"And it must be really important to him."

"I imagine so. He has made quite the sacrifice."

"So, we have to stop him from using it, right?"

Cordus turned to look at me directly, his cold gaze meeting mine.

"That depends, Miss Ryder, on his intended target, does it not?"

Chapter Eighteen

At the end of my lesson the following morning, my day took an unexpectedly nice turn.

"You may now pay a short visit to Justine Jenson Ryder," Cordus said. "For the remainder of the day, you will work in the stables as a reminder not to offend the likes of Ambassador Cra."

I schooled my face, trying to look chastened. Inside, I did a cartwheel. Shoveling horse manure instead of getting hounded by Gwen and knocked down by Tezzy? He couldn't have given me a nicer surprise if he'd shopped all day. God bless Ambassador Cra.

I made a quick stop in my room and changed into jeans, sneakers, and a sweater for my upcoming stint in the stables. Then I headed down the hall to see Justine.

"Hey, Koji," I said as I approached. "You feeling okay?"

There was always a guard outside Justine's door. It was never one of the white-wearers. The guards didn't seem intended to overpower Justine, but just to guide her back to her room, should she wander too far.

This morning, it was Koji. He looked awful — ashen and sweaty.

"Hey, Beth. Touch of flu. No biggie."

"You sure? You look like you should be in bed."

"Naw, I'm fine."

He swallowed hard a few times.

I sighed and headed on in. What was it with guys? They always had to prove how tough they were. Ben had to be practically dying before he'd take a sick day.

Justine was sitting in front of her mirror, doing her makeup. She was wearing a pretty green silk dress and heels. I felt underdressed.

"Beth! Thank goodness you're here."

She hurried over to me, looking around with a frightened expression.

"Am I safe here? I just don't feel safe. I feel like I should run away. Please, can you do something?"

Oh, man. As much as I hated her yelling at me for kidnapping, I preferred that mood to this one. Now I would have to reassure her, knowing all the while that she would be as scared when I got up to go as she was when I arrived. Maybe it was because she didn't understand why she was scared, or maybe my reassurances made no sense. After all, there was so much I couldn't say. Whatever the reason, my efforts to calm her never made much of a difference.

And this terrified, pathetic Justine was so not the woman I knew. Don't get me wrong — I couldn't stand the woman I knew. But at least she was a familiar face, a remnant of my old life. Terrified Justine was just another stranger.

The suite had a nice sitting area. We settled down on the loveseat, and I held her hand while I told her how large and well guarded Cordus's estate was, how Cordus was the most powerful man anywhere nearby, how we were working hard to try and make her even safer.

I really wanted to mention Limu and Eye of the Heavens to see if she reacted, but I obediently stifled the impulse. By some miracle, Cordus hadn't touched me yet. I was going to do everything possible to keep it that way.

I heard the door open.

"What's up, Koji?" I said, turning.

"Beth?"

It wasn't Koji. It was Graham, looking surprised.

"Graham... what are you doing here?"

"The door was unguarded. I was concerned."

"Oh. Koji did look sick. I bet he had to take a bathroom break."

Instead of leaving, Graham stood there, awkwardly passing a tennis-ball-sized rock from hand to hand and staring at Justine. He was wearing leather gloves. A bad feeling started to come over me.

"Graham, I think you need to leave. Graham."

His eyes jerked over to me.

"Stay out of this, Beth."

He rushed Justine.

I jumped up with a shout. There was a loud sound, and the floor heaved under me. With a shriek, Justine disappeared downwards, and a second later, I fell, too. I landed in mud and threw my arms over my eyes, scrabbling to keep my face clear as soil and debris poured over me. I couldn't see Justine anywhere, but Graham was above me, teetering on the edge of the vast hole I was in. Arms wind-milling, he lost his grip on the stone ball. It sailed across the pit, bounced off the top of the fallen coffee table, and came sailing down at my face. I threw a hand out to block it, and it touched my palm.

* * *

I took a breath before I realized I was under water. Fluid flooded into my lungs, heavy and burning. I thrashed, found the bottom with my knees, and tried to thrust myself up. My head broke the surface, went under again, emerged again. I floundered and managed to stand, choking and panicked. Water poured out of my mouth and nose. Leaning over, I coughed and coughed as my lungs emptied themselves.

Finally I straightened up and tried to wipe the water and tears from my eyes.

I was standing in seawater up to my midriff.

What the hell?

I could see rocks sticking out of the water only a little ways off, so I started swimming that way. After just a few body lengths, the water became too shallow to swim, so I waded until I could drag myself up onto the rocks.

My brain just shut down for a while, and I lay there, panting.

Finally I sat up and looked around. I was at the edge of a rocky shoreline. It stretched a long way before the land started to rise and a dense forest took over. I was in a sort of cove. Towering headlands rose to either side, blocking my view. I looked out to sea. Nothing but water as far as the horizon.

It was raining steadily.

Had Graham's rock brought me here, wherever "here" was? Yes, it must've. Touching it was the last thing that had happened.

Was Justine here, too? She'd fallen into the hole before me, and I thought she'd been buried. I hadn't been able to see her, at any rate. So she couldn't have touched the rock, right?

God, I hoped she hadn't suffocated under all that dirt. The thought made me sick.

Unsteadily, I stood up. I pried my phone out of my dripping jeans. When I opened it, water oozed out from around the keys. It was dead. I didn't know all that much about cell phones, but it was hard to imagine it recovering.

I began picking my way toward the trees. The rocks were studded with tide pools, which were full of anemones, starfish, snails, and small fish. Here and there, an octopus scooted into a crevice and changed colors to match its hiding place.

Eventually the pools grew more shallow and then petered out. The narrow beach beyond the pools was a mixture of gray sand and rocks. Just past the beach, a wall of huge trees rose. It looked almost impenetrable.

Where was I?

Shock gave way to anger.

Goddamn Graham. I'd gone out of my way to be nice to him. I'd felt sorry for him. I'd invented excuses for him. And all the while, he'd been plotting to send Justine to this place. Why?

I looked around, half-expecting Limu to show up and roast me alive, but I was alone.

After a while, I took my clothes off and wrung them out as best I could, then put them back on. After I'd done that, I sat down on the sand with my back against a rock and waited for someone to come get me.

* * *

It took me too long to admit that no one was coming.

I huddled on the beach, getting rained on, for the rest of that day and the whole night. By the middle of the night, I was so cold I had to get up and jog in place.

As the wee hours of the morning ticked by, my anger at Graham was replaced by fear. Fear became terror. Then I succumbed to despair. Finally, having run through all my emotions, I went numb.

Near dawn, the demands of my cold, thirsty body forced themselves front and center. The numbness receded, replaced by pragmatism. Clearly, I couldn't stay where I was. I needed water, I needed shelter, and I needed help. In comparison, my emotional life didn't matter.

I'd already seen that walking along the beach would be impossible. The cove lay between two rocky promontories, and I sure wasn't going to try climbing one of them. It would have to be the forest. Hopefully, I'd find a road quickly.

At first light, I gathered some dead wood and made an arrow pointing toward the trees. They'd probably send a tracker after me. If they didn't, at least there'd be some sign I'd been here. Then I headed in.

The forest was like nothing I'd seen before. Huge pine trees shot straight up to a canopy far above. All the branches below the canopy were needleless and coated in hanging moss. The trees grew very close together, so that the dead, mossy branches intertwined. Many of the trunks hosted brightly colored lichens. The ground was covered in moss and dense ferns. There were insects everywhere. Some were startlingly large. Several times, a massive dragonfly hovered in front of me, as though checking me out. Lizards, snails, and frogs were also abundant.

Almost immediately, I found rainwater that had collected in a pocket between two roots. I kept moving uphill and was rewarded with more fresh water. In fact, there were pools and rivulets everywhere. Check one necessity off the list.

The pools tended to be covered with tiny floating green plants, so it was easy to mistake them for dry ground. I found a long stick and began probing in front of me as I went. Progress was slow. There wasn't much underbrush besides ferns, but neither were there paths. Huge fallen trees in various states of decay littered the forest floor. Thank god I was wearing sneakers.

After an hour, I hadn't found anything I thought I could eat, but at least I was a bit warmer. I sat down against a tree trunk and took off my shoes, which were saturated. I propped them against the tree, soles up. It wasn't like they'd dry off in the rain, but maybe they'd get a little less wet. After some thought, I took off all my clothes and rinsed them with fresh water, then cleaned the salt off my skin and out of my hair as best I could. I put my wet clothes back on and settled back down to rest.

I must've drifted off, sitting there. I awoke with the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. I opened my eyes and looked around. There was no sign of any living thing bigger than a slug. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling.

When I finally saw the creature, I froze. It was on a tree trunk right across from me. It was about the size of a dinner plate and was perfectly camouflaged with the colors and pattern of the tree's bark. After some looking, I found its eye, which had a large, oblong pupil. Once I had that, the rest of the animal began to make sense. It was an octopus, of all things. I could see its tentacles coiled around it, adhering to the tree bark. It was definitely watching me.

I looked around and saw several more of the things. Once I'd gotten the sense of how they were camouflaged, I could pick them out by looking for protuberances on trunks. I twisted around to make sure there wasn't one on the tree I was sitting against. It looked clear. Then I just sat there, not sure what to do.

I'd assumed I'd been sent some place on earth when I touched Graham's stone. Somewhere in Limu's territory — Oregon, maybe. But these creatures weren't like anything I'd heard of.

Could I have been sent to the S-Em?

If so, maybe these octopuses were more than octopuses.

I got up and stood there uncertainly. Then I nodded at each of the creatures I could see.

"Um... hello there. I don't know if you can understand me, but I don't mean you any harm."

Not surprisingly, no one responded.

"Okay then. I'm not sure how I ended up here, but I need to find food and help, so I'm going to keep moving."

I started walking again, still heading uphill. All along the way, I kept seeing octopuses. I nodded politely at each one I saw, though I felt sort of stupid doing it.

By early afternoon, my legs were shaking. Not only had I found nothing to eat, but I'd been climbing steadily uphill. I sat down to rest, trying to suppress the growing fear that I was lost forever in the S-Em.

Cordus will come get me, I told myself. I'm valuable to him.

But what if Graham got away? my pessimistic side responded. What if Cordus can't find me?

Then Graham will come get me, I told myself firmly. He wouldn't abandon me here.

Will he? He was trying to get Justine, not me, pessimistic Beth said.

Pessimistic Beth was too smart for her own good. Huddled on the forest floor, I started to cry, and once I did, I couldn't stop for the longest time.

What finally got through the sobs was the feeling of being tapped on the leg. I looked up and discovered a tree-octopus perched on the large root beside me. It had reached out a tentacle and touched me. As I watched, it reached out again.

I jumped up and backed away, hurriedly wiping my face. The tree-'pus retreated up its root a bit, eyeing me.

"I'm sorry to be rude, but what do you want?"

It didn't say anything.

"Are you going to hurt me?"

Again no response. What did it say about me that I'd thought I might get one?

Slowly, it unfurled one tentacle toward me. Nestled among the suckers was a large snail.

"Oh. Is that for me?"

The tree-'pus put the snail down on the crushed ferns where I'd been sitting and withdrew its tentacle. Cautiously, I edged forward and reached a hand out. The tree-'pus backed away a bit, so I picked up the snail. Turning it over in my hands, I saw the shell was neatly cracked. I lifted half the shell away, revealing the snail inside. It was still alive, though it didn't seem to be in good shape.

"Is this to eat?" I brought it up to my mouth. "Eat?"

The tree-'pus just looked at me.

"Um... thanks. I think this is a gift. I'm sorry if I'm misunderstanding you."

I put the shell halves back together and stuck the snail in my pocket.

"I do want to eat it, but I want to cook it first, okay?"

I sat back down, hoping the thing didn't squish. Once I was sitting, the tree-'pus started approaching me again. It came slowly, stopping and looking at me every few inches, so I held still. Eventually it touched my leg, then withdrew its tentacle and looked at me.

It was pretty, actually. When I first saw it, it had been dark gray, like its root. Now it was an iridescent blue with cream-colored blotches.

I thought about it. I really didn't see how such a small creature could hurt me. I mean, I guess it could wrap around my neck or something, but it was soft-bodied. It looked like I could hurt it pretty easily with my bare hands.

When I didn't pull back, it undulated onto my calf.

Maybe this was part of the possible animal-taming thing I'd discovered on Rib Mountain. I'd pretty much dismissed that "ability" as a figment of my imagination. Maybe I was wrong.

I reached out a finger and touched the tree-'pus gingerly. It was quite cold and had a slimy coating. Oh well, we can't all be koala bears, right?

It kept moving up my leg, which was a weird feeling. Eventually, it settled in my lap. I looked into its eye. The pupil reflected light back like mother of pearl.

"You're a very attractive octopus," I said to it. "It's nice to meet you."

We sat there for another ten minutes or so, and then I told it I needed to get up and keep moving. When it didn't move, I slowly stood. It stayed affixed to the front of me, as though I were a tree trunk. I felt its tentacles shift, wrapping around my waist and ass.

Great. Groped by an invertebrate. Well, plenty of women had that experience, come to think of it.

"All right, little fellow. I have to get going, okay? You'd better hop off."

From its station on my hip, the tree-'pus stared up at me with one funny pupil. I guess it wanted to stay where it was.

"I'm going to keep walking, okay? You want to get down, just squeeze, okay?"

I took a dozen steps, then looked down at the 'pus. It showed no sign of wanting down. Looked like I had a passenger.

I continued up the forested slope for another couple hours. Eventually I realized it would be getting dark soon. I could worry about the big picture — where the hell I was and how I was going to get home — later. For the time being, I needed to get a fire going so I could stay warm over night. And cook my snail.

First I went looking for dry tinder. Unfortunately, nothing in that place was dry. Eventually, poking around a fallen tree, I found a bunch of dead moss that was only slightly damp. Then I tried to find dry pieces of wood to use as a board and spindle.

I'd never actually made fire that way, mind you, but I'd seen people do it on TV.

There simply was no dry wood. Not even a scrap.

I sat down and had another cry.

It occurred to me that I'd probably cried more in the last couple weeks than Madisyn had. It was pointless and self-indulgent. That thought helped me get a handle on myself.

I got up and started gathering more of the hanging moss, looking for the driest bunches. After about half an hour, I had a huge heap of the stuff piled beside a large tree. When the time came for bed, I'd just crawl into the pile. It was the best I could do. Hopefully it would keep me warm.

I reached into my pocket and pried out the snail. It had died, but it hadn't gotten squished. I never in a million years would've thought I could eat a raw snail, but I suppose serious hunger has way of clarifying the mind. Holding my breath, I picked it out of its shell and swallowed it down in a couple bites. It was slimy and left a nasty aftertaste. I rinsed my mouth with water from a pool.

"Thanks for the snack, little fellow," I said to the tree-'pus, which was still clutching me.

Then I sat down carefully and tried to think of something I could do that would make the next day a little better than this one had been. There was so much I needed — fire, dry clothes, food, a weapon, a way of signaling for help. I really couldn't think of a way to get any of those things.

Something touched my shoulder, and I just about jumped out of my skin. It was another tree-'pus. It was clinging to the trunk above me. Once it had my attention, it held out a dead slug.

"Hey, thanks, that's really nice," I said, taking the slug.

It was intensely gooey. I really didn't think I could eat it.

As I sat there, other tree-'puses approached me with offerings. By the time it started getting dark, I'd been given three large moths, a dragonfly, a lizard, two snails, and an earthworm. I thanked each 'pus profusely.

When the gifts stopped arriving, I retreated to my moss pile with my collection of food items. My passenger 'pus climbed off me and settled on the trunk over my head, changing color to blend in. I began to eat my gifts. The slug was just too huge and slimy, but the worm, snails, and moths went down the hatch. The lizard I offered to the tree-'pus who'd been riding around on me.

It just stared back at me in the dim light.

"Hey, I've taken you pretty far from your home. I think you deserve to get some dinner, don't you?"

It stared at me a while longer, then accepted the lizard, which disappeared under the fleshy skirt that connected the tops of its tentacles. I heard a muffled crunch and wondered exactly how octopuses eat.

"You can have the slug, too. I'm really full," I said, and held it out. After a short hesitation, it too was accepted and consumed.

I went and got a drink from one of the many rainwater collections around me. Then I climbed into my moss pile.

"Thanks for your help," I said to the tree-'puses, many of which were still parked on the trunks around me. "I really appreciate it. You're wonderful hosts, and you have a lovely forest. Very, um, moist."

Of course, nobody responded. I was starting to get used to talking to myself, though.

"Okay, well, I'm going to get some sleep. Maybe I'll see you guys in the morning."

Chapter Ninteen

Sought, sought, the wind whispered.

Ghosteater lifted his head.

Run, the wind sighed.

How long had it been since the wind said such a thing?

He opened his mouth, smelling, tasting. He didn't know the one seeking him, but it was a creature of power. Male. Young.

How strange. Few sought him any longer. Interested, he rose to seek the seeker.

The wind brushed through his fur, mumbling its warnings.

* * *

Ghosteater crouched in the silence, watching Cordus walk down a street in the place the humans called Dorf. He didn't know Cordus but recognized him for what he was: an émigré, an equal.

Equals were dangerous. His hackles lifted.

Ghosteater had not encountered many dangers of late. The great predators of this continent had vanished, and truth be told, such creatures had stopped posing a meaningful threat when he learned to walk in the silence. Even the cats. How easy it had been to step out in their midst and destroy a whole pride. It had quickly ceased to interest him.

As for humans, despite their strange machines, they were absurdly easy to kill. Soft, blind — it was hard to believe they had multiplied so swiftly, driving so many other creatures from the face of the earth. One day they had appeared, roving in a few spare bands, curious and inventive, but often starving. The next they had overrun vast stretches of the continent. Now even the land they didn't occupy bore their mark in one way or another.

The same thing had happened in the other world, to a lesser degree. There were still places there where humans didn't go.

The other world. Unwelcome memories rose. Not many years earlier, enmeshed in the affairs of others, he had shed his blood there. He had met with true danger, in those days.

But now those ties were gone. Sometimes he felt the lesser for it. He told himself it was good to be free.

The wind agreed, murmuring the word back to him, free.

As though he too heard the wind, Cordus paused, looking slowly up and down the street.

The émigré had been seeking Ghosteater for two days. He had driven slowly through the countryside, stopping and looking. He had walked all the streets of Dorf several times, wearing different human faces.

For much of that time, Ghosteater had stalked the stalker, mystified by his actions, intrigued by his persistence. It had been hard to go unseen — the man's sight was sharp. He crouched now at the moment of decision: should he turn back into the silence and forget the strange things the wind had shown him in this place, or should he bite the matter and wrestle it down until he understood it?

The wind shifted, blowing from the north. Sharp and pungent, it tempted him with a taste of the boreal forest — the quiet of the deep woods, the crunch of late snow beneath his once-paws, the hot blood of a wolverine in his mouth.

The wind had brought him here, and now it wanted him far away.

He didn't understand it. The wind didn't lie. It didn't jest. It had no mind for such things.

Ghosteater shifted his weight, uncertain. He should probably heed its latest advice. In his experience, the wind didn't speak of danger lightly.

And yet, what he had seen in this place intrigued him: the woman Justine, who smelled like nothing he'd ever encountered; the pup, Beth, who seemed insignificant, and yet walked all the paths; the golden-haired man; and now, a human émigré, walking alone in the first world.

Ghosteater's curiosity ate at him.

Coming to a decision at last, he slipped forward, showing himself.

"Émigré."

"Elder beast," Cordus replied, stopping and bowing. "You honor me with your presence."

Ghosteater cared nothing for honor.

"You seek me."

"I do. I have come to ask your assistance."

Ghosteater cocked his head, waiting.

"One of my people, the woman Elizabeth Joy Ryder, has disappeared from my home. I believe she has been taken by a traitor, but my trackers cannot follow him. I know you met Miss Ryder, spoke with her. I ask you to help me find her."

Ghosteater sat down, tucking his tail over his once-paws. He studied Cordus for some time.

These human émigrés weren't like him. They made rules, played games. They spoke words they didn't mean. They fought with subterfuge and indirection, not tooth and claw.

Until they did fight with tooth and claw. Then they destroyed everything. Repugnant.

The she-pup, though, she had interested him. She who walked all the wind's paths.

"A man was here," Ghosteater said. "A marrow-worker. Slender, golden hair, your smell."

Cordus nodded. "The traitor."

"He went to an ancient place. He found a carven strait."

Cordus stared at Ghosteater. He smelled astonished. Finally he gathered his wits.

"I had not thought any of those devices were still at large, in this world or the other."

Ghosteater chuffed with annoyance and said nothing. This species thought itself all-knowing. Many such workings were lost and forgotten eons before his own source species appeared, much less Cordus's.

"Elder beast, do you know where the companion strait is located?"

"No."

The man stood silently, thinking.

"Would you be willing to track the traitor for me?"

Ghosteater tilted his head. Becoming entangled with the émigré was dangerous. The wind had said so. A thrill ran through him, a pale echo of his first hunts, of his last battles.

Cordus seemed to sense his excitement.

"The man is exceedingly dangerous. Any who track him will be struck down, unless their strength exceeds his. None of my trackers are strong enough."

A hunt. A true hunt.

"If it is as you say, I will track him."

The man nodded. "The debt is mine."

Ghosteater was not, by nature, a keeper of accounts. He would help the émigré because the situation interested him, not out of benevolence or because he wanted a favor in return. Nevertheless, he said nothing. His long life had taught him some caution.

"The trail begins near the eastern edge of this continent," Cordus said. "We can get there most quickly in my airplane."

The great beast rose and came forward. Cordus stepped back, watchfulness and caution evident in his posture. That was as it should be.

* * *

Ghosteater stared out the small window. Cordus had warned him of the airplane's fragility, so he kept his once-paws carefully silent. He stared down at the tiny lights beneath, clusters connected by slender strings, sprinkled all over with single stars. Small pools of darkness marked bodies of water, and then a long darkness came as the airplane crossed one of the great freshwater seas the ice had left behind.

He sat back on his haunches. How strange to pass over the land from far above. How deeply strange.

The aircraft struck him as insubstantial, ephemeral. He could have destroyed it with ease. Yet for all its frailty, it did something he would have thought impossible.

He felt unsettled. He had paid little mind to the humans who came to these lands mere millennia ago, thinking them a passing blight. Perhaps they deserved greater attention.

Danger, he heard in the violated wind's muted howl outside. Run.

Chapter Twenty

I wasn't nearly so cold as I had been the night before. Despite the dampness of my clothes, the heap of moss provided good insulation. I woke feeling cramped and filthy, and with a headache and a stomach ache, but at least I'd slept.

When I pushed my way out of the moss, I was met with an audience — dozens of tree-'puses covered the trunks and larger branches all around me. Several had even come down onto the ground, turning green to blend with the ferns and mosses.

As soon as I appeared, the closer ones began to hold out offerings. I didn't feel much like eating, but I collected worms, snails, frogs, moths, and other creatures, thanking each 'pus for its gift. The cache included several more huge dragonflies. I'd never seen ones so big. Their bodies were longer than my hand.

No, that wasn't quite right. I had seen huge dragonflies before — in drawings of the prehistoric Earth.

Maybe some essence-worker had made this place millions of years ago.

How many millions?

I looked at my collection of dead creatures. There were no mammals or birds.

Well, whenever the place had been made, I still had to find help. I stood up and squared my shoulders.

"Guys," I said to the tree-'puses, "I'm going to keep heading uphill, today. I need to find a village or a road or something, someone who can help me get back to my world."

Dozens of oblong pupils stared back at me silently.

"Thank you for taking care of me. I really appreciate it."

I gathered the food offerings up and was momentarily stymied on how to carry them. Eventually I took off the T-shirt I was wearing under my sweater and bundled the creatures up in it. Hardly ideal, but it should keep them contained. I would eat them as soon as my stomach settled.

I looked for the tree-'pus who'd accompanied me the day before and found it on the same trunk. When I looked at it, it reached several tentacles out to me.

"Are you sure you want to come with me, little guy? I'm taking you farther and farther from your home."

It kept stretching toward me, detaching a few more tentacles to stretch out.

I was torn. It might be helpful to have the 'pus with me, but if I found help, I might have to leave it someplace where there was no good habitat for it.

The 'pus had seven tentacles stretched out to me and was clinging to the trunk with just one. Its skin was pulsing from blue and cream to pearly white.

"Okay, okay," I said, going over so it could climb onto my hip. "I hope you understand, little fellow."

It settled itself on my jeans. One of its tentacles snuck under my sweater, and its suckers gripped my bare skin — damp and shivery.

Waving goodbye to the other tree-'puses, I headed uphill.

As it turned out, my 'pus had nothing to worry about — I found nothing all day except massive trees, rain, and a steady incline. I stopped a few hours into my walk to eat the more bearable of my food choices, giving the extras to my passenger. Then I continued on, hour after hour.

By late afternoon, I hurt all over. Not only was every muscle in my body screaming, but as I grew more fatigued, I fell down more, so I had a lot of new bruises. Fortunately, the 'pus proved adept at flinging itself away from me when I fell, so I hadn't landed on it.

When evening approached, I assembled another moss pile for sleeping. I was again provisioned by the tree-'puses.

As I ate, I felt my mind worrying a bad thought that hadn't quite emerged from my subconscious.

Well, best to keep it buried, I thought. Likely there'd be nothing I could do about it, anyway. I crawled into my moss and went to sleep.

* * *

Unfortunately, when I woke up, the bad thought was parked in the center of my mind, all touched up with fresh paint and a body kit.

Some parts of the S-Em had multiple strata, Cordus's document had said, layered versions of a single landscape, as reshaped by different workers. My thought was this: what if I was in a stratum and couldn't get from here to somewhere else? More importantly, what if others couldn't get from somewhere else to here?

I'd assumed there would be people here, even if this part of the S-Em was made before humans evolved. After all, humans were nothing if not colonizers. All of the Earth had been around for eons before humans evolved, and we'd covered the whole planet.

But what if people had never found their way to this place? What if I was the only vertebrate here bigger than a frog?

Should I have stayed down near the shore?

No, what would be the point of that? I had to look for help. It was either that or hunker down and wait for a rescue that might never happen. And hope the tree-'puses remained generous. That was no way to confront my situation. I'd be back in passive-victim mode.

It was better to try to find help. If Cordus had sent a rescue party, they'd be tracking me and would probably catch up to me quickly.

I just had to keep looking for people — a village, a shack, a road, anything.

Resolved, I gathered up my 'pus and the morning offerings, and headed uphill.

* * *

By the end of the day, I still hadn't reached the summit. The mountain seemed to go on forever.

As I bedded down for the night, I watched the 'puses on the trees around me. There was a period every evening, right around dusk, when they abandoned their camouflage and put on a short symphony of color. It started as I lay there. Pulses and flashes of color lit up the trunks and branches as far as I could see. They hit every shade in the rainbow, and then some, the colors moving across the forest in vast waves.

The display was completely silent and quite beautiful. Exhausted and frightened as I was, it was hard not to be filled with wonder. How many people got to see something like this? Not many, I thought.

Let's just hope you're not the only one, ever, pessimistic Beth chimed in.

Chapter Twenty-One

"A sink hole formed, here, without warning," Cordus said. "Apparently an underground spring shifted and began to saturate the soil some months ago. The earth liquefied just as Mr. Ryzik joined Miss Ryder in the room. That is the kind of event Mr. Ryzik's gift creates."

Ghosteater tasted the air in the room and was surprised.

"The woman Justine was here."

"Yes. She was staying in this room."

Ghosteater circled the hole, then jumped down into it, sniffing carefully. Justine had been under the dirt. The scents had been trampled by those who came to dig her out, but he could still read them — her burial beneath falling earth, the place where I'd lain, the carven strait falling toward the bottom of the pit, the moment of contact between it and my hand. He tasted the slightly burned scent of my passage through the strait. He smelled Graham's scramble down into the hole, his brief effort to uncover Justine, his terrified flight with the carven strait in his pocket.

"I will track him. You cannot keep up with me. I will track alone, then return for you."

"If you carry this device with you, I can follow you by car."

Cordus held out a small thing. Ghosteater didn't recognize it, but I can see it in his mind's eye — a GPS unit.

The beast understood. The émigré wanted to be there at the end of the hunt to best the prey and claim it for himself. Ghosteater didn't object — he had no use for the man. He permitted Cordus to put a loop of rope around his neck and clip the unit to it. He could slice it off in an instant, if need be.

He stepped into the silence and loped out of the house, allowing Graham's scent to guide him over the lawns to the edge of the property, where he went through Cordus's barrier with an uncomfortable tingle. He passed the blood the barrier had cost Graham, smelled his pain.

The trail led to a highway, where he could tell the man had entered a vehicle. He followed more carefully, then, since human habitations were thick.

He found that the car had passed over a river by bridge. Would the silence truly hide him on that slender span of rock and metal, teeming with cars? He wasn't sure. Best not to take a chance. Quietly, he slipped into the water.

* * *

Ghosteater slid into an alley at the last moment. The runaway city bus careened past him and struck a building. He moved away from the stink of gasoline and the screams of the injured.

He'd been working his way through the great city for more than a day. The unusual gift of the one he tracked created havoc all around him. Accidents befell him at every turn — cars ran up onto the sidewalk, air conditioning units fell from windows, utility poles came crashing down, hordes of rats emerged from sewers, shootouts broke out between police and armed suspects, scaffolding collapsed, gas mains exploded, riots blocked streets.

Each time, he had avoided injury, but the delays mounted. The man was still at least an hour ahead and had kept moving.

He wondered where the émigré was. Perhaps he had rethought his desire to follow by car. It wouldn't surprise him. Trailing this strange man was far more challenging than Ghosteater had thought it would be, and the human powers were known for caution.

* * *

The beast leapt sideways, avoiding a small avalanche of falling masonry. At long last, the man had stopped moving. Ghosteater had tracked him to the basement of an old building in the southern reaches of the island. The falling stone had blocked the window he had been about to slide through. He circled the building, looking for another way in.

There were no other windows into the basement. Instead, he used the building's main entrance, drawing his claws from the silence to carve through the locked door. He padded around the ground level until he found the stairwell leading down. He pushed the door open and paused. With a shudder and crash, the staircase collapsed.

Turning away from the heap of rubble, he found another shaft leading down. He cut his way in, then jerked back just in time as the building's elevator came hurtling down. Once it hit bottom, he jumped down onto it and dug through to the basement. His claws were strong, but they were not meant for steel. The process took a while, but the man's own luck had trapped him down there.

When he at last saw his quarry, he was saddened. The man lay against a wall, exhausted, filthy, trembling, covered with wounds. Ghosteater understood — humans were not designed to run, without sleep, for four days. Nevertheless, it was a depressing end to a challenging hunt. The man had proven far worthier than the beast had ever expected. Dangerous indeed.

He advanced, then jumped aside as a heavy pipe fell from the ceiling.

The man's eyes opened halfway.

"Saw you cut them down," he whispered. "Shadows of Marshwren. Only thing that made them bleed."

Ghosteater paused, surprised. If this man had been at Marshwren, he was older than expected. Older than the émigré knew, perhaps. He approached the man and nosed him, inhaling, searching for the subtlest of clues. Yes, from the other realm and quite old for his kind.

"Why are you here, native?"

The man touched Ghosteater's foreleg.

"Strong," he whispered.

He was drained and close to losing consciousness.

"Native, why are you here?" Ghosteater repeated.

"Fugitive."

Ghosteater understood, then, to some degree. The humans made laws, snared one another in them, punished those who transgressed. Sometimes the transgressors escaped. This world had long provided a hiding place for fugitives from the other.

It was such a one who had ensnared him in years past and led him to the rending fields at Marshwren and elsewhere.

Ghosteater pushed the memory away. The man here before him was another.

He thought instead about laws. Their virtue escaped him. Beasts had a different way — the strongest ruled until a stronger one emerged. To structure and bind existence in a system of laws and submit oneself to them — this was repellent to him. A law had no claws of its own. It had no teeth. Thus it should have no sway.

Whatever rules this man had broken didn't matter to him.

Ghosteater thought about the situation.

Initially, the man had not interested him enough to squabble with the émigré. Now he did — so worthy an adversary. Looking down at the crumpled figure, the beast laid claim to him as prey taken. Now he alone had the right to kill him, and that he chose not to do, at least for the time being.

"Rest, fugitive. I will guard you."

* * *

Two hours later, someone used an essence-worked barrier to punch through one of the basement walls. Ghosteater raised his head and watched Cordus and several of his people climb through the hole. The fugitive was sleeping behind him. Ghosteater yawned expansively, showing off his teeth.

"Émigré."

"Elder beast," Cordus said, "I am sorry to have been delayed. The device I gave you stopped functioning before you reached the city."

Ghosteater looked back at him, not feeling a response was needed. Cordus's eyes shifted.

"I see you have found him."

"Worthy prey," Ghosteater said. "He is mine."

An uncomfortable silence fell. The beast studied the people Cordus had brought — Zion, Gwen, and Williams. The last of them was the barrier-worker. He had some strength. Nevertheless, none of them was a threat. The émigré, of course, was.

Finally Cordus said, "I recognize that you claim him as prey, but Miss Ryder must be recovered. You will not prevent me from doing so, even at the cost of his life."

Ghosteater thought about it. In his eyes, Cordus had no particular right to me — he could find what he was sharp enough to track, keep what he was strong enough to hold. Other claims didn't matter.

On the other hand, I interested him even more than Graham did. He wished to see me again.

"Agreed," he said, and moved aside.

"Miss Hegstrom," Cordus said, "examine Mr. Ryzik, but do not go through his clothing."

Gwen went forward and checked Graham over.

"He's drained, exhausted, and dehydrated, and the barrier did some damage. I don't see any mortal injury."

Cordus nodded.

Ten minutes later, Gwen and Williams had propped Graham up in a corner. He was semi-conscious, and Gwen was spooning broth into his mouth. Cordus and Ghosteater stood back, waiting.

"Mr. Ryzik," Cordus said.

Graham mumbled something unintelligible. Gwen gripped him under the chin and forced his face up. His eyes blinked blearily.

"Yeah," Graham said, slurring.

"Where is Miss Ryder?"

"Carven strait. Dunno where it took her."

"Where is the strait?"

"Pocket."

"Mr. Williams, bring the strait to me. Do not touch its surface."

Williams shot him an I'm-not-an-idiot look and pulled on a pair of gloves before taking the stone ball out of Graham's pocket. He brought it over to Cordus, who examined it while Williams held it. Eventually, Cordus reached out and took it, not bothering to cover his skin. Everyone in the room felt the strait grasp at him, but with a concentrated expression, Cordus overpowered its pull.

He held the ball for a while, studying it.

Finally he said, "The corresponding strait is in an ancient stratum or isolate of the S-Em. It is functional."

"Fresh water? Predators? Food supply?" Gwen asked.

Cordus shook his head. "That I cannot tell."

"I'll go," Williams said. He smelled annoyed.

"Perhaps," Cordus said.

"It's been four days," Williams said. "If she's not dead already, she's probably hanging on by a thread."

"Nevertheless, this situation requires some thought and planning before anyone enters the strait. Elder beast, I suggest we return to my home. Mr. Ryzik can be cared for there, and we can consider how best to retrieve Miss Ryder."

Ghosteater stood, assenting.

* * *

About six hours later, Ghosteater, Cordus, and a handful of Cordus's people were gathered in a small room.

Graham was sleeping off his ordeal in the estate's infirmary, across the hall. Going forward, Cordus would have to keep him drained him by force. It was an unpleasant prospect, but it was the only way to detain a powerful worker.

Cordus had decided that Williams, Zion, and Kara would enter the fragment. Zion could find me; Kara could heal me, if I needed it; and Williams could protect the group. The team had been equipped with weapons and survival gear — tarps, ropes, dehydrated food, and so forth.

Ghosteater surveyed the rescue party.

He did not like company. On the other hand, the idea of entering an ancient stratum piqued his interest. It was often difficult to pass between strata. In fact, some of them — the isolates — were entirely disconnected from the main body of the S-Em. There was a good chance he'd never seen this place.

"I will go."

Cordus turned to him, surprised.

"You care for Miss Ryder?"

Ghosteater just looked back at him, silent. He knew better than to reveal his motive. His inclination to curiosity had been exploited before.

"Will you help track Miss Ryder? Her retrieval must be your first priority."

"I will track her and guard your people."

"Very well, elder beast," Cordus said, still looking perplexed. "Zion, you will work with the beast to track Miss Ryder."

Zion nodded, smelling wary.

Williams went first. Gun drawn and barrier already in place, he approached the strait, which was sitting on the floor. He crouched down and touched it, disappearing with a smell of burned space. Kara followed after thirty seconds, also with her weapon ready. Zion went next.

Ghosteater walked to the stone ball and lowered his nose to touch it. He felt the strait open and try to grip him. He resisted, inhaling. Saltwater. Oxygen-rich air and life, abundant life.

"The companion is under water," he said to Cordus.

Then he let the strait take him.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the rescue party stood on the rocky beach. Ghosteater shook himself and looked over his shoulder at the three humans. Williams had not crafted his barrier to keep out water, so they were wet.

Ghosteater lowered his nose and quickly found the place I had huddled all night, then followed my scent to the edge of the forest. He sat down to wait for the humans, who were still wringing the seawater out of their clothing and packs.

Once the party was ready, they entered the forest.

"Look at that," Kara said, pointing to a tree-'pus. "There're tons of them here."

Ghosteater approached to sniff the creature and was met with a punch in the nose. He backed away, shaking his head. The animal was a powerful worker, and he knew by scent that there were millions of them in the forest.

"Water-worker?" Williams asked.

"Yes," Ghosteater said.

The creature had created a small wall of water, then propelled it into his face at high speed. The effect was like being hit in the nose with a rock.

"What do we do?" Kara said, looking around nervously.

"Wait 'til they decide we're not a threat," Williams said, settling on a root.

Ghosteater lay down in the ferns, then stretched out on his side, exposing his belly. Kara and Zion sat down next to Williams, smelling nervous.

After about an hour, one of the 'puses approached them. It reached out a tentacle and touched Kara's hand.

"Ugh, gross!"

The 'pus withdrew.

Zion made a disapproving sound.

"Be nice to them, dumbass."

"Easy for you to say." Kara wiped her hand on her pants. "It touched me, not you."

Williams slowly held his hand out to the 'pus, which had bunched itself up defensively.

"Hello, little one."

Tentatively, the 'pus touched his hand. When Williams didn't react, it coiled a tentacle around his wrist and began moving up.

"Oh my god, you've got to be kidding," Kara said.

"Shhhhh."

"Fuck off, Zion."

Ghosteater thought the tree creatures recognized him as a predator, so he lay still and said nothing. The humans' bickering annoyed him. Perhaps he could eat one of them. It depended on how powerful Cordus actually was and how much he would mind losing a lesser minion.

Williams now had the tree-'pus in the crook of his arm and was explaining to it that they were here to find me and bring me home.

"Do you really think it can understand you?" Zion said.

"Dunno," he said.

After another half an hour, Williams shifted the 'pus onto a tree and gave the order to proceed. The 'puses didn't react as the group got up and moved out.

Half an hour later, they found the place I'd napped on my second day.

"I think she stopped here a while," Zion said.

"She slept," Ghosteater said. "Then she went on."

"Goddamn it," Williams said.

"What?" said Kara.

"She should've stayed put."

"She was probably trying to find help."

"There's no help, here."

"How do you know?"

"Just do." He looked around. "This is an isolate."

Ghosteater looked up the trail, impatient with the humans' conversation and the slowness of their travel. He could cover this terrain ten times faster than they could.

As they moved out, the females fell back to sniping at each other. He had spent too long alone to tolerate such annoyances.

"Tracker, I will find her. Follow my trail."

Not waiting for a response, he trotted away through the trees, picking up speed in increments when the tree-'puses didn't react. Soon he was racing through the forest, leaping pools and fallen logs with ease. In ten minutes, he found the place where the tree-'pus had befriended me. Ten minutes later, he reached the place I'd stopped for the night and noted that the tree-'puses had fed me. Then he ran on through the dim forest.

Chapter Twenty-Two

On my fifth day in Octoworld, as I'd started to think of it, I finally reached the summit. I didn't realize it at first. There was no pointy top where I could stand and survey the land for miles around, just a gradual flattening out of the terrain.

I stopped and looked around. The trees had changed, I realized — they were shorter and more spaced out. Instead of the clutter of pools and mossy fallen logs, the ground was dry and covered with pine needles. Dense patches of tall ferns grew here and there. For the first time, it wasn't raining.

As I stood there, the tree-'pus gave me a hard squeeze. I looked around and didn't see any other 'puses.

"What's up little guy? Do you need to get off?"

It looked up at me out of its oblong pupil. As usual, it had nothing to say, but it did squeeze me again.

Sadness welled up. Okay, it was an octopus. But it was my companion and provider. Now I was going to have to leave it behind. I'd be well and truly alone.

Afraid it would be too dry for the 'pus where I was, I headed back the way I'd come. After ten minutes, the ground began to slope down again, and the rain picked up. I found a big tree with a nice pool near its roots.

I sidled up to the trunk to let the 'pus transfer itself. Instead it detached several tentacles and waved them in the downhill direction. When I didn't move, it added a few more, stretching insistently. It pretty clearly wanted me to keep walking back into the rainforest.

"Your forest is really nice, little guy, but I can't stay there. I'm pretty sure there's no one there who can help me get home."

It kept waving.

"I'm sorry, buddy, but I have to keep looking. It's either that or just give up. There might not be anyone coming for me."

Finally it stopped waving and flowed from my hip onto the tree trunk.

"Bye, little guy. Thanks for all your help. I really appreciate it. I guess I probably won't be back this way, but I hope I'll see you again, somehow."

The 'pus didn't pay any attention to my farewell speech. Instead it moved down the trunk, lurched over the roots to the pool, and plopped in. After a few seconds underwater, it climbed out, shimmering strangely. I knelt down to get a better look. It was covered with a thick shell of water.

The 'pus crawled over the ferns to my foot and started to climb up my leg. Instead of soaking into my clothes, its coat of water stayed intact. It seemed like magic to me, but it was probably a working.

"Wow, portable fishbowl. That's some trick. So, you want to come with me? Is that it?"

It stared up at me, the water making its eye look even stranger.

I stood there, ambivalent. It obviously couldn't live unassisted in the terrain beyond the rainforest. How long would it be able to sustain itself with its water jumpsuit? If it ran out of water, it would probably die.

"I really appreciate the help, but I don't think you should come. It's too dangerous. Besides, I might not come back this way."

It didn't move.

"Why don't I just put you on this nice trunk, here?"

I pried one of its water-coated tentacles off my waist. At that point, I learned just how tenacious an octopus can be. Try as I might, I couldn't get it off me. Every time I broke a tentacle's grip, the slimy thing would whip out of my hands and wrap back around me. In the end, I gave up, afraid I was going to hurt the 'pus if I kept pulling at it.

"Okay, little guy. Thank you. I really hope I'm not going to get you killed."

With its thick coating of water, the 'pus weighed a lot more than it had before, so I urged it to climb onto my upper back, like a living backpack.

Then, at last, I headed out of the rainforest, trying to feel hopeful about what lay ahead.

* * *

Two hours later, I stood on a ledge and surveyed the land beneath.

Walking down the dry side of the mountain, I'd noticed a rocky outcropping jutting out to my left. I'd backtracked up to its highest point of contact with the main slope, then walked out along the top of it, trying to get a view over the trees.

I'd had great hopes of seeing a city, a village, even a column of smoke — anything that would suggest human habitation. My hopes were disappointed.

All around me, the land fell away sharply, the pine forest thinning out as the mountain gave way to a lush, green river valley. On the far side of the valley, I could see more wooded hills. I stood there scanning the terrain for some time but couldn't find any sign of people.

I thought about what to do. The rainforest was a known quantity. If I went back, I could use the moss to stay warm, and the tree-'puses would probably provide me with food, at least for a while.

But whatever the rainforest had going for it, I just couldn't make myself turn back. Sitting there and doing nothing, day after day, waiting for a rescue that might never come — no. The thought made my skin crawl.

Waiting for whatever happened to me to happen — that's what I'd been doing ever since I ran home from college. I couldn't afford to be that person anymore. Whatever I might've lost, at this moment, I had the power to make a choice, and I was going to choose action, not passivity.

I could follow the river. People often built cities and towns along rivers or where rivers met the sea. Maybe that would be my best bet. The river would be good for the 'pus, too — plenty of water.

Decision made, I walked back along the outcropping to the main slope and continued down the mountain.

* * *

After about forty-five minutes of easy downhill walking, I heard movement off to my right. Since leaving the rainforest, I hadn't seen any creatures larger than a dragonfly, so I crept closer to investigate. When I got near enough, I peered cautiously around a tree trunk.

What I saw could only be a dinosaur. It was small — its back might've come up to my knee — and walked on its hind legs. It had a narrow, snakelike head, which it was using to root around in the thick carpet of dead pine needles. Everything about it looked light and agile, from its long neck and tail to its small body to its slender limbs. As I watched, it used its clawed hands to shift a small fallen branch, then snapped up a lizard that had been hiding underneath.

The creature pumped its head, gulping down its prey like an owl swallowing a mouse. Then it caught sight of me and froze, staring at me with large, yellow eyes, a bit of lizard tail sticking comically from the corner of its mouth. Then it whirled and darted off. The dark-brown-and-rufous pattern of its skin blended perfectly with the surrounding forest, and I quickly lost sight of it.

"Well, what do you know about that?" I said to the 'pus. "I guess there are some larger vertebrates here, after all."

But except for one mini-dinosaur, the forest seemed strangely empty. Maybe I'd entered mini-dinosaur paradise — all the bugs you could eat and no competition.

After about another hour of walking, the tree-'pus gave me a hard squeeze. I stopped and surveyed the terrain before me. I couldn't see anything. It squeezed me again, harder, and I turned a slow circle, looking behind and to the sides. Nothing.

I walked on, spooked. The 'pus kept squeezing me, but every time I stopped to look around, there was nothing there.

Finally, about twenty minutes later, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned quickly and saw a patch of ferns swaying, as though something had just darted into them. I saw another movement to my left and spun around, this time just catching a bit of reptilian tail as it disappeared behind a fallen log.

Minis-dinos. They were following me.

My heart rate shot up, and I quickly reached for my rubber band. It wasn't there. At some point it had come off, and I hadn't even noticed. I took several slow breaths, reaching for calm.

I hadn't been afraid of the one I'd seen. It'd be like fearing a housecat. Sure, it had teeth, but it was quite small. It might bite me, but do serious damage? No. Furthermore, it had seemed afraid of me.

A whole pack of the things was a different matter, though. I backed away slowly, picking up a few fist-sized stones as I went.

Over the next few minutes, they grew bolder about showing themselves. Finally, one darted at me, feinting at the last moment and retreating. Several more emerged from the ground cover. They came forward slowly, crouching a bit, heads held low and weaving slightly. It sure looked like stalking behavior to me. Not good.

"Okay, 'pus, hold on," I murmured.

I gathered myself and rushed them, shouting and throwing stones. They immediately spun around and raced back into the ferns. Once they were out of sight, I turned and sprinted downhill, hoping I'd scared them off.

I wasn't counting on it, though. After a few minutes, I slowed and began looking for more rocks. I pulled off my T-shirt and knotted it into a little bag, which I filled with stones.

Within half an hour, they were back on my trail — I could tell by the 'pus's squeezes. They trailed me for about an hour before they began getting bold enough to show themselves again. Several times I drove them off by shouting and throwing stones, but eventually that tactic lost its effect, and they began darting in, nipping at my ankles or jumping to snap at my hands.

I knew I was in trouble. Now that they were getting close, I could see they had a formidable array of teeth — small but sharp and numerous. Their claws also looked perfectly capable of cutting skin.

I considered climbing a tree, but what if they didn't lose interest once I was up there? I couldn't stay in a tree forever.

Afraid to keep my back to them, I turned to face them, walking backwards slowly. I was taken by surprise when one rushed in from behind me and bit my calf. I shouted and lost my balance. I twisted and swung my arms wildly, trying not to fall. By sheer luck, my bag of rocks caught the mini in the head as it let go of me and feinted to my right. It weaved around, disoriented. I lost my battle with gravity and fell right on it.

I scrambled to my feet. My attacker lay there, twitching. I'd crushed it.

Heart racing, I backed away as at least a dozen other minis advanced. But when they pounced, their target was their dying comrade, not me. I turned and ran.

Five minutes later, I had to stop. The stitch in my side made it impossible to breathe, and my leg hurt. I could tell it was bleeding from the squishy feeling in my shoe.

I stood there, bent over, gasping. If I got out of this situation, I was never going to complain about Gwen's workouts again — clearly, I needed them.

Only after a couple minutes did I realize I was lucky not to have left the tree-'pus behind. Usually it bailed out when I fell. This time it hadn't, but I hadn't stopped to think about it before I ran.

"Sorry, buddy," I said, reaching through its watery casing to pat the limb it had wrapped around my chest.

Feeling very shaky, I limped downhill. Hopefully the minis would be satisfied with their meal. If not, I didn't think I could escape. There was nothing at the bottom of the mountain but fields of grass. Nowhere to hide.

* * *

The dead mini bought me more than an hour. I pushed as fast as I could with my injured leg. By the time they caught up with me, the slope had begun to flatten out. The trees were growing sparser, and the patches of ferns came more often. I was leaving a trail of bloody footprints.

This time, they came on without hesitation. I heard the rustling in the ferns and didn't even get fully turned around before they were darting in all around me, clawing and biting. I swung the sack of stones and connected a few times, but there were too many. They started leaping up at me, aiming at my face and neck. I staggered back and fell, and they swarmed me. Instinctively, I threw my arms up to shield my face and neck, even though it was pointless.

Something wet shuddered past me with a deep whump, and a force pressed me down into the ground for a split second. The biting stopped.

After a few moments, I raised my head. Everything within a forty-foot ring around me was destroyed — there was nothing but flattened ferns and downed trees. A few minis were lying some distance from me, moving feebly. The others were out of sight.

I looked for the 'pus and found it a few feet behind me. Its watery coating was gone, and it was coated in pine needles.

Painfully, I rolled over and stood. I'd been bitten many times and could feel blood running down my legs. I gathered up the 'pus and staggered on.

Half an hour later, the ground leveled and the trees petered out. The lush, green valley I'd seen that morning stretched out ahead of me. The greenery wasn't grass, as I'd assumed — it was ferns, a dense sea of ferns.

I limped out past the last of the trees, moving toward the river I remembered seeing. I badly needed water, and the 'pus's skin had taken on a dry, sticky feel that couldn't be good.

Once out in the ferns, I looked back.

There were the minis, grouped near the last tree, stretching up to watch me over the fronds. I stood for a moment, frozen with terror. If they attacked again, I didn't think the 'pus would be able to save me. I wasn't sure what it had done the last time — an explosion of some kind — but it had clearly used up its water doing it.

The minis didn't attack. They watched me for a minute and then turned and retreated back into the forest. The trees seemed to mark the edge of their territory.

So whose territory was this? I looked around with renewed fear, but couldn't see anything but waves of soft green, moving gently in the breeze.

I tucked the 'pus up under my sweater. Maybe the poor critter would stay a little moister under there. Then I struggled on, desperate for water.

* * *

I found the river fairly quickly, thank god. I was so thirsty, and was starting to feel sick and dizzy, as well.

Knee-high ferns grew right up to the banks. Their dense roots formed a spongy mat that kept my feet from sinking into the mud.

When I reached the water's edge, it occurred to me that there might be aquatic predators to worry about. I took a few steps back and surveyed the river. It was wide, slow moving, and very clear. For some ways out, it was only a foot or two deep, but then the water darkened, as though with great depth.

I couldn't see anything moving out there, but that didn't really mean anything.

I sank to my knees and pulled the 'pus out from under my shirt. I lowered it into the water. It hung there limply for a minute, and I was afraid it had died. But then it unfurled its tentacles and relaxed into the water, its oblong pupil staring up at me.

"Drink it up, little guy," I said.

I leaned down and drank as well.

After a few minutes, the 'pus started crawling back up my arm, its cocoon of water reformed around it. I pulled it up onto the shore but was too weak to lift it — it must've weighed thirty pounds with its water coat. So I sat back and let it crawl into my lap.

Jesus, I owed my life to an octopus.

At least for the time being. I wasn't in good shape.

Why the hell had I left the rainforest? I'd been safe and well fed, there. Now I was injured — in a minute I'd have to try to figure out how badly — with no food, no shelter, and no possibility of retracing my steps. And so far as I could tell, I was no closer to finding help than I had been before.

I seemed incapable of making a good decision.

Moving slowly, I set the 'pus aside and stripped down to my underwear. My legs, hips, and rear were covered with bites and scratches, and I had some on my back and arms, too. None of the wounds were deep, but all were bleeding. From my woozy feeling, I thought the loss was adding up.

I sat there, stupefied. I had no idea what to do.

I should clean the bites, I thought.

The only thing I could clean them with was river water, and who knows what bacteria it held. Then again, I'd just drunk it. But what might I attract if I got into the water with open wounds?

I realized I was probably going to die pretty much where I was. I was too weak to keep going. It was late afternoon. The sun had already sunk behind the mountain. It wasn't as cold as it had been in the rainforest, but it would be chilly overnight. I had no food.

Really, what could I do?

I sat there a while, hurting and deeply angry at myself. Then I heard a strange, rasping noise behind me. I twisted around to look, too exhausted and low to be as afraid as I probably should've been.

The ferns were moving weirdly. I staggered to my feet, expecting a mini to come darting out, but after a second, I realized it was the plants themselves that were moving — not just near me, but as far out along the plain as I could see.

I stared in disbelief as they writhed.

Not long ago I'd wondered what kind of world a tree would invent for itself. The idea that a fern might work essence seemed even stranger. A tree had size, longevity. But a fern?

All the movement had purpose, I realized — the ferns were churning up the soil. The plants closest to me pulled something up with a small explosion of dirt. They grappled it upright and began to coil around it, like vines. They climbed to the top, then shot out feelers, questing for something else to grip.

I'd recognized the object before they covered it. It was a massive bone, half as tall as I was.

With another burst of soil, a matching bone emerged and was propped up and covered. Then two much bigger bones were passed up and woven into place atop the initial ones. Then two more. I backed away. More fern-vines boiled out atop the twin columns, which were by then two or three times my height. More and more vines grew, until a seething mass of green loomed over me, stretching forward as the columns swayed and bent.

As the ferns proliferated, more bones were brought up from the soil and passed into the mass of plant matter, which bucked and writhed itself into shape to accommodate each new arrival. As vertebrae were added, the mass stretched to create a torso and tail. Rib bones gave the torso depth and form.

I looked away from the spectacle, hoping to see an escape route, but similar constructions were underway all across the plain. I wasn't sure what to do. Were these things going to attack me?

I stumbled back as, almost at my feet, the plants churned up a massive skull. It was gigantic and had dozens of serrated teeth. As thousands of tiny vines passed it toward the growing creature, I scooped up my clothes. If this thing turned out to be friendly, I'd be surprised.

The 'pus grasped my calf and started climbing up. I limped downstream as fast as I could go, stealing looks over my shoulder at the growing monster I'd left behind. The skull was being hefted into place, vines wrapping around it at incredible speed. Even before it was fully covered, the creature shuddered and flexed, as though coming to life. It stepped forward and swung its head back and forth. Was it seeking me? All over its body, vines shot into the air and rewrapped themselves in a frenzy, creating a churning corona of green.

Across the plain, other creatures were on the move toward me. The skeletons the plants had resurrected were all dinosaurs. Some were unbelievably large, dwarfing the huge carnivore that had been constructed closest to me. Others were small. Minis were well represented. They must've learned the hard way to stick to the woods. Many of the creatures looked like plant-eaters, but that didn't reassure me — some of them were enormous beyond belief.

Ahead of me, several reached the river bank and stopped, swinging their heads over the water. One of them was as tall as a five-storey building. Panicked, I stopped. Others closed in from the side and behind.

I waded out into the river. I'd have to swim across. It was a long way to the other side, and I didn't know what was in it, but that was my only hope.

About twenty feet out, there was a sandbank. The water there was less than a foot deep. On the other side of the sandbank was a drop-off. I stood looking into it. Things were swimming in the deeper water. Really big things.

Dozens of plant-dinos were massing where I'd stepped off the bank. They opened their mouths, as though roaring, but the only sound was the rasp and slap of fern vines. I was paralyzed, too terrified to jump into the deep water, with its huge, unknown creatures, but clearly unable to go back to dry land.

One of the dinos stepped into the water. Jolted into action, I turned and splashed my way down the sandbank, but I ran out of bank long before I'd passed the crowd of creatures waiting on the shore.

The splashing seemed to key them into my location, and more began stepping into the river. Desperately, I turned back to the deep water. Something huge was swimming in there — something twenty feet long, at least. I just couldn't jump in. I stood there trying to make myself, and I just couldn't.

I felt the 'pus tighten around my waist. A wall of water rose out of the river and, faster than my eye could follow, smashed into the nearest dinos. An avalanche of bone and shredded vines blasted back through the assembled creatures. The river churned, almost knocking me down.

I couldn't sense whatever was happening, but it had to be the 'pus.

More dinos surged forward, and the 'pus flung another water wall at them. Then it did it again. And again.

Behind the carnage on shore, I could see the vines putting the destroyed dinos back together. The 'pus wasn't going to save me. It was just delaying the inevitable.

And the delay was brief. Its sixth strike was noticeably weakened, and its seventh did little more than knock a couple dinos down. It tried once more, and only succeeded in misting the creatures with water droplets.

Its grip on me tightened for a moment, and then it just fell off. It landed in the water, slid off the sandbar, and sank.

With a cry, I lunged for it, but it had disappeared into the deeps.

I knelt there in the water, stripped of every hope. I held my hands up at the oncoming creatures.

"Stop! Please!"

They didn't stop.

Things seemed to slow down. I saw the way individual plants unwrapped and rewrapped themselves over the bones as the creatures picked their legs up and stepped toward me through the shallows. I saw the gleam of their ancient teeth as they opened their mouths in soundless calls. I saw my own bones being passed through the ferns, being picked clean and buried in the peaty soil, locked in this place forever. I saw them resurrected into some horrifying parody of my body to destroy other intruders and add them to the sentinel horde.

The very core of me said, No.

Inside me, something tore. In front of me, something exploded. A roaring sound deafened me, and a wave of superheated air threw me back into the river's deeper channel. Disoriented, I struggled for the surface, panicked and flailing.

When my head broke the surface, I saw fire. Not just fire — a wall of flame. The air scorched my lungs. I ducked back beneath the surface and swam for the shallows. When I reached the sandbar, I crawled out onto it.

The far bank of the river was untouched, but the side where I'd walked was a work in devastation. The ferns near the river were gone — only blackened earth remained.

Unsteadily, I stood up.

A wall of flame hundreds of feet long was marching away from me across the valley, toward the mountain. The bank was littered with bones. The smaller ones were burned almost to ash. The larger ones were still burning.

The wind kicked up from behind me and, in the space of a minute, rose to a gale that almost knocked me down. It howled past me, plastering my wet hair across my face. The fire accelerated and grew. As I watched, it reached the tree line and began sweeping up through the canopy.

I'd done this. I didn't know how I'd done it, but I had.

Exultation coursed through me.

Those things had tried to kill me, and I'd killed them instead.

I started shaking. It took several long seconds to realize why — I was laughing. I sat down in the water and let it take me, the weird, crazy laughter.

Finally, the laughing stopped, and I just sat there, too exhausted to move.

Eventually I realized I was quite cold, so I waded back to the bank and pulled myself out onto the warm, blackened ground. I had no idea where my clothes had gone, and there was no sign of the 'pus, so I just sat there, shivering, as late afternoon became night.

Chapter Twenty-Three

In the wee hours of the morning, Ghosteater padded across the burned plain, the fine ash and crunchy cinders shifting beneath his once-paws. He had almost reached the valley the evening before, but the firestorm had sent him racing back up the mountain. The tree-creatures' rainforest had sheltered him from the flames, but reaching it in time had been a near thing.

How close I had come to killing my rescuer.

He saw me from far off, huddled on the bank, shuddering with cold. He noted my lack of garments and thought it strange. Then, ever cautious — or usually cautious, at any rate — he sat down and considered me.

I was undoubtedly the source of the working. The essence all over the area had my scent to it. A fire-worker, then? He opened his mouth, breathing deeply and tasting the scents. No, not fire — heat. The marrow was thrumming with the echoes of the energy it had been worked to produce.

The isolate's cinder-filled wind played through his fur. It spoke to him, but he couldn't understand what it said. This world was not his; its language was foreign.

He looked back at me, curled up on the blackened earth.

Perhaps the wind said, She-pup.

Perhaps it said, Run.

Chapter Twenty-Four

"Pup."

I just about jumped out of my skin, then scrambled around trying to get up.

"I will not hurt you," the voice said.

Finally I managed to get to my knees. It was hard going — my muscles were cramped from the cold.

I stared into the night, my breath coming in gasps. I couldn't see whoever'd spoken. There were about a million stars in the sky, but no moon. It was very dark.

I tried twice to speak before I managed to make any sound.

"Who's there?"

"Ghosteater."

My mind wrestled with the word, trying to understand. Madisyn's giant doggie? Here?

"Ghosteater... from Dorf?"

He materialized out of the darkness, silvery coat luminous in the starlight, and walked toward me on his footless legs.

"Did you come here for me?"

Stupid question. Why else would he be here?

"The émigré Cordus sent people. I came too."

He looked up at the stars and took several deep breaths. Then his golden eyes came back to my face, and he studied me in silence for some time. Finally, he walked up to me, circled like a huge hound, and lay down.

"Lie here," he said. "I will warm you."

He'd get no argument from me — I was freezing. I lay down next to him and nestled my back up against his belly, which was soft and very warm. I was still cold, but it was a lot better than before. I fell asleep immediately.

* * *

In the morning, Ghosteater used his keen nose to find my jeans and sweater, which had drifted some way downriver. While he was off retrieving them, I searched up and down the river for the 'pus but couldn't find it.

After Ghosteater returned with my clothes and I laid them out to dry, he gave all my bites a thorough cleaning with his tongue. I had trouble thinking of him as an animal, so it seemed weirdly intimate. I tried to squirm away, but he put a massive foreleg across me and held me down. Then he caught a large fish in the river and watched as I ate it. I felt like a toddler under the eye of a stern parent.

Once I'd pulled my still-damp clothes on, I started to search again for the 'pus.

"What do you seek?"

"I had a tree-octopus with me yesterday. It fell in the river right about here."

Ghosteater waded into the water, passing his nose delicately over the surface.

"It is dead."

"You can't possibly know that!"

The great beast stood in the water, looking up at me in silence. Then he came back to shore and shook himself.

"Scent tells the story. There are great fish in this river. They eat small creatures."

I stared at him, not wanting to believe it. He just looked back at me, matter of fact, emotionless.

I sat down. All the exultation I'd felt the night before turned to bitterness. I'd managed to save myself from my own idiotic decision to leave the rainforest, but I'd gotten my friend killed. It'd died trying to save me. With all the power it had, no fish could've gotten it if it hadn't depleted itself fighting the plant-dinos.

Ghosteater sat nearby. For a time he watched me in silent interest.

"Big things eat little things," he said at last. "Big things die. Then little things eat them."

"It wasn't just a 'little thing.' It was my friend. It sacrificed itself for me. It's my fault it died."

He pondered me, tipping his head to the side like a dog. He seemed to find my attachment to the 'pus mysterious and interesting.

"Can you tell if it was male or female?"

Ghosteater thought for a few seconds, seeming to roll the remembered scent over his tongue.

"Female."

I nodded, feeling empty. I wished I'd known before.

* * *

My rescue may have been well in hand, but the next day and a half weren't pleasant.

I didn't really understand Ghosteater's explanation of how Graham's rock had brought me here. He could speak to me, yes, but communicating complex ideas seemed beyond him. I could only take his word for it that some of Cordus's people were coming.

I wanted to leave for the coast immediately, but the beast refused. It would take me several days to climb back up the mountain, and we had no way to carry water. Furthermore, my wounds had left me weak and in a lot of pain.

So there we stayed, waiting for the rest of the party to catch up. Ghosteater caught fish. I watched. He ate them. I ate them. He drank water. So did I. I tossed and squirmed, trying to find a way to sit or lie that wasn't painful. He sat and watched me, always silent unless I asked him something. At night, I curled up against him and tried to stay warm.

On my third day in the valley, I saw Zion, Kara, and Williams coming down the mountain. It was humbling. The walk that had taken me five days had taken them less than three.

I got up and walked across the blackened plain to meet them, Ghosteater by my side. When they saw me coming, they broke into a jog. But despite the hurry, when they reached me, there was an oddly awkward moment where we all just stood there, looking at each other. I was thinking it seemed weird to see people here. I don't know what they were thinking. Maybe they were amazed I was alive.

Kara broke the silence.

"Beth, are you all right?"

It seemed like a bizarre question. There were a dozen ways in which I was and wasn't all right. I thought about it. In the end, I just said, "Yeah."

She came forward and took my hand. Her eyes widened.

"Jesus, what did this to you?"

Williams studied me with an unreadable expression.

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's covered with cuts and puncture wounds. It's like something bit her all over."

"Mini-dinosaurs," I said.

That was greeted with silence.

"We didn't see anything like that," Zion finally said.

"The fire killed them," said Ghosteater.

Had I really killed them all? I felt sick.

"Okay, then. Let me just fix those cuts," Kara said, sounding disturbed.

It was a quick healing. When she was done, I felt a million times better. She even took care of my sunburn. Then we walked back to the river.

Ghosteater declared the huge fish in the river harmless to humans, so the rescue party members bathed. I sat there feeling beyond pathetic for not just swimming across when the plant-dinos were after me. Then again, there were ferns on the other side of the river, too.

Zion built a fire and Williams set up tarps and sleeping bags for the night. Ghosteater fished. We roasted what he caught over the fire.

Eating cooked food was good, but it felt wrong not to have the 'pus there to share it with.

While we ate, night fell. I finally got a comprehensible explanation about Graham's rock: it was one-half of a "carven strait," a rare and ancient device used for traveling. They didn't have to be opened with a working. Instead, they generated their own opening: if someone touched one stone, they'd be transported to wherever the companion happened to be. Apparently the art of making them was lost, and Cordus had been extremely surprised to find a set of them at large.

So although I hadn't noticed it, there had to be a stone ball in the sea where I arrived that matched the one I'd touched in Justine's room. Touching the one here would take us back to Cordus's estate, where Graham's rock was now.

After these explanations, an uncomfortable silence fell. No doubt they wanted to know what had happened to me, but I didn't want to talk about it, especially not about the fire. Kara asked me a few questions, and I answered monosyllabically. When she persisted, I just got up and walked away, tossing them some lame excuse about stretching my legs.

I kept going a ways, well out of the circle of firelight. When I finally stopped, I looked up at the stars. There were so many of them. They were amazingly bright. I didn't recognize any constellations.

I could taste the pervasive flavor of soot at the back of my throat. The wind blew the stuff all over the place.

I had done this. I'd come to some little corner of the S-Em. I'd found Octoworld, Miniworld, and Fernworld, and I'd destroyed two of the three. I'd made a generous friend and gotten her killed.

At the same time, I'd survived. I'd survived what Graham did to me, and I'd survived my own bad choices.

The wind found the holes in my sweater, chilling me.

Eventually, Kara came looking for me, and I went back to the fire.

Everyone except Ghosteater crawled into a sleeping bag. No one said anything.

* * *

Climbing back up the mountain took almost two days because everyone had to stick to the slower pace I set. As we finally crested the summit, I was terribly afraid I would find the tree-'puses' rainforest burned as well, but it was intact. The fire damage stopped abruptly as we walked into the rain: there was blackened earth and torched trees on one side of an invisible line, lush ferns and towering trees on the other.

"Is there a barrier, here?"

"Yes," Ghosteater said.

I wondered why we could go through it but the fire couldn't. I didn't ask, though. If I raised the subject, it'd invite questions.

We stopped for the night shortly afterwards. The forest was too dense and wet to build a fire, so we huddled under the tarps, eating dried meat and fruit. Once everyone was settled in their sleeping bags, I slipped away into the darkening forest and found a 'pus. I coaxed it into my lap and then explained what had happened to the one I'd carried with me — that she'd saved my life, and that I knew it was my fault she was dead, and that I was sorry.

The 'pus stared back at me, its strange oblong pupil reminding me of my friend's. Not surprisingly, it didn't respond. I had no idea if it understood me.

When I was done talking, I sat there for a long while, stroking the 'pus and feeling strange. Part of the feeling was sadness, and part of it was remorse. But there was also a striking sense of having been changed in ways I couldn't understand. I was at a loss.

Eventually I got up to head back to camp. Oddly, the 'pus wanted to come with me. When I got in my sleeping bag, it settled on a root near my face.

I woke up several times during the night, and each time it was still there. In the morning, it was gone.

* * *

A day and a half later, we reached the shore.

Williams led us out to the point where rocks and water met. We waded into the gentle waves until Ghosteater indicated the strait was beneath us. I looked down. The water was clear, but it was impossible to pick the stone ball out of the rocky seabed. As I watched, Ghosteater dove down, kicking vigorously to reach the bottom. We all watched as he touched a certain place with his nose, then disappeared. The water tossed violently as it filled the space he'd occupied, and I lost sight of the spot he'd touched.

"Ryder," Williams said. "Go."

Taking a deep breath, I bent down to the place I thought the strait was and began feeling around with my hands. On the third try, I must've touched it because I found myself sprawled on the tile floor of a windowless room beside a stone ball — the matching strait, the one Graham had been carrying.

"Move away," Ghosteater said from the corner.

I scrambled over to the wall and waited while the others appeared one by one.

Once everyone was there, I thanked them for coming to get me.

"Sure," Kara said, "no problem."

Zion shrugged. "Not like we had a choice, right?"

Ghosteater cocked his head and stared at me.

Williams said nothing — just grabbed a towel from the pile that had been left in the corner and walked out.

"Don't mind them," Kara said. "They're assholes. It's not your fault you ended up there."

"It is your fault we had to go so far to find you," Zion said, toweling her hair. "Next time, stay put."

Her words stung. I felt defensive, even though I'd been berating myself for that exact mistake.

"I didn't know if anyone would come for me. Or if Graham or Lord Limu might be the one who came, if anyone did."

"Exactly," Kara said staunchly. "I would've been on the move, too."

Zion rolled her eyes and left.

Kara and I dried off, then stood there awkwardly.

"Well," she said, "we'd better go find Lord Cordus. I mean, you'd better go find him. Hopefully he won't need to talk to me."

"Yeah. Okay."

She gave me a pained smile and left. Ghosteater slid out behind her, leaving me alone in the quiet room. The carven strait sat on the floor, shining dully. It was a profoundly anticlimactic ending to ten days of wonder, terror, and pain.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Cordus straightened up, closing his hand.

We were sitting in his office in our usual training spot. He'd spoken briefly to me the day before, then sent me to my room to rest and recover. Today, I was resuming my old schedule. Our lesson had gone as usual: I still couldn't see workings.

He sat in silence for a time, then broached the subject I'd been dreading.

"As I understand it, you may have manifested a gift while in the isolate."

Knowing it was unavoidable, I described all that had happened to me and what I'd apparently done. He didn't seem shocked by my having incinerated a vast stretch of land and everything that lived there, but he did ask a number of very detailed questions.

At last, he sat back and started some serious foot-tapping.

When I couldn't stand the silence anymore, I spoke.

"So, am I a fire-worker, like Lord Limu?"

"I think not, Miss Ryder. Based on your description, I believe you are a worker of light."

You could've knocked me over with a feather.

"I did that with light?"

"Not the variety of light humans are capable of seeing," he said.

He got up, went a bookcase, and pulled out a volume.

"An explanation based on human science will be easiest for you, at this point."

He paged through the book and then brought it to me, opened to a colorful diagram.

"The electromagnetic spectrum," he said, sweeping his hand over the pages. "At the center are the wavelengths that human eyes can detect. Some Seconds can see more broadly, of course."

Right. Of course.

"I suspect you produced a powerful burst of electromagnetic energy in these wavelengths," he said, pointing to the infrared area of the spectrum. "Such a burst would ignite or incinerate flammable material, such as plants."

Plants, bones, minis.

"Or people?" I said, looking up at him.

He looked back at me, expressionless.

"People are indeed flammable, Miss Ryder."

I sat there for some time, reading the diagram's brief descriptions of infrared and other waves.

For once, Cordus was the one to break the silence.

"With time and practice, you may be able to produce energy across the entire spectrum."

I looked up at him, then back down at the book. Microwaves. X-rays. Gamma rays.

"I don't want this," I said.

I wasn't sure where the words had come from. Some deep, instinctual place. They surfaced and demanded expression. I spoke them without thinking.

"You have no choice as to the nature of your abilities, Miss Ryder," Cordus said softly. "When you have learned to control them, however, you will be able to choose how and when you employ them."

I was surprised at the obvious lie. There'd be no choice. I'd have to do exactly what he told me to do, and if that meant incinerating or irradiating people, then that's what I'd have to do. I doubted I could even choose my own death instead. He could get inside my head and control me like a puppet, so that disobedience would be literally impossible. That's what he'd done with the green man.

I suppose he took my silence for acquiescence, because he went on.

"As you know, the emergence of gifts is the second caste of Nolander development. Usually, one does not enter the second caste until one has spent several years in the first. You are now in the radically anomalous position of possessing a gift without being able to sense workings. You can make what you cannot perceive."

I nodded dully.

"Given the life-or-death situation you describe, I believe your capacity was once again forced into untimely growth. As a result, it seems to have become even more irregular in its shape."

"So, I'm lopsided?"

"I suppose that is as good a term as any other. In fact, the metaphor is useful. As you know from mundane experience, lopsided things tend to be unstable. Likewise, your capacity is unbalanced and is likely to function unpredictably for some time. Our lessons should be safe enough, but I must ask you to continue to refrain from attempting to sense workings outside my presence. In addition, you must not attempt to use your gift without my assistance. Any such attempt could be extremely dangerous."

"Don't worry — I wouldn't know how to use it if I wanted to," I said.

So far as I'm concerned, I thought, I'm never using it again.

* * *

During the ensuing days and weeks, I slid back into my routine — workouts with Gwen, combat training with Tezzy, lessons with Cordus.

My "spa week" in the S-Em, as Gwen called it, had brought improvements to two out of the three areas of my education. I'd lost fat and gained muscle, which pleased Gwen. I'd also apparently gotten something Tezzy called "focus." She talked about my "deepened commitment to the art" and my "predator's eye." It sounded like mumbo-jumbo to me. I think she basically meant I wasn't quite as easy to knock over.

In my lessons with Cordus, however, I remained unable to sense the little heat-working he held out. My progress with Baasha was slow — even mastering the alphabet was a struggle. Fortunately, he remained patient.

I went back to visiting Justine, who'd survived being buried in the sinkhole. She continued to vacillate between fear and anger, and I continued to dread seeing her. I also reconnected with Tiffany, who'd been frightened when I stopped answering her calls for a week and a half. Ben still didn't want to talk to me, though Tiff said things seemed to be getting a little better.

As I returned to my routine, the estate around me appeared to assume its usual condition. Ghosteater disappeared. Williams and Kara went back to Minnesota. Cordus held court weekly.

I knew things weren't wholly normal, though. Cordus never looked ruffled or distracted, but his desk, once a model of neatness, was increasingly piled with old books and papers. Sometimes strange people visited the estate, and he spent hours talking to them privately. I was certain he was trying to find out more about the Eye of the Heavens and Limu's stolen weapon.

The few times I asked him about it, he shut me down immediately: "That conversation must wait, Miss Ryder," or, "This is neither the time nor the place, Miss Ryder." It was Cordus-speak for, Jesus Christ, woman — shut up! So I stopped asking.

It was hard not to feel tense about the situation. Limu scared me. Was he still in New York? Every time we drove into the city for court, I wondered if he was going to pop out of an alley and torch the car. And Justine just weirded me out. She both was and wasn't my sister-in-law. It was disturbing.

There wasn't much I could do about the big things, so I focused on small goals: running a faster forty-yard dash, mastering the ready stance, convincing the stable master to let me go riding.

No, that's not entirely true. I did tackle one big thing: trying to figure myself out.

I knew everything that had happened had changed me. Hell, that much was obvious: my life had been altered in nearly every way I could imagine. But my experience in the S-Em had done something on a different order of magnitude. It had reached way down deep inside me and shifted something. The closest I could come to pinning it down was this: death had come for me on that sand bank, and I'd said "no," and death had obeyed.

It wasn't a pure feeling. It was mixed with guilt and horror at what I'd done, with frustration at my mistakes, with anger at all that had been done to me, and with fear of what the future would bring. But it endured those things and held its own. What that meant for me I wasn't sure, but I knew it was important.

* * *

I looked up at Gwen, seeking reassurance.

"S'okay," she said. "He really is helpless. You'll see."

I nodded and knocked on the door she was guarding.

"Come in."

I opened the door slowly and peeked around it. Graham was sitting on a couch at the far end of the room. He looked surprised to see me.

"Hi," he said. "Come in."

I stepped in, closing the door behind me. I approached the sitting area and chose an armchair.

Long seconds of uncomfortable silence followed.

"How are you?" he said.

"Okay. You?"

"I'm okay."

He didn't look okay. He looked sick. Cordus was keeping him drained. I didn't know how he drained someone against their will. Maybe it felt like what Williams had done to me. At any rate, the effects were clear. Graham looked too weak to stand, much less cause trouble.

We sat there in silence.

"Beth," he finally said, "why are you here?"

I searched for an answer.

"I'm not sure."

I'd come planning to demand an explanation.

The more I'd thought about what Graham had done to me, the angrier it had made me. A lot of what had happened to me could be categorized as "my fault" or "just the way things are." Even the many cruelties I'd experienced and observed were the result of individuals acting according to their overt natures. Graham stood out from that. What he'd done — sending me to that place and leaving me there — seemed different. It felt like a betrayal.

But sitting across from him, that distinction seemed silly. He too had been acting according to his nature. I'd just been too naive to recognize his nature for what it was.

"Were you hoping I'd confess my sins?" he said, his voice taking on an edge. "Do you think you'll get 'closure,' or something?" He made sarcastic air quotes.

I stood and walked to the door.

"Wait," he said. "Wait."

I stopped.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just tired."

He cleared his throat. "Hey, I haven't had any visitors. Why don't you stay a bit? You can tell me about where the strait took you."

"Would that be entertaining? Hearing the tale of how you almost killed me?"

He flushed and dropped his eyes.

I waited for a few seconds, then realized I was standing there hoping he'd produce a sincere apology. God, when was I going to learn? I turned to go.

"Beth, wait," he said, sounding upset.

Against my better judgment, I stopped again.

"I'm sorry I did that to you. It wasn't supposed to happen, and I just panicked. I should've come after you."

"Yeah, you should've. It would only have taken you a couple seconds."

"But I didn't know where you'd gone. I mean, the companion could've been inside a volcano. It could've been in outer space."

"Nonsense," I snapped. "Limu wants Justine alive. You wouldn't have done something that stupid."

He stared at me, and I saw that expression on his face again, the one I'd seen at the mill — the trapped-animal look. At last he looked away, his expression bleak.

"There's a death sentence on my head. Limu figured that out and gave me a choice: be his man in Cordus's organization or face the music."

"Why were you sentenced to death?"

He shook his head and didn't answer.

I stood there a while and thought about what he'd said. Did it make me feel better about what he'd done? Maybe. A little. A death threat was a less-bad motive than greed or ambition, I guess. I remembered how I'd gone haring off to Nebraska after Williams had assaulted me. Profound fear could make you do things ranging from idiotic to evil.

Then again, why was I believing him? I opened my mouth to question his story. What came out was, "Did you really seduce Kara when she was fifteen?"

A second later, my brain came back on line. Why the hell had I said that?

"Yeah."

He shrugged, as though it was no big deal.

"Because you wanted to control her?"

He looked at me like I was nuts.

"No, because I wanted to fuck her. Isn't that why that kind of thing usually happens?"

Wow, classy, I thought.

"She was just a kid. It's statutory rape."

"Not where I'm from. Look," he said, sounding exasperated. "I probably shouldn't have done it. Whatever. It's all water under the bridge, now."

Unsteadily, he stood and walked over to the window, clearly annoyed with my moralizing. A silence stretched between us.

"What's Lord Cordus going to do with you?"

"Hang onto me, for the time being," Graham said. "He has a dispute with the elder beast over my ownership. Once he gets clear title, he'll execute me himself."

I frowned, confused.

"Elder beast?"

"Giant wolf, a million years old, no feet — I think you know him."

A million years old?

"You mean Ghosteater?"

"Yeah. He hunted me down in the city and claimed me. Cordus found some loophole. I think they're deadlocked, at this point. I'm being held until they find a neutral arbitrator."

I turned and walked to the door, then looked back. Graham was watching me. The soft June sunlight illuminated one side of his face. The other side was contoured with shadow. Even pale and sick, he was striking.

"Good luck, Graham."

"Beth," he said, as I reached for the doorknob.

I turned back one last time.

"That mouse you picked up on Rib Mountain? Don't tell anyone about that."

"Why?"

"Just don't."

An apprehensive shiver passed over me. I stared at him for several long beats, but he'd looked away. Disturbed, I opened the door and left.

* * *

"Are you certain, Miss Ryder? Your visit was an anomaly in Mr. Ryzik's schedule — the only anomaly, in fact. Are you sure he said nothing of an impending escape?"

I was sitting on one of the straight-backed chairs in front of Cordus's desk. The man was doing something I'd never seen him do: he was pacing. He strolled from one side of the bay window behind his desk to the other, hands clasped behind his back, gaze distant. It looked leisurely and contemplative. I wasn't fooled for a moment.

"No, Lord Cordus, he didn't say anything. I'm quite certain."

Four days had passed since Graham's absence was noticed. His escape was a mystery. A tracker had followed his trail from outside his bedroom window to the edge of Cordus's property, but there was no sign he'd crossed the barrier. Zion, called back from an assignment in northern Virginia, had confirmed the trail but hadn't been able to get a fix on Graham's current location, which suggested he was far away. Cordus had people combing the city anyway and was checking with more distant contacts. No one had turned up anything.

Back and forth he walked. Back and forth.

This was the first time he'd questioned me. Only that morning had Gwen told him about my visit to Graham. Weirdly, she'd forgotten about it, and apparently no one else had known of it. I hadn't mentioned it myself. I hadn't thought it mattered.

"Why did you go see him?"

"I was hoping he'd explain what he'd done. It was bothering me."

"Were you lovers?"

I bristled. What business was that of his? Rather than snap at him, I just didn't answer.

He looked at me sharply, like some bird of prey seeing movement in the grass. Slowly, he came to a standstill.

"And what story did he spin for you, pray tell?"

"He said he'd been sentenced to death and Lord Limu used that to coerce him into being a double agent."

Cordus cocked his head, continuing to stare at me.

Did he really think Graham would've told me about his escape plans? That wouldn't make any sense.

"What else did he tell you?"

"He said he'd slept with Kara."

"And what else?"

I stared at Cordus, trying to decide how to answer. Graham had said not to mention the mouse, but it was just a mouse. Why should it be a secret?

I thought of his face, pale and lovely, touched with sunlight and shadow. And suddenly I knew: at the very last, he'd said one true thing. A tiny gift, one without cost. But perhaps priceless.

"He didn't say anything else."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Cordus stalked toward me. He loomed over me for a moment, then reached down for my hand and pulled me up. He stepped closer, then closer still, leaning into me. I couldn't look away. I watched the tawny starbursts in his irises expand as his pupils dilated. My heart rate spiked. He traced a pattern on the back of my hand with his thumb. I jumped as his other hand slid around behind my neck and into my hair. He lowered his lips to my ear. On the way, they brushed against my cheek. A little sound came out of me before I could stop it.

"Miss Ryder," he whispered, nuzzling my hair, "why are you lying to me?"

His breath was warm. Awareness of him flooded my body. I saw only him, heard only him, felt only him. Desire pooled in my belly, hot and insistent.

"Tell me what he said."

His lips brushed over my cheekbone to my temple. He released my hand and drew his fingers lightly up my arm. His thumb brushed the side of my breast. I shuddered.

"Why would you lie for him?" he murmured, his lips moving slowly down to my jaw line. "He sent you to an isolate. He searched for Limu, intending to buy his freedom with your life."

He kissed my cheek, ever so lightly, then moved toward my mouth. My legs would barely hold me up.

"He sent you to a land of monsters. Did he try to save you? No, not once during all those days."

His breath was sweet. When he spoke, his lips moved against mine.

"And yet you lie for him?"

I stood there, eyes squeezed shut. If I spoke, if I moved, if I looked at him, it was all over. Second after second, we stood there, me shaking, my breath coming in gasps, him utterly composed.

"Very well, Miss Ryder."

He stepped back from me.

I reached out and grabbed the back of the chair I'd been sitting in, almost upsetting it. He moved away, unconcerned. Warily, I watched him retreat behind his desk and begin to sort some papers.

"It may interest you to hear that Mr. Ryzik went through the carven strait. Two different trackers confirmed his use of it this morning. I had thought the strait wholly out of reach. It seems that little is impossible when it comes to that one."

He tapped a sheaf of paper on his desk, then slid it into a folder.

"Trapped as he is in an isolate, I shall very much enjoy hunting him down. You may go, Miss Ryder."

I made my way to the door, feeling like I was about to fall down. As I turned the knob, his voice stopped me.

"Miss Ryder."

Filled with dread, I turned.

He looked up, meeting my eyes.

"I hope you will remember what did not happen today."

Mouth too dry to speak, I nodded.

He looked down.

I opened the door — too fast — and left. I made it around the corner before my legs went all bendy, and I had to lean against the wall, sick with new self-understanding.

Oh shit, I thought. I am so screwed.

He hadn't used his mind-control thing on me. He hadn't needed to.

Epilogue

Ghosteater emerged from the silence into the springtime forest.

He had left the émigré's home some days before, angry at the man's refusal to hand over the golden-haired native. The émigré had spoken for hours. Laws had been invoked, wrongs had been weighed, a compromise had been sought. None of that meant a thing to the beast. Either blood would be shed over the matter, or it would not.

In the end, Ghosteater had chosen not to defend his claim. He'd staked it on a whim, and fighting the émigré might be fatal. It just wasn't worth it.

But anger, oh yes, there was anger. And disgust at these late-born creatures who knew no honesty. Their brains were too big for it. Revolting.

As the beast left the émigré's land, the wind had curled around his ears, whispering, suggesting a path. Ghosteater panted, taking in the air, tasting what it offered. Incompletion, fragment. He knew that scent. The strange woman, Justine. Tears and sunlight. He knew that scent as well: the pup, Beth. Heat and serpents: the émigré. Other scents, too. Intrigued, he turned aside and took one step on the wind's path, then another. Soon he was on his way.

The path led a few hundred miles north. After several days of travel, he had recognized his destination — a strait that had appeared recently in a small human structure some ways inland. He had noticed it during his last wanderings through the area, perhaps two hundred years ago. Made of heavy logs locked together, the structure had been built as a place of refuge during warfare. Perhaps the rage and hatred and blood of the place had drawn it closer to the other world. It was hard to say.

Ghosteater stepped into the roofless dwelling. Unlike the carven strait, which contained its own capacity, this one did not tug at him. It would have to be forced open. His ability to do such things is what made him, like the man Cordus, an émigré. Once, in the distant past, he had opened a strait without understanding what he did and had crossed through, finding himself in another world.

The other world. He had not been back there for some years. Unlike most émigrés, he did not consider the Second Emanation his home. This continent of this world was his place, however changed it might be.

Still, the scents on the wind were interesting, its words tantalizing.

Nosing at the air, he could barely feel the strait's presence. It was so young. He sensed the very edge of it and seized it, then adjusted his grip. When he had it firmly in his teeth, he touched his vast strength and worked the marrow of being, sending a shape spooling out through the darkness between worlds, connecting the young strait to something on the other side.

Where it went, he didn't know, but it smelled of trees and horses and dusty roads and fat, stupid deer. And of incompletion, tears. Sunlight, serpents. He cocked his head and listened again to the voice of the wind. Then he stepped through.

The End

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##    
The Medium  
Emily Chambers, Spirit Medium  
Book One  
By C.J. Archer

##

##

Chapter One

London, Spring 1880

Whoever said dead men don't tell lies had never met Barnaby Wiggam's ghost. The fat, bulbous-nosed spirit fading in and out beside me like a faulty gas lamp clearly thought he was dealing with a fool. I may only be seventeen but I'm not naïve. I know when someone is lying—being dead didn't alter the tell-tale signs. Mr. Wiggam didn't quite meet my eyes, or those of his widow and her guests—none of whom could see him anyway—and he fidgeted with his crisp white silk necktie as if it strangled him. It hadn't—he'd died of an apoplexy.

"Go on, young lady." He thrust his triple chins at me, making them wobble. "Tell her. I have no hidden fortune."

I swallowed and glanced at the little circle of women holding hands around the card table in Mrs. Wiggam's drawing room, their wide gazes locked on the Ouija board in the center as if Barnaby Wiggam stood there and not beside me. I too stood, behind my sister and opposite the Widow Wiggam who looked just as well-fed as her dead husband in her black crepe dress and mourning cap. However, where his face was covered with a network of angry red veins, hers was so white it glowed like a moon in the dimly lit room.

"Are you sure?" I asked him. If he knew I suspected him of lying, he didn't show it. Or perhaps he simply didn't care.

"Sure?" Mrs. Wiggam suddenly let go of her neighbor's hands. My sister, Celia, clicked her tongue and Mrs. Wiggam quickly took up the lady's hand again. It's not as if anyone needed to hold hands at all during our séances but my sister insisted upon it, along with having candles rather than lamps, a tambourine and an Ouija board even though she rarely used either. She liked things to be done in a way that added to the atmosphere and the enjoyment of the customers, as she put it. I'm not convinced anyone actually enjoyed our séances, but they were effective nevertheless and she was right—people expect certain theatrics from spirit mediums, so if we must put on a performance then so be it.

Celia had taken it one step further this time by wearing a large brass star-shaped amulet on a strap around her neck. The recent purchase was as unnecessary as the hand-holding but she thought it gave us authenticity amidst a city filled with fake mediums. I had to admit it looked wonderfully gothic.

"Sure about what?" Mrs. Wiggam asked again, leaning forward. Her large bosom rested on the damask tablecloth and rose and fell with her labored breathing. "What does he want you to say, Miss Chambers?"

I glanced at Mr. Wiggam's ghost. He crossed his arms and raised his fluffy white eyebrows as if daring me to repeat his lie. "He, er, he said... " Oh lord, if I repeated the lie then I would be contributing to his fate. He could not cross over to the Otherworld until he was at peace, and he would not be at peace until he let go of his anger towards his wife. Lying to her wasn't helping.

On the other hand, it was his choice.

"Emily," Celia said with the false sing-song voice she employed for our séances. "Emily, do tell us what Mr. Wiggam is communicating to you. Give his poor dear widow," she paused and smiled beatifically at Mrs. Wiggam, "some solace in her time of mourning."

"Mourning!" Barnaby Wiggam barked out a laugh that caused the edges of his fuzzy self to briefly sharpen into focus. For a moment he appeared almost human again. To me at least. "Tell that... that WOMAN who sits there pretending to be my demure wife that there is no fortune."

"He says there's no fortune," I repeated.

A series of gasps echoed around the small drawing room and more than one of the elegant ladies clicked her tongue. Mrs. Wiggam let go of both her neighbors' hands again. "Nonsense!" Her gaze flitted around the room. "Tell that lying, cheating, scoundrel of a husband that I know he amassed a fortune before his death." She placed her fists on the table and rose slowly to her considerable height, well above my own. She even dwarfed her ghostly husband. "Where is he? I want to tell him to his face." She reminded me of a great brown bear at the circus Mama had taken me to see as a little girl. The creature had expressed its displeasure at being chained to a bollard by taking a swipe at its handler with an enormous paw. I'd felt sorry for it. I wasn't yet sure if I felt the same emotion towards Mrs. Wiggam.

I must have glanced sideways at her husband because she turned on the spirit beside me even though she couldn't see it. He took a step back and fiddled with his necktie again.

"I know there's money somewhere." Her bosom heaved and her lips drew back, revealing crooked teeth. "I deserve that money for putting up with you, you wretched little man. Rest assured Barnaby dearest, I'll find every last penny of it."

A small, strangled sound escaped Mr. Wiggam's throat and his apparition shimmered. Fool. He was dead—she couldn't do anything to him now. Her four friends shrank from her too.

My sister did not. "Mrs. Wiggam, if you'll please return to your seat," Celia said in her conciliatory church-mouse voice. She ruined the effect by shooting a sharp glance at me. Mrs. Wiggam sat. She did not, however, resume handholding. Celia turned a gracious smile on her. "Now, Mrs. Wiggam, it's time to conclude today's session." My sister must have an internal clock ticking inside her. She always seemed to know when our half hour was over. "Everyone please close your eyes and repeat after me." They all duly closed their eyes, except Mrs. Wiggam who'd taken to glaring at me. As if it were my fault her husband was a liar!

"Return oh spirit from whence you came," Celia chanted.

"Return oh spirit from whence you came," the four guests repeated.

"Go in peace—."

"No!" Mrs. Wiggam slapped her palms down on the table. Everyone jumped, including me, and the tambourine rattled. "I do not want him to go in peace. I do not want him to go anywhere!" She crossed her arms beneath her bosom and gave me a satisfied sneer.

I'm not your husband! I wanted to shout at her. Why did everyone think I was the embodiment of their loved one? Or in this case, their despised one. I once had a gentleman kiss me when I summoned his deceased fiancée. It had been my first kiss, and hadn't been entirely unpleasant.

"Let him go," Celia said, voice pitching unusually high. She shook her head vigorously, dislodging a brown curl from beneath her hat. "He can't remain here. It's his time to go, to cross over."

"I don't want to cross over," Mr. Wiggam said.

"What?" I blurted out.

"Did he say something?" Celia asked me. I repeated what he'd said. "Good lord," she muttered so quietly I was probably the only one who heard her. Especially since Mrs. Wiggam had started laughing hysterically.

"He wants to stay?" The widow's grin turned smug. "Very well. It'll be just like old times—living with a corpse."

One of the guests snorted a laugh but I couldn't determine which of the ladies had done it. They all covered their mouths with their gloved hands, attempting to hide their snickers. They failed.

"Tell the old crone I'm glad I died," Barnaby Wiggam said, straightening. "Being dead without her is a far better state than being alive with her."

"No, no this won't do," Celia said, thankfully saving me from repeating the spirit's words. She stood up and placed a hand on Mrs. Wiggam's arm. "Your husband must return. We summoned him at your behest to answer your question and now he needs to cross over into the Otherworld."

Actually, he probably wouldn't be crossing over. Not while there was so much lingering anger between himself and his wife. He needed to release the anger before he could go anywhere. Until then he was tied to this world and the Waiting Area. That's why some places remain haunted—their ghosts aren't willing to give up the negative emotion keeping them here. Although Celia knew that as well as I, she couldn't be aware of the extent of Barnaby Wiggam's sour mood. She certainly couldn't have known he deliberately lied to his wife about his fortune.

I sighed. As always, I would have to explain it to her later. After we returned the ghost to the Waiting Area. "You have to go back," I urged him. "You shouldn't be here. Tell your widow you're sorry, or that you forgive her or whatever and you can cross over and be at peace." At least that's what I assumed happened. Since I wasn't able to summon anyone from the Otherworld—only the Waiting Area—I couldn't know for sure what occurred in their final destination. For all I knew the Otherworld was like a political meeting. Endless and dull.

From what the spirits had told me, all ghosts ended up in the Waiting Area until they'd been assigned to a section in the Otherworld. Which section depended on how they'd behaved in life. However, none knew the fate awaiting them in their respective sections. It caused many of the ghosts I'd summoned an anxious wait.

"I'm not sorry." Barnaby Wiggam sat in an old leather armchair by the hearth and rubbed his knee as if it gave him pain although it couldn't possibly hurt now. He seemed so at home there, nestled between the enormous rounded arms and deeply cushioned high back, that I wondered if it had been his favorite chair. "I think I'll stay a little longer. I rather fancy haunting the old witch. It'll be a jolly time."

"Jolly!" I spluttered. I appealed to Celia but she simply shrugged. "But you can't do this!" I said to him. "It's... it's illegal!" Nothing like this had happened to us in a year and a half of conducting séances. All our spirits had duly answered the questions their loved ones posed then returned to the Waiting Area, content and ready to cross over. Then again, we'd never summoned anyone who clearly wasn't a loved one.

What had we done?

Mr. Wiggam picked up a journal from a nearby table and flipped open the pages.

A woman screamed, others gasped, and one fainted into the arms of her friend. Only Celia, Mrs. Wiggam and I remained calm. Celia was used to seeing objects move without being touched, and I of course could see the ghostly form holding the journal. I suspect Mrs. Wiggam was simply made of sterner stuff than her companions.

"The Ladies Pictorial! Utter trash." Mr. Wiggam threw the journal back onto the table where it collected a porcelain cat figurine and sent it clattering to the floor. The two ears and the tip of the tail broke off. He laughed. "I never liked that thing."

Mrs. Wiggam simply stepped around the pieces and flung open the heavy velvet drapes. Hazy light bathed the drawing room in sepia tones. London's days were not bright but I suspected the Wiggams' drawing room would always be dreary even if the sun dared show its face. The dark burgundy walls and squat, heavy furniture made the space feel small and crowded, particularly with all of us crammed into it. I took a deep breath but the air was smoky, close, and stuck in my throat.

"Let's have some refreshments, shall we?" Mrs. Wiggam said as if she didn't have a care in the world. She tugged the bell-pull then bent over the woman who'd fainted, now reclining in one of the chairs at the card table. She slapped her friend's cheeks then saw to it she was made comfortable with an extra cushion at her back.

I turned to Celia. She frowned at me. "Close your mouth, Emily, you are not a fish."

I duly shut my mouth. Then opened it again to speak. "What are we to do?" I whispered.

Celia huffed out a breath and looked thoughtful as she fingered the large amulet dangling from a strip of leather around her neck. She'd purchased it last Thursday from the peddler woman who sells bits and pieces door-to-door. Considering Celia was a stickler for maintaining the same format for our drawing room séances, I was surprised when she'd produced a new artifact. It was rather a magnificent piece though, made of heavy brass in the shape of a star with delicate filigree between the six points. Etched into the brass were swirls and strange, twisting patterns. It looked like an ancient tribal token I'd once seen in a museum. I could see why she'd accepted it although the fact it cost her nothing was probably a factor. Celia was not so careless with our meager income that she would squander it on trinkets.

"I wonder... " she said.

"Wonder what? Celia—?"

Celia's soft chanting interrupted me. With both hands touching the amulet, she repeated some words over and over in a strange, lyrical language I didn't recognize. Considering I only knew English and possessed a basic knowledge of French, that wasn't saying a great deal.

She finished her chant and let the amulet go. As she did so a blast of wind swept through the drawing room, rustling hair and skirts, dousing candles and flapping the journal's pages. A shadow coalesced above the table, a shapeless blob that pulsed and throbbed. It was like the mud that oozed on the riverbank at low tide, sucking and slurping, threatening to swallow small creatures and boots. But the shadow—I could think of no other word to describe the dark, floating mass—altered of its own volition.

No longer shapeless, it became a hand reaching out. Two or three of the guests screamed and scuttled to the far side of the drawing room. Beside me, my sister tensed and circled her arm around my shoulders, pulling me back. She said something under her breath but the loud thud of my heart deafened me to her words, but not to her fear. I could feel it all around me as I stared at the shadow, which was quickly changing shape again.

It became a foot then the head of a rat then a dog with snapping jaws and hungry eyes. A hound from hell, snarling and slavering and vicious. It stretched its neck toward me and before I could react, Celia jerked me back.

Too late.

The shadow creature's sharp teeth closed around my shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself. Nothing happened. Oh there was screaming coming from everyone else, including Celia, but I heard no tearing of flesh or clothing. I felt no pain, just a cool dampness against my cheek. I opened my eyes. The creature had turned back into a shapeless cloud. For a brief moment it hovered near the door and then with a whoosh it was gone.

A breathless moment passed. Two. Three.

"What was that?" I whispered in the ensuing hush.

Celia looked around at the white faces staring wide-eyed back at us, hoping we could give them answers. We couldn't.

She indicated the armchair. "Is he still here?" Her voice shook and she still gripped my shoulders.

"Still here," both Mr. Wiggam and I said together.

"Did you see that?" he said, staring at the door. He didn't look nearly as frightened as the others, but then what did a dead man have to fear? He went to the door and peered out into the hall. "I wonder what it was."

"It's gone now," I said. My words seemed to reassure the ladies who stood huddled in the corner of the room.

"The air in this city," Mrs. Wiggam said with a click of her tongue and a dismissive wave of her hand. "It gets worse and worse every year." She ushered the ladies to seats, plumped cushions and pooh-poohed any suggestions of a menacing spirit ruining her social event. "It was a trick of the light, that's all," she said. "The tense atmosphere in here has got to you all, stirred your imaginations."

"Stupid woman," Mr. Wiggam muttered. "She can't possibly believe that cloud was natural."

I didn't care what Mrs. Wiggam thought, as long as her guests accepted her explanation. Clearly some of them did, or perhaps they simply wanted to believe it and so willingly forgot what they'd seen only moments before. One or two seemed unconvinced and I hoped they would not gossip about it later. If word got out that we'd released something sinister during one of our séances, our business could flounder. Celia and I could ill afford such a disaster becoming public knowledge.

"Well," Celia said, peering down at the amulet hanging from its leather strip. "I thought it a harmless piece."

"Then why use it?" I hissed.

She gathered up the tambourine and Ouija board, packed them into her carpet bag and snapped the clasp shut. "The peddler who gave it to me said I was to say those words three times if I needed to solve something."

A maid entered carrying a large tray with teapot and cups. Two other maids followed her with more trays laden with cakes and sandwiches. Celia's face relaxed at the sight of the refreshments.

"What were the words?" I pressed her.

She waved a hand as she accepted a teacup with the other. Her hands shook so much the cup clattered in the saucer. "Oh, some gibberish. She didn't tell me what they meant, just that I should repeat them if I needed to fix something. Well I did need to fix something." She leaned closer to me and lowered her voice. "The spirit of Mr. Wiggam wouldn't leave."

I wasn't entirely convinced that the ongoing presence of Mr. Wiggam was what the woman had meant. Nor was I convinced that the words were gibberish. I looked at the door then at Mr. Wiggam. He stood with his back to the fireplace as if warming himself against the low flames—although he couldn't feel the cold—and stared at the door, a puzzled expression causing his wild brows to collide.

"The peddler was a mad old thing," Celia muttered around the rim of her teacup. "Completely mad." She sipped.

"At least it's gone, whatever it was, and no one seems affected by it."

No. No one at all.

***

"Tell me about the peddler woman," I asked Celia when we were almost home. We'd decided to walk from Mrs. Wiggam's Kensington house instead of taking the omnibus. It wasn't far and we would save on the fare as well as gain some exercise. Celia is all for exercising in the fresh air, although London's air couldn't be considered fresh by anyone's standards as Mrs. Wiggam had reassuringly pointed out to her guests. It stank of smoke and horse dung, made eyes sting and left skin feeling gritty. It was cool, however, and certainly invigorating as the chilly spring breeze nipped at our noses and ruffled the ribbons on our hats.

Celia sighed as if the task of recollection was a burden. "She looked like any other old crone. As wrinkled as unpressed linen, I do recall that. Gray hair, which she wore long and uncovered." She sniffed to indicate what she thought of that. "Oh and she had an East End accent. I'd never seen her before, she wasn't the usual Thursday peddler. I don't know her name, and I don't know anything else about her except that she was dressed all in black. Now stop fretting, Emily. We'll let Mr. and Mrs. Wiggam sort out their differences then return him to the Waiting Area tomorrow. There's nothing more we can do."

"How can they sort out their differences when she can't see him or speak to him?" A strong breeze whipped up the street, flattening our skirts and petticoats to our legs. We both slapped a hand to our hats to keep them from blowing away. We lived on Druids Way in Chelsea and it's always windier than everywhere else in London. It must have something to do with the length and orientation of the street as well as the height of the houses lining both sides of it. None of them were less than two levels and all showed signs of neglect. Much of Chelsea was still occupied by the reasonably prosperous, but our street seemed to have slipped into obscurity some years ago. Paint flaked off front doors and the brick facades were no longer their original red-brown but had turned almost black thanks to the soot permanently shrouding our city. All one had to do was turn the corner and see streets swept clean and houses tenderly kept but Druids Way was like a spinster past her marrying days—avoided by the fashionable set.

I hazarded a sideways glance at Celia and felt a pang of guilt for my unkind comparison. At thirty-three she was unlikely to find a husband. She seemed to have given up on the idea some years ago, preferring to dress in gowns that flattered neither her slim figure nor her lovely complexion. I'd tried many times to have her dress more appropriately for an unwed woman but she refused, saying she'd prefer to see me in the pretty gowns.

"We'll pay a call on Mrs. Wiggam tomorrow," Celia said, bowing her head into the wind. "Perhaps Mr. Wiggam will have tired of his wife and be willing to cross over by then. Will that satisfy you?"

"I suppose so." What else could we do? I couldn't simply let the matter drop. Not only had we failed to return Mr. Wiggam to the Waiting Area, we'd left him with a person who despised him. There was no handbook for spirit mediums when it came to summoning the dead, but I knew deep down that this situation wasn't acceptable. Celia and I had no right to rip souls out of the Waiting Area and reignite emotional wounds in this world. It had never been a problem in the past, so I'd never given it much thought. Besides which, the ghosts we summoned at our drawing room séances had always willingly returned to the Waiting Area afterwards, and they'd done so feeling content that their loved ones could move on too.

Or so I liked to think. The Wiggams' situation had shaken me. Celia and I were fools to think we could control the deceased, or the living for that matter.

I also had the awful feeling we'd released something else in Mrs. Wiggam's drawing room by using that strange incantation. Something sinister. I only wish I knew what.

"Now, what shall we have for supper?" Celia asked.

I stopped with one foot on the stairs leading up to our front door and suppressed a small squeak of surprise. A man stood on the landing, leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked older than me but not by much, tall, with short dark hair and a face that was a little too square of jaw and sharp of cheek to be fashionable. It wasn't a beautiful face in the classical statue sense but it was certainly handsome.

The odd thing about him wasn't that we'd not noticed him earlier—we'd had our heads bent against the wind after all—but the way he was dressed. He wore black trousers, boots and a white shirt but nothing else. No hat, no necktie, jacket or vest and, scandalously, the top buttons of his shirt were undone so that his bare chest was partially visible.

I couldn't take my eyes off the skin there. It looked smooth and inexplicably warm considering the cool air, and—.

"There you are," he said. I dragged my gaze up to his face and was greeted by a pair of blue eyes that had an endlessness to their depths. As if that wasn't unsettling enough, his curious gaze slowly took in every inch of me, twice. To my utter horror, my face heated. He smiled at that, or I should say he half-smiled, which didn't help soothe my complexion in the least. "Your mouth is open," he said.

I shut it. Swallowed. "Uh, Celia?"

"Yes?" Celia dug through her reticule, searching for the front door key.

"You can't see him, can you?"

She glanced up, her hand still buried in her reticule, the carpet bag at her feet. "See who?"

"That gentleman standing there." I waggled my fingers at him in a wave. He waved back.

She shook her head. "No-o. Are you trying to tell me Mr. Wiggam is here?"

"Not Mr. Wiggam, no."

"But... " She frowned. "Who?"

"Jacob Beaufort," the spirit said without moving from his position. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. I'd shake your sister's hand," he said to me, "but given she can't see me she won't be able to touch me either." I could see him, and therefore touch him, but he didn't offer to shake my hand.

Unlike ordinary people, I could touch the ghosts. Celia and the other guests at our séances simply walked through them as if they were mist but I couldn't, which made sense to me. After all, they could haunt a place by tossing objects about, or upturn tables and knock on wood, why wouldn't they have physical form? At least for the person who could see them.

I wondered what he would feel like. He looked remarkably solid. Indeed, he looked very much alive, more so than any ghost I'd ever seen. Usually they faded in and out and had edges like a smudged charcoal sketch, but Jacob Beaufort was as well defined as Celia.

"Er, pleased to meet you too," I said. "I'm Emily Chambers and this is my sister Miss Celia Chambers."

Celia bobbed a curtsy although she wasn't quite facing Mr. Beaufort, then picked up her bag and approached him. Or rather, approached the door. She walked straight through him and inserted the key into the lock.

"I say!" he said and stepped aside.

"She didn't mean any offense," I said quickly.

"Did I do something wrong?" Celia asked as the door swung open.

"You walked through him."

"Oh dear, I am terribly sorry, Mr... "

"Beaufort," I filled in for her.

"As my sister said, I meant no offense, Mr. Beaufort." She spoke to the door. I cleared my throat and pointed at the ghost now standing to one side on the landing. She turned a little and smiled at him. "Why are you haunting our front porch?"

I winced and gave Mr. Beaufort an apologetic shrug. My sister may be all politeness with the living but she'd yet to grasp the art of tactful communication with the deceased.

"Celia," I hissed at her, but she either didn't hear me or chose to ignore me.

"It's all right," Mr. Beaufort said, amused. "May I enter? I won't harm either of you. I simply need to talk to you and I'm sure you'll be more comfortable out of this breeze."

"Of course." How could one refuse such a considerate suggestion? Or such beautiful eyes that twinkled with a hidden smile. I told Celia what he wanted. She hesitated then nodded, as if her permission mattered. If a ghost wanted to come into our house, he could.

He allowed me to enter behind Celia then followed—walking, as ghosts don't float like most people think they do. They get about by walking, just like the living. Oh and sometimes they disappear then reappear in another location, which can be disconcerting.

Bella our maid met us at the door and took our coats and Celia's bag. "Tea, Miss?" she asked.

Celia nodded. "For two thank you." She didn't mention the addition of Mr. Beaufort. Bella was easily frightened and we didn't want to lose another maid. The last three had left our employment after witnessing one of our in-house séances. It was difficult enough to find good help with what little we could afford to pay but it was made even harder thanks to our line of work. Gentlewomen of leisure may find our séances a diversion, but I've found the servants and poor to be far more superstitious.

Bella hung up hats and coats and had retreated down the hall to the stairs. I indicated the first room to our right. "If you wouldn't mind waiting in the drawing room," I said to Mr. Beaufort. "I need to speak to my sister for a moment."

The ghost bowed and did as I requested. "Celia," I said turning on her when he was no longer visible, "please don't ask him any questions about his death or haunting... or any morbid things."

"Why? We have a right to know more about the people we invite into our home, dead or alive."

"But it's so terribly... " Embarrassing. "... impolite."

"Nonsense. Now, why do you think he's here? To hire us perhaps?"

"I suppose so." I couldn't think of any other explanation.

"Good. Hopefully the other party can afford our fees." She tilted her chin up and plastered a calm smile on her face. "Come along," she said, "let's not keep him waiting."

Jacob Beaufort was studying the two framed daguerreotypes on our mantelpiece when we entered the drawing room. A small frown darkened his brow. "A handsome pair. Your parents?"

"Our mother," I said, "and Celia's father."

"Ah," he said as if that satisfied his curiosity. I could only guess what had piqued his interest. Most likely it was my skin tone, so dusky next to Celia's paleness, and the fact I looked nothing at all like either of the people in the pictures he held.

Celia sighed and sat on the sofa, spreading her skirt to cover as much of the threadbare fabric as possible, as was her habit when we had company. "Really, Emily," she muttered under her breath.

The ghost's gaze darted around the room. "Is there no image of your father here?"

"My father?" I said for Celia's benefit. "No."

She narrowed her gaze at me and gave a slight shake of her head as if to say not now. It was a well-chewed bone of contention between us. She insisted I call our mother's husband, Celia's father, Papa as she did. She in turn always referred to him as "Our father" and even Mama when she was alive had called him "Your Papa" when speaking of him to either one of us.

Despite the fact he'd died over a year before I was born.

I knew he couldn't possibly be my real father but I had long ago accepted he was the closest I'd get to one. Mama had refused to discuss the matter of my paternity despite my repeated questions. Not even Celia cared to talk about it, but I wasn't entirely sure she knew who my father was anyway. She had only been sixteen when I was born, and it was unlikely Mama had confided in her. It must have been terribly scandalous at the time, and explained why we never spoke to any of our relations and had few friends.

Although I accepted I may never know, a part of me still burned to learn the truth. I'd even tried to summon Mama's ghost once after her death to ask, but she'd not appeared.

"Mr. Beaufort," I said, shaking off the melancholy that usually descended upon me when thinking of my father.

"Call me Jacob," he said. "I think we can dispense with formalities considering the circumstances, not to mention my attire."

"Of course." I tried to smile politely but I fear it looked as awkward as I felt. His attire was not something to be dismissed casually. It was what he happened to be wearing when he died. Mr. Wiggam must have died wearing his formal dinner suit but it seemed Mr. Beaufort—Jacob—had been somewhat more casually dressed. It's the reason why I'll never sleep naked.

"What's he saying?" Celia asked, linking her hands on her lap.

"That we're to call him Jacob," I said.

"I see. Jacob, do you think you could hold something so I know where you are? The daguerreotype of our father will do."

I rolled my eyes. There she goes again—our father indeed.

"That's better," she said when Jacob obliged by picking up the wooden frame. "Now, please sit." He sat in the armchair which matched the sofa, right down to the faded upholstery. "Who do you wish us to contact?"

"Contact?" Jacob said.

"She means which of your loved ones do you want to communicate with," I said. "We can establish a meeting and you can tell them anything you wish, or ask a question. It'll give you peace," I said when he looked at me askance. "And help you cross over. Into the Otherworld." Good lord, he must be a fresh one. But he didn't look in the least frightened or wary as most newly deceased do.

"For a small fee," Celia added. "To be paid by your loved one of course."

"You have the wrong idea," he said, putting up his free hand. It was broad and long-fingered with scrapes and bruises on the knuckles, which struck me as odd. They looked fresh. He must have got them just before he died. So what was a handsome man with an aristocratic accent doing brawling with his bare knuckles? "I'm not here to contact anyone."

Bella entered at that moment carrying a tray of tea things. I had to lean to one side to see past her rather prominent rear as she bent over to set the tray on the table. I forked my brows at Jacob to prompt him—asking him outright might seem a little odd to Bella, particularly if Celia, the only other person in the room as far as the maid was concerned, failed to answer.

"I'm here because I've been assigned to you," he said.

"What?" I slapped a hand over my mouth.

Bella straightened and followed my line of sight straight to the framed daguerreotype of Celia's father hovering—as she would have seen it—above the armchair. She screamed and collapsed onto the rug in a dead faint.

Celia sighed. "Oh dear. She was such a good maid too."

Chapter Two

"I don't think your maid will last long," Jacob said as the drawing room door closed on Celia guiding a trembling Bella down the hall.

I waited until the door was completely shut and Bella's terrified mutterings had faded before I spoke. "I hope she's already prepared supper." It sounded uncaring but I'd been in this situation before and it was very trying. As our only maid, Bella worked long, hard hours. I appreciated that enough to know I didn't want to take on her chores. "Good maids are difficult to find, particularly ones not afraid of the supernatural." Or ones we could afford.

"Have you tried the North London School for Domestic Service in Clerkenwell?" He returned the picture frame to the mantelpiece and remained standing. "They train suitable orphans in all aspects of domestic service and help them find employment by the age of sixteen or so. We've hired many of our servants from there."

"We?"

"Ghosts." I must have had an odd look on my face because he snorted softly which I think was meant to be a laugh. "Joke," he said without even a twitch of his lips. "I meant my family. The one I had before I died."

"Oh." I swallowed. So he came from a family wealthy enough to afford servants, plural. I wanted to ask more about his life but it didn't seem like the right time. It also wasn't the right time to ask about his death, although I'm not sure there ever is an appropriate time to enquire about that. It feels a little like prying into one's private affairs.

Besides, a far more pressing question was why was he standing in my drawing room looking every bit the gentleman of the house as he rested his elbow on the mantelpiece. Perhaps it was the casual attire that made him look like he belonged precisely there as if this really was his home. Or perhaps it was the strength of his presence. I think I would have known where he was at all times even with my eyes closed. A remarkable feat for a spirit. "What did you mean by assigned to me? Assigned by whom and for what purpose?"

"Assigned by the Administrators—."

"The Administrators?"

"The officers who control the Waiting Area and the gateway to the Otherworld's sections. They ensure each spirit crosses to their correctly assigned section, as well as keeping the Waiting Area orderly." It all sounded terribly efficient, more so than our own government's departments, notorious for their crippling rules and mountains of paperwork. "Haven't you ever asked the ghosts you've summoned about their experiences there?"

"Of course," I said, reaching for the teapot on the table beside me. "All the time." I poured tea into a cup. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You haven't, have you?"

I stared into the teacup and sighed. "Not really. I'm not sure I want to find out too much. I mean, I know about the Waiting Area and how ghosts need to release all negative emotions associated with this world in order to cross over but... I don't want to know anything more."

"You mean before your time."

I nodded. Hopefully I had many years to wait.

I glanced at Jacob over the rim of my cup and caught him watching me with a steely intensity that made my skin tingle. I blushed and sipped then risked another look. This time his attention seemed to be diverted by the tea service. I would have offered him a cup but there was no point since he didn't require sustenance. Perhaps I should have offered out of politeness anyway. I wasn't entirely sure of the etiquette for when ghosts came calling.

He really was undeniably handsome though. The more I looked at him, the more I liked his features. None were remarkable on their own—except for the vivid blue of his eyes—but together they made his face extraordinary. What a shame he was dead. Even more so because he'd come from a wealthy family—Celia would be particularly disappointed by the waste. The number of eligible gentlemen we knew could be counted on a butcher's hand—five less a few missing digits and fingertips. Perhaps it wasn't a complete loss however. Jacob might have a living relative or friend he wanted us to contact while he was here. Preferably one of Celia's age or a little older.

"So these Administrators," I said, "why have they sent you here? Is it something to do with Barnaby Wiggam? Because if it is, I should explain that it was his own choice not to return to the Waiting Area. We tried to convince him—."

"It's nothing to do with Wiggam." He drew his attention from the tea tray and gave it all to me. There was heat in his gaze, an undeniable flare of desire that tugged at me, drew me into those blue eyes and held me there. I couldn't look away but I could blush and I did, although hopefully the darkish shade of my skin hid the worst of it. I hated being the center of attention, which made being a legitimate spirit medium a rather difficult occupation at times. As our reputation grew so did the stares and the whispers. But I'd never been the center of this sort of attention. No man had ever looked at me like that.

"Whether Wiggam's ghost wants to stay and haunt his wife or return to the Waiting Area is entirely up to him," he finally said, breaking the spell. "The Administrators allow spirits to make up their own minds. No, Emily, what you've done is something much more serious."

"Oh." My stomach dropped. I lowered the teacup to my lap and wished the sofa would swallow me up. "You're talking about that... that horrid shadow, aren't you?"

He nodded. "That shadow is a shape-shifting demon."

"What!" The cup rattled and I put my hand over it to still it. I stared at him and he simply stared back, waiting for me to ask the questions. I had many questions but all I said was, "I'm sorry" in a whisper.

He didn't say "You should be" or "You're a stupid girl" but simply "I know" in that rumbling voice that seemed to come from the depths of his chest.

"What is it? What does a shape-shifting demon do?"

"When it first emerges into this world it holds no shape. Its first instinct is survival, safety, until it can gather its strength. Once it has, it takes on the form of someone or something else almost perfectly." He paused and his lips formed a grim line. "And then it needs to satisfy its hunger."

From the way he couldn't meet my gaze, I suspected that hunger wouldn't be satisfied by buying fish from the markets. It would eat whatever it could kill. Rats, dogs. People.

I cleared my throat. "It was summoned quite by accident. I didn't mean to do it." Celia had better thank me later for taking the blame. It was entirely her fault that we'd released a demon with that new amulet. Not that I would tell Jacob. She was the only family member I had left and although we didn't always see eye to eye, we were all the other had and I wouldn't toss her into the lion's den, so to speak, even if the lion appeared relatively tame. I needed to find out more about Jacob and what the Administrators would extract for her folly first. I was better equipped than Celia to cope with the supernatural.

"Tell me how it happened," he said, sitting beside me on the sofa, not at the other end but close so that I could touch him if I moved a little to the right. I felt very alert and aware of him, but I could not meet that gaze. "I want to know exactly what was said, how it was said, and what object was used to summon it."

I stood, reluctantly, and fetched the amulet from Celia's bag. When I sat down again, I made sure I was sitting exactly where I had before, not an inch further away. I wanted to sit closer but I didn't dare even though Celia would never know because she couldn't see him.

"A peddler gave it to my sister."

"Gave it? She didn't buy it?"

"Apparently not."

He ran his thumb over the amulet's points.

"The woman said to repeat an incantation three times if we ever needed to solve something."

His hand stilled. "What was it?"

"We couldn't understand the words."

"But you repeated it nevertheless?"

I chewed the inside of my lower lip and shrugged one shoulder.

"Bloody hell, Emily, do you know what you've done?" He stood and paced across the rug to the hearth and back. He completed the short distance in two strides. "Shape-shifting demons are dangerous. They roam at night, searching for food. And I'm not referring to the pies and boiled potatoes variety. I mean living flesh and blood."

I gulped down the bile rising up my throat. "Oh God," I whispered. I pressed a hand to my stomach to settle it, but to no avail. It continued roiling beneath my corset. What had we done?

He suddenly stopped pacing and blinked at me. "Sorry," he said softly, "I shouldn't have gone into detail." He crouched in front of me and went to touch my hands, still holding my stomach, but drew back before making contact. "Are you all right? You've gone pale."

"That's quite a feat considering my skin tone," I said, attempting to smile. I reached out to press his arm in reassurance but he stood suddenly. All the softness in his eyes vanished and I bristled in response to the coldness in them. Obviously physical contact was not something he wanted.

I wondered when he'd last touched a live person. Unless he'd stumbled across someone else who could see spirits—and therefore touch him—it would have been before he died.

"If that incantation is what released the demon," I said, "then it's not a very fool proof system your Administrators have to keep them in check." I couldn't help the sarcasm dripping off the words like rain drops off leaves. His sudden changes of mood had me confused and bothered which in turn threw up my own defenses. I couldn't tell if he was friend or foe yet.

"I think we've already demonstrated that," he said.

I shot him a withering look. "They ought to have better mechanisms for controlling their demons."

"It's not just a matter of repeating the incantation. It must be done when the portals between this world and the Waiting Area are opened as they are during your séances." He held up the amulet. "And while touching a cursed object."

"Cursed? Someone has cursed that?"

He nodded.

"It really shouldn't have been given away then."

"Very observant of you."

Another withering look would have been excessive but I gave him one anyway.

He shot me a small smile in return which I found most disconcerting. But then the smile vanished and he was all seriousness again. "The amulet acts as a talisman," he said, "linking the wearer to the demon."

He dangled the amulet from its leather strap and dropped it into my palm. "We need to find the person who gave it to your sister. When does the peddler return?"

"Not until Thursday."

He rubbed his hand over his chin. "Damnation." He glanced at me and bowed his head. "Sorry for my language, it was inappropriate." Despite the bow, he didn't seem sorry at all. There wasn't a hint of regret on his face, just that smile again, as if he was amused at shocking me. Not that I was shocked. I'd heard worse at the markets.

"But you must understand," he went on, "that we need to locate this peddler as soon as possible."

"We need to?"

"You are the one who released the demon so it's only fair you bear some of the responsibility for returning it."

I bristled and bit the inside of my lip to stop myself telling him what had really happened. Celia had better appreciate my covering for her.

My sister took that moment to enter the drawing room and promptly sat on the sofa and poured herself a cup of tea. She seemed completely oblivious to the tension in the room, even though it was so dense I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"Is the ghost gone?" she asked me.

"No."

"Well Bella is. Packed her bags and almost ran out the door. I couldn't get a sensible word out of her." She lifted her teacup to her lips then lowered it without taking a sip. "I'd no idea she was such a flighty girl. The next one should have a sturdier constitution. Have you still got a copy of the last advertisement we used, Em? No need to write it all out again."

"Jacob suggested we try a school in Clerkenwell. The children learn the art of domestic service there."

Celia scoffed into her teacup. "Hardly an art, my dear, if Bella's efforts at cooking were anything to go by. Very well, I shall go in the morning." She nodded at the framed daguerreotype of her father now back on the mantelpiece. "I see you've put the portrait of Father down." Her voice rose a little, the way it always did when she spoke directly to a spirit. As if it was hard of hearing. Not that she spoke to them very often. She usually left that part of the séance to me. It's why I was the one who received the strange looks from the guests. That way Celia managed to avoid the worst of the Freak label. "Do you mind very much picking it up again so I can see where you are?" she asked him.

Jacob crossed his arms over his chest. "Rather demanding, isn't she?"

I took two steps toward him, bringing me within arm's distance. "You may be ethereal but you are still a guest in our home, Mr. Beaufort, and I would suggest you behave as a gentleman would and do as my sister requests." His eyes grew wider with every word. I squared up to him, and although I was much shorter than he, I felt like I had the upper hand in the exchange. "Or have you forgotten how a gentleman should behave?"

He couldn't have stiffened any more if someone had dripped ice cold water down his spine.

"It is only polite after all to allow Celia to know your general location," I went on, "since you have the advantage of being able to see her."

He lowered his arms to his sides and nodded once. "Point taken." He edged around the furniture to the mantelpiece and picked up the other portrait this time, the one of Mama. "Lucky I'm a ghost or those barbs would have really hurt," he said to the daguerreotype.

My irritation flowed out of me at his absurd sense of humor. I controlled my smile as best I could however. It would have undermined my argument.

"I see you two have become further acquainted with each other during my absence," Celia said, eyeing me carefully. She forked one brow and I shook my head. I was in no danger from Jacob. He needed me to find the amulet peddler. And the demon. "Have you discovered what he means by being assigned to you?" she went on.

I explained about the demon we released, emphasizing the we and winking at her as I did so. Now that I had let Jacob think I'd been as guilty as Celia, I didn't want him to know I had deliberately misled him. It felt dishonorable somehow.

Apparently Celia didn't agree with me. "No," she said and placed her teacup and saucer carefully on the table. "I cannot let you take the blame, Em. I was the one who bought the amulet and it was I who invoked the demon. It was nothing to do with Emily," she said to Jacob.

He lowered the picture frame and regarded me levelly. "Very noble of you," he muttered. "And now I suppose I owe you an apology."

"Don't trouble yourself," I said more curtly than I intended.

He winced then bowed. "I've behaved despicably, both as a gentleman and as a guest." He spoke quietly and his mouth softened, no longer forming a grim line. "I hope you can forgive me." As apologies went, it seemed genuine. "I would ask the Administrators to assign someone else to you but there is no one else."

"Isn't the Waiting Area filled with thousands of ghosts? That's what several of them had told me and I'd never had any reason to doubt them.

"There is, but few are like me."

"You mean solid, or at least have the appearance of it?"

He nodded. "Without the solidness as you call it, I couldn't follow you wherever you go. Most spirits are limited to a specific location, as you know. I can go anywhere I please."

"Fascinating." I cast my eye over him again. He certainly looked nothing like the other ghosts with their fuzzy centers and fading edges. Indeed he looked healthy, full of life. And so handsome it was all I could do to stop myself from reaching out and caressing the skin at his throat. It would be smooth and butter-soft, I guessed, but cool. I'd only ever touched a ghost once before and she'd been cool despite it being a warm day.

"Really, Emily," Celia scolded.

I snatched my attention away from Jacob but tried my best to ignore my sister, which wasn't easy considering her annoyance vibrated off her. She didn't need to say anything else. We knew each other well enough to know what the other was thinking. In this case it was my fascination with Jacob. I could almost hear her asking me why a ghost and not the very much alive vicar's son from St. Luke's who always tried to touch my hand or some other part of me after Sunday service.

But how could she understand? She couldn't see Jacob. Couldn't get sucked in by those eyes, so like a dangerous whirlpool, or that classically handsome face. I could, and was, even though my brain told me I was a fool. He was dead.

"Why are you so solid?" I asked him.

He waved a hand and shrugged one shoulder. "It's just the way I am."

I had the feeling there was more to it than that but I didn't want to be rude and pry. Not yet anyway.

"So how do you propose to return this demon to the Otherworld?" Celia asked.

"We must discover who wanted the demon released and why," Jacob said. "We can start by understanding the words you spoke during the séance."

I repeated his answer to Celia and she in turn repeated the incantation. "It means nothing to me," he said, "but I'll ask the souls in the Waiting Area. It might be a more familiar language to one of them."

"Wouldn't the Administrators know?" I asked. "Or if not, can't they just summon the demon back again with an incantation of their own?"

"The Administrators don't have the power to reverse a curse issued in this realm. No one in the Waiting Area does. It can only be done by someone in this realm and only when the demon is near."

I swallowed and looked down at the amulet in my hand. "So much trouble over a piece of cheap jewelry."

"Keep the amulet with you. Whoever speaks the reversing incantation must be wearing it."

"I should be the one to wear it and seek out the peddler," Celia said. She held her head high, her chin up, as if defying us to disagree with her. Despite her stance, I knew she was afraid. The supernatural was my territory. She'd never been as comfortable around the ghosts as me, and demons were another matter altogether. The guilt over releasing one must be great indeed for her to make such a bold offer to rectify the situation.

"No," Jacob and I said together.

"You can't see or talk to Jacob," I said. "And we need his guidance in this."

She lowered her head and nodded. "Very well." She raised her gaze to where he stood, holding the frame. "Is it dangerous, this demon?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Not terribly," I said and tried to look like I wasn't lying. If she thought it was dangerous, she would not agree to my involvement, no matter how important. I glanced at Jacob but he said nothing, just watched me beneath half-lowered lids. "Don't worry, Sis, we'll send it back before anything happens."

Celia breathed out and settled into the sofa. "That's settled then," she muttered. "Now," she said to Jacob, "tell me exactly what you mean when you say you are assigned to my sister? Will you be at her side until the demon is found? Are you tied to her in some invisible way?"

Jacob went very still. "Tell your sister not to worry," he said stiffly. "I'll be the perfect gentleman."

I almost told him he'd mistaken her and she wasn't suggesting he'd do anything untoward, but I couldn't be sure if that assessment was correct. Knowing Celia, it was highly possible she meant exactly that.

As if understanding my hesitation, she added, "Can he protect you against this demon—and don't try to tell me it's harmless because I know it's not. It is a demon after all. And can he protect you against the person who cursed the amulet?" Her knuckles had gone white, clasped as they were in her lap. I gently touched her arm. It didn't seem to help—she remained as taut as a stretched rope.

Jacob took a long time to answer and I began to doubt he would when he finally said, "I will do my best." He held up the picture frame. "I can wield Earthly weapons as easily as I can hold this, but I'm afraid weapons from this realm have little effect on demons. They can only be killed with blades forged in the Otherworld. Unfortunately the Administrators don't have access to one which is why I prefer to banish it."

I squeezed Celia's arm again. "He said yes," I lied. "Don't worry, Sis, he looks very capable."

She stared straight ahead at the picture frame held by Jacob and gave a small nod. "Very well," she said in a tired voice. "You may accompany my sister to find this demon and return it. But if anything should happen to her," she coughed to cover her cracking voice but I heard it nevertheless, "I'll find someone who can make sure your soul never crosses over."

I stared at her open-mouthed. My sister, making threats to a ghost? Remarkable. I loved her for it.

She released her grip on the sofa and picked up her teacup. "It would seem nothing can be done before Thursday, anyway, when the peddler returns. The day after tomorrow. Until then, Mr. Beaufort." She nodded and sipped her tea. Dismissed.

He looked like he would argue but thought better of it and returned the daguerreotype to the mantelpiece. "Don't worry, I can see myself out." He bowed to us then vanished like a bubble that's been popped. There one moment, gone the next.

I flopped back in the sofa in a most unladylike fashion. "Oh Celia, I think we've bitten off more than we can chew."

She handed me my teacup. "We'll conquer this demon, don't fret, my dear."

I hadn't been referring to the demon.

Chapter Three

It took me a long time to fall asleep. It was bad enough knowing there was a demon out there hiding in the many shadowy lanes of London searching out something—or someone—to eat, but it was thoughts of Jacob Beaufort that occupied my mind more. Whenever I closed my eyes I could see his bright blue ones staring back at me with unnerving intensity. Now that I was alone I could think of a thousand questions I should have asked him, each one circling my head like a carousel. Finally, when the longcase clock in the entrance hall downstairs struck three, I'd had enough. I got up and threw my shawl around my shoulders then lit a candle and padded barefoot to my writing desk. I sat and pulled a piece of paper and the inkstand closer and wrote every question down, one after the other. Except one. I re-read my list and tried to tell myself it wasn't important, I didn't need to know the answer to it.

I wasn't very good at lying, even to myself. So I gave up and wrote the question at the bottom:

Did he meet Mama in the Waiting Area?

If he answered yes to that then there were so many other follow-up questions but I put the quill down without writing them. It was enough for now.

I fell asleep quickly after that.

Much later, I awoke to the sound of the brass knocker on our front door banging. It was daytime because light edged the curtains. It wasn't bright but then the days never were in London thanks to either the smog or rain or both.

I heard Celia's voice and listened for another but no one else spoke. Perhaps I'd imagined the knocking and she was simply reciting poetry in the kitchen.

But that was as absurd as it sounded. Celia regarded poetry as a useless form of literature read only by deluded romantics.

Then I heard footsteps running up the stairs. Only one set. "Emily! Emily, are you decent?" Celia shouted. "I think he's here."

"She means me," came Jacob's voice from just outside my bedroom door.

Jacob! Good lord, I was still in my nightgown! What was he doing here so early? It couldn't be much past eight o'clock. What was he doing here at all when we'd agreed nothing could be done until the following day?

"She'll be out in a few minutes," I heard Celia say in a loud voice. The door opened a crack and she slipped inside. She was dressed but her hair looked like it had been hastily shoved under her cap. "My sister is not yet ready to receive callers," she said as she shut the door.

I heard Jacob's chuckle and I pictured his handsome features softening with his smile. "It's nice to know the rules of propriety still apply to the dead," he called out.

Celia leaned against the door as if barricading it. "He hasn't zapped his way in here, has he?"

"No. Help me dress," I said, climbing out of bed. "How did you know it was him?"

She passed me a clean chemise from the wardrobe, which I put on over my head after I shucked off my nightgown. "When I answered the knock there was no one there so I closed the door. But then I heard a knock on the hallway wall and I realized someone was inside, alerting me to their presence. The only ghost I know who has turned up here without being summoned is that Beaufort boy."

Hardly a boy. I made up my mind to ask him his age. Or his age at the time of his death. It was the first question on my list, still sitting on my desk.

"I told him I'd fetch you," she said, helping me into my corset. "But as I walked up the stairs I felt a coolness sweep past me and I knew he was going on ahead."

"At least he still possesses a sense of honor and hasn't entered." I gasped as she pulled hard on the corset's laces. "Careful, Sis, I might need to breathe at some point."

"Why bother breathing if you look fat?" We both knew she was being ridiculous—I was washboard flat in stomach and, alas, in chest—but she was in an odd temper so I let her comment go. "The green gown, I think."

"Really? What's the occasion?" The green dress was my newest and favorite. The color complemented my complexion and dark brown eyes. The bodice was shaped in the latest cuirass style, which hugged my frame all the way down to my thighs, emphasizing my small waist and the curve of my hip. It would have looked better on a taller girl, as did all dresses, but with heeled boots it looked quite good on me too. Although the satin had been recycled from one of Mama's old gowns, it nevertheless cost a great deal to have made. Celia had insisted on using the last of our savings for it. I suspected it was her weapon of choice in the battle to find me a husband. I supposed I looked quite good in it. Indeed, the dress never failed to turn heads, which was always a pleasant feeling when the heads were turned for the right reasons. Being singled out because I could see ghosts or because I wasn't fashionably pale, however, made me feel like the bearded lady in a sideshow.

So, considering it was a dress Celia made me wear whenever she thought eligible men would see me, it was a little disconcerting that she was making me wear it now when I was only seeing a ghost.

"I think Jacob will take you somewhere today," she said, fastening the hooks and eyes at the back of the dress. "He has a sense of urgency about him. Hopefully he wishes to communicate with his family after all, and if he has a brother or cousin... " She let the sentence drift, full of potential and possibility.

"It's more likely Jacob is concerned about the demon," I said.

She guided me to my dressing table and forced me to sit at the stool. "It can't hurt to be prepared," she said, undoing my braid. "You never know whose path you'll be thrown into."

I couldn't fault her logic although I didn't like to think about eligible gentlemen, or marriage or any of those things. Some girls of my acquaintance may be married by seventeen, but I wasn't sure wedlock was for me. What would happen to Celia? And why would I want to live with a man, by his rules, in his house, when I could live here with my sister and do as I pleased?

Besides, what sort of husband would want a fatherless bastard for a wife? And if my parentage didn't concern him, surely the fact I had conversations with the dead would.

A knock at my bedroom door made me turn around, yanking the hair out of Celia's hands. "Be still," she snapped, "or I'll have to start over."

"I can appreciate that a lady needs time to prepare herself to face the day," Jacob said through the door, "but do you think you could go faster?"

"He wants us to hurry up," I told Celia.

"Hurry!" she scoffed. "A lady cannot rush her morning toilette."

"I won't be long," I called out.

"Good because we need to get going," he said.

"We're definitely going somewhere," I said to my sister's reflection in the dressing table's oval mirror. "And where are we going to?" I shouted to Jacob.

He suddenly appeared in the room at my right shoulder, his back to me. I jumped and Celia tugged my hair. "Be still."

"Sorry," he said, "but I don't like shouting through doors. Can I turn around?"

"Yes," I said and hoped Celia thought I was speaking to her. I didn't want her to know he was in the room. She was already wary of him and for some reason I didn't want to turn that into outright distrust.

"It's like hundreds of little springs," he said in wonder, watching Celia's nimble fingers work my black curls into a manageable style on top of my head.

"Little springs turn into little knots very easily," I said.

Celia paused. "Pardon?"

"I, uh, was just thinking about my hair and how I wish the curls were softer like yours." My gaze met Jacob's in the mirror's reflection.

He quickly glanced away, down at the dressing table, up at the ceiling, at the wall, anywhere but at me. "Just tell her to put it up as best she can," he said.

"He's growing impatient," I told her.

"He's no gentleman, that one," she said and put two hairpins between her lips.

I cringed and caught Jacob's sharp glance in Celia's direction. He seemed... alarmed, and then embarrassed by her off-handed comment.

She removed the pins from her mouth and threaded them through my hair. "I wonder if he ever was one," she said, admiring her handiwork." Perhaps he lost all sense of honor when he died."

"Dying tends to cause one to misplace a great many things," Jacob said, voice dark and distant.

"Can you go out and tell him I'll be there in a moment," I asked Celia.

Her hand hovered near the hair above my temple as if she wanted to touch it but didn't want to mess up her work. "Be careful, Em." She kissed my forehead. "You do look lovely. Let's hope it's worth it."

She left and I heard her telling the empty air outside that I'd be there soon. Her footsteps retreated down the stairs and I turned to Jacob.

"You deserved to hear that if you come and go uninvited," I said.

"I'm not concerned about other people's opinions of me." He gave me a crooked smile. "It's a bad habit carried over from when I was alive."

It was the first time he'd referred to his life and what he'd been like. It wasn't what I'd expected to hear. Instead of giving me a clearer picture of him it just threw up more questions. Why hadn't he cared what people thought? "I'm sure people cared what you thought of them." I don't know why I said it but it seemed appropriate somehow.

He didn't comment but he was no longer smiling, crookedly or otherwise. Indeed, he'd turned all his attention to my hairbrush sitting on the dressing table as if it was the most interesting object in the world. Its tortoiseshell back and handle certainly weren't worthy of such scrutiny.

I knew an avoidance tactic when I saw one.

"How long ago did you die?" I asked him. He might want to avoid all awkward questions but I certainly wasn't going to shy away from them. If I was to spend time alone with him, I needed to know more about him.

"About nine months ago. I was eighteen." He shook his head, dismissing the topic. "Are you ready?"

So much for my investigative scheme. "Where are we going?"

He strode to the door. I pulled on my boots, quickly laced them and followed at a trot. "The house of someone I went to school with," he said, opening the door. "George Culvert. He lives in the Belgravia area with his mother."

"And why are we visiting this Mr. Culvert?"

He turned around and his gaze dropped to my waist and hips. His mouth fell open and a small, strangled sound escaped. "You're going to wear that?"

"Something wrong with it?"

"No," he said thickly. "But can you breathe?"

"Sometimes."

He laughed softly. "I like it. It's very... snug."

"So what were you saying about George Culvert?"

His gaze lifted to mine and a shiver rippled down my spine. His eyes blazed like blue flames but then he blinked rapidly and shifted his focus to something behind my left shoulder. He cleared his throat. "He's a demonologist."

"A what?"

"A demonologist. Someone who studies demons, fallen angels, that sort of thing." He waved a hand casually, as if 'that sort of thing' was like studying for a career in law. "We can't wait until tomorrow to start looking for this demon. We have to start today. Now." He ushered me through the door onto the landing without actually touching me.

"Before it hurts someone?" I asked.

His gaze met mine for a brief second but in that moment I saw genuine worry in his eyes. There was no need for him to answer me. We both knew the demon might have already killed overnight.

"Why didn't it attack us when it was released in Mrs. Wiggam's house?"

"Until it makes contact with the master who set the curse on the amulet and controls it, the demon is weak and relies on instinct. It would have seen it was outnumbered and felt too vulnerable to attack so it fled. Once it felt safe, it would begin to search for nourishment."

I swallowed. "How awful. So tell me more about this Culvert fellow."

"George's father was a demonologist before his death and George has an interest in the field too."

"Demonology," I said. "What an odd thing to study."

"Not really. You'd be surprised at how many people are interested in the paranormal. Although I doubt there's much money in it. Not sure how his father could have sent George to Eton. He must have had another source of income."

"You went to Eton?" The boy's school was the most exclusive in all of England. Money wasn't enough to get accepted into the school, it required wealth and privilege. It would seem Jacob's family had both. Another piece to the puzzle that was Jacob Beaufort fell into place.

He shrugged and it would seem the question was dismissed, just like that. As if it were nothing. As if my curiosity could be swept away without consideration. It was most frustrating.

"I'll meet you there," he said. "I need to speak to more spirits in the Waiting Area."

"About the meaning of the words spoken in the incantation?"

He nodded. "The language must be an obscure one as none of the spirits I've asked so far knew its meaning. And anyway, someone might have heard of another demonologist who can aid us. That's how I learned Culvert's name."

"I thought you went to school with him."

"I did but we didn't socialize. Different friends, you understand."

I didn't. Not really. My formal schooling had finished at age thirteen, as it did for most girls, and I'd known every pupil at the small school. After I left, Mama had continued to tutor me and then Celia had tried after Mama's death, but much of my understanding of the world had come from reading books left behind in Celia's father's study. He'd been a lawyer and a great reader apparently. His study was still in tact and the bookshelves covered two entire walls, but most of the books were dry texts with only a few novels squeezed in between. Not a single one touched on the supernatural.

"So what shall I tell this George Culvert when I meet him?" I asked. "I can't very well ask him about shape-shifting demons straight away. He'll think it odd."

He paused then said, "Tell him you have a general interest in demonology and you'd like to look at his books." He shrugged. "We'll make it up as we go."

"Very well." I couldn't see any other way that didn't involve telling George Culvert everything. And that wasn't an option. Not yet. Not until I'd decided if I cared whether he thought I was mad for speaking to ghosts. "Give me Mr. Culvert's address and I'll meet you there after breakfast."

"Fifty-two Wilton Crescent in Belgravia." He gave me one more appraisal—a lingering one—from head to toe then vanished. But not before I saw the same heated flare in his eyes that had been there when he first noticed me in the dress. It would seem the gown hadn't lost any of its power.

Celia had a simple breakfast of toast and boiled eggs waiting for me in the dining room when I arrived.

"I thought we'd eat in the kitchen since we have no maid," I said picking up a plate.

"Just because there's no one here to see us doesn't mean we can let ourselves go. We have standards."

Celia had standards. I had a growling stomach and didn't care where I ate. I buttered a piece of toast and took two eggs from the sideboard and joined her at the table.

"What did he want?" she asked.

I filled her in and her interest piqued at the mention of George Culvert. "I wonder what he's like," she said more to herself than me.

"He went to Eton," I said, rapping the knife on the eggshell. "With Jacob."

I'd thought it impossible for her eyes to light up even more but they did. "Oh! He must be a gentleman then. I'm so glad you're wearing that dress, it's perfect. But you can't go alone. I'll accompany you."

"I'll be all right."

"Emily," she said on a sigh.

"Please, Celia, I'm old enough." Because our lives were so thoroughly interconnected, my sister and I usually went everywhere together. We just had no need to be separate. But of late I found I wanted to go out more and more without her. It would be nice to have people deal with me as an individual and a woman rather than as Celia's little sister. The visit to George Culvert was a perfect opportunity to do so and I wasn't going to let it pass me by.

She paused with her fork in the air, a piece of buttered toast only inches from her mouth.

"Jacob will be with me," I added before she could protest. "That's all the protection I need. Besides, you've got to go to the Clerkenwell school and hire another maid."

She seemed to struggle between the two options. "It's not seemly for a young lady to pay calls on a young gentleman alone. You know that."

"His mother will probably be in at this early hour," I said hopefully. "And besides, I could be there all day studying his books." Celia's eyes went blank at the thought, just as I'd hoped. My sister had never been a great reader. Whereas I'd devoured all of her father's books, even the dull ones, she'd not been in his study for a long time. "Besides, if you don't find another maid today you'll have to cook supper. I'm sure I won't be home in time. And of course there's all the cleaning... "

Celia sighed. "You're right."

I ate the toast and one of the eggs and left the other. It was too dry. When we'd finished, Celia collected our plates. "You'd better go or Jacob will be back demanding to know why you haven't left yet."

She didn't need to tell me a second time. I'd avoided both the cooking and the cleaning so far but I wasn't about to test my luck by staying home any longer.

"Wear the hat that matches the dress," she said as I left. "But don't take a parasol. We don't have one in the right shade of green."

Five minutes later, I walked out the door feeling like a perfectly matching green peacock. A few pairs of eyes followed me down Druids Way and I can't deny that it felt good to be noticed for all the right reasons. It made a pleasant change to the suspicious glances usually cast my way by those neighbors and shopkeepers who knew I could speak to ghosts. The stares were something I'd not yet grown used to, even though we'd been in business for over a year. I wondered if there ever would be a day when I'd enjoy the attention.

Oh dear. It sounded like I resented being a medium and wished I didn't have the gift. Sometimes I did, true, but on the other hand I liked being able to reconnect people with their deceased loved ones. I just wished those same people wouldn't treat me with such wariness.

I had to hold onto my hat until I turned off Druids Way and the strong wind eased to a gentle breeze. The sun came out from behind the clouds, briefly, but did little to brighten the day, covered as it was by London's smoky haze. I knew how to get to Wilton Crescent so my thoughts were left to wander. And they didn't wander to the demon or the dangers it posed but to Jacob. The way he'd noticed me in the dress, and how he watched me with such intensity when he thought I wasn't looking.

But there was something troubling him too, something that had nothing to do with the demon. Despite telling me he didn't care what people thought of him, he seemed to bristle at Celia's assessment of his ungentlemanly conduct. And he avoided all questions about his life and what it had been like.

Was he ashamed of it? Or was there something else, something he was hiding?

Whatever it was, his behavior was very confusing, but then he was a ghost so I suppose he could do what he wanted.

I wished he'd accompanied me on the walk. The twenty minutes it took to reach Wilton Crescent would have given me ample opportunity to find out more about him. But then I would have drawn many unwanted stares by seemingly conversing with myself. The mere thought made me cringe and I lowered my head, not wishing to encounter any ghosts that happened to haunt the streets. I'd seen only two over the years who'd met with a road accident and had not progressed to the Waiting Area, having chosen to maintain the negative emotion tying them to this world. I never understood why anyone would choose to linger where they couldn't be seen or heard. Perhaps I would think differently if I were dead.

I turned into Wilton Crescent and strolled along the elegant curved street until I reached number fifty-two. It looked like the other grand houses in the crescent-shaped terrace with its cream stucco façade and colonnaded porch. The main difference I could see was the brass knocker on the door. It was shaped like a large paw.

A footman answered my knock and showed me into a spacious drawing room on the first floor crammed with furniture and knick-knacks. Aside from the usual piano, sofa and chairs, there were tables. Many, many small tables—a console table, a sofa table, at least three occasional tables and a sideboard. Scattered on top of them all were framed daguerreotypes, figurines, vases, busts, decorative jars, boxes and other little objects that seemed to have no use whatsoever except to occupy a surface.

I was admiring an elaborate display of shells arranged into the shape of a flower bouquet when a tall young man entered, smiling in greeting. He was handsome but not in the masculine, classical sense like Jacob but more angelic, prettier although not feminine. Definitely not. Blond hair sprang off his head in soft curls and his pale skin stretched taut over high, sharp cheeks. He wore small, round spectacles through which gray eyes danced. He looked younger than Jacob and if I hadn't known they went to school together and were about the same age, I'd have thought him my own age or younger.

"Miss Chambers?" He glanced around the room, perhaps looking for a chaperone. Eventually his gaze settled back on me, or rather my hips, before sweeping up to my face. His cheeks colored slightly. "The footman said you wished to see me and not my mother?" It was a question not a statement. Mr. Culvert was probably unused to visits from unchaperoned girls.

I cleared my throat then held out my hand for him to shake. He looked at it like he didn't know what to do with it then took my fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. "I'm definitely here to see you if you are Mr. George Culvert."

His face lit up. "Indeed I am." He squeezed again. His own hand was smooth, soft. It made me think of the split skin and bruises on Jacob's knuckles and again I wondered why a gentleman had hands more suited to a laborer or a pugilist.

Jacob chose that moment to appear beside me and I jumped in surprise. "Tell him you knew me before my death," he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied Mr. Culvert, "and that I told you about his interest in demonology. Pretend you also have an interest too and decided it was time you met. That should suffice."

But before I could say anything, Mr. Culvert said, "Do you have a supernatural matter to discuss with me?"

I choked on air and tried to cover it with a cough.

"Are you all right, Miss Chambers?" he said, frowning. "Tea is on its way but if there's anything else I can get you?" He took my hand again and patted it.

Jacob scowled at him.

I managed to stop coughing long enough to say, "Thank you, I'm fine."

Jacob, still scowling, approached our host and waved a hand in front of his face. Mr. Culvert didn't blink. "He definitely can't see me," Jacob said. "It must have been a guess—an uncannily good one."

"You're right," I said. "I do have a supernatural question. That's very intuitive of you, Mr. Culvert."

"Not really." He smiled sheepishly and dipped his head. "I happen to be aware of your work as a medium. I've wanted to meet you for some time." A faint blush crept across his cheeks. It was rather charming. Until I caught Jacob watching me out of the corner of my eye. No, he wasn't watching, he was glaring and his eyes had turned the color of a stormy sea. I tried not to look at him. I needed all my wits about me if I was to lie to George Culvert convincingly.

"So you believe I can really talk to spirits?" I said to Mr. Culvert.

"Yes of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Many people do not."

"Many people don't know what I know about the supernatural." He indicated I should sit on the blood-red velvet sofa.

The footman re-entered carrying a tea tray stacked with tea things and a plate of butter biscuits, freshly baked going by their delicious smell. It was early for refreshments, early for making calls for that matter, but Mr. Culvert didn't seem to mind. Indeed, he seemed quite eager to chat. He sat in the chair opposite and leaned forward as the footman poured the tea.

I took my teacup and wondered where Mrs. Culvert was in the vast house. When the footman left I hazarded a glance at Jacob. He stood beside the mantelpiece, its height perfect for resting his elbow, and watched the proceedings with a closed expression. I thought he'd be impatient for me to ask questions but he said nothing, simply waited.

I decided to follow our original plan. "I heard about you through a mutual friend of ours," I said to Mr. Culvert. "Jacob Beaufort. I believe you went to Eton with him."

George Culvert's brows shot up into his snowy blond curls. "You knew him?"

I nodded and sipped my tea in an effort to disguise my lie. I had one of those faces that was easy to read so the better I hid it, the better I could lie. "His sudden death must have shocked everyone at the school."

"It must have, but I wouldn't know." He too took a sip of his tea but watched me the entire time over the rim of his cup. "He died after we'd both left Eton. Jacob had gone on to Oxford I believe."

My ghost had failed to mention that fact. Jacob shifted his weight. "It was so long ago," I said lightly. "I find it hard to recall the dates."

Mr. Culvert lowered his cup and locked his gaze with mine. "And he wasn't my friend."

Oh dear. This was going to be more difficult than I imagined. "He, uh, mentioned you though. Frequently."

Jacob groaned. "Tell him we were in the same debating team once."

"You were on the debating team together," I said.

"No, that was my cousin, another Culvert," Mr. Culvert said.

"Oh."

Jacob shrugged. "I thought it was him." He frowned, shook his head. "I just can't seem to recall him. The uncle I spoke to in the Waiting Area was adamant his nephew George went to Eton in my year level. Why can't I remember him?"

"It must have been some other team then," I offered. "Cricket?"

"I didn't play sports unless I had to," Mr. Culvert said. "And Jacob and I were never on the same team. He was always in the firsts—cricket, rugby et cetera. I was... not. So you see, I'd be very surprised if he noticed me at all."

Jacob sighed. "He's right. It's a large school and our paths probably never crossed."

"He was like that," Mr. Culvert went on.

"Like what?" I finally had a chance to find out more about my ghost and unfortunately he had to be listening. Perhaps I should have stopped Mr. Culvert before he said something Jacob ought not to hear.

Or perhaps not. I might not get another opportunity to discover more. If Jacob didn't want to listen he could simply vanish and return later.

Jacob, however, did not disappear. He'd gone very rigid and that steely glare was back. "Emily, don't," he said.

He was right. It wasn't fair. I sighed. "Nevermind," I said.

"I don't mind," said Mr. Culvert cheerily. He passed me the plate of biscuits and I took one. "But surely you would know what he was like, being his friend."

"Emily," Jacob warned.

"Uh... " With my mouth full of biscuit I couldn't say anything else without spraying crumbs in my lap and over the floor. The thick Oriental rug was so lovely and I really didn't want to embarrass myself in front of my host...

"He was quite oblivious to those around him, wouldn't you say?" Mr. Culvert said, somewhat oblivious himself to my plight.

Jacob stepped between us and I could practically see steam rising from his ears. "Emily, stop this line of questioning. Now." His fingers curled into fists at his sides. "Please." The plea, uttered so quietly I barely heard it, caught me off guard and I inhaled sharply.

It was the wrong thing to do. A clump of half-chewed biscuit lodged in my throat and a fit of coughs gripped me. Mr. Culvert handed me my teacup, stretching straight through Jacob to do so. I dared a glance at the ghost's face as I sipped. It was dark and threatening but there was something else there, something... vulnerable. I wanted to reach out to him but I dared not. Instead I held on tightly to the cup as I moved a little to the left along the sofa to see around him.

"Yes, oblivious," Mr. Culvert said, not looking at me now. He seemed lost in memories from his Etonian days. "And self-absorbed."

"Self-absorbed?" Jacob spun round. "I was not!"

"He had his circle of friends and anyone who fell outside that circle simply didn't get... seen." Culvert shrugged and I didn't get the feeling he was bitter, just observant. I suspect George Culvert was very good at observing people. There was something quiet and watchful about him. Whereas Jacob was all contained energy simmering beneath the surface, Culvert seemed gentle to the core. I could imagine him watching people from a corner of a room through his spectacles, determining their strengths and faults, seeing how they interacted with others. Jacob on the other hand, was a man of action.

And the action I suspected he was about to perform could end in someone getting hurt and himself being exposed.

"Tell him I am not self-absorbed," Jacob snapped.

I gulped and tried not to look at him. "That's a shame," I said quickly. "Because you're both nice people. I'm sure you would have got along."

"Not everyone would think that way," Culvert said.

"Oh but you seem very nice to me."

He blushed again and bowed his head. "I was referring to Beaufort. He was well liked by most at school," he said, "adored even. But certainly not everyone put him up on a pedestal. I'm sure some would have preferred to drag him off it."

"I wasn't on any bloody pedestal," Jacob said, drawing himself up to his full height.

I found that hard to believe. I'd spent much of the previous night picturing him on one, made of white marble and carved in the Roman style.

Jacob edged toward Culvert, looking like he wanted to make his presence known in the most dramatic way a ghost can. It was time to steer the conversation away from the subject of Jacob before Culvert found the rug pulled out from under him, quite literally.

"Perhaps it wasn't Jacob who told me about your father's collection of books on demonology, perhaps it was someone else." I hoped I sounded convincing but I suspect I came across like a flighty female. "The fact of the matter is, I have an interest in demons and I'm hoping you'll be kind enough to allow me to make use of your library to further my studies."

Culvert pushed his spectacles up his nose. "You're interested in demons?"

"Yes. It's a natural extension from my other activities, don't you think?"

His mouth twisted in thought. "I suppose so. Is there any demon in particular you want to study?"

"Shape-shifting demons."

He paused. "Well that's a coincidence."

"Why?"

"A book on shape-shifting demons was stolen from my library just last week."

Chapter Four

Jacob and I exchanged glances. The coincidence was too close for my liking. One week a book on demonology is stolen and the next a shape-shifting demon just happens to be summoned from the Otherworld? Unlikely.

"Stolen!" I said to Mr. Culvert. "By whom?"

George Culvert drummed his fingers on his knee, sighed, drummed some more then finally answered me. "I'm sad to say that it must have been one of the servants. I can see no other explanation. No one enters during the day without Greggs the footman letting them in and the house is locked up at night. It must have been someone who lives here and since Mother and I do not need to steal it... " He sank back into the chair, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. He looked like a deflated balloon. I knew what it was like to have a trusted servant steal from you. Bella's predecessor had taken the payment from one of our séances before we'd had a chance to put it away. Celia and I had been devastated when we saw the money fall out of her apron pocket.

"Perhaps it wasn't a servant. The book could have been missing for some time," I said. "Months even. If it's an obscure one and your library is large, you wouldn't have noticed it. You probably had any number of people come into the house in that time."

"Good point," Jacob said with admiration.

Mr. Culvert shook his head. "The missing book is large with a beautiful red leather spine. It made quite a hole in my shelves and I noticed it missing immediately. I questioned the servants of course, but none owned up to the theft. However I'm quite certain it was one particular maid. She has been with us for only a month, and as the newest member in the house, I'm afraid suspicion naturally fell on her. Besides, the girl was very nervous when I questioned her."

"She's still with you?" I asked.

He nodded. "I couldn't dismiss her without evidence and I never found the book despite having the housekeeper search the room the girl shares with two other maids."

"We'll speak to her later," Jacob said.

I'd been thinking the same thing but wasn't sure if involving George Culvert any more than he already was would be a good idea. On the other hand, the more we spoke to him, the more I liked him and thought he could be trusted with all the information we knew. He might even prove helpful.

And I had a feeling he wouldn't think I was mad for talking to a ghost.

Before I could think further on the matter, he stood and offered me his hand. "Would you like to come with me to the library, Miss Chambers? We might as well get started on your research topic."

I took his hand and heard a grunt from Jacob. I casually raised my brows in his direction, challenging him to tell me what bothered him so much about the courteous action, but he merely grunted again and turned away. We both followed Culvert down to an enormous room on the ground floor filled to bursting with books. The library took up two entire levels and every spare space of wall was covered in shelves crammed with books of all shapes and sizes. Each wall had a ladder to reach the higher volumes, and two big arched windows framed with heavy crimson drapes allowed light into even the furthest corners. For night, cast iron gas lamps topped with crouching angels were bolted to the vertical sides of the shelves and were also positioned on pedestals beside most of the chairs. The mahogany furniture looked heavy with solid, stumpy legs ending in clawed feet, so unlike the spindly pieces in the drawing room. There were two leather-inlaid desks, one small and one large, and deep reading chairs upholstered in red leather that looked soft enough to curl up in. A small fire burned low in the enormous hearth to keep the chill away and the thick rug covering most of the floor gave the room a warm, welcoming feel. It was my idea of heaven.

"You like it." Mr. Culvert seemed genuinely pleased.

"It's wonderful," I said on a breath. "Are they all works dedicated to demonology?"

"Not all. Only half of that wall there." He indicated the wall opposite the door, the only one where the shelves weren't interrupted by windows or the fireplace. "The rest are volumes on other supernatural phenomena, and there's a few novels and medical texts too. My father's tastes were eclectic."

Even Jacob looked impressed. He went straight to the demonology books and scanned the shelves. "This might be a good one to start with, Emily."

I came up beside him and extracted the book he indicated. "An Introduction to Demonic Phenomena."

Culvert pulled out a chair at the large central table. "Would you like to sit while you read?"

"Thank you, Mr. Culvert."

"Please, call me George."

I smiled at him. "And you shall call me Emily."

"That's a little informal on such short acquaintance, don't you think?" Jacob said, suddenly standing behind me.

I wanted to retort that he and I had dispensed with formalities on an equally short acquaintance but I couldn't alert George to his presence. Not yet. And I suspected Jacob would tell me the normal rules didn't apply to him anyway because he was a ghost.

I sat in the chair—I was right, the leather was soft and welcoming—and flipped to the table of contents. Jacob returned to browsing the shelves while George closed some books he had open on the other side of the large desk and tidied his notes.

"George!" came a shrill voice from outside the room. "George, do you have your nose buried in a blasted book again?" A striking woman dressed in a burgundy satin gown with excessively puffed sleeves and a cascade of ruffles on the skirt strode into the library. She stopped abruptly when she saw me and fixed me with a glare that could have frozen the Thames in summer. "Oh. You have a guest." She didn't sound pleased although she seemed surprised.

I lifted my chin and gave her a sweet smile in return. It was a tactic I'd seen Celia use at our séances. Whenever she was faced with a skeptical audience member, she would charm them. It worked most of the time. "Emily Chambers," I said, rising. "Pleased to—."

"I wasn't addressing you."

I plopped back down in the chair. So much for charm.

I felt rather than saw Jacob move up beside me. "Would you like me to pull the pins out of that ridiculous hair style and poke them one by one into her ear?"

I laughed then tried to stifle it but only ended up making a horrid snorting sound. Mrs. Culvert's glare—for I'd guessed it to be her—turned even frostier. I could not, however, quaver anymore, not after Jacob's offer. She did indeed have a rather ridiculous hairstyle, scraped back so tightly it made her eyes slant. The ridiculousness was amplified by her tiny hat with the very tall feathers shooting straight up from the crown in a V-shape. I'd not seen anything like it.

George placed a book on the table and gave me an apologetic grimace. "Mother, this is Miss Emily Chambers. She was a friend of Jacob Beaufort."

"Beaufort!" Mrs. Culvert's eyes widened and she suddenly smiled. It was dazzling and changed her face from one of severity to friendliness. The transformation was remarkable, if insincere, and I could see she must have been a beautiful woman in her youth. She had the same well-defined cheekbones as her son and a luscious, wide mouth with perfect teeth. "Such an illustrious family, and such a lovely boy was poor Jacob. So handsome and charming. Clever too. Cleverer even than you, George." This she said with a satisfactory gleam in her eye. George merely shrugged.

"Maybe she's not so bad after all," Jacob said.

"Shame he died," Mrs. Culvert continued with a sigh. "And in terribly mysterious circumstances too. I hear his poor mother hasn't quite got over it."

I glanced up at Jacob. A muscle pulsed high in his jaw and his fingers dug into the leather backrest of my chair. The indentations would have been noticeable to anyone who cared to look. I went to touch his hand to obscure the marks and calm him but he vanished. He reappeared near one of the long windows overlooking Wilton Crescent, his straight back to me.

"My dear Miss Chambers," Mrs. Culvert said, coming up beside me and standing in the exact place Jacob had vacated. She continued to smile but I now thought it stretched, almost gruesome. "How well do you know the family? Could you introduce me to Lady Preston I wonder?"

Lady Preston? Who on earth was she?

"Mother," George warned.

"I believe they throw the most lavish parties," she went on. "Or they used to. There haven't been any parties there since poor Jacob died." She stopped smiling for all of a second then the beam returned, harder than ever. "Perhaps a party is exactly what they need to take their mind off their loss. What do you think, Miss Chambers? We can have one here. I'll send the Prestons an invitation but if Lady Preston refuses you simply must speak to her and insist. Tell Lord and Lady Preston their daughter needs to enjoy herself again. It's not wholesome to keep a young lady of spirit away from Society. She should be enjoying herself, attending balls and teas and meeting young men." Her gaze flicked to George, then back to me again. "She must be about your own age, hmmm?"

If I was following the conversation correctly—and that was an If with a capital I—then the Prestons were Jacob's parents and Jacob was nobility!

Good lord, and I'd been addressing him by his first name all this time. I turned to him but he'd disappeared again. Thank goodness. Apart from the awkwardness of knowing he was so far above me on the social ladder that we might as well have been on different ladders entirely, I was also beginning to feel sick on his behalf having to listen to the awful Mrs. Culvert prattle on about his family in such a heartless way.

"Mother," George said again but to no avail. She was completely ignoring him now. It was as if he wasn't even in the room.

"Thank you for the invitation," I said although I wasn't sure I was actually invited without the Beauforts or Prestons or whoever they were. "However I must decline. I'm otherwise engaged that evening."

Her smile wilted like a lily in the hot sun as my snub hit home. She hadn't given me a date.

Her cold stare turned on George and I felt sorry for him. To his credit, he didn't flinch. He was probably used to her. "I'm going out for the rest of the day." She strode to the door, her broad skirts rippling like waves in time to her vigorous walk.

"Sorry," George said when she was gone. He glanced around the room. "Is he terribly mad now?"

All the blood drained from my face and plunged to my toes. "Uh... who?" I felt like a fool for even asking. He knew about Jacob. Of course he did. He was a clever man and I was hopeless at lying and keeping secrets. "He's gone," I said, answering my own question.

"Tell me when he returns so I can apologize."

"I didn't realize it was that obvious. How did you work out he was here?"

He smiled. "You are the pre-eminent spirit medium in London, you used his name as an introduction to me and you kept looking at certain spots about the room as if you were listening to someone speak. Oh, and you picked out the most useful book on demonology without even browsing the spines first."

I bit my lip and the blood returned to my cheeks with a vengeance. Now I knew why I was a terrible liar—because being caught out gave me such an awful feeling that I preferred not to risk it, hence the lack of practice. "I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Culvert. It was very wrong of me to mislead you."

"You agreed to call me George."

"George, as I said, I'm very sorry. Can you forgive me?"

He grinned and he had the same beautiful smile as his mother, although his was by far the more spectacular because of its sincerity. "Of course, although I'm not sure there's anything to forgive. Not telling me about Beaufort's ghost was understandable. I imagine not everyone is so... believing in your abilities."

"Not everyone, no. Not even all of the people who pay us to perform séances in their drawing rooms. I'm afraid we are still very much seen as a novelty act. A harmless entertainment for ladies."

"You're not entirely thought of in that light, let me assure you. Some are beginning to take you seriously. I'd heard about you and your sister at one of my Society for Supernatural Activity meetings. One of the members had witnessed a séance you conducted and was convinced you were genuine. I wanted to see for myself and tried to convince Mother to have you perform here for her friends while I watched on but she'd have none of the paranormal. She said she'd had enough of that nonsense when Father was alive."

"Then I'm glad we finally get to meet in this way." I indicated the bookshelves, the luxurious furniture. "This is a far more interesting setting. Perhaps one day, after this is all over, I can come back and summon a spirit for you."

"Thank you! That would be fascinating." He frowned. "But what do you mean, after all this is over? Does it have something to do with shape-shifting demons and why you want to study them?"

I nodded and finally told him the story about the demon's release. "Dear God," he murmured when I'd finished. He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "This isn't good. Not good at all."

"Jacob told me it's very dangerous."

He nodded and put his glasses back on. "It is. But... didn't he tell you everything about them? Why do you need to read books?"

"It seems he's not privy to some details. How is it directed, for instance? Is there another way to return it to the Otherworld? Which cultures know of its existence? That sort of thing. We hoped you might be able to help us while we wait for the amulet peddler to return tomorrow."

"Of course, I'd be happy to. My own knowledge of the shape-shifting variety is somewhat lacking but I'll tell you what I know and then we'll search the books."

"Excellent. Let's see... ah yes. Jacob thinks it can only be killed by a weapon that has come from the Otherworld. But what kind of weapon?"

"It must be a blade of some kind—sword, dagger, axe, that sort of thing. Oh, and the demon's head must be severed from its neck by the blade."

Ugh. "Next question, how does it harm people?"

"Through good old fashioned physical violence, but of course its capabilities are dependent on the form it takes. In other words, if it changes into a snail, it cannot claw someone's heart out. No claws on snails you see."

"Perhaps it could slime them to death."

He laughed, loudly. "Very amusing." He continued to laugh much too vigorously. I hadn't thought it that amusing, particularly considering the gruesome nature of the conversation but I didn't say so. He seemed to suddenly notice I didn't share his enthusiasm for my own joke and his laughter died. He cleared his throat and said, "Did you know it could kill ghosts too?"

"Kill ghosts? That doesn't seem entirely logical. Ghosts are already dead."

"What I meant was a demon can extract a ghost's soul." He tapped his chest. "From here. The soul can be quite literally pulled out. Not by us of course."

Why didn't I know this? Why hadn't Jacob told me? "And what happens if a ghost's soul is removed?"

"You don't know?" I shook my head and he pushed his glasses up his nose. "Well it ceases to exist at all, in any realm," he said. "It has no energy, no cognitive abilities. It becomes... nothing."

Oh. No. To become nothing would be, well, a fate worse than death to use a cliché.

"So your friend Jacob must be careful," he added.

"Yes," I said weakly. "Extremely." This information put Jacob's involvement into an entirely different context—this assignment could destroy him.

"Now, that's all I know. Shall we each find a book and begin?"

We spent the next three hours looking through books, making notes and cross-checking facts. Jacob didn't return but I didn't mind. I suspect I would have found it difficult to concentrate with him in the room. He was rather distracting. George and I worked quietly until a footman interrupted us with lunch, which George had requested to be served in the library.

"What's he like?" George asked, in between bites of warm ham. "Jacob Beaufort's ghost, I mean."

I paused, the fork half way to my mouth. Jacob was handsome, magnificent, intriguing and compelling. I found it hard not to look at him when he was in my presence, and hard not to think about him when he wasn't. "He seems nice," was all I said. Gushing about a ghost, particularly to a man, seemed foolish. It was times like this I wish I had a female friend of my own age to talk to. Celia wasn't quite the understanding type when it came to discussing men, dead or alive, unless it was with a view to matrimony and even then she would want me to temper my descriptions. "I was surprised when you said Jacob didn't really notice people at school though," I said. "He seems very aware of others." He'd definitely noticed me. My face still burned just thinking about his intense stares.

George shrugged. "Perhaps he's changed since his death. I hardly knew him but I do know that his awareness of others did not extend to those outside his circle. How did he die, by the way?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. We haven't discussed it and I don't want to ask... just in case." I put my fork down, no longer hungry. It had just struck me that I'd hit on the reason why Jacob was so solid, so real to me—perhaps he'd taken his own life. I'd never met a ghost who had, so maybe solidness was a characteristic of those spirits. I swallowed past the lump lodged in my throat. The thought was so awful I didn't want to think about it let alone voice it.

"You think he... ?" George shook his head so vigorously I worried it would roll off his neck. "Even from my limited knowledge of him I can tell you Beaufort wasn't the sort. I've never met anyone so full of life, so content with his lot. Not to mention he had so much to live for."

Relief made me feel momentarily light-headed so I picked up my fork and began to eat again to give myself something to focus on.

"I didn't speak out of turn in the drawing room earlier," George went on. "Beaufort was good at everything. Sport, school, politics. Everyone loved him—students, teachers even the servants." He chuckled as he poked a potato with his fork. "And the girls too."

"Girls! Oh." Of course there would be girls. Jacob Beaufort was definitely the sort to attract females.

Had he ever looked at any of them the way he looked at me?

"Sorry," George said, "I forgot for a moment there was a lady present."

I pushed my plate away, my hunger gone for good. "So you know nothing about his death?"

More head shaking from George. "He simply vanished from his Oxford rooms one night apparently. His body was never found."

"Never found! Good lord, how awful." Perhaps that was why Jacob was so solid and could wander where he pleased. His earthly body had not found a final resting place where his family could honor and remember him properly. It made quite a bit of sense to me.

"Terrible," George agreed. "My mother may be a lot of things, but she is certainly a voracious collector of gossip. If she says Lady Preston is still grieving, then most likely she is. And for Lady Preston to show her emotions in public, she must be very distressed indeed."

Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. Losing a child must be the worst thing that could happen to a mother, but to not have found his body, to be left wondering if he was alive somewhere but unable to contact his family... it was too awful to contemplate.

I forced the tears away. There was no point in getting upset for Lady Preston because I alone knew Jacob was not going to be found safe and sound. He was most definitely dead.

"Tell me about his family," I said. "His father is a lord?"

George nodded. "Viscount. Beaufort is the family name, Preston the title. I don't know them well. As I said, Jacob and I went to Eton together but our families have never mixed socially even though they only live around the corner in Belgrave Square. My father was considered a bit of an eccentric, you see, much to Mother's disappointment. Despite her attempts to further our standing in Society, we were never really accepted, particularly by a family like Jacob's."

"Oh? Are they terribly upright?"

"Very. The family is old, has buckets of money and owns a great deal of land in Essex. They spend most of their time there except when Parliament is open in spring and summer and they come to London together. Lord Preston has a lot of political influence in the House of Lords but he's a Tory—very conservative. Could you imagine a man who doesn't want to give farmers the right to vote associating with a demonologist?"

He laughed and I laughed too. But I couldn't imagine it. I wondered what Lord Preston would think of his dead son communicating with a spirit medium.

"What's so funny?" asked Jacob, suddenly appearing beside me.

I put a hand to my rapidly pounding heart. "You scared me."

"My apologies. If there was another way to come and go without alarming you I'd employ it." He gave me that smile I'd become so used to, the crooked one that made his lips curve in just the right way. It would seem he was no longer upset by what Mrs. Culvert had said.

"Is he here?" George asked, glancing around the room.

"He is," I said.

"Oh. Good." He cleared his throat. "Hello, Beaufort, how are you?"

Jacob sighed and shook his head in disbelief at the polite but inappropriate question. "I see you told him about me. Was that wise?"

"He guessed." To George I said, "He's well thank you, and asks how are you?"

"Very well," George said. "Fit as a fiddle." He pushed his glasses up his nose and grinned at me. He was enjoying this. I suppose he'd never had a conversation with a ghost before. Although to be technically accurate, he wasn't having one now, I was.

"Since he knows about me, I want to ask him something," Jacob said.

"He wants to ask you something," I said to George. "He's standing right beside me."

George's gaze settled on my right.

Jacob, on my left side, sighed again and picked up a book. George's gaze shifted. "Ask him to introduce us to the maid he suspects of stealing the book."

***

The girl, known by her surname of Finch, said she was sixteen but she looked older. Dark circles underscored eyes that drooped at the corners as if they were too tired to open properly. Red blotches on her cheeks and chin marked her otherwise sallow skin and she seemed to have far more teeth than could fit in her small mouth.

"Finch," George said, towering over the girl, "this lady wants to ask you some questions." He spoke to her with his hands clasped behind him and a deeper voice than he used when addressing me. I suppose he was fulfilling his role as master of the house by asserting his authority over her but, like most men, he didn't realize the best way to get answers was with kindness, not by frightening the poor girl.

"My name is Emily Chambers," I said to her. "And you are?"

"Finch," she said, eyes downcast.

George looked at me as if I had a memory like a sieve. Jacob, however, nodded his approval. He at least seemed to know what I was doing.

"Your first name?" I persisted.

"Maree, miss." Her hands, reddened and chapped, twisted and stretched her apron to the point where I thought she might tear it.

"Well then, Maree, Mr. Culvert tells me you started working here only a month ago."

"On the twenty-fifth, miss." Still she did not look at me.

"Ask her if she stole the book," Jacob said.

I refrained from rolling my eyes. Just. "Do you know the book Mr. Culvert claims was stolen from this library, Maree?" I asked instead.

Maree's gaze flicked up to mine then lowered again. "I don't know nothin' 'bout no books, miss. I can't read." Her hands twisted faster and faster and she shifted her weight from foot to foot as if she would bolt at any moment.

"Don't fret, Maree," I said, touching her shoulder. "No one's going to hurt you. You're not in trouble. I believe you."

She looked at me, her eyes not quite trusting. "You do?"

"I do." I smiled at her. "You must not have any need for books or the time to learn to read them."

"I don't, miss. Them words and stuff all looked funny to me. And the pictures in that book scared me, they did. I wanted nothin' to do wiv it."

George shook his head. "And yet—"

"Of course you didn't," I said, cutting him off.

George cleared his throat and thrust out his chin. Jacob chuckled beside me. "He thinks your methods aren't getting results."

I had a feeling George wasn't the only one. I gave Jacob a pointed glare. If he had a better way of doing this, then he was welcome to feed me questions to ask the maid.

"So if you wanted nothing to do with the book," I said to her, "who did you give it to?"

Maree's gaze remained downcast. After a moment her shoulders slumped and began to shake. She was crying. Oh dear, I was going about this all wrong. I put my arm around her but she stepped away and I let my arm fall to my side.

George frowned at the girl. "Answer Miss Chambers, Finch. Who did you give the book to?"

"No one." She wiped away her tears with her apron but still they came. And still she kept looking at the rug. If she'd only meet my gaze I might believe her.

"She's lying," Jacob said.

"I know," I said on a sigh.

"Answer me, Finch," George said. I was struck by the change in him. When it had been just the two of us, he'd been gentle and kind, but now there was a commanding note in his tone that would make an army general proud. I wouldn't want to be in Finch's shoes. "Have you fallen in with a bad lot, is that it?" George asked. "I was told by the school's administrators that your brother was thrown out for thievery. Is he behind this?"

"No! It's nothin' to do wiv 'im, sir! Please, sir."

"Was it one of your friends from that school? Have they put you up to this?"

"Sir, please, sir, can I go? It weren't my fault! I don't know nothin' 'bout no book! Please, sir."

I caught George's gaze and nodded. He dismissed the maid and she ran from the room. Her footsteps and sobs finally grew distant and I sat down, defeated.

"Good try," Jacob said, perching on the desk near me. He gave me a sad smile. "Are you all right?"

I blew out a breath. "That was awful." I rubbed my temples where a headache threatened.

"But you see what I mean when I say she was lying," George said.

I nodded. "I know she was lying, but I wonder if we could have handled that interview better. It's likely she stole the book for someone else."

"Perhaps she had no choice in the matter," Jacob said.

"You think someone threatened her and if she refused to take the book then... " I couldn't finish the sentence. It was too horrible to contemplate the things that could befall a poor girl like Maree if she fell into the clutches of an unscrupulous player.

"I suppose," George said. He pursed his lips together in thought then shrugged one shoulder. "But she's not likely to tell us anything now."

"Probably not. George, you mentioned a school to Maree just now. Are you referring to the North London School for Domestic Service?"

He nodded. "Many of our junior staff come from there. Why?"

"No particular reason. My sister is going there to find a maid today, that's all."

"It has a good reputation and we've never had a problem with any of the servants from there. Until now," he added with a grunt of disgust.

Jacob narrowed his eyes at George. "Emily, what's say you and I continue the interview without our friend here?"

My thoughts exactly. "I think it's time we leave," I said to George. "I have another séance to conduct this afternoon with my sister." It was the truth. Celia and I did have an appointment to keep, but not for another hour if my pocket watch was anything to go by.

George rang for his footman who showed me out. Jacob disappeared then reappeared when I reached the street corner.

"I'll watch the main door while you go down to the basement," he said. There was a lightness about his step that hadn't been there before, and although he wasn't smiling, I suspected he was controlling it.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"George Culvert deserves us going behind his back to speak to his servants."

"That's not fair, Jacob. I quite like him. Most of the time." Although a gentleman couldn't be expected to treat his servants the way he treated his guests, it had come as something of a shock to see him turn from meek to master when the interrogation began. I'd not have expected it from him. Jacob on the other hand seemed like exactly the sort to order people about, no matter their station.

Jacob regarded me with a raised eyebrow. "You can't possibly like him. He's strange. Who chooses to study demonology for pity's sake?"

"Who chooses to see ghosts?"

Two finely dressed women I hadn't seen approaching quickened their steps as they passed by and lowered their parasols to avoid making eye contact. They must have heard me speaking to Jacob, or rather, to myself. At least they were too scared to give me odd looks.

I checked that no one else was within earshot then muttered, "Let's go. And don't say anything to me unless it's vitally important to my conversation with Maree. You're very off-putting at times."

"I am?" He grinned. Dazzled by his beautiful smile, my irritation disappeared and I grinned back.

We walked side by side to the Culvert house once more. Jacob took the steps up to the main door then vanished. I suppose he'd reappeared on the other side where he could keep a closer watch. I descended the other stairs that led down to the basement entrance used by the servants, not the Culverts themselves. I knocked on the door and a maid answered.

"Hello, I went to the North London School for Domestic Service with Maree Finch. Is she here? I need to speak to her."

It was a bold lie and the maid, a middle-aged matronly woman in white cap and apron, looked suspicious. "You friends wiv her?" she asked. I nodded. "Didn't fink the likes o' her had friends."

"Yes, well, can I see her? I'll be brief," I added when she began to shake her head. "It's about...the passing of a favorite teacher."

The maid heaved a sigh and asked me, grudgingly, to wait while she fetched her.

Jacob came in behind me as Maree emerged from one of the rooms off the narrow hallway, her hands buried in her apron again. She took one look at me and burst into tears.

"Leave me be! I dunno nothin'!" she cried. She backed away as I stepped forward.

"It's all right, Maree. I'm not going to hurt you. Please, just tell the truth and everything will be all right. Tell me who made you steal the book."

She shook her head. "No. No." Tears streamed down her face and her nose oozed a thick green sludge. "Leave me be. Go away!"

"Maree—."

"I said go away!" She ran at me, teeth bared, cap falling to once side. A knife in her grasp.

She hadn't been ringing her hands in her apron, she'd been polishing the blade.

I gasped and put my arms up to cover my face.

"Emily!" Jacob's shout sounded strange in my ears, not like him at all. High, strained.

Scared.

Chapter Five

Maree's knife was inches from my face. I screamed, or maybe she did, and then I was shoved aside by one of Jacob's big hands. I hit the wall and slid to the floor, landing with a thud on my rear. My hat slid down over my eyes. Jacob removed it and drew me into his arms. He supported my head with one hand and my back with the other and held me against his solid chest. It felt good, safe and... perfect. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, telling myself I wasn't unnerved by the lack of a pulse or warmth in his body.

I was completely unhurt, of course, apart from a sore shoulder where I'd hit the wall, but Jacob cradled me as if I were an injured kitten.

"Emily? Did she cut you?" He brushed my hair off my forehead. All that violent thrusting about had dislodged not only my hat but my hair from its pins. "Emily, answer me!" His lips were so close I would have been able to feel his breath on my cheek if he could breathe.

Or I could have kissed him.

I wanted to kiss him. Wanted to feel the softness of his lips even though I knew they would be cool, tasteless, and it was a most improper thing for a young lady to do. I didn't care. Blood pounded in my veins, rushed into my head, and I could think of nothing but him. It was madness.

I was mad.

He massaged the back of my neck and the cool strength of his fingers shocked me out of my daze. I looked into his eyes but his gaze darted over my face, assessing, and he didn't notice my scrutiny.

"Emily?" My whispered name seemed to hover on his lips for an eternity.

I remembered I hadn't yet answered him. "I'm well," I whispered.

His Adam's apple bobbed furiously and a muscle high in his cheek throbbed. He nodded once, a small movement that I would have missed if I hadn't been watching him so closely. "Good," he said thickly. "Good, good." His eyes suddenly shuttered. Where before they'd been wide and urgent, now they were distant, cold. "Good," he said again, stronger this time.

He let me go, quite unceremoniously, so that I almost fell to the floor a second time. "Jacob, what's wrong?"

The maid who'd let me in the door suddenly appeared. She put her hands to her cheeks and gasped. "Oh lordy, lordy, lordy. Is you all right, miss?" She helped me to my feet. "It was that girl's fault, weren't it? I knew she was trouble, I did. Told Mrs. Crouch the 'ousekeeper to watch out for her. Gone has she?"

"Uh, yes. Thank you." I watched Jacob climb the stairs up to the street outside. "Please don't tell your master about this," I said to the maid. "Just tell him Maree decided to leave his employment."

"What's all the fuss about down there?" came a woman's voice from the back of the service area. "Who's making all that noise?"

"Mrs. Crouch," the maid said to me.

I hurriedly thanked her again, picked up my hat, and left before the housekeeper arrived. Outside, Jacob was waiting at the top of the stairs.

"Are you all right?" I asked him quietly so as not to alarm anyone within earshot.

He stared off into the distance. "I think that's my line." When I didn't answer him, he turned to me. "Well? Are you all right?"

"Is that a genuine question?" I started walking, wanting to put distance between myself and the Culvert house. "It's difficult to tell considering the way you dropped me in there."

We rounded the corner and a policeman in uniform stepped out of the recessed doorway of a coffee house and into my path, startling me. "Everything all right, miss?" He looked over my head, saw no one, and raised his eyebrows. "Who you speaking to then, eh?"

"Is there a law against talking to myself, constable?" I didn't want to deal with him. I was still mad at Jacob although it struck me how selfish my own feelings were on the matter. He'd rescued me and I should be grateful. I was grateful.

The policeman's eyebrows rose further, almost disappearing into his tall helmet. "Er, not that I know of. Good afternoon, miss."

I walked off, Jacob at my side. "I'll take that as meaning you're perfectly well," he said, picking up our conversation.

"A little shaken," I said quietly in case anyone else was lurking in doorways. "But otherwise unscathed. Thanks to you. I owe you my life, Jacob."

His pause weighed heavily between us. I tried to look at him out of the corner of my eye but only saw his profile, staring ahead. "Don't," he finally said.

"Don't what?"

"Don't talk about it. Anyone would have done the same thing."

That may be so, but why did he sound so upset? Not angry, just... I sighed. I couldn't even pinpoint the emotions simmering off him let alone determine their reason. Nor did I think I'd get an answer out of him. His face was closed up tight.

So I started a new thread of conversation, a safer one. "Did you see where Maree went?"

He shook his head. "She was gone by the time I reached the street."

If he'd run after her immediately, he might have seen the direction she took, but he'd stayed with me to see if I was all right. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't be sorry about that.

"Who do you think she stole the book for?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Who knows? Her brother, a friend, or just because she liked the look of it and thought it would fetch a good price. Whoever it was, there's a good chance they were the ones who cursed the amulet, or will know who did. We have to find them."

I nodded. "I'm not sure if our research can help us there though. George and I learned that the demon was well known to gypsies across Europe. They used to summon it then direct it to destroy their enemies, or the horses of their enemies."

"So we can strike gypsies off our list of suspects."

"Why?"

"Gypsies pass down their customs through the generations by word of mouth. They won't need a book to tell them how to summon a shape-shifting demon."

The street grew busier as we drew closer to the Kings Road precinct so we strolled in silence although my mind was in turmoil. I was still a little shaken by the incident with Maree, and even more shaken by the knowledge that someone was directing a demon based on whatever knowledge they could gain from one book.

But there was something even more troubling. No, not troubling as such, but it occupied my thoughts almost to the exclusion of all else. "George told me about your family," I said to Jacob eventually. We were only a block away from my house and I didn't know when we'd have a chance to speak so openly to one another again. I'd expected Jacob to disappear and let me walk home alone but he'd remained by my side the entire time. Was he still worried about the incident with Maree? Did he expect me to faint out of fright at any moment?
He said nothing, so I went on. "Not that George knew much, but he did tell me they're very... distressed about your death because your body was never found, you see, so they can't have peace." I was rambling, the words tumbling out of my mouth without me thinking them through first. I was afraid that if I did think about them, I wouldn't say anything, and I desperately wanted to broach the topic with Jacob. It seemed vital somehow, but to whom, I wasn't sure. Him? Or me? Or his family?

"That isn't your concern, Emily," he said, striding ahead. I had to walk fast to keep up with him. His legs were very long.

"Nevertheless, I am concerned. I'd like your permission to speak to them—."

"No!"

"But I can help them move on. They need to know you're dead, Jacob, or they'll be forever wondering."

"Leave it, Emily. You're not... " He heaved a deep sigh. "This is not your concern."

"But—"

"No!" He stopped and rounded on me so that I almost bumped into him.

I ducked into a nearby alley where we could talk without the stares. I was about to argue but then I saw anxiety behind the fierceness in his eyes.

Why? What about his family worried him so? Or perhaps the real question was, what was it about me meeting them had him so concerned?

What would I learn?

"Very well. I understand." I couldn't meet his eyes as I spoke. I fully intended to visit them, but not today. Today I had a séance to conduct.

I started walking again and he fell into step beside me. "There's one other question I want to ask you."

He groaned. "I had a feeling there would be."

"Did your death come about due to an accident?"

"Not an accident, no."

My stomach knotted. Even though it was the answer I expected it sickened me to hear him confirm my suspicions. "So someone must have... killed you." The word stuck in my throat. It was simply too horrible. "Who?"

"I don't know."

I stopped. He stopped too and shrugged. "I don't," he said.

I believed him. "How did it happen?"

"I'm not entirely sure."

I waited but he didn't say anything else. "Would you like to elaborate?"

"Not right now."

Good lord it was like pulling out a rotten tooth—painful. "I see. So your body is located... ?"

"I don't know."

"Right. So you don't know who killed you, or how, or where or even why. Do you think any of those things is the reason why you can go wherever you please and why you look decidedly real?"

His gaze fixed on something over my shoulder and I thought he wouldn't answer me, but then he said, "I think they have something to do with the way in which I died, yes."

"So... do you want to tell me more?"

He looked at me with those blue, blue eyes and darkly forbidding expression that thrilled me yet unnerved me at the same time. "Perhaps another day," he said.

If he thought a few simmering glances would deter me, he had a lot to learn. "Why not now?"

He started walking again. "Because I think you'll take it upon yourself to find out more if I do. Give a dog a bone and it'll look for a second when that's gone."

I squinted at him. "Are you comparing me to a dog?"

"When your hair tumbles over your eyes like that, you do look a little like an Old English sheepdog."

I swept my hair off my forehead and tried to shove it under my hat but without the pins to keep it in place, it simply fell out again. He laughed.

"This isn't funny, Jacob. We're discussing your death."

"Which we haven't got time for at the moment, not with a demon on the loose."

I couldn't argue with him since he was right. Despite the lack of time, however, I would still try, even without his help. He might not want to discover who his murderer was, but he or she had to be punished. Jacob's death could not be swept aside as if it didn't matter. It mattered.

More than I wanted to admit.

"I hope you're not mad about the dog comment," Jacob said as we turned into Druids Way. As usual the wind whipped down the street, making an even bigger mess of my hair. "If it makes you feel any better," he said, "the Old English sheepdog is one of my favorite breeds."

"I hate you," I said and he laughed harder.

We reached home and he disappeared as soon as Celia met me at the door. I stared at the spot where he'd been standing until she pulled me inside.

"Goodness me, Em, look at you!" She clicked her tongue as she removed my hat and groaned when the curls spilled over my face. "We have to be at Mrs. Postlethwaite's house in fifteen minutes." She teased and tugged my hair into shape, rearranged my hat on my head, turned me around and pushed me out the door.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, we arrived at Mrs. Postlethwaite's house. The séance went well. We didn't release any demons and the ghost we summoned—Mrs. Postlethwaite's dead husband—was eager to return to the Waiting Area after his widow had finished asking him if he'd had a clandestine relationship with the next door neighbor. He hadn't, or so he said, and Mrs. Postlethwaite was content with his answer although her spinster sister sitting beside her thought it a lie. She also thought I was a fraud and tried to prove it by inspecting the objects the ghost held up as part of our routine to see if we used hidden wires or magnets. She found none of course, which only soured her temper further.

I managed to avoid her afterwards while tea was being served. Indeed, I managed to avoid all of the guests—an easy thing to do since they left me alone. To be fair, they probably didn't know what to say to me. Some might be scared, others just cautious and I didn't make it easy for them, preferring my own company. Celia was the chatty one, handing out cards to the guests and telling them stories, some true, about the ghosts we'd summoned at other séances. It was all good business, she once told me, and she enjoyed the theatre of it immensely. My sister had missed her calling—she would have been a natural on a Covent Garden stage.

My separation from the group allowed me to think as I sipped my tea. After wondering why there was a rush of widows summoning their late husbands at our séances, I couldn't stop thinking about Mr. Postlethwaite's extra-marital relationship. He'd been quite an attractive man for his age, which I put to be at mid-forties, and he certainly kept an eye on the prettier ladies in the room, my sister included and his wife, unfortunately, not.

I wasn't naïve. I knew married men and women had affairs on occasion, and the idea of my existence coming about because of one wasn't new to me. In fact it was the most obvious explanation. For some time I'd thought Mama must have met someone after her husband's death then nine months later I'd been born. But seeing Mr. Postlethwaite sowed a seed of doubt. Just a small one. He had been precisely the sort of person to have a liaison outside of his marriage—handsome in a preening, peacock-ish way, a roaming eye, and a charming manner.

Mama had been none of those things. She was pretty, I suppose, although it seemed to me she'd always been middle-aged, even when I was little. But she wasn't handsome like some women, or gregarious, and she had certainly never looked at men the way Mr. Postlethwaite looked at ladies.

Could Mama possibly have fallen deeply in love with one man so soon after her beloved husband's death? A man who'd not loved her enough in return when he got her with child?

If not, then... what?

I didn't have any answers by the time we left Widow Postlethwaite's house, nor was there any likelihood of getting any. Mama was possibly the only person who knew my real father's name and I'd not been able to summon her ghost at all since her death. She must have crossed over immediately.

I pushed the problem aside, telling myself it didn't matter, that I was loved by my sister and had been by my mother and that's all that mattered. Anyway, now I had other things to occupy my mind. I had the demon. And I had Jacob.

I was eager to return home and speak to him again. Not for any reason, just because I wanted to. Perhaps I could find out more about his death, but if not it didn't matter. I'd enjoy his company regardless of what we talked about.

"How did your information gathering go this morning?" Celia asked on the way home.

"Well enough." I told her everything we'd learned, including the interview with Maree the maid, mentioning the school but leaving out the part where she tried to stab me. My sister's constitution is incredibly strong but still it wouldn't do to alarm her. She might never let me go out alone again.

"I wonder if Lucy knows her," Celia said.

"Who's Lucy?"

"Our new maid. I collected her this morning from that North London School for Domestic Service. We'll ask her when we get home. Now, enough of that." We turned into our street and I glanced up at our house. No Jacob standing on the doorstep. I sighed. "Tell me about this George Culvert fellow," Celia said. "What was he like? Is he handsome? Was the house very large and does he have older brothers?"

"Older brothers? Why, are you interested in meeting them for yourself, Sis?" I looked at her sideways and had to hold onto my hat as the breeze tried to lift it off my head.

"Of course not," she scoffed. "I simply want to know if an older brother will inherit the house, that's all, or if it all goes to this George."

"This George," I said sharply, "is a nice enough gentleman but he doesn't interest me in the way you're implying." I stalked off ahead and ran up the front steps.

"But—."

"Celia, stop trying to marry me off to every eligible gentleman we meet. I'm seventeen. I want to enjoy my freedom before I settle down with a husband."

"Being married does not necessarily mean you'll lose your freedom."

"Then why haven't you settled down with any of the men who've shown interest in you?" Three gentlemen had courted Celia over the years but despite a great deal of speculation on my part, she'd not married any of them.

She fished in her reticule for the door key. "That's none of your concern," she said, snippy. "Now, come inside and meet Lucy. She seems very sweet."

Lucy did indeed seem sweet. She was a little younger than me, plumper, shorter and fairer. She had an English rose complexion, the sort that's permanently pink and blushes easily. I'd often wished to have just such a complexion but with my tendency to feel embarrassed a lot of the time, it's probably just as well that I don't.

"I hope you'll like it here, Lucy," I said to her.

"Th... thank you, m... miss." She bobbed a careful but wobbly curtsy and stared at me as if I had two heads. If her eyes widened any further they'd pop out of her head.

I turned an accusing eye on Celia, one hand on my hip.

"I thought it best we tell her up front," Celia said, setting down her carpet bag. "Get it out in the open, so to speak, to avoid any nasty surprises later on. Particularly since that ghost of yours seems to be coming and going with ill-mannered frequency."

"I don't think your sister likes me," Jacob said, popping up behind me. Was he watching me and trying to arrive at inopportune moments on purpose?

The thought of him keeping an eye on me sent a shiver down my spine, and not entirely in a bad way.

I ignored him and concentrated on Lucy but the poor thing whimpered beneath my gaze. I certainly wouldn't alert her to Jacob's presence. She might faint and then where would we be? Instead, I gave my sister a glare then turned a smile on the maid.

"He's a nice ghost," I assured her.

"Thank you," he said, "although nice is a rather bland word."

"He won't harm you," I went on, doing my best to ignore him. "And he probably won't be here much longer, only until we sort out... " I bit my lip. Finishing the sentence with "our demon issue" probably wasn't a good way to settle her nerves. "Until we sort out a few things."

The thought of Jacob leaving once we'd returned the demon to the Otherworld filled me with a hollowness I didn't want to explore. I'd only known him a day but he'd somehow managed to fill up my life in a way nothing else had.

It was all I could do not to look around and see if the thought had struck him too.

The girl nodded quickly, her eyes still huge and her cheeks paler. I wasn't sure Celia's tactic to tell Lucy about me being a medium was such a good idea. Having someone stare at me like I was a lunatic in my own house wasn't my idea of comfort. Besides, would knowing mean she'd stay around longer, or just leave earlier? At least she was still here—it was a promising start.

"How is dinner coming along?" Celia asked as Lucy accepted her bonnet and hung it up on the stand. "Good, miss. It'll be ready at six like you said. I set the water boiling for the potatoes and the fish is all ready to go on the gridiron, but I couldn't find it—the gridiron, not the fish—so I'll just use one of the pans instead. Mrs. White our teacher told us to make do with what pots and things are already 'vailable and not worry our mistress 'bout that stuff. She's a smart lady, Mrs. White, but she didn't take no fuss from no one."

It was my turn to stare wide-eyed at her. It seemed our maid was quite the chatterer when she wasn't frightened.

I smiled at Celia. Celia smiled at Lucy. "Can you serve tea in the drawing room, please," she said, "I'm parched after that walk."

Lucy curtseyed again, without wobbling. "As you wish, miss. I'm very good at making tea. Mrs. White always said so. Said I was the best tea-maker in the whole school." She turned to go, stopped, turned back to us, curtseyed again, and only then did she make her way down the hallway to the stairs leading to the kitchen basement.

"Aren't you going to ask her about the Culvert maid?" Celia asked me as we entered the drawing room.

"Exactly what I was going to say," Jacob said, following me.

The room was cool so I stoked the smoldering fire with the irons.

"I'll do that," Jacob offered.

I shook my head. I didn't want to alert Celia to his presence—she already thought him ungentlemanly for his ghostly comings and goings—and I definitely didn't want Lucy to see floating fire irons when she entered with the tea.

"I think Lucy needs a few moments to get used to me before I press her about Maree," I said, poking the coals. "Oh and thank you, Sis, for mentioning the whole spirit medium thing to her. I'm sure she'll be inclined to stay much longer than the other maids now that she knows"

"Sarcasm will make your face sag," she said.

"I'm simply saying I don't think it was a good idea." I returned the iron poker to the stand and sat beside her on the sofa.

"I disagree," Jacob said from his usual place by the mantelpiece.

"We had to try something," Celia said, taking up her embroidery.

I picked up the book I'd begun the day before and left on the round occasional table. "Why does 'something' always have to involve me being on the receiving end of odd or frightened looks?"

"It's better than being on the end of pitying ones."

I lowered my book to see her better. Was she referring to herself and her spinster state? But she kept embroidering as if she hadn't a care in the world and it had merely been an off-hand comment.

"Both are better than not being noticed at all," Jacob muttered.

My lips parted in a silent "Oh" and I closed my eyes so I didn't have to look at him. What a horrible, selfish fool I was. Jacob's lot was so much worse than anything Celia or I experienced. That would teach me to be so ungrateful.

"I'm sorry," I said. "You're right."

"Your book is upside down," he said.

I shut it and returned it to the table. He was smiling at me and there wasn't a hint of self-pity in his expression. It shouldn't have surprised me. Jacob didn't strike me as the sort to wallow in his disadvantages, even though being dead was a major one.

I was about to relent and tell Celia that Jacob was in the drawing room with us when Lucy entered carrying the tea tray as if it were made of gold and precious jewels. Her slow, careful shuffle didn't stop the cups from clinking against each other. Her tongue darted out as she eyed her destination—the central table in front of the sofa—and lodged in the corner of her mouth like a bookmark. When she finally set the tray down I let out a long breath and heard Celia do the same.

"Could you pour, please," Celia asked.

I wanted to throttle her. The poor girl was nervous enough and now she had to manage the pouring. Despite her shaking hands, Lucy poured the tea and spilled only a little onto the saucers. I reached for my own cup, as did Celia, and thanked her.

Lucy beamed at us both and blushed as bright as a radish. "I was better at it in school. I'm a bit nervous, see, being my first day and all." She turned to go but I called her back. She stopped and bit her lower lip, the smile and blushes gone. "Yes, miss? Something wrong, miss?" Her hands twisted together in front of her and I was reminded of Maree Finch. Thankfully Lucy wasn't holding a knife.

"No, no, the tea is fine. I just wanted to ask you something. I met a girl from the North London School for Domestic Service today," I said, trying to sound like this wasn't important and we were having a casual conversation. I didn't want to unsettle her any more than she already was.

Lucy blinked. "Oh? Who?"

"Maree Finch. She's recently gone into service for the Culverts."

"I remember Maree."

"What was she like?"

She shrugged. "I didn't know her too well. She was nice, I s'pose. Quiet. Don't really remember much more than that. We weren't good friends or nothing."

"She has an older brother, doesn't she?"

She nodded then frowned. "What's his name? Lord, I can't remember. Thomas, Timmy... something like that. He was at the school too for a bit, but got sent away. No good for service, Mrs. White said. A troublemaker. I saw him at school once, after he wasn't s'posed to be there no more."

"Oh? What was he doing?"

"Came to see Maree."

"Ask her if Maree was a thief too," Jacob said.

"Maree's a good girl though, isn't she." I worded it like a statement rather than a question. I didn't want to give Lucy the idea that we were fishing for information. I wanted her to open up to us on her own.

"I think so. Mrs. White never said anything bad about her, just that she was a bit... what's the word?"

"Violent?" Jacob offered.

"Unpredictable?" I said.

"No, something that means she gets talked into doing stuff easily. Stuff that's not always good for her to do, if you know what I mean."

"Impressionable," I said.

"That's it! Impreshun-able." She frowned. "She hasn't stole nothing from her employer, has she?"

Jacob and I exchanged glances. He nodded and I nodded back. If we wanted answers, we'd have to at least tell her part of the truth.

"She might have stolen a book from Mr. Culvert on demonology."

"Demon-what?"

"Demonology. It's the study of demons and angels."

"Oh," she whispered. She glanced at Celia, perhaps because she thought her the normal one of the two of us.

"Rest assured we have nothing to do with demons," Celia said. "We only deal with good spirits, happy ones."

Jacob snorted but I admired Celia's ability to lie so convincingly. She was really very good at it. There wasn't a hint of a blush on her fair skin.

"Mr. Culvert would like his book back," I said. "Indeed, it's quite important that he does get it back. You see... " Oh dear, this was the point at which I should tell her about the demon on the loose. But her face looked so innocent with those big hazel eyes and pale, pale skin, that I didn't want to frighten her anymore than she already was. It was hard enough starting a new job and moving in with two strangers, I didn't want to be responsible for her nightmares too.

Celia, however, seemed to have no such qualms. "You see Mr. Culvert fights demons and the book is vital to his work."

"Why doesn't she just tell the girl he's invisible and can move mountains too?" Jacob said with a shake of his head.

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. Jacob, seeing my distress, gave me a self-satisfied smirk.

"Vital?" Lucy repeated.

"Yes," Celia said. She set down the embroidery in her lap, all seriousness. Perhaps she even believed her own lie, or part of it. "Unless Mr. Culvert gets the book back, the people of London could be in grave danger from demons. So you see, if you know anything that could help us, we'd very much appreciate it if you would let us know. Your role is terribly important, Lucy. In fact, you could save London."

Jacob groaned and rolled his eyes. Since I was used to Celia's fondness for melodrama, I simply looked on, somewhat stunned because her method seemed to be getting results. Lucy's forehead crinkled, her brows knitted and her mouth twisted to the side. She was thinking hard.

"Well, let me see now," she said. "Maree might have taken the book if her brother asked her to. I told you I saw him, didn't I, after he was s'posed to have left school. He sneaked into the room all us girls shared to talk to Maree. Caused a right stir but no one told Mrs. White. She'd have blamed Maree and it weren't her fault. She can't control her brother any more than I can control the clouds."

Celia and I sat forward. Even Jacob focused all his attention on the girl.

"Do you know what Maree and her brother spoke about?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No. They whispered."

"Would she have confided in anyone afterwards? A friend perhaps?"

"She didn't have any friends. She was so quiet, see, and a bit... you know." She drew little circles at her temple with her finger. "Maree kept to herself and did what she was told mostly. She looked up to Mrs. White I s'pose, we all did. She's a right good teacher is Mrs. White and she cared 'bout us all too. If Mr. Blunt tried to skimp on our meals, she was onto him right away. Told him it was 'gainst school reg'lations and she'd report him to the board. The board's the gentlemen who run the school, see. There's some right toffs on the board, there is. One's a lord and all."

Her chatter had veered a little off the topic but Celia and I let her go. I wanted her to just talk and see what she said in the hope there was something useful among all the gossip. Unfortunately I'd not detected any so far.

"So you can't think of anyone else, other than her brother, who Maree might steal a book for?" Celia asked.

Lucy shook her head.

"Have you ever overheard anyone talking about demons at the school?" I asked.

"No! It's a Christian place, it is. Mr. Blunt sees we always say our prayers before dinner. The devil, now that's diff'rent. Mr. Blunt's always talkin' 'bout the devil comin' to get us in our beds if we don't behave. Course it's never the devil but Mr. Blunt hisself who comes."

"What?" I blurted out before I could reign in my shock. "Into your beds?"

I expected Celia to admonish me for my outburst but she simply stared at Lucy open-mouthed. Lucy had managed to do the impossible and render my sister speechless.

"Bloody hell," Jacob said, rubbing his chin.

"Oh yes," Lucy said, oblivious to the heavy blanket of horror she'd thrown over us. "Mostly only the pretty girls. Tried it once with me, he did, but I was so scared I couldn't move and he said he didn't like that so he never bovvered me again." She said it as if it were an every day part of life, like dressing or eating. Is that how it was in the workhouses and ragged schools? The children simply accepted their plight because they didn't know any better?

I felt sick to my stomach. And then I felt angry. A hot, gut wrenching anger. Lucy was such a sweet girl, how could anyone take advantage of her like this Mr. Blunt had?

But I didn't want to show my anger in front of her. She didn't seem too upset by what had befallen her, so why make her feel degraded? Hadn't she already endured enough?

Fortunately Celia remained silent although she'd gone very white and still. The only movement she made came from her throat as she swallowed.

Since Celia didn't look like she would begin talking any time soon, I dismissed Lucy. "Thank you for your help. You may go. Oh, and make sure you enjoy a cup of tea yourself."

Lucy beamed. "Thank you, Miss Chambers. You're not all that scary really, are you?"

I couldn't help laughing, despite my heavy heart. Lucy left and as if she'd been wound up, Celia moved once more. She reached for her teacup. "Such a sweet girl," she said and sipped, as if she'd not heard a thing Lucy had said about Blunt's late night visits.

I stared at her in disbelief. Did she think if she ignored the situation it would go away? Or was she avoiding the topic for my sake? Sometimes I suspect my sister thinks I know as little about what happens between couples as I did when I was ten. I may be a virgin but I wasn't naïve.

Jacob moved away from the mantelpiece and stood before me. "You shouldn't have heard any of that," he said, his voice sounding like a roll of thunder, deep and low.

"Good lord, not you too," I muttered. Did everyone think I was an innocent in need of protection from the realities of the world?

"Pardon?" Celia asked, cup poised at her lips. "Is that ghost here again?"

Before I could answer her, Jacob said, "I'm going to pay the school a visit. Let's see what Mr. Blunt thinks when the devil appears to him tonight in the shape of one very angry ghost. With luck he'll turn to God instead of the girl's dormitory from now on."

His conviction made me feel marginally better. If anyone could punish Blunt and force him to change his ways it would be Jacob. I'm not sure I'd like to be on the end of his anger. Although he seemed to keep his emotions in check most of the time, I suspect once his temper was unleashed it would be like a terrible storm—destructive and unpredictable and anyone in it's path had better get out of the way or suffer the consequences.

Chapter Six

I knew someone was in my room even before I was fully awake. I don't know how I knew—I couldn't hear any movement or smell any scent and it was too dark to see more than shadows.

Then one of those shadows moved. It was man-sized and it was right by my bed. My heart leapt into my throat and I opened my mouth to scream but a hand clamped over it.

"It's me," came Jacob's voice. "If I take my hand away, will you be quiet?"

"Try it and find out," I mumbled into his palm.

He removed his hand, somewhat tentatively. "Sorry I scared you." He sat on the bed beside me, so close his thigh almost touched mine. I could just make out the whiteness of his eyes and the shape of his face in the darkness but little else. My heart, still in my throat, hammered so loudly I was sure he must be able to hear it.

"I could have woken the entire household if I'd screamed!" I hissed at him.

"But you didn't. I was waiting for the moment you registered my presence and opened your mouth."

"You can see in the dark?"

"Better than I could before I died."

I pulled the bedcovers up to my chin. "What if I'd been indecent?"

"It's all right, I checked and you weren't."

"Very amusing."

His low chuckle rippled through the darkness. "I give you my word as a gentleman that I won't ravish you."

Could ghosts ravish? Did his... masculine parts work the same as when he was alive? Now there was a question that had my curiosity piqued. Instead I said, "You're in fine form tonight. Is there a reason or are you just happiest when you're tormenting me?"

"I'm tormenting you?" There was a long silence in which I think he was staring at me. It was disconcerting knowing he could see me when I couldn't see him, particularly when my hair probably looked a mess and my eyes must be puffy.

"Yes," I said huffily, "you are. Please light the lamp so I'm no longer at a disadvantage."

He stood and I heard his footsteps cross the room followed by the scrape of a striking match. The single flame threw patterns of light and shadow over his face, highlighting his beautiful contours. He lit the gas lamp and set it down on the dressing table opposite the foot of the bed. He remained there, looking at the items on the table's surface. No, not quite at my things, but at me, in the mirror's reflection. His good humor of earlier seemed to have vanished and he was back to being brooding and unreadable, but that could have just been the lack of light cast by the lamp. It wasn't particularly effective in the thick darkness.

"What's brought this behavior on?" I asked, sitting up. I drew my legs up and rested my chin on my knees, making sure the covers still hid most of me. "Yesterday you knocked and turned your back when you entered my room. Tonight you just appeared with no warning."

"I didn't knock because I didn't want to wake anyone."

"You woke me!"

"Anyone else. I don't think your sister would forgive me if I got her out of bed in the middle of the night."

"I'm not sure I'll forgive you either," I said. I do like my sleep. If I get less than eight hours a night I'm generally not the nicest person the next day. Jacob would learn that the hard way if he wasn't careful. "So is this the real Jacob Beaufort I'm seeing now?"

"No, it's the dead one." He crossed his arms and challenged me with that glare of his in the mirror's reflection.

My own glare faltered. I looked away, mortified and at a loss for words. There was no suitable comeback to his response, let alone a witty one.

He sat on the foot of my bed with a sigh. "I didn't want all the fuss and formality of you and your sister meeting me in the drawing room and your new maid serving us tea as if this were a proper social call. There is nothing proper about my visits, Emily. Nothing at all." His voice faded towards the end, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to say it.

"It's just a little disconcerting," I said. "Most of the ghosts I see are ones I've summoned. Occasionally I come across a spirit haunting a building but I've never had one come and go in my house before. Besides which, I'm not used to male company in the drawing room let alone my bedroom."

He leaned back against one of the posts at the foot of my bed. "This is not how I envisaged our talk to go but somehow... somehow our conversations never do seem to head in the direction I want them to." I was trying to decipher his meaning when he tilted his head to the side and looked at me puppy-like, giving me his crooked smile. "I just wanted to speak to you."

Only speak? If he gave me that smile and that look I'd let him do almost anything.

The thought made my insides clench. Oh lord, was I the sort of woman my sister called a wanton?

"What did you want to talk to me about?" If I didn't rein in my wild thoughts I might find myself saying, and doing, something I regretted.

"I went to see Blunt."

"Ah. The master of the North London School for Domestic Service. Did you haunt him?"

"I did." The smile was back but it lacked the sense of fun of earlier.

"And?"

"And sometimes I like being a ghost. I gave him the full spiritual experience—flying objects, knocking, emptying the bedpan, and my personal favorite, writing a note ordering him to cease his visits to the girl's dormitory.

"Do you think he'll comply?"

"The note told him that if he did not, the hauntings will continue. If his begging for mercy is anything to go by, I think he has seen the error of his ways."

I clapped my hands. "On behalf of all the poor children at the school who'll never know what you did for them, thank you, Jacob. You're a true hero."

His fingers plucked at my quilt. "Don't, Emily."

"Why not? What you did tonight was a wonderful, selfless act. It'll bring about a change in Blunt's behavior, I'm sure of it."

He shook his head. "That may be, but don't call me a hero. It's easy to do what's right when there are no consequences like grave injury, a ruined reputation or death."

The sad edge to his voice pierced my heart. I wanted to see his face but his gaze was downcast so I crept out of the covers to the foot of the bed where he sat. I no longer cared if he saw me in my nightgown. It covered me from neck to toe anyway.

His fingers stilled and he glanced up at me without lifting his head. "Don't come any closer," he said.

I ignored him and sat knee to knee with him. He shifted his leg away. "Why not?" I asked.

"Your sister—."

"Forget about Celia. This isn't about her, or me, this is about what's troubling you."

He shook his head. "Just don't come any closer to me. It... disturbs me."

"What about it disturbs you?"

He stood and paced the room, going from one side to the other in five easy strides. My bedroom wasn't large but nor was it small. He had very long legs. "I didn't just come here to discuss Blunt." The conversation was leaping back and forth like a skittish hare. I had no choice but to try and follow.

"Then what else did you want to talk about?"

"There was a death tonight."

I sat back on my haunches. "Who died?"

He stopped pacing and finally looked at me. "A footman on his night off. He'd had a few drinks at The Lion's Head in Holborn and fell into a drunken sleep in a nearby alley. I don't know his name." He started pacing again. "Bloody hell, I should have found out his name!"

I shivered. I knew where this was going. "It was the demon, wasn't it?" I whispered.

He stopped again, nodded, and rubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired, which was absurd given he no longer required sleep. "This is the second victim."

"Second?"

"The first, a woman, didn't die. Yet."

I breathed deeply in an attempt to calm my churning stomach but it did nothing. I still felt like throwing up. "Do you think... ?" Oh God, it was too horrible to even say it but I had to. "Do you think someone directed the demon to attack these two people? These two specifically, I mean?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. The Administrators are giving me as much information as they have and so far there seems to be nothing linking the two incidents. The victims aren't known to each other and the attacks occurred in separate parts of the city. The first one, the woman, happened in Whitechapel. She's a prostitute, no family, lived alone in a single room she used for her work."

The poorest of the poor then.

"The footman died in a better part of town. If he had any money on him, it was gone when his body was found the next morning."

"So the attacks were completely random?"

"Possibly. If the demon is out of control then it would attack the easiest target—a woman alone, a man asleep in the alley. Shape-shifting demons may have a large appetite but they don't like to work too hard for their food if they don't have to. But there's more to it that makes me think the second attack at least wasn't random."

"What?"

"The house where the footman worked was burgled soon after his death."

"Burgled! You don't think it's simply a coincidence?"

"There doesn't appear to be any broken windows or doors, no sign of forced entry."

It took a few moments for his words to sink in. Then it hit me like a punch to the chest. "The demon took on the form of the footman it killed and someone unwittingly let it in thinking it was the real servant."

Jacob nodded grimly. "It probably wandered up to the service entrance and was let in by one of the staff."

I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.

"You're cold." Jacob was beside me in a heartbeat, my shawl in his hands. He came up behind me and placed it around my shoulders but instead of letting go, he kept a hold of the edges. He was very close. I could feel his strength, his essence, pulsing between us, as alive and real to me as my own. Without thinking, I leaned into him. His body was hard, solid, a comfort despite the lack of a heartbeat or warmth. If I turned around, tilted my head, I could kiss him...

He suddenly stood and moved away.

"I shouldn't have come here," he said. And then he was gone. Just like that. No warning, no discussion, just gone.

"No! Jacob, come back!" I scrambled off the bed and stood on the spot where he'd been. "Come back, I want to talk to you. I have something important I need to ask you. Please, Jacob." My voice was a whine but I didn't care. I just wanted him to return. Partly for me—because I selfishly wanted him there—but partly because I suspect he needed to speak about what had happened. Not to the Administrators or anyone else in the Waiting Area but to me.

"I know you can hear me," I said, knowing nothing of the sort. "Listen. I want to stop this demon from hurting anyone else. Help me decide what to do next." I waited but he didn't reappear. "Talk to me Jacob. Tell me how to proceed." Still no answer. "Very well, I'll tell you what I think I should do. I'll wait for the peddler to come but I have a suspicion she won't." If she'd been the one to curse the amulet then she'd be a fool to show up again. "So I'll simply have to find out more about the two victims, see if there is indeed no link between them."

"You'll do no such thing," Jacob said, reappearing in front of me, hands on his hips. He looked very big, very powerful, and very dangerous.

I smiled. "Good. Now please stop popping out like that. I find it more disturbing than your sudden appearances."

"You will not go into Whitechapel on your own, and you will not ask questions about either victim." He held up his hands, warding me off. "Let me rephrase that. You will not go into Whitechapel at all. Ever. With or without me, and with or without the entire British Army at your disposal. Disregard everything you've ever heard about that place, it's ten times worse. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "Of course."

He eyed me closely. "You won't go venturing into that part of London?"

"I won't."

His eyes narrowed to slits. Clearly he didn't believe me. "You don't strike me as a stupid female."

"Thank you, I think." It was probably unwise to tell him I'd only said I'd follow up on the victims in order to get him to return to my room. I had no intention of investigating on my own. "Now that we've established that, do you think you could stay awhile. Sit." I indicated the stool at my dressing table. "Talk to me."

He crossed his arms and remained standing. "You should go back to sleep. Dawn's still an hour away."

"I won't get any more sleep tonight."

He gave an apologetic grimace. "I shouldn't have woken you and burdened you with the gruesome events of the evening. There's nothing you can do about them."

"I'm glad you did wake me. I'm one link in the chain that led to the demon being summoned and I want to be kept informed of everything it does." I sighed. "At least we now know why the demon was summoned here."

"To kill a servant from a rich household, take their form then burgle the master's house." He scrubbed a hand over his chin. "Unfortunately there are hundreds of houses that could be targeted next and thousands of servants."

Which meant we were no better off than before. We couldn't anticipate where the next attack would be, couldn't alert potential victims.

"Good night, Emily."

"Wait, don't go yet." I searched for something to keep him in my room and said the first thing that popped into my head. It happened to be the most honest thing. "I'm also glad you came here tonight because I... I wanted to see you."

"Why?"

Ah. Well. I could tell him I just liked gazing at his handsome face or that I enjoyed his company, but I wasn't a fool. Jacob was used to girls noticing him. George Culvert told me so. Even his mother had admired Jacob. So why would he want yet another girl—and a middle-class oddity of dubious parentage at that—staring at him? I might be the only person who could see him now that he was a ghost but he'd had a lifetime of people staring at him. He must be heartily sick of it. Indeed, that's probably why he'd tuned most people out when he was alive. Too many admirers must make one immune after a while.

So instead of telling him that, I made up something else. "I tried once before to summon my mother's ghost but she never came. I was wondering... if... perhaps you could ask the Administrators in the Waiting Area about her." I had wanted to ask him about Mama ever since he'd arrived in our drawing room, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity. "Perhaps they can tell you if she's already crossed. I've tried to summon her but... she hasn't answered."

He reached out and I thought he was going to touch my face or my hair but instead he fingered the fringe of my shawl. "I'm sorry. She's gone. I already asked the Administrators after I met you the first time and they told me your mother had crossed quickly into her assigned section of the Otherworld."

"But that means she had nothing to tie her here." No outstanding business, nothing to say to anyone. Nothing to say to me. How could she not want to tell me about my father when she knew how important it was to me?

"There is an aunt in the Waiting Area though. Do you want to summon her?"

"An aunt? You mean my aunt?"

He smiled. "Yes, your aunt. Your mother's sister, a Mrs. Catherine Sloane. She died about a month ago and hasn't yet crossed."

"I have an aunt? Had," I corrected myself. Catherine Sloane was dead.

He nodded. "She might know... something about your mother." He was too much of a gentleman to mention the unmentionable—the question of my father's identity. "Do you want to summon her?"

I caught his fingers and squeezed. He stared at our linked hands, a look of alarm on his face. Then he squeezed back. "Yes," I said. "Yes I do."

He separated our hands. "Then I'll leave you alone to talk."

"No! I want you to stay." At his puzzled expression, I added, "Unless you've got something better to do."

He barked a short, harsh laugh. "Not really." He stood by the mantelpiece and held out his hand in a go-on gesture.

I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I summon Catherine Sloane from the Waiting Area. Do you hear me, Catherine Sloane? Someone in this realm needs to talk to you." To call a ghost to this world, a medium simply needs to phrase the request and use the ghost's name. The portal to the Waiting Area is always opened for us—or for me. As far as I knew, I was the only legitimate medium in the world.

A woman of about sixty appeared between Jacob and I. She faded in and out two or three times until she finally maintained a presence, albeit a flimsy one. I'd seen gauze curtains with more strength than her.

She was a taller version of my mother. Mama had been short like me with soft brown hair and curves. Aunt Catherine had the same nose, same mouth, same eyes as her older sister but they were somehow more masculine. The nose was a little longer, the eyes set deeper, the mouth firmer. She wore an ankle-length nightgown and her long gray hair hung loose.

Aunt Catherine stared at me for a long time, her gaze assessing. If her lack of a smile was any indication, she didn't approve of what she saw.

"Aunt Catherine?" I asked, just to be sure.

She inclined her head. "I suppose I must be if you are Miss Emily Chambers."

"I am."

"And who is he? Why do you have a dead boy in your bedroom?"

"Jacob Beaufort," Jacob said, bowing slightly. He didn't answer the second question and I saw no reason to either. She may be my aunt but she had no authority over me.

Aunt Catherine expelled a humph. I suspected it was more than just an expression of her displeasure but I didn't particularly care to find out.

"I summoned you here to ask you about my mother," I said. I had a feeling polite chatter wasn't going to be on the cards with this woman.

"I thought as much. You may ask but I cannot guarantee you will receive an answer, particularly one to your liking."

Jacob glanced over her head at me. He raised a brow in question. I shrugged. I'd come this far, I might as well continue. Besides, any answer was better than not knowing.

I took a deep breath. "What can you tell me about my father?"

"Nothing."

I waited for her to say more but she didn't elaborate. "My mother never spoke to you about him? About a man other than her husband?"

She tossed her long hair over her shoulder. "No."

"But you knew about my birth?"

"Yes."

Jacob cleared his throat. "This would go a lot faster if you gave more than one word answers," he said.

Aunt Catherine lifted her chin and gave another humph. "Very well. I'll tell you what I know but it isn't much. About six months after her husband died, my sister wrote to inform us she was expecting a child. She refused to reveal who the father was but gave no reason for the refusal. She simply stated that she would raise the child on her own. Her late husband left her a small annuity for her to live on for some years, you see. Well, seven months after that, she wrote again and said you'd been born."

It all sounded so impersonal as if she were reading a newspaper account of the facts. "You didn't visit her before or after my birth?"

"Of course not!" She may have been somewhat hazy to look at but her eyes still managed to flash at me. "My husband was—is—a very important man in Bristol. We could not afford to have our reputation tarnished by your mother's foolishness."

I stiffened and blood rushed through my veins in a torrent. How dare this dragon speak about my mother like that? "Mama was never a fool, Aunt. As her sister I'd have thought you would know that. But then I'd have thought you'd be more sympathetic too. She was alone in London, without friends, and with one daughter already to care for. You couldn't have found it in your heart to visit her? Send her something? Offer her sympathy at the very least?"

Her nose screwed up the way a dog does just before it snarls. "Your mother never wanted sympathy so I never offered it. As her daughter, you should know that."

I hated admitting it but she was right. Mama had been a proud, independent woman. She would want neither pity nor charity from anyone.

I might agree with Aunt Catherine on that score but I didn't think we'd find common ground on much else, particularly in the area of sisterly compassion. Nevertheless I bit back my opinions and pressed on. "Do you think it possible she fell in love with someone so soon after her husband's death? Perhaps she was lonely or—."

"Love! Bah! You girls talk about it as if it is the answer to all your woes." She clasped her hands in front of her, looking very much like a severe governess, nightgown not withstanding. "Since you are the daughter of my sister, I'll give you some advice as she seems to have failed to do so before she died. There is no such thing as love, not the kind written by poets that is supposed to last forever. There is lust in the beginning naturally, and perhaps companionship for a few years if one is lucky, but not love. Not the all-consuming sort that silly girls spend so much time thinking about.

"Don't throw yourself away to any man who spouts pretty words in your ear. Even if he believes what he says, he'll soon forget that he ever did. The words will stop, as will his high regard, and he'll spend more and more time at his club. Marry for other things, Emily—money or breeding or comfort—but not because you think he loves you or you love him." She finished her lecture with a glance at Jacob. He simply watched her, his elbow on the mantelpiece, the back of his finger rubbing slowly over his lips. He said nothing.

I too said nothing. What could anyone possibly say after a tirade like that? Perhaps if she'd been alive I might have challenged her theory but there was no point now that she was dead. She was unlikely to change her opinion. Besides, I couldn't think of any long-married couples who were still in love as an example. If the evidence from our séances was any indication, then Aunt Catherine was right. Marriage was an endurance and if any of them had begun with love, it had expired years ago.

"So you know nothing of Mama's feelings towards my father then? My real father?"

"Nothing at all. Your mother may have thought she was in love with him but I do not know. She never told me. She never mentioned a thing about him in her letters." She shrugged and her hair rippled. "It was as if he never even existed." Her gaze roamed over my hair, my face, and her lips pinched tighter and tighter together. "If you want my opinion, I'd say he wasn't an Englishman." She waved a thin finger at me. "You certainly didn't get that dirty skin or that ratty hair from your mother. She had been a beauty as a young girl. Pale as a bowl of cream and hair like honey."

In other words, I was certainly no beauty with my 'dirty skin and ratty hair'.

"Not everyone likes cream and honey," Jacob said. No, not said, growled, deep and low in his throat.

Aunt Catherine turned on him. "What are you talking about?"

"Or a bitter tongue."

"You speak out of turn, young man." Her face contorted into an uglier version of itself and suddenly her presence brightened. "Is that the reason you died before your time? Someone found you disrespectful?"

"Aunt Catherine!" I couldn't believe it. My sweet mother and this nasty, vindictive woman had been sisters? No wonder they'd rarely kept in touch. "I think you should go now. I'm very sorry I summoned you."

"Not yet." Jacob came up behind my aunt and gripped her shoulders. She yelped and tried to shake him off but he wouldn't budge. I thought I heard him chuckle but I must have been wrong because there was a dangerous spark in his eyes, and not a hint of humor. "Look at her," he snarled. "Look at Emily." My aunt's gaze flicked to me then away. He shook her. "Look!"

"Let go," she ordered.

"Not until you look properly and tell me what you see."

My aunt's gaze settled once more on me, grudgingly. "I see a girl who has brought shame on her family."

I bit back the welling tears. I would not let them spill. Not in front of her. I did, however, lower my head. I couldn't bear to let her see the effect her words had on me.

Jacob snarled in my aunt's ear. "No. You're not looking properly. I want you to see her. See her flawless skin, her dark chocolate eyes and her mouth with its thousand different expressions." I lifted my head and his fierce gaze locked with mine. My heart skidded to a halt in my chest. When Jacob looked at me like that I felt beautiful, not at all abnormal, and I could believe that the stares and cruel words would never hurt me again. "Emily is as unique as every sunrise." He spoke quietly to my aunt but I could just hear him. "She has more beauty in her than you've ever had in your lifetime." He let go of her shoulders. "Leave us."

With a sniff, my aunt vanished.

I sat on the edge of the bed and began to shake. I couldn't stop. It wasn't from the cold, or even from learning that my aunt wasn't the person I'd hoped her to be. I shook because of Jacob and what he'd said. His words were like a soothing balm on burnt skin, a lighthouse beacon in the darkness. And yet... had he truly meant them? Or was it merely a retaliation to put a bleak-hearted woman back in her place?

I opened my mouth to ask but realized he too had left.

With a sigh, I flopped back on the bed and wondered if I really wanted to know the answer anyway.

Chapter Seven

I'd been wrong about the peddler. She did show up at a little after ten o'clock that morning, except...

"That's not her," Celia said, staring at the woman standing on our doorstep.

"Who am I then?" the woman asked, thrusting out one hip. She was dressed in a gown that could once have been deep red but had faded to a dull rust-brown. The shawl draped over her shoulders looked more like a rag than a garment and the bonnet sitting lopsided on her head had frayed at the edges and lost all of its ribbons, if it ever had any.

She pulled back the cover on her basket to reveal her goods but did not take any out. Usually she began her sales spiel before the door had fully opened but this time she seemed to sense our disinterest in her wares from the start.

"She's the previous peddler," Celia explained. "The one before the one who sold me the amulet." She glanced up and down the street. "Are you alone?"

"Alone as any soul can be in this Godforsaken city." The woman smiled, revealing a top layer of teeth worn almost to the gums.

Celia recoiled. "Yes, quite."

I shifted my sister aside gently and smiled at the peddler. "Who worked your area last week?"

The woman shrugged. Her shawl fell off her shoulder and she didn't bother to pull it back up. "No one."

"Somebody must have," Celia said. "You are not the woman I bought an amulet from on Thursday."

"You like pretty jewelry?" The woman sifted through the pieces of cutlery, trinkets, and rags—some clean—and other odds and ends in her basket.

"I don't want to buy any jewelry," Celia said tartly. "I want to know who took over this area last week."

The woman held out a thin bracelet covered in grime. It was as black as my hair. When Celia didn't move to take it, the peddler shook it, all the while smiling that gummy smile.

"How much?" I asked her.

"Three shillings."

"Three!" Celia clicked her tongue. "What's it made of?"

The woman rubbed it with her shawl. "Could be silver."

"I highly doubt it."

"Wait here." I went inside and retrieved my reticule. I dug out three shillings and placed them palm up in my hand. The peddler reached for them but I closed my fist. "Information first."

"Yes," Celia chimed in, giving me a nod of approval. "Tell us who worked your area last week."

The woman tapped her nose with her finger then pointed it at me. "Smart girl. But I can't tell you who done my area last week 'cause no one did." She held her finger up to stop Celia's protest. "Wait, wait, I didn't say nuffink about this street, did I?"

Celia hissed out an impatient breath. "Go on."

"A lady comes up to me last week, she did. Just round the corner there. She gives me twenty shillings to do me job on this here street. Twenty! That's more than what I got in 'ere." She shook the basket. "Course I gave 'er me value-bulls. Why wouldn' I for twenty? Bit later she gave 'em back to me and never asked for her money back neever. Job well done, I say." She laughed and wiped her nose on the back of her dirty glove.

"And you didn't find that suspicious?" Celia asked.

"Course I did but didn't you 'ear me? She gave me twenty shillings!"

"Did she tell you her name?" I asked.

"Nope."

"And you'd never seen her before?" Celia asked.

"Nope. Like I said, she came up to me round that corner and gave me the money. Twenty shillings!" She chuckled so hard it turned into a racking cough.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

She nodded then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "Twenty shillings! Still can't believe it. Course she could prob'ly 'ford it and more."

"Afford it?" I echoed.

"But she was as poor as dirt," Celia said, waving her hand at the woman as if to say "like you".

The peddler didn't seem to notice the slight. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"But her clothes were a motley collection of rags," Celia persisted. "Nothing matched and most of it had holes in one place or another. Even her boots were odd and worn out."

The woman tapped her nose again. "Aye, but she spoke like you two. A toff, she was, I'll bet ya."

Celia tilted her head to the side. "Nonsense. She dropped her aitches and savaged her vowels. She most certainly was not a toff as you put it. Or like us."

"She most cert'ly was!"

Before the disagreement heated up, I thanked the peddler for her time and gave her the coins. She relinquished the bracelet with a smile.

Celia shut the door on her rasping chuckle. "She doesn't know what she's talking about. The woman who sold me the amulet had the most atrocious East End accent."

"Perhaps it was part of her disguise," I said. "Perhaps she wanted you to think she was from the East End. Or at least didn't want you to know she was a lady."

Lucy entered the hallway from the front drawing room, a rag and bowl of paste in hand for polishing the fireplace. She kept close to the wall, as far away from me as possible. Although she now spoke to me without her voice shaking, she was still wary. Her eyes never left me when we were in the same room, as if she didn't dare look elsewhere in case I summoned a ghost while she wasn't looking.

I held up the bracelet to assess my purchase. It was very thin but the links had a pleasing shape to them, despite the coating of filth. "Would you clean it up for me please, Lucy?"

"Yes, Miss Chambers." She stretched out her hand as far as she could reach but leaned back slightly.

I handed her the bracelet without getting too close. "You may keep it if you like."

She gasped. "Oh, Miss Chambers!" Her fingers closed around the chain and she clasped it to her breast. "Really?"

I nodded. "Think of it as a welcoming gift."

Lucy thanked me, twice, then trotted down the hallway to the basement stairs.

"Do you intend to bribe her into not being afraid of you?" Celia asked when she was out of earshot.

I sighed. "Do you think it might work?"

"Yes, but only after several more gifts." She squeezed my hand. "And we cannot afford such extravagances. We can't really afford that bracelet but if it helps us send the demon back then I don' begrudge its expense. So now what do we do about the amulet woman?"

I sighed. "I don't know."

"But you're supposed to be a 'smart girl'," she teased, echoing the peddler.

"Stop it. I don't know what to do. I could ask Jacob."

She let go of my hand and her mouth tightened. "If you must."

"You don't want him here do you?"

She made her way into the front drawing room and beckoned me to follow. "I don't mind him," she said carefully. "I just worry about him coming and going so freely. None of the other ghosts have ever done so before."

"He's harmless, Sis, I guarantee it." If he'd wanted to harm me he would have had ample opportunity before now. He could have done anything to me this morning while I was asleep. Instead he just sat there, watching.

"I'm sure he is." She sighed and perched on the edge of the sofa. "It's just that... there's something unsettling about ghosts." She picked up her embroidery and began stitching. "Now understand, this is entirely from the point of view of someone who cannot see them, but... they have nothing to lose. Nothing to fear. The Bible tells us that we are judged in the Afterlife by our actions when we're alive. If that's true then what is to stop ghosts from doing wrong now they are dead?"

In a way it was what Jacob had said to me that morning. He and ghosts like him no longer had any fear of losing their lives or their reputations, and they didn't feel physical pain. So what was to stop them from doing everything they'd wanted to do during their lifetime but hadn't for fear of punishment either in this world or the next?

"A good upbringing is what stops them," I said to her. "And a good heart. Most of us don't need the threat of punishment hanging over us to do what we know to be the right thing." But as I said it, I wasn't entirely convinced by own argument. Could people change so much after their death? Could they forget or dismiss the code of behavior they'd learned during their life?

She smiled at me but it was weak and unconvincing.

I sat beside her and picked up my own embroidery. I wasn't very fond of the activity, preferring to read, but sometimes the repetitious task helped me to think. "Celia, what do you know of Mama's family? She had a sister, didn't she?"

"Aunt Catherine, yes." She pulled a face. "Horrible woman. Mama and she didn't get on at all well. I met her once when I was about ten. She and Uncle Freddie came for a visit. She used to rap my knuckles whenever she caught me fidgeting and I could never eat, sit, speak or breathe in the right way. Horrible woman," she said again. "As I recall they left after only two days. Papa couldn't stand them and insisted they leave before they drove Mama to distraction with their endless demands. Why?"

I lowered my cloth. "She died last month. I spoke to her ghost this morning."

"You what?"

"I wanted to ask about Mama and... my father."

"Oh, Em, how could you!"

"I just needed to know if she knew him, that's all. I had to try, Celia, since you won't tell me anything."

She resumed her embroidery but stabbed her finger on the first stitch. "Ow!" She sucked off the blood. "Now see what you've done. I'm all flustered."

I took her hand and inspected the wound. It had already stopped bleeding. "If it makes you feel any better I didn't learn anything from Aunt Catherine, except to confirm what you just told me about her. Horrible doesn't even begin to describe her."

Celia turned her hand over in mine and clasped my fingers. "I can only imagine what she thought of you," she said quietly. Her eyes shone with sympathy and understanding.

I was grateful that no tears came at the memory of my aunt's cruel words. I didn't want to upset Celia over something she couldn't control. She could not summon Aunt Catherine's ghost and chastise her. "She can't hurt me," I said. Not with Jacob around to counter everything she said with his beautiful words. "She's only a ghost."

Celia smiled. "I should be sorry that she's dead, but I'm not."

I had nothing to say to that so I resumed my needlepoint and we both worked in silence. After a while Celia announced she would pay Mrs. Wiggam a visit to see if her husband had departed yet. "Will you come?" she asked.

"Only if you need me. I think I'll go to George Culvert's house again. I have more questions about the demon that need answering."

It was only partly true. I did want to see George again, but not to look at his books.

***

I headed out after luncheon, dressed in a plain blue-gray dress with a matching jacket for warmth. Celia had wanted me to wear something prettier with more ruches and flounces and preferably in a brighter color, but I didn't want to stand out any more than I already did. Not where I was going. I also wanted some protection against the cold. The early spring day was overcast and the breeze sharp but once out of windy Druids Way, I could at least feel my cheeks again. Unfortunately I could also feel the smuts from the city's countless chimneys settling on my skin. That was one good thing about my street, the wind kept the air cleaner than most.

I expected Jacob to appear to ask where I was going but I made it all the way to George's house on my own. It would seem he didn't spend all of his time in the Waiting Area watching me and waiting to join me. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved by that or not.

The footman showed me into the Culvert's drawing room where George met me a few minutes later. He rushed in, all friendly smiles, his hands outstretched. "What a delightful surprise," he said, taking my hands in his. "Absolutely delightful. I was hoping you would return, Emily."

"Oh?"

He indicated I should sit then followed suit, occupying the chair opposite. "Yes, I, er, wanted to, um, see you again to... find out if you'd made any progress with capturing the demon."

His explanation, with all those hesitations, didn't ring entirely true. Did he want to say something else? I couldn't think what. "It killed someone last night," I said. I saw no point in keeping the information from him.

His face drained of color. "Wh... what?"

"It attacked a drunk servant on his night off." I repeated everything Jacob had told me about the two victims and the subsequent burglary, which amounted to very little.

Although the color returned to George's face as I spoke, his forehead crinkled into a more thorough frown. "How terrible," he murmured. "Utterly despicable. We must do something."

"That's why I'm here. I need your help."

He nodded and shifted forward on the chair. "Of course. I understand. You need a man to accompany you into these areas to investigate further." The way he said 'man', so earnestly, had me smiling. I couldn't imagine George fending off any villains unless they were perhaps children. He might be tall but he was slightly built and his hands didn't look like they'd done much more than turn pages his entire life.

"Not quite what I was thinking." I had promised Jacob that I wouldn't go into Whitechapel after all. "I wanted to speak to your maid, Finch, again."

"Oh." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "That won't be possible. She left yesterday after we spoke to her. Just ran right out the door Mrs. Crouch said."

I had suspected Finch wouldn't return but I didn't want him to know that I knew what had happened, let alone that I was responsible for her leaving. It would seem the other servants hadn't told him either, thankfully.

"I see," I said. "Then it seems I will ask you to accompany me after all, but not to the areas where the victims were found. I'd like to find Maree Finch. Perhaps we could try the school she attended. My own maid said she knew Maree and that the brother, a thief, had returned on a few occasions to speak to her. The last time was right before she came to work for you. We might learn something more about them both from the school."

He beamed. "Excellent idea, Emily. I'll get my coat."

A few minutes later we were skirting Green Park. George had wanted to take his carriage but I didn't think it was a good idea. The wealthier we appeared, the less likely the children would be prepared to speak to us.

"Does Beaufort know you're going to the school with me?" George asked as we entered the poorer part of Clerkenwell nearly an hour later. It was darker in the slum area and not only because the clouds had thickened, extinguishing what little sunshine had managed to seep through the smog. The tall tenements lining both sides of the narrow streets like tired soldiers cast permanent shadows onto the slippery cobbles below. Their walls were almost black with many years worth of the city's grime having settled on the bricks.

"No," I said, dodging a fast-moving child of about nine years.

"Ah."

"Ah?"

"How long will it be before he joins us, do you think?"

Another child raced past followed by a shouting adult. "Thief! Thief!" The man stopped near us and gulped in several deep breaths. "That little rat stole my pocket watch," he spluttered between gasps. "Did you see which way he went?"

George pointed in the direction the boy had run off in. The man thanked him and resumed his pursuit. No one joined in the chase. "I'd help him," George said, looking after the man, "but the thief will be long gone."

Even if the child was only one street away the man probably wouldn't have enough breath in him to catch up going by the way he puffed heavily. "How much further is the school?" I asked, walking on. I sidled closer to George and clutched my reticule tighter.

"Just around the corner." He eyed me carefully. "Are you all right, Emily? I say, that was a nasty business to witness just now. I daresay you're not used to such scenes."

"Not really, no." I'd never thought of the area in which Celia and I lived as being particularly modern or fashionable but walking through Clerkenwell made me realize how safe it was, and how we were far better off there than anyone living here. Exhausted faces watched us from doorways which appeared to be mostly swept clean, something which surprised me. Even here the folk had some pride in their homes and wanted to offer a welcoming entrance. It was a reminder that this wasn't the worst place in London. Poor certainly, but not the most degraded or depraved. That label surely belonged to Whitechapel where the shape-shifting demon had attacked its first victim. Clerkenwell was mostly working class where men, women and sometimes children squeezed out a living doing whatever work they could find. If the child-thief was any indication, that work wasn't always honest.

We found the North London School for Domestic Service easily enough. Whereas most of the buildings on the street were a motley mixture of timber and brick and barely one room in width, the school was grand in appearance with its solid red brick façade, tall windows and at least three times as wide as its neighbors.

George turned to me before knocking on the door. "If I might be so bold as to suggest I ask the questions." He had the good sense to look sheepish about his suggestion. It didn't stop me from giving him a withering glare.

"I may be only a girl but I assure you I am used to dealing with men older than myself." I was used to no such thing but I wasn't going to tell him that. I'd lived in an adult world ever since Mama had died and I was used to speaking and thinking for myself, not have someone else do it for me.

"Yes, of course." He tugged on his necktie and cleared his throat. "But, well, perhaps the master might be more inclined to speak to me. It's merely a thought." He pulled so hard on the necktie knot I thought it would unravel. "We'll see, shall we?"

He lifted a hand to knock when Jacob suddenly appeared, leaning against the door, and I gave a little gasp of alarm.

George's fist hesitated. It was inches from the door and Jacob's face. "What is it?" he asked at the same time as Jacob said, "What are you doing here?"

"This is not Whitechapel," I said, answering Jacob.

George dropped his hand. "Pardon?"

"I'm speaking to Jacob."

"It's not exactly Belgrave Square either," Jacob said, referring to the exclusive area where his family kept a house. He jerked his head towards George. "What's your puppy doing here?"

"Protecting me. Aren't you George?"

George puffed out his chest and looked pleased with himself.

"Protecting you?" Jacob snorted and crossed his arms. "From what? The newspapers fluttering down the street? Because that's all he's capable of defending you against." He sounded annoyed. I couldn't think why.

"He's an effective deterrent against a thief thinking of taking advantage of me."

Jacob's nostrils flared. It was the only movement on his otherwise still person. "You're right. A visible deterrent works better than an invisible one."

My heart plunged into my stomach. "That's not what I meant." Stupid girl! It was precisely what I'd meant and now I'd made Jacob feel useless and less... human. "Jacob, I'm sorry."

"Forget it. Come on, knock."

"What's going on?" George asked. "What's he saying?"

"Well, he... uh... he thinks I should have brought some... more protection to walk though these streets. But he seems to be forgetting that this isn't Whitechapel."

Jacob gave me a lazy smile, my slight seemingly forgotten. "If this area is so safe then why do you need to bring him along for protection at all?"

Darn. Foiled by my own logic. "Stop being so... male!"

"Male?" Jacob and George both said.

I lifted a hand and knocked.

Jacob leaned down so that his nose almost touched my cheek. "Well?" he said in a quiet, ominous voice that spread across my skin like warm sunshine.

My face heated. I adore sunshine. "You're being overbearing. It's a very irritating manly habit that... men have." I knocked again. Why wasn't someone answering the door?

"You're such an expert on men, are you?" Jacob asked, straightening. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye but I couldn't determine if he was teasing me or if it was a serious question.

"I know a few. Now, either be quiet so I can concentrate or go away."

"Yes," George said, fiddling with his necktie again. "Let us handle this."

"I'm not leaving you alone in this place," Jacob said. "And I'll not allow you to walk home alone either."

"I am not alone," I muttered although I think George heard me anyway if his wince was any indication.

"You might as well be," Jacob said. He looked skyward as if he'd find some patience there, or some way of convincing me I was being a fool. "Bloody hell, Emily, coming here is dangerous. Do you understand?"

The door opened at that moment and I smiled at the maid in relief. We introduced ourselves and George asked to speak to someone in authority.

"Mr. Blunt the master's gone out," she said, "but Mrs. White'll receive you." She showed us into a room that appeared to be either an office or a drawing room or perhaps acted as both. It had a small, unlit fireplace, a large desk with hard, unpadded chairs on either side of it, a sofa and two armchairs, none of which matched, and a threadbare green rug on the floor. There were no decorative items on the mantelpiece, no paintings on the walls and not even a bookshelf near the desk. On second thought the room couldn't possibly function as an office as there wasn't a scrap of paper in sight and the inkwell appeared empty. It must be entirely for the use of visitors then.

The maid left, leaving George, Jacob and I in awkward silence. Having a three-way conversation when only one of us can speak to the other two is difficult at best. It's absolutely awful when we're quarrelling. George and I seated ourselves on the sofa, a respectable distance between us, while Jacob remained standing by the door, arms crossed, glaring at me. It was most disconcerting. My face felt hot and a thousand things ran through my mind. Of course I voiced none of them. In fact, I tried not to look at him at all. I failed.

Thankfully Mrs. White didn't take long to arrive. She wasn't as old as I expected, only a little older than Celia I'd guess, but more homely. Her soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners and a series of lines bracketed her mouth as she smiled at us. Her dark hair, streaked with gray, was pulled into a loose knot and her black gown could have been worn for mourning a loved one or simply because she liked the color. It did suit her although the large bustle at the back didn't flatter her dumpy figure.

"Now, what may I do for you?" she asked after introducing herself.

"I'm George Culvert," George said before I could answer.

Her eyebrows rose. "Mr. Culvert? You took on one of our girls, didn't you?"

He nodded but didn't explain what had happened to Maree Finch. He indicated me. "This is Miss Emily Chambers."

Mrs. White paled. "Chambers? Miss Emily Chambers?"

George's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "You know her?"

It would seem my reputation as a medium had preceded me. It was happening more and more lately. Over the last month or two, the mere mention of my name was enough to cause strangers to ogle me, or walk quickly in the opposite direction. I suppose it meant Celia and I were garnering a good reputation for our work, which in turn would generate more appointments for our séances. But I couldn't be as happy as her about the increase in our trade, not if it meant more reactions like that of Mrs. White.

"I would say she knows of me, is that right, Mrs. White?" I asked, trying to allay any fears she might have with a warm smile.

Her hand fluttered to her chest and she gave a nervous little laugh. "Forgive me, yes, I have heard of you, Miss Chambers. Indeed, only this morning the master of our little school, Mr. Blunt, was telling me he was going to contact you." She pursed her lips. "He was very insistent."

"Oh? He wishes to communicate with the dead?"

"I believe so but you'd have to discuss the particulars with him." She clicked her tongue and sighed. "I don't know what's got into him. He's never been interested in the supernatural before."

I glanced at Jacob. He grinned. It was breathtaking, quite literally—the air whooshed out of my lungs and my throat went dry. It was rather a relief to see he'd snapped out of his bad temper too.

I smiled back at him.

"The Misses Chambers have an excellent reputation." George smiled too but I suspect not for the same reasons as us. I hadn't told him about Jacob's haunting of Mr. Blunt. "I highly recommend them. Emily really can communicate with spirits."

Jacob snorted and came to stand beside me. "It seems you have an admirer."

"Indeed, she was just speaking to one outside," George went on. He sounded like a proud older brother. It was rather sweet.

Jacob groaned. "If he tells her my name I might have to throw something."

"Thank you, George," I said quickly. "I'm sure Mrs. White isn't interested."

He opened his mouth to say something but must have caught my don't-you-dare expression because he shut it again.

Mrs. White didn't appear to notice our exchange, or she was too polite to let us think she had. "Your sister left a calling card when she collected Lucy yesterday, you see," she said. I knew the ones. Celia had a habit of leaving them wherever she went so that it acted as a form of advertising. "Mr. Blunt was going to call on you today. I can't think why there's such an urgency." She shrugged.

"Perhaps he's being haunted," George said.

I choked but managed to turn it into a cough. Jacob patted my back and I continued to cough although the need had gone. I simply liked his touch. A lot.

"Are you all right, Emily?" George asked, shifting along the sofa towards me.

Mrs. White stood. "I'll get some water."

I stopped coughing and Jacob stopped patting. "I'm fine, thank you." I refrained from looking at him for about two seconds then couldn't help myself. Unfortunately he had his back to me, striding towards the door. Avoiding me again. He was making quite a habit of it.

Mrs. White sat down. "How is Lucy getting along?"

"Very well," I said. "I think she's a little perturbed to be working in the house of someone who can see ghosts, but she doesn't seem too afraid." She'd got through the night at least, which was more than I could say for one of our previous maids.

"Good, good. And how is Maree?" she asked George.

"Ah," he said. "She is the reason we've come here. She's disappeared—."

"Disappeared!" Mrs. White shook her head. "No, no, no, not Maree. She's such a good girl. We never had any problems with her here."

"She also stole a book from me."

Mrs. White stifled a gasp with her hand. "Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. Are you sure?"

"Quite sure." George told her about our interview with Maree Finch and the reasons for our suspicions. "The odd thing is," he said in finishing, "is that she can't read. So why steal a book of all things?"

"A very good question," Mrs. White said. She frowned and shook her head slowly. "I simply can't believe Maree would do such a thing. And a book too when she can't read, as you say. What was it about?"

"Demonology," George said before I could deflect the question. I thought it was one we should avoid answering truthfully. I didn't want to alarm the lady.

But Mrs. White didn't seem as disturbed as I thought she would be. I'd expected a vehement denial of Maree's interest in demonology, or a little gasp or some show of distress over the book's subject matter. As it was, she simply paled. It was a considerable paling but nevertheless it wasn't a fierce reaction. "I see. Well, that's an... interesting topic for a young girl."

"Particularly for a young girl who can't read," Jacob said. "It's not the sort of book that will help her learn."

I agreed wholeheartedly. "We think she might have stolen it for someone else," I said.

"For her brother," George added.

"Her brother! You mean Tommy Finch?"

"I suppose we do," he said. "He attended this school for a while, didn't he?"

Mrs. White flicked imaginary fluff off her skirts, her attention on the task and not us. "He was but only briefly and that was some time ago. I don't know why he left. I'm not privileged to everything that occurs with the boy pupils. You'd have to ask Mr. Blunt."

"Has Tommy Finch been back to the school?"

"Certainly not!"

"Right," George said. He cleared his throat. "I think you've told us everything we need to know."

"Don't leave yet," Jacob said. He stood beside George but watched me. "Suggest that Culvert look at another girl to replace Finch."

I wasn't sure what Jacob had in mind but I trusted his judgment. "Then let's move onto the real reason we came here," I said to George with a smile. He gave me a blank look. "A new maid."

He flinched. The hiring of staff so far down the household order probably wasn't something he'd be involved in. That would come under the housekeeper's jurisdiction, or his mother's if the housekeeper wasn't a trusted servant herself. My suggestion that he do it clearly shocked him. "Yes, of course. A new maid."

Bless him, he was going along with the scenario with good grace. I was definitely warming to George. Despite insisting outside that he do most of the talking, he'd not once taken over the conversation. Of course that could have been because Mr. Blunt wasn't there.

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Mrs. White's comfortable features but then she smiled. I suppose it must seem odd, not only that I'd accompanied George to find him a new servant, but also that I was the one keen for him to hire again. Perhaps she assumed he and I were engaged to be married and I was taking an active role in running his household already.

My impish side wondered what Jacob would think of that.

"Suggest he look at some suitable girls with her right now," Jacob said. "Then tell them you wish to remain here because you have a headache."

I did as he said. I was afraid George would protest but his quick glance around the room suggested he knew Jacob was nearby and that we had a plan. George was no fool and he was turning into a wonderful ally.

"An excellent idea," he said, standing. "Shall we, Mrs. White?"

She touched my knee. "Will you be all right, dear? Can I get you some tea while you wait?"

"No, thank you," I said. "I just need some peace and quiet."

"It's best if she's not disturbed for a while," George said. He moved towards the door and before they left, winked at me over his shoulder.

I winked back.

Jacob's face turned dark. He crossed his arms over his chest. "He shouldn't be overly familiar with you. People will think there's something between you."

I waited until the door was closed then I stood and faced him. He turned that dark scowl on me. "He winked at me, Jacob. It's not quite as familiar as coming into my bedroom. For example."

His eyes turned the deep gray of a stormy sky. He took a long time to answer and I had the most disturbing feeling deep in my belly. Like a little flippity, somersaulting.

I suspected—hoped—he was going to kiss me.

Chapter Eight

Jacob did not kiss me. He spun on his heel and strode to the door. "Let's go," he said. "We don't have much time." Then he disappeared. I stared at the spot where he'd been standing and touched my lips. They tingled from the anticipation, and the disappointment.

Was it so wrong of me to want him to kiss me?

The door opened from the other side and he poked his head through the gap. "It's clear," he said. "Follow me."

It would seem I had little choice. I blew out a steadying breath and walked behind him down the narrow wood-paneled hall, treading on my toes so as not to make a sound. The musty scent of dampness clung to the stale air and it was cooler than the parlor.

I hoped Jacob knew where he was going. While haunting Blunt the previous night, he must have spent some time looking over the school. I wanted to ask him if he had a destination in mind but I dared not speak. I had no idea where Mrs. White and George had gone but I didn't want to risk being overheard.

Jacob seemed content to do all the talking anyway and didn't appear to expect me to answer him. "The rooms along here are classrooms," he said, indicating the closed doors on either side of the corridor. One of the doors was ajar and I paused to listen.

Mrs. White's voice came to me clearly. "The girls are given a grounding in arithmetic to help them learn about portions for cooking, making cleaning pastes and the like," she said.

George responded but I didn't catch his words.

Jacob waited at the end of the corridor. "There are some unsupervised boys down here," he said.

I quickly followed him to a room that stank of shoe polish. Three boys aged about thirteen sat on stools at a long wooden table in the center of the room. Each of them had a fist thrust inside a boot, their other hand holding a blackened polishing cloth. Dozens more boots, some shiny but most covered in dirt, stood in rows on the table, and more again occupied a series of shelves on the opposite wall. It would take a small army to fill them all let alone clean them.

The boys glanced up when I entered. Two of them jumped to their feet, the other took his time to stand. He was the only one of the three who didn't bow a greeting.

"Who are you then?" he asked, his stringy blond hair falling over his forehead in jagged wisps.

One of the other boys hissed something at him but I couldn't hear what. The blonde boy merely shrugged in response.

"My name is Emily Chambers," I said. It was rather a relief not to see recognition on their faces. True anonymity at last.

"Find out what you can from them," Jacob said. "I'll keep watch." But he didn't disappear immediately. Instead he sized up the three boys. Although none of them were tall lads, they were all as tall as me and would undoubtedly continue to grow if their lanky limbs were any indication. The two boys who'd stood quickly didn't quite meet my gaze and shifted uncomfortably as if they couldn't keep still. The other boy, the blond one, not only met my gaze but held it.

"I'm 'Arry Cotton," he said, "and this is Johnny Fife and Peter Bowker." The one who'd hissed at him was Bowker. He and Fife smiled shyly at me and blushed hard. Harry Cotton seemed to think this was funny and sniggered.

"Call if you need me," Jacob said then disappeared.

"You the replacement?" Harry asked. Of the three boys, he looked to be the oldest, or perhaps it was simply because he had the beginnings of a leaner, harder jaw whereas the other two still had the soft, rounded faces of children. Fife had a set of dimples in either cheek.

"Replacement?" I asked.

"For Mr. Felchurch. 'E up and left yesterday. Got a job as a slave at some toff's 'ouse."

"'Arry," Bowker whispered loudly.

"Slave?" I asked.

"Footman," Fife said, blushing again and still not meeting my gaze.

"Slave," Harry Cotton said and sniffed. "As good as." He threw his cloth down on the boot he'd been polishing then spat on it. He followed up his show of defiance with a raised brow at me. Obviously he lumped me in with those same toffs.

"Ah. No, I'm not Mr. Felchurch's replacement." I stepped closer and lowered my voice. I particularly wanted to capture Harry's interest. I suspect if anyone was going to talk, it would be him. The other two were either too afraid or too good. "I'm the employer of Maree Finch," I said, bending the truth. "Do you remember her?"

"Yeah," said Harry, shrugging one shoulder. "So?"

"So... she's gone missing. I need to find her."

Bowker and Fife exchanged glances but there was nothing guilty in their expressions, just concern. Cotton continued to meet my gaze. He crossed his arms over his chest and thrust his hands up under his armpits. "Why do you need to find 'er?" he asked. "She nick something of yours?"

"No," I lied. I was becoming very good at it with all the recent practice. "I'm simply concerned for her." That at least was the truth. I hated to think where Maree had gone. More than likely she'd joined her brother and was learning how to become a better thief. Of course there were worse occupations for a poor girl to learn on London's streets but I didn't want to contemplate that scenario.

Harry snorted. "And I'm the king of bloody England."

"I am worried about her," I insisted. "I'm worried that she'll end up like that brother of hers. If she's caught she'll be sent to the workhouse or prison."

Fife shuddered and twisted his fingers together.

"Least Tommy Finch ain't got no master but hisself," Harry said.

"Now we both know that's not true." I was going out on a limb but it was a step I had to take, not only to win Harry's trust, but to get him talking. "I know Tommy Finch is guided by someone else, someone who wouldn't care if Tommy or Maree got caught." It wasn't unusual for gangs of boys to be ruled by an older man, equally poor and desperate but more experienced in avoiding the police. Those unscrupulous men certainly didn't care about the wellbeing of their charges—London was teeming with boys and girls eager to take their place.

Harry blinked and looked away. The defiance was still printed into his features but I sensed he was wavering.

"Do you know who?" I tried. I was met with silence, which was to be expected. "Then can you tell me where I might find Tommy?"

"What, so you can dob 'im in?"

I glanced at the door. This wasn't going at all well and I didn't have much time. "No, so I can coax his sister back to her job. She was good at it." Why couldn't he see the benefits of reliable, honest work for someone like Maree, someone with little education, no home, no parents and few other choices? Why couldn't he see it for his own sake? "She was cared for there with a roof over her head, food on the table and clothes to keep her warm. What's going to happen to her now?" I hadn't realized I'd been moving closer to him as I spoke so that now I stood right in front of him, my face only inches from his. "Well? Is her brother going to take care of her?"

"Tommy'll see 'er right," Harry said thrusting out his chin. "'E's got integ, integra... 'E takes care of 'is own and I ain't gonna rat 'im out so you can make yerself feel good by thinking you're saving 'is sister. None of us will." This last he said to the other two, an unspoken threat threading through his tone.

Neither Bowker nor Fife disagreed with him. They shuffled their feet and kept their gazes firmly on the table.

I was trying to think what to say next to convince them to help me when Jacob appeared. For once I didn't gasp or squeal in alarm. I was growing used to his sudden appearances.

"You need to leave," he said, pacing. "Now."

I hurriedly thanked the boys and left. Out in the corridor, I could clearly hear Mrs. White's voice. It came from around the corner and she was coming our way.

"In here," Jacob said. He indicated a closed door. "It's a storage room."

I slipped inside, alone, then closed the door. I dared not feel around me in the darkness in case I knocked over a broom so I stood still and waited. The stink of old dampness was stronger than out in the corridor and the underlying scent of shoe polish, tallow and other smells teased my nostrils. I heard the voices of Mrs. White and George in conversation as they passed and wondered if they would enter the room I'd just vacated. Hopefully none of the boys would tell her I'd been there.

The door opened and Jacob drew me out by the hand. His cool fingers soothed my hot skin. "You have to get back to the front room before you're discovered."

"But I haven't learned anything useful yet," I whispered.

"Then we'll just have to think of another way." He glanced up the corridor. "But not now." He put a hand to my back and gently pushed me forward.

"What's the hurry?"

"There are no other classrooms after that one. Mrs. White and George will be returning to collect you soon."

I sighed. "Very well, I suppose—."

A door on my right suddenly opened and a man of giant proportions, with a beard and moustache of equally monstrous size, filled the doorway. He stopped when he saw me, and his two pale, yellow-green eyes narrowed.

"It's Blunt," Jacob said. He drew himself up to his full height and although he wasn't as tall as the schoolmaster, he looked just as impressive and rather more dangerous thanks to an expression that could have been hewn from rock.

"Who are you?" Blunt bellowed. "And what are you doing here?" It was difficult to tell if he was speaking in such a formidable tone simply to terrify me or if that was his normal volume. If it was indeed to scare me, it worked.

"Don't let him see your fear," Jacob said. He stood so close to me our arms brushed. The small contact bolstered my confidence. He was right. I had nothing to fear. I was not one of Blunt's pupils. "I won't let him hurt you."

I do so like having my own ghost for protection. I wasn't sure what Jacob would use as a weapon—he couldn't use his fists on someone who couldn't see him—but I didn't care. His presence alone was enough for me.

I lifted my head and met Blunt's gaze. Jacob shot a small smile my way. "That's it," he said.

"I was looking for Mrs. White and my friend George Culvert," I said to Blunt. "I believe they came this way. I've got a headache you see, so I waited in the drawing room while they looked for a suitable new maid." I pressed my fingers to my temples and feigned discomfort. Blunt's expression didn't change so I couldn't be sure if he believed my little act or not. "Unfortunately I don't feel any better so I was looking for George to ask him to take me home."

Blunt's moustache twitched and two wet lips appeared through all that hair. I think he was smiling at me. Or not. It was hard to tell. "Who were you talking to just now?" He looked over my head down the corridor. "There's no one here."

He'd heard me!

"Tell him your name," Jacob said, "and let him make his own conclusions." He chuckled darkly.

"Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself," I said sweetly. "My name is Emily Chambers and I—."

"Chambers!" Blunt's eyes widened. "The spirit medium?" His gaze quickly flicked past me again, side to side, over his shoulder then back to me once more before going through the routine again.

Perhaps my reputation wasn't such a bad thing after all. I tried to keep my satisfied smile to myself. "The very one," I said.

He shuffled closer then bent almost double to speak to me at my level. He reeked of cigar smoke. "A ghost haunted me last night. You weren't, ahem, talking to it just now by any chance?"

I dropped my voice to match his. "I can't discuss that with you. Professional reasons, you understand."

Jacob tipped his head back and laughed. It was very difficult not to laugh along with him.

"Ah." Blunt nodded and straightened. "Yes, of course, you and your sister have to make a living. No one knows about the necessity of a good business ethic more than me." He puffed out his barrel-sized chest, which pushed out his waistcoat and tightened the pocket watch chain. I kept one eye on it in case it snapped and I had to quickly get out of the way of any flying links. "I called on you both this morning but you were out," he said. "Perhaps you could have your sister contact me to schedule an appointment. I am in great need of your services."

"Of course."

"Tell her it's urgent."

"She's always prompt."

"Good, good. Now to that headache of yours. Can I have someone bring you a draft?"

"No thank you, I'll be fine once I get some rest."

"Tell him you're here because Maree Finch left Culvert's employment after stealing a book and you need another servant," Jacob said. "Mention what the book was about too. I want to see his reaction."

I did and watched Blunt's face. All that facial hair made it nearly impossible to gauge his thoughts but his eyes gave away his sharp interest.

"I see," he said, thoughtful. "Demonology you say. An unusual topic."

"Mr. Culvert and I suspect Maree stole the book for someone else," I said. "Her brother perhaps."

The ragged ends of his beard twitched as his lips pursed. "You ask a lot of questions for a girl."

I wasn't sure if that was a slight on my age or my sex or both. Either way, it rankled. "Professional curiosity," I said.

His eyes widened. "You think Tommy Finch has something to do with the haunting here?"

I put my finger to my lips. "Lower your voice please, Mr. Blunt. We wouldn't want to alert the spirit to our suspicions."

"You're very good at this," Jacob said. "Have you considered performing on the stage?"

It really was difficult to ignore him when he was in such a good mood. Actually, it was difficult to ignore him at any time. He was simply so... obvious. "I need to consider all possibilities," I said to Blunt, "particularly where a book on demonology is concerned."

"Yes, of course." The schoolmaster clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. He appeared to be thinking hard, deciding whether to say something or not. Finally he spoke. "So you think the stolen book has something to do with the haunting?"

"Perhaps. It is a remarkable coincidence. The book goes missing then Maree goes missing and a disgruntled spirit pays you a visit."

"You are wicked for letting him think there's a link," Jacob said with a grin. "I like it."

"So tell me about Tommy Finch," I said. "Has he returned to the school since his departure?"

"Absolutely not." Blunt's beard shook with the vigor of his denial. "We don't allow pupils who've left us to return. Not ones like Tommy Finch. He's no good. A bad seed. I hope his sister hasn't joined him in his illicit pursuits. She was a good girl, reliable and quiet. I like the quiet ones."

Jacob bared his teeth in a snarl, all hint of humanity gone.

"Let's hope she's safe somewhere," I said quickly, keeping one eye on Jacob. I didn't think he would hurt Blunt but I couldn't be certain about anything where Jacob was concerned. He was proving to be unpredictable.

"This demonology book," Blunt went on. He stroked his beard and paused for several beats. Eventually he sighed and shook his head. "I'd better tell you. It might be important."

"Yes?" I prompted when he hesitated again. He had my full attention, and Jacob's too. My ghost had finally stopped glaring daggers at the schoolmaster.

"A gentleman from the school's board mentioned demons to me quite recently."

"How does one casually slip demonology into a conversation?" Jacob said.

"In what context?" I asked Blunt.

Blunt waved a hand, dismissive. "We were simply discussing our private interests, away from work you understand, and he said he belongs to the Society for Supernatural Activity and has a particular interest in demons." The organization's name sounded familiar. "Indeed, he mentioned your friend Culvert as also being a member with the same interest."

Of course! George belonged to the same society. So this board member probably knew about George's extensive library on the subject. The coincidence was too close for my liking. "When were you talking to him?" I asked. "Could Maree have possibly overheard the conversation?" Or was there some other tie-in with her brother? Or were neither of them involved at all?

More beard-stroking from Blunt. "I can't recall. It was some weeks ago I think. Whether she heard or not... " He shrugged mountainous shoulders.

"What's his name?"

"Leviticus Price. He's a generous benefactor to the school and takes an active interest in our operations. He has some excellent suggestions for improvement, which I naturally try to instigate where possible. Perhaps your friend Culvert can ask him the questions you just asked me when next he sees him at a Society meeting. I'm sorry I can't help you further."

"I bet he is," Jacob muttered.

Mrs. White and George joined us then. Both looked concerned to see me but probably for different reasons.

"Emily?" George came to my side and gently took my elbow. "You must have been looking for me." I think he said that for everyone's benefit, or perhaps to guide me into an answer. Little did he know I'd already successfully navigated my way through a series of lies.

"Has your headache gone?" Mrs. White asked, her gentle eyes searching my face.

"It's worse," I said, pressing my fingers to my temples. "I was looking for George to ask him to take me home but I encountered Mr. Blunt."

George gently rubbed his thumb on my sleeve. The motion was soothing, his smile even more so. "I'll take you home now."

Jacob folded his arms over his chest. "He does know the headache isn't real, doesn't he?"

I allowed George to lead me down the corridor behind Mrs. White. Blunt didn't join us. Jacob, oddly, disappeared. I thought he'd walk with us but apparently he had better things to do. I tried not to let my disappointment show. I had wanted him to walk me home, not George.

Outside, swollen gray clouds plunged the street into further shadowy darkness. Women pulled in washing strung up between buildings and one or two men carried umbrellas, although most didn't. It wasn't the sort of area where the people could afford them. I wished I'd brought mine with me or George had. As it was, we'd likely be drenched before we reached my house.

"Stay close to me," George said. He still held my elbow but his touch had gone from soothing to hard, his thumb digging into my flesh. "And hold on tight to your reticule. We don't want to tempt any thieves."

I did as he suggested and kept my wits about me as I told him all I'd learned from Blunt. He seemed surprised at the mention of Leviticus Price.

"I don't know him well," he hedged, "but... are you sure it was him Blunt mentioned?"

"Leviticus Price is not the sort of name to mishear. Why?"

"It's just that he's—how can I put this?—not someone I thought would take an interest in a school for the poor." He shook his head. "Perhaps I'm doing him an injustice and there's another side to him than what I've seen at Society meetings."

"Blunt did say Price is generous with his advice."

"Well Price does like to give advice away in droves and he's not short of it either."

A small boy scampered past me, very close, but George pulled me aside before we could collide.

"Pickpocket," he mumbled.

"We don't know that for sure."

"It's a common ploy used by children of crime."

"What ploy?"

"Bump into their target and in the ensuing confusion, delve into their pockets. But you're safe, he didn't touch you."

"Who didn't touch you?" Jacob asked, popping up beside me and quickly falling into step with us.

"Hello, Jacob," I said for George's benefit. "No one bumped me."

"Then why's he holding you?"

George wasn't holding me, just my elbow but I didn't think Jacob would appreciate the difference. He seemed annoyed at poor George for some reason.

George was oblivious of course. "Good afternoon, Beaufort," he said, deepening his voice in that self-conscious way that some men do when speaking to other men. "Were you with Emily in there?"

"He was," I said, extricating my elbow from his grip.

His lips formed a pout. "Oh. Right." He cleared his throat. "Good show with Blunt in there, both of you. He didn't suspect a thing."

We turned into a busier street that was no less grubby but far more crowded. There were more ragged children playing in the gutters, more washing hanging over our heads and more hawkers selling goods from carts or baskets. A man dressed in a tall hat and a jacket too large for his slight frame tried to interest George in a meat pudding from his cart but George waved him away without addressing him.

"Where did you go?" I asked Jacob. "Did you stay to listen to Mrs. White and Blunt?"

"I did but they returned to their respective offices without speaking to one another." Considering this disappointment he looked rather pleased about something. "So I paid those three boys a visit. They were quite talkative."

I repeated the conversation so far for George's sake. "Go on," I said to Jacob when I'd finished. "What did the boys say?"

"They were arguing among themselves about whether you were searching for Maree because you were genuinely concerned for her welfare as you claimed, or to have her arrested."

"Arrested! For stealing a book? Goodness, who would do something like that to the poor girl?"

George's step faltered and he almost tripped over his own feet. He pushed his glasses up his nose and gave me a quick, unconvincing smile. "Who would indeed?"

Jacob grunted. "Anyway, opinion was divided with only one of them on your side, the one called Fife. He wanted to know why the boy named Harry didn't tell you about Tommy Finch's last visit to the school only three nights ago."

"Three nights!" I stopped. George halted alongside me and waited patiently while I spoke to Jacob.

"Yes," Jacob said. "After Maree stole the book."

I told George what Jacob had said. "Did he say who Tommy saw on his visit?" I asked. "Another pupil? A teacher?" Or Mrs. White or Blunt themselves?

"No but I got the feeling Finch returned to the school regularly and these three boys all knew it."

"I wonder what he wants now that his sister no longer attends," George said.

We were contemplating that when a girl of no more than ten or eleven carrying a basket full of violets came from seemingly nowhere. She was dressed in clothes that looked to be older than her if their dirty, patched-up state was any indication. Her head and hands were bare and she shivered as a breeze whipped around us. "Please, sir," she said to George, "buy my flowers, sir. Buy some lovely violets for the pretty lady." She pulled out a bunch of the purple flowers and tried to shove them into George's hand.

"Go away," he said, batting them aside. "We're not interested." He clicked his tongue and put his hand at my back to steer me around the girl.

She sniffed and wiped her nose on the shoulder of her dress but her long brown hair got in the way and she wiped it on the stringy strands instead. She didn't seem to notice as she blocked our path and thrust the flowers at me. "Please buy a poor girl's flowers, sweet lady." She sniffed again and her big brown eyes blinked up at me. "Buy some pretty violets for your dressing table, miss."

"She's not interested, child," George snapped. "Be off!" He tried to move around her, taking me with him, but I stopped him.

"I'll buy a bunch," I said, opening my reticule. "How much?"

"Emily, you shouldn't encourage her," George said. "If you buy things you don't need from these children their parents will only see it as a sign and send them out more. It's an endless circle."

"I ain't got no parents," the girl said, turning her owlish eyes on George.

He frowned down at her, his face not softening in the slightest. "Nevertheless—."

"I'll buy another bunch for my sister," I said. "How much did you say they were?"

The girl's face lit up, her eyes growing so wide they took up half her face. "A ha'penny each, kind lady." She gave me the two bunches and I gave her the money. It wasn't much and we weren't so poor that we couldn't afford the price. Nevertheless Celia probably wouldn't approve of the unnecessary expense. Hopefully she wouldn't notice my purse was a little lighter than when I'd set out.

The flower girl bobbed me a curtsy, turned her nose up at George and went on her way.

"I'd have bought them for you," Jacob said, walking beside me. "If I had any money."

The thought of a ghost handing money over to the girl was so ludicrous I laughed out loud. But Jacob apparently didn't get the joke. His face hardened then he blinked and looked away. Was he embarrassed? Had I offended him?

Oh dear. I was about to apologize when George, who I thought had been sulking, spoke. "Sorry you were forced into that," he said. "I would have got rid of her if you'd only allowed me."
"George," I said, putting as much sternness into his name as I could, "if I want to get rid of someone I will do it on my own. She was just a child and her flowers weren't expensive. I wanted to buy them."

He sighed. "You're too kind for your own good, Emily. I suppose that's part of your charm."

"Charm?" I almost burst out laughing again but I'd already offended one man so instead I said, "Thank you."

He smiled at me. "I'll walk you home."

"No," Jacob growled, "I will."

"You both can," I said and I think George understood Jacob had offered too if his "Oh" was anything to go by.

"No," Jacob said. "I want to speak to you alone."

"But he can't hear you."

"It doesn't matter. You're—." He stopped talking and walking and heaved a heavy sigh. I stopped too and George had no choice but to wait. "I just want to be alone with you," Jacob said. "To talk," he added. "It's easier without him hovering at your elbow hoping you'll trip over so he can catch you."

I was about to tell him he'd summed up the situation between George and I incorrectly but I didn't want George to hear me. I wasn't so certain Jacob had got it wrong anyway.

"Do you mind if Jacob accompanies me from here?" I asked George. "We're out of the worst streets and I have some private matters to discuss with him."

George's lips twitched and pursed and twitched some more before he finally gave in with a deep sigh. "Very well. If you must." He looked up and down the street, which was wider and filled with fewer shadowy corners and characters than the streets we'd just left behind, although it wasn't any cleaner. London's soot covered these sturdier buildings just as thickly as it did elsewhere. George's gaze finally settled back on mine. "Be careful. And hurry home before it rains. All right, Beaufort?"

Jacob grunted. "This farewell has gone on long enough." He strode off, no doubt expecting me to follow.

"We'll be in touch soon," I assured George. Jacob stopped and waited for me, arms crossed in a picture of impatience. "In the mean time, perhaps if you could speak to Leviticus Price."

He nodded and doffed his hat. "Of course, Emily. Good day, Beaufort." He watched me go and I was relieved to turn the corner with Jacob and be out of George's sight. I wasn't sure why but having him watch me like that, with such interest, made me feel awkward. On the other hand, having Jacob watch me like that made me feel special but only in a good way.

Unfortunately he wasn't looking at me at all. He was staring straight ahead. Several people walked through him but he didn't seem to care.

"What did you want to ask me?" I whispered trying not to move my mouth and draw attention to myself. It wasn't easy.

"Nothing," he said. "I just wanted to get rid of Culvert. I don't like him."

"Why not?"

His entire answer consisted of a shrug. "What private matters did you want to talk to me about?"

We had to cross the road and I waited for a break in the traffic. Jacob wandered out into the middle of the busy street and a carriage pulled by two horses rolled right through him. No, not through him. He could touch them because they were objects, just like he could touch the picture frame or the mantelpiece. He must be vanishing just as they reach him then reappearing after they'd passed.

It took me longer to safely navigate the traffic and horse dung but I managed it without incident and joined him on the other side in front of a row of shops.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Last night you did something for me," I said. "So now I want to do something for you in return."

He frowned. "Last night? You mean meeting your aunt's ghost? I don't think you should thank me for that. She was a witch. I'm sorry I mentioned her at all."

"No, not for that." I spoke quietly but not just because I didn't want to be overheard. The tears in my throat kept me from speaking any louder. "I wanted to thank you for... for telling her you think I'm pretty. It was very... noble of you."

Before my heart could hammer another beat, he'd pulled me into a dead-end alley. It was empty except for a few crates pushed up against the brick wall of the neighboring chop house and some rotting vegetables piled in a corner. "It had nothing to do with nobility, Emily," he whispered. He bent his head so that we were nose to nose, barely a breath separating us. His eyes burned into mine, their smoldering heat seeping through me, warming me from the inside out.

"Then what was it if not to show me you're still a gentleman?" I had the heavy feeling that his answer would bring us closer to something important, something so big that I knew we could never go back. Never undo it.

Nor would it be something I wanted to undo.

Chapter Nine

Jacob didn't say anything. He simply touched my cheek with his fingertips. It was the lightest, gentlest of touches as if he was afraid anything more would shatter me.

I was afraid of that too—of the emotions swelling inside me, filling me to overflowing, my body almost unable to contain them.

"My conduct around you has nothing to with nobility, Emily. Nothing to do with once having been a gentleman." Then, as if he liked saying my name, he repeated it in a murmur. "Emily." His lips came closer, closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

My nerve endings sizzled at the intensity in his gaze, the feel of his cool fingers on my skin and the sheer masculine presence of him towering over me. "Then what is it about?" I managed to whisper past the lump lodged in my throat.

His thumb traced the line of my jaw, across my chin and down my neck. I thought perhaps he hadn't heard me over the pounding of my heart but then he said, "I don't know." He watched, absorbed, as a trail of goosebumps formed in the wake of his fingers. "I've never felt so drawn to someone before. Not like this. But I can assure you there's nothing honorable about what I feel."

"Then what... ?"

"It's primal. Basic." His mouth curved into a crooked, devilish smile that had me gasping for air. "Savage."

As if the word had flipped a switch inside him, he reeled back and dropped his hands to his sides. His eyes shuttered closed and he breathed deep and hard as if trying to regain his composure.

Savage. The word hung above us like a guillotine, ready to fall at any moment.

"I'm sorry." He opened his eyes and stared at the hand that had touched me, a look of utter horror distorting his handsome features. "I don't know what's happening to me," he whispered.

I didn't know what to say to that so I clasped both bunches of violets in one hand and gently took his hand with my other. I placed the palm against my lips and kissed it.

Slowly, like unpeeling layers, his face relaxed and returned to the perfect proportions I admired. "Talk to me," I said. "Tell me what's wrong."

He shook his head.

"Jacob, if you are to be my spirit guide for the next little while then I need to know what's troubling you. I might be able to help."

"You can't help." He pulled his hand away. "You're the problem."

My heart missed a beat. He hadn't said I was part of the problem but I was the problem. "Do I... scare you in some way?" I tried to wade through all the possibilities of what he might mean but I could only come up with one. "My unnatural ability to see ghosts can be disconcerting—."

"No. It's not that." He laughed ruefully. "You don't scare me in the least. It's—." He shook his head and started again. "It feels like I'm losing my humanity. Every day I'm with you, every hour, every minute, gets harder and harder to—." He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes.

I waited but he didn't continue. I didn't know whether I should prompt him or if that would only anger him, or upset him. I reached out and caressed his cheek instead. The hard, chiseled line of it gave his face a regal quality, commanding and majestic. Fascinating. The skin was soft, cool, and I sighed, enthralled.

With a matching sigh he opened his eyes. And stepped away. "You shouldn't do that," he said but there was no anger in his voice, or alarm. "We must go."

"But I haven't told you what I wanted to say," I said. He waited, feet apart as if steadying himself on a rocking ship. "I wanted to do something for you in exchange for the service you rendered me."

"I told you, getting your aunt to come was a mistake. You owe me nothing."

The best response to that was to ignore it and move on. "I want to speak to your parents."

"No."

"I want to reassure them—."

"No, Emily." He paced from one side of the narrow alley to the other, hands on hips, head bowed. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why?"

"Because it's not."

"Why not?"

"Emily, just leave it be. I don't want to discuss this with you."

He stalked off. I remained in the shadows and waited for him to realize I wasn't following. When he did, he came back, his temper seething if the tightness of his face was anything to go by.

"Don't make me hoist you over my shoulder," he said. He wasn't laughing. Not even close.

"I'm going to see your parents this afternoon," I said. "Unless you can give me a good reason not to."

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck, kneading it as if it ached. "Very well. You've forced my hand. My concern is that they won't believe you." He said it defiantly and I waited for the "so there" but it never came.

"Few people ever believe me at first," I said.

He shook his head and I waited for further explanation. I had the feeling there was more to it than he was letting on. "My father dabbles in the sciences—biology and psychology mostly. It's a hobby of his. He belongs to various scientific societies and regularly writes papers debunking the supernatural. He thinks all mediums are frauds, and that's putting it kindly."

"Most are."

"It won't matter how much evidence you present him with, he'll find a way to discredit you."

I shrugged. "I'm used to skeptics. Is that your only concern?"

He shook his head again and sighed. "You won't find an ally in my mother either. I'm afraid she won't want to believe you."

It took me a few moments to understand what he was saying. "You mean she still hopes you'll be found somewhere, alive?"

He nodded. "I visited them shortly after my death. The Administrators warned me against it and I should have listened to them. They said it can be traumatic for a spirit to know how their loved ones reacted to their death. They were right." He leaned against the brick wall of the chop house and tipped his head back. "It was awful. Mother was adamant that I must be somewhere, lost or kidnapped with no way of getting home. Father either believed it too or simply went along with her because it was easier. They've spent a fortune since my death on investigators who claim they can find anything and anyone. None have even turned up my body let alone any answers to explain my fate."

His shoulders stooped and he sagged against the wall. He was clearly distressed about his parents, despite the matter-of-fact way he spoke.

It made me more determined to see them than ever. "That was some time ago," I said. "Perhaps they've changed since then. Perhaps your mother is ready to move on, if only she knew the truth."

"I doubt it." He pushed off from the wall and leveled his gaze with mine. "So you see that she'll be as skeptical as my father. She'll simply refuse to believe you."

"I can still try. You could feed me some information that only you and they could possibly know."

"They'll think I told someone at school or—"

"Jacob!" I balled my fist. I wanted to punch him in the shoulder to knock some sense into him. "I'm going to try regardless of what you say."

His jaw clenched, causing the muscle high in his cheek to throb. "Emily, listen to me." He caught my shoulders and lowered his head to look directly at me. If he was trying to mesmerize me, it was working—I couldn't look away, couldn't move. I wanted to fall into the deep blue depths of his eyes and wallow in there forever. "They'll be resentful of you trying to convince them I'm dead, and... and I don't want to subject you to that. Do you understand?"

"I understand." It came out breathy. Could it really be that he was worried about me? "I'm going anyway."

"Emily!" He let go, pushing me a little as he did so that I rocked back. He strode towards the street but stopped before he exited the alley. "You're so stubborn," he said.

"If your only concern is that I won't be believed then it's not enough to stop me going." I joined him and we walked along the street together, neither speaking. We were almost at Druids Way when the rain came.

Jacob took my free hand—the other still held the bunches of violets—and drew me into the sheltered doorway of a coffee shop. Everyone on the street either scattered to seek cover or continued on their way, heads down, umbrellas up. It provided a certain amount of anonymity for us. Except for the handful of patrons visible through the coffee shop's bay window, we were alone—and they couldn't hear me.

"Wait inside," he said. "I'll find you an umbrella."

"And do what?" I tried not to laugh to draw attention to myself. "Bring it back here? A floating umbrella might cause considerable panic."

He sighed and peered up at they endless gray sky. "It won't ease for some time, I think. How about I return to your house and write a note for your sister asking her to bring you an umbrella at this location." He peered inside the shop window. "There's a spare table near the fire for you to wait."

I smiled at him. "You're very kind." It felt nice to be fussed over by such a handsome, masculine gentleman. I wondered if he'd fussed over any girls like this when he was alive or if it was a trait he'd picked up after his death. For me.

He frowned. "I'm only thinking of your comfort."

The pressing, desperate desire to kiss him again swelled within me. "Come on, let's run home." With the hand that held the flowers, I clamped onto my hat to hold it in place, picked up my skirts with the other hand and ran into the rain.

Jacob joined me. I'd not thought that he could get wet, but he was as soaked as me within seconds. It made sense, I suppose. If he could move objects and touch things, why wouldn't he be able to touch the raindrops too?

His pace slowed and instead of running he began to skip and turn around, his arms outstretched. He tilted his face to the sky and closed his eyes and opened his mouth. I watched him, fascinated by his response to the rain pouring over him, not caring that I too was getting drenched.

Then he laughed. He opened his eyes again and caught me round the waist, spinning me around in his arms, catching me easily as I lost my balance. And all the while he laughed and laughed. It was magical and I laughed along with him, not caring that a passerby eyed me warily from beneath his umbrella.

"You're soaked," Jacob said, touching the curls at my temple.

"So are you." My gaze strayed to his chest. The wet shirt, almost transparent thanks to the rain, clung to the contours of his lean muscles. My mouth dried, my tongue felt thick and useless. I ached to touch his broad shoulders and the ripple of muscles across his stomach and chest. My fingers twitched at my side. I licked my lips...

"Even your eyelashes are wet," he said in a faraway voice.

I looked up. He was staring at me with that curious intensity that made my insides do odd flips. I smiled at him tentatively.

He smiled back then laughed again, his attention no longer on my face but in the direction we were heading. "I'm sorry," he said. "But we're thoroughly wet now. Do you still want to run?"

"Walking is fine," I said.

He was still smiling when we reached Druids Way. Occasionally he glanced up at the sky but never at me again.

"You like the rain?" I asked.

His smile widened. "I'd forgotten what it was like. It's good to feel it on my skin after all this time."

"Is it cold?"

"No. I don't feel heat or cold. But it does feel wet. And fantastic!" he shouted. He spun around again, finishing the twirl with a flourish by kicking a puddle.

I giggled all the way to my house. We climbed the steps to the front door and huddled beneath the porch. Not that staying dry mattered anymore. I opened my reticule but didn't search for my key. Jacob would leave as soon as I was inside and I wanted this moment to last just a little longer.

"Will your sister be mad at you for being out in this weather?" he asked.

"Probably. But she's my sister, not my mother and she can scold me all she likes, I don't care."

He smiled but it was wistful, perhaps even sad. "She cares about your health, Emily. As I should have done. Go inside and warm yourself by the fire before you catch your—." His lips clamped together as if he were stopping the next word from falling out: death.

I blinked up at him. "Jacob? Are you all right?"

He shook his head. "Your eyelashes," he murmured.

"What about them?"

"They look even longer when they're wet." He backed up to the steps. "Go inside, Emily." He turned to leave.

"Jacob. Wait. I still plan on visiting your parents this afternoon. Come back at two and we can go together. Or I can meet you there if you prefer." I preferred to walk with him. I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could, even if we spent it in awkward silence—a distinct possibility considering he was not meeting my gaze again.

"Don't you have a séance to conduct?"

"Not today."

He stood with one foot on the highest step, the other one step down, dripping wet. He was utterly, thoroughly, breathtakingly handsome.

"I won't come with you," he said. "If that's all right."

"Of course." My heart sank at the notion of going to visit his parents without him but I wouldn't beg him to join me. It would be a very difficult situation for him and it was unfair of me to press him.

"I'll come back at two and tell you some things that will help make them believe you, but... " He shook his head and droplets sprayed off his black hair.

"It won't be enough?" I ventured.

"Probably not."

He disappeared and I stood there a moment, hoping he would reappear but not really expecting him to. Then with a sigh, I retrieved my key from my reticule and opened the door.

***

Jacob had been right. Celia was mad at me. Not even the violets softened her. After she scolded me for being "wet through to the bone" she made me change into dry clothes then sat me down in front of the fireplace while she heaped more coal onto it. Lucy brought in a bowl of steaming soup and I sipped while my bones thawed and my hair dried.

To distract Celia, I asked her about her visit to the Wiggams' house. "Is Mr. Wiggam still there or has he left his wife in peace?"

"He's still there," she said, dusting off her hands. "And still haunting her."

"In what way?"

"He throws objects around the room sometimes, particularly when she has guests, and hides things so she can't find them. Important things like money or her corsets."

"Corsets! That is cruel." But rather ingenious. I couldn't imagine a large woman like Mrs. Wiggam wanting to go out without wearing a corset.

"And he likes to keep her awake at night by knocking on the wall or thumping the floor."

"Oh dear. I probably should try and talk to him again."

"I think that would be a good idea, Em." She lifted a strand of my hair and sighed. I couldn't blame her for her disappointment. It would take some time to remove all the tangles and fix it into a half-decent style. "What were you thinking walking around in the rain like that?"

"I had to get home somehow."

She dropped my hair. "You could have hired a carriage."

"We were only around the corner."

"We?"

"Jacob and I. He escorted me home."

She grunted. "A ghost is not a suitable escort."

I sipped soup off my spoon and said nothing.

"So how was your visit with Mr. Culvert?" she asked.

"Good. We went to the Domestic Service school in Clerkenwell."

"Oh? Lucy said Mr. Blunt came here while we were both out this morning. Did you see him?"

"I did. He wants you to schedule a séance. He's being haunted." It was perhaps best not to tell her that Jacob was the culprit. Somehow I didn't think she'd see the funny side to it. My sister prided herself on her morals and taking money for a séance where the ghost was a friend of mine probably bordered on unethical in her book.

"I'll pay him a call tomorrow, or this afternoon if the weather clears," she said.

"Keep your eyes and ears open for any suspicious characters." At her raised eyebrows, I explained what had happened at the school and everything Jacob had learned afterwards from the boys. She sat on the sofa and listened without interrupting me.

"Oh dear," she muttered when I finished. "Do you think Mr. Blunt knew about the Finch boy's visits?"

"It's hard to say."

Lucy entered with a cup of tea for Celia. "Wait a moment please, Lucy," Celia said, taking the cup and saucer.

Lucy's gaze flicked between Celia and me before finally settling on my sister. "Yes, Miss Chambers? Is everything all right? I've not done wrong, 'ave I?" Her forehead creased and she looked like she might burst into tears. "I've been trying so 'ard to do everything right, I 'ave. I'm so sorry if I ain't done it the way you like but there's so much to remember and—."

"Calm yourself, Lucy." Celia smiled serenely. "You've done a superb job so far. We're lucky to have found you, aren't we, Emily?"

"Oh, yes! Very lucky." I smiled too. Lucy seemed to relax a little.

"We want to ask you a question about the North London School for Domestic Service."

Lucy brightened. "Really? That's all? Oh I can answer anything you want to know then."

"I went there today," I said. "I met Mrs. White and Mr. Blunt."

"She's such a kind lady is Mrs. White, ain't she. So nice to us girls, she was." The omission of Blunt from her praise wasn't lost on me.

"Yesterday you said Tommy Finch visited his sister when she was still a pupil at the school. You said no one told Mrs. White about it, but I wondered if it's possible another adult there knew of his presence."

Lucy shrugged. "Could've."

"Might Mr. Blunt have known?"

She shrugged again. "Don't know. Maybe."

"But someone must have let him in to the building."

"He's a thief. Don't matter 'ow many locks on the door, they won't stop Tommy Finch. He's the best thief in London." It didn't sound like a boast, just a simple statement of fact.

"Thank you, Lucy," Celia said. "That was very helpful." We watched as the maid bobbed a curtsy then left. "That wasn't helpful at all," my sister said when she'd gone. "So now what do we do?"

I shrugged. "George is going to speak to Leviticus Price. In the mean time, I have business of my own to conduct with Jacob's family. I'm going to tell them he's dead."

My sister's head snapped up. "Is that wise?"

I shrugged one shoulder. "I'm going to do it anyway. They need to move forward and they can't do that until they know he's truly gone."

She nodded. "I understand. It's very kind of you to offer. Will you go in the morning? We have a séance in the afternoon."

"I'm going today."

Her teacup came down on the saucer with such a loud clank I wouldn't be surprised if she chipped it. "You'll do no such thing! You need to stay home and keep warm and dry." She emphasized the last word with a pointed glare.

"Celia, I'm going today and that's final. I may not get time tomorrow, depending on what tonight brings." I shuddered at the thought of the shape-shifting demon claiming another victim.

"See!" She poked her finger at me. "You're shivering. You cannot go out so soon after that soaking. It's unhealthy."

"I'll take an umbrella."

"That is not the point."

"No. You're right." I stood and tossed my hair over my shoulder. It was almost dry. "I am going and that's final."

She stood too. "You'll do as I say, Emily. You are not going out again today."

"Celia," I said on a sigh, "you know I will so let's not argue about it. Red is really not a becoming color on your face."

"Emily!" She stomped her foot. My sister! Stomped her foot! I don't think she's ever done anything so childish in her life. "I am trying to do what's best for you."

"But you're not!" How could she not see that helping Jacob was what was best for me? "You're being selfish and, and... interfering!"

"I am—."

"You are not my mother and I will not do as you say." I was so angry my voice shook.

She thrust her hands on her hips. "You're being unreasonable, Emily."

"You're the one who's being unreasonable. I am as healthy as I've ever been and going out this afternoon will not change that." I stormed towards the door and jerked it open. "I'm going to my room and I don't wish to be disturbed."

I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and locked the door then leaned back against it. I breathed deeply to regain my composure but it didn't help. My veins pumped with my rushing blood and my heart pounded. I couldn't remember the last time I'd argued with Celia on such a scale. Our disagreements were usually petty affairs—who was going to wear the crimson bonnet or whether the grocer's son would be completely bald by the age of twenty-five (I said yes, she thought not). We rarely needed to raise our voices.

I checked my small pocket watch that I'd left on the dressing table after changing clothes. It was half past one. Only half an hour until Jacob arrived. Fortunately I hadn't told Celia about his pending visit. This way I could speak to him alone, in peace, in my room.

Thirty minutes suddenly seemed like a long time.

Chapter Ten

"You look upset," Jacob said when he finally winked into existence. "Is it my fault?"

"No," I said from the chair beside the fireplace where I'd read the same page of my book five times. I still had no idea what it was about. I'd sat there after fixing my hair, a task which had taken considerable time as I hadn't requested Lucy's help. I didn't want to place her in the awkward position of aiding me in my escape. "Why would it be your fault?"

"It never hurts to check." He sat on the foot of my bed and stretched out his long legs, crossing his ankles. He looked so perfect, so handsome and real with his too-blue eyes regarding me closely. His hair and clothes were dry and I wondered how long it took for that to happen in the Waiting Area. Perhaps it was instant. "So what's wrong?" he asked.

"I had a disagreement with my sister." I waved my hand. "Nothing of consequence."

His eyes narrowed and I thought he'd detected my lie but he let it go with a nod. "So you didn't catch a chill?"

I rolled my eyes. "It would seem not."

"Good. Good."

"It was fun, wasn't it?" I said. "Dancing in the rain."

He breathed deeply and squeezed his eyes shut. "It was irresponsible. You should have waited in the coffee house."

"You're beginning to sound like Celia. It was simply a little rain—."

His eyes flew open and I stilled at the flare of anger I saw in them. "There are many spirits in the Waiting Area who are there because of a little rain."

I bristled and formed a defense in my head but bit my tongue before I could let it free. Nothing I could say would sound appropriate after his outburst because he was right. Sometimes people died from a chill. Usually the old or very young or the weak, but not always. So I blew out a calming breath and thanked him instead.

"What for?" He looked surprised, as if my failure to argue with him had caught him off guard. Almost as if he'd wanted me to disagree.

"Well," I began but stopped. I stood and set my book down on the writing desk then sat beside him on the bed. He lowered his gaze to our hands, inches apart on the bedcover.

And then something happened. His fingers moved ever so slightly towards mine. My breath caught in my chest and I watched, waiting for his fingers to move again, but they did not. Nevertheless, they had moved. Jacob was still looking down at them.

Silence enveloped us but it didn't feel awkward or heavy. More... charged, thick with unspoken words and a thousand jumbled emotions.

All of a sudden I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel his skin against mine, explore the bruises of his knuckles, the smoothness of his fingernails. I inched my fingers closer and his moved too, towards mine, as if we were two magnets drawn to each other. Finally we touched, just our pinkies, but it felt like a spark jolted through me on contact.

"Emily," he whispered. My name had never sounded so good, like the hush of a gentle breeze across a grassy meadow. "Tell me what you'd been about to say." His voice was buttery soft.

"What?"

"Why are you thanking me?"

"Oh. For caring about my health of course."

His fingers recoiled and curled into a fist as if I'd slapped them away. I felt the abrupt loss of his touch so keenly it hurt. "Don't," he said, desolate.

"Don't what?"

He stood and dragged a hand through his hair and took one step towards the fireplace, backtracked, then changed his mind again and stalked across the room. He picked up the coal scuttle and poured more coal onto the dwindling fire. "Let's discuss what you're going to say to convince my parents I'm dead." He set down the scuttle and, still crouching, watched the fire blaze to life. The dancing flames brightened his face and eyes but did nothing to brighten the dark mood that seemed to have descended upon him.

"Yes, er, very well." I tried to concentrate on the task at hand but it wasn't easy. My mind was still scrambled from when we'd touched and his rapid change of mood.

We spent the next little while going through some events from his childhood that only he and his parents could have known. I'd hoped to use our time together to learn more about him but he recounted the memories with little emotion and no invitation to discuss them in detail. He simply imparted the facts and ended the conversation abruptly.

"Whatever my parents say, don't take it to heart," he said on finishing. He stood by the fireplace, one elbow on the mantelpiece, having not sat down the entire time. I'd remained seated on the bed.

"What could they say that would have an affect on me?"

He studied the fire. "Just promise me you won't."

It seemed like an odd thing to warn me about but I shrugged instead of pressing him. "I promise."

"Good." He nodded and suddenly looked over at me. His gaze caught and held mine. "Take an umbrella with you this time." And then he was gone.

I sighed and stood. I picked up my heavy woolen shawl from the bottom drawer of the wardrobe and slung it around my shoulders. Hopefully the extra thick one would appease both my sister and my spirit. Not that I planned on telling Celia I was leaving.

Fortunately I didn't have to. I slipped downstairs, tiptoed past the drawing room, plucked an umbrella from the stand near the door and left without her noticing.

***

The drawing room of the Belgrave Square house belonging to Lord and Lady Preston was larger than one entire floor of my home. The value of the paintings, vases, sculptures and other artworks—all with a touch of gold—was probably higher than the whole contents of my house too. It was difficult to appear sophisticated and worldly in the presence of such wealth and exquisite taste, particularly as I was ensconced in an enormous armchair that seemed bent on swallowing me whole. I felt like a small child again.

Lady Preston sat with regal elegance on the sofa beside her daughter, her exact replica only younger. Both had hair the color of honey, coifed in an intricate style atop their heads, and both had eyes of the same vibrant blue as Jacob. Whereas his face was all masculine angles, theirs—while no less perfect—were softer and rounder as if the sculptor had lovingly polished instead of chipped. Against the gold tones of the room, they looked like royalty.

As if their fair beauty wasn't intimidating enough, their shrewd gazes studied every inch of me. Although I was wearing the green gown with the tight cuirass bodice again, it looked almost drab against their silks. Whereas Lady Preston's expression remained bland and unreadable, her daughter Adelaide's was more open and friendly. She even attempted a smile. I smiled back but it faded when Lady Preston's lips flattened in disapproval.

"You say you knew my son, Miss Chambers?" she prompted.

I had introduced myself to the butler who'd let me in only after I told him I needed to see Lord and Lady Preston about Jacob. Since the viscount was taking lunch at his club, the servant had shown me into the drawing room where I'd waited for Lady Preston to join me. She'd arrived within a minute, her daughter on her heels.

"Actually, that's not quite correct," I said. "You see... " I shifted in my seat but that only made me sink further into the massive armchair. All the bravado I'd felt when talking to Jacob about this meeting had vanished. Part of me wished I was curled up on the threadbare sofa at home reading a book in front of the fire. "You see, I know Jacob."

Lady Preston's face finally formed an expression. Shock. She clasped her long fingers in her lap and lifted her chin, revealing her slender white throat. She swallowed. "Know?" she whispered. The cool, bland woman changed before my eyes. Small, thin lines striped across her forehead and everything about her seemed to slacken, loosen, as if she'd had enough of holding herself together.

"Dear lord," Adelaide said on a gasp. She was about my age but seemed older. Perhaps it was because she was so tall and willowy or perhaps because she looked sophisticated perched as she was on the sofa, her soft pink skirts spread daintily around her. "You mean he's alive?"

"No, no, you misunderstand," I said quickly. Oh dear, I'd gone about this all wrong.

The two beautiful faces crumbled. "Then what... ?" Adelaide pressed. Her mother straightened again and her expression tightened once more. She sat like an automaton waiting to be wound up, serene but lifeless.

"I'm a spirit medium," I said to Adelaide. I couldn't look at her mother. Something about her unnerved me. She was so still, so empty... it was unnatural. "Jacob's ghost visits me regularly."

Adelaide's jaw dropped. "Ghost," she whispered. She bit her lower lip and blinked rapidly.

There was an awful moment when no one spoke. Then, "Get out," Lady Preston snapped.

"Pardon?" I spluttered.

"Get out of my house." The venom in her voice was matched by the hatred in her eyes. At that moment, I think she genuinely despised me.

"But—."

"Mother," Adelaide said, placing her hand over both of her mother's, "I think we should listen to what Miss Chambers has to say."

"She's a fraud." Her face contorted into a sneer. I think I preferred the blandness. "She wants to make money from our loss but I'll have none of it."

"No, I've heard of her." The knuckles of Adelaide's hand went white. "I wondered why her name sounded familiar and now I recall. She and her sister hold séances to communicate with the dead. They're very popular."

"That doesn't mean she's not a fraud."

"I am not a fraud," I said. "And I can prove it to you."

Adelaide shifted forward on the sofa without letting go of her mother's hands. "Please do," she whispered.

"She must be a fraud," Lady Preston said again as if neither I, nor her daughter, had spoken. "Because Jacob is not dead."

Shadows of pain passed over Adelaide's face. She momentarily closed her eyes, breathed deeply, then opened them again. "Mother, we've been through this. We don't know for sure—."

"I know. He's my son and he is not dead until I say he is." She shot to her feet and strode to the window, keeping her back to us. From the slight shake of her shoulders, I knew she was crying.

For the first time since my arrival, I began to doubt my reasons for coming. Would proving to Lady Preston that her son really was dead help her move on, or simply send her over the edge she so precariously clung to?

I looked to Adelaide for an answer but she wiped a tear from her cheek and shook her head at me.

Just as I thought about leaving, a tall man with steel-gray hair and a bushy moustache strolled into the drawing room. He took in the scene but instead of going to his wife, he lifted a thick brow at Adelaide.

"Father," she said, "this is Miss Emily Chambers. Miss Chambers, this is—."

"Chambers!" He snorted. "I know that name."

"She's a spirit medium," Adelaide said.

"She's a fraud," he said, with much more authority but less malice than his wife. "What's she doing here?"

Adelaide glanced at her mother then back to her father. Her gaze didn't falter beneath his cold one. But it wasn't directed at her. It was directed at me. "She's been telling us that Jacob truly is... dead." She looked to her mother again but Lady Preston didn't move. She stood completely still, staring out the window.

Lord Preston stepped closer and regarded me down his long nose. He appeared to be a good twenty years older than his wife but was strongly built nevertheless. He was as tall as Jacob but his features were bolder, heavier, not refined and handsome like his son's. In some ways he reminded me of the sketches I'd seen of cavemen—big-limbed and thick-browed, but not nearly as ugly. He was handsome in his way, but intimidating, particularly when he stood so close.

I tried not to shrink away. "Good afternoon, Lord Preston." I held out my hand in an attempt to maintain some semblance of civility.

He ignored it. "I've been looking into you and your operation."

"He belongs to the London Association of Skeptical Scientists," Adelaide explained.

"Ah. Jacob told me he was a scientist."

There was a moment's silence then, "Bah!" The sound came from deep within Lord Preston's chest. "I'll not listen to another word of your nonsense. You're a trickster, Miss Chambers, just like the rest. And if you think you'll get any money from us—."

"I don't want your money, Lord Preston. I don't want anything from you."

That stopped him momentarily. "Why are you here?" he asked after a long pause in which he watched me through narrowed eyes.

"To give you all some peace. He wants me to tell you that he is dead and that he's happy—."

"Happy! How can he be happy if he's dead as you claim?" Lord Preston had a way of bellowing rather than talking. It was quite deafening. "Get out of my house or I'll have you thrown out."

I gritted my teeth. I couldn't afford to ruin this one chance. "I am not a fraud, Lord Preston. And I would appreciate it if you'd refrain from judging me until you've heard what I've come to say."

He bristled, straightening to his full height. "I do not like your tone, young lady. Your boldness does you no credit. No son of mine would ever communicate with the likes of you, whether he was alive or dead."

"The likes of me? As I said, I am not a fraud and I'll—."

"I wasn't referring to your so-called occupation."

I felt the impact of his words like a slap to the face. He was referring to my un-English appearance or my lowly birth or perhaps both. There simply was no argument to either of those facts so I said nothing and glanced at Lady Preston then Adelaide.

The former remained standing at the window, unmoving, but the latter had lowered her gaze to her lap. I couldn't see her expression. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she no longer tried to defend me. I had no allies in that room.

Jacob had been right. It was wrong of me to have come.

Oh Jacob. I'm so sorry I couldn't help them.

I glanced once more at his mother. She was terribly thin. I'd never seen a waist so tiny or a neck so delicate. A big sneeze might snap her. She moved but only to reach out to the window and slide a finger down the glass as if caressing it. What did she see out there? Did she hope to see Jacob strolling past? Would it be so awful if she knew he was dead?

"You used to sing These Rolling Hills to him when he was young," I said to her.

She spun round so fast it caught us all by surprise. No one else spoke, not even Lord Preston to chastise me. "How do you know that?"

"He told me."

"Jacob?"

I nodded.

"Enough!" Lord Preston strode to the door and called for the butler. "You'll disrupt this house no more with your lies, Miss Chambers."

But I wasn't watching him anymore, I was looking at his wife. She came towards me, slowly, almost gliding across the floor the way people who can't see ghosts expect them to move. "How do you know that?" she asked.

"She made it up of course," Lord Preston blustered.

"She can't have."

"She must have heard it from someone. Paid a servant, Jacob's old nurse... someone like that. Don't fall for her lies, my dear, she's a fraud."

"A fraud who doesn't want money?" Adelaide scoffed but her flare of defiance dampened beneath her father's glacial glare.

"You stopped singing it to him after he left for school," I went on. "And you never sang it to him when he returned for the holidays even though he wanted you to." I tried my hardest to direct all of my attention onto Lady Preston but it wasn't easy to ignore her husband, looming beside me like a beast ready to pounce. "He wanted you to sing it to him again but you only did once, when he was ill with a fever and you thought he was delirious. But he heard you."

Her own eyes glistened with a kind of fever as she sat down slowly on the sofa, never taking her gaze from mine. Her lips parted and she pressed her thin fingers to them. "No one could possibly know that," she said in a small voice. "No one."

"A servant," her husband said.

"None were there."

"Outside the sick room. Or Jacob mentioned it to this girl before he... disappeared." He nodded, seemingly satisfied with his own explanation.

I ignored him. Both his wife and daughter did too. Their full attention was on me.

"Jacob told you this?" Lady Preston asked. "Please, please don't lie to me, Miss Chambers. If you have any compassion in you... tell me the truth."

Tears sprang to my eyes. How could anyone lie to such a fragile creature about the one thing that could break her entirely? "I would not lie to you. Jacob told me, Lady Preston. At least, his g—."

"Where is he?" She was off the sofa and kneeling beside me in the time it took to blink. "Where is my boy?"

Oh God, she still couldn't see! "He's dead, Lady Preston. His ghost speaks to me." My frustration made me speak a little too harshly.

"No!" She clasped my hands. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "He can't be! He doesn't feel dead. You know where he is, don't you? Tell me!" She shook my hands.

Adelaide came to her mother's side and gently gripped her shoulders. "Come sit down, Mother. And listen to what Miss Chambers is saying."

"I am listening!" she screeched. Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped off her chin onto the thick Oriental rug. "She knows where my boy is. She knows where to find Jacob."

Adelaide struggled with her but Lady Preston wouldn't budge until Lord Preston took over. He drew his wife up then pressed her face against his chest where she sobbed uncontrollably into his waistcoat.

"Quiet, my dear, the servants will hear," he said, patting her back. To me, he said, "See what you've done! Now get out. You are not welcome here."

I was too dumbstruck to do anything except obey, so I left without saying another word. The butler waited for me at the door and escorted me out. I wasn't unhappy to leave—the scene had been truly a heart-wrenching one—but I was disappointed. Immensely. That poor woman. I had a feeling she might never find peace, no matter how many years she had left. She truly could not accept that her son was dead.

Tears trickled down my face as I descended the steps to the pavement. It was raining again so I raised my umbrella and began the trudge home.

"Wait!" someone called from the stairs leading down to the basement area where the servants worked. I looked over the iron railing to see Adelaide climbing the steps to the pavement. She was breathing heavily. "Come with me." She glanced up at the main door and took my arm. I tried to hold the umbrella over her head too but because she was so much taller than me, I ended up getting a little wet.

Once around the corner we were able to huddle beneath the umbrella better and use the side wall of the house as a bit of cover. "Miss Beaufort," I said. "What is it?"

"Please, call me Adelaide." She clutched my free hand and gave me a small smile. "Tell me, do you really know my brother? His ghost I mean?"

Did she actually believe me? Was she prepared to give up on the idea that Jacob was alive somewhere when her parents were not?

"Oh, forgive me," she said, "I should apologize first."

"There's no need to apologize. Your parents' grief is affecting their judgment at the moment. Besides, I'm used to not being believed." Although not usually so vehemently.

"It was still a horrible thing to sit through, wasn't it? I am sorry for the things my father said. He didn't really know Jacob, you see. Not very well."

"Oh?" Here was my chance to finally find out more about him. I held my breath and gave her an encouraging nod.

Adelaide glanced back the way we'd come. "Father doesn't know the sort of people Jacob liked, that's why his comment about you was so terrible and wrong. You are exactly the sort of girl that would have appealed to my brother."

I stared at her. I think I made a small sound in the back of my throat. "Sort of girl?" I croaked.

"Yes. Speaks her mind, is courageous, poised, pretty."

I laughed. "I'll give you the point about speaking my own mind but as to the others, I'm afraid you're wide of the mark."

She waved a hand and glanced over my head again. "There isn't much time. I snuck out while Father took Mother up to her room but he'll be looking for me soon. Tell me, is Jacob really... dead?"

I squeezed her hand. "I'm so sorry but... his ghost visits me often." I decided not to tell her about him being assigned to me because of the demon. It was much too complicated and she had enough to take in already. "He tried to visit you and your parents once a long time ago but it was too traumatic for him." I hoped that went some way to explain why he haunted me and not them.

"I understand. Oh Miss Chambers I'm so pleased you came." Tears filled her eyes but didn't spill. I felt the responding sting behind my own eyes. "Jacob and I were so close, you see, and this wondering... hoping... " She shook her head and pressed her fingers to her nose.

"It's been hard, hasn't it?" My words were almost drowned out by the rain drumming on the umbrella. It came down in heavy sheets, soaking our skirts and forming muddy little streams between the cobblestones. I let go of her hand and pulled my shawl closer then realized Adelaide had come out with nothing for warmth. I stretched one side of it around her shoulders, enclosing us both, and she gave me a grateful smile.

"Mother and Father are both suffering," she said, "but in different ways. Father never speaks of Jacob anymore. Not a single word. He can't bear to hear his name spoken either except when it's to engage the services of an investigator. But Mother talks of nothing else except Jacob. So you see Father can't stand to be home now and Mother needs him more than ever. It's awful. Truly awful." I thought she'd cry but she drew in a shaky breath that seemed to rally her. "If you speak to Jacob's ghost then you must know what happened to him, where his body is. If we could find his body... " Her face contorted as the gruesome nature of what she was saying hit her.

"I'm sorry, Adelaide," I said, "but Jacob doesn't know who killed him or why and he doesn't know where his body is. It's very odd." I wouldn't tell her that the mystery was possibly the reason why he couldn't cross over to the Otherworld. I don't think she was ready to hear it. Besides, I wasn't entirely sure if it was true. "All he's told me is someone tried to kill him."

"Murder?" She gripped my arm so hard I could feel her fingernails through the layers of clothing. "No. No, no, not Jacob." A single tear tracked down her cheek but she swiped it away angrily. "Who would do that to him? He was so well liked. Adored even."

Yes, he would be. Jacob was a very easy person to adore. "Was there anyone in particular who might have turned that adoration into something more sinister if the sentiment wasn't returned? A spurned lover?"

I waited, not wanting to hear the answer but needing to know it nevertheless. The thought of Jacob with another girl was too horrible to contemplate. But then, so was his murder.

"I don't think there was a girl," she said. Then she shook her head. "What I mean is, not one girl in particular."

My insides twisted. There'd been more than one? "Perhaps that was the problem," I said weakly.

"Jealousy?" She thought about that. "It's possible. He was the sort of person to inspire it."

He certainly was. I bit the inside of my cheek and tasted blood. I would not be, could not be, jealous over a ghost. It simply wasn't possible, or right.

"But if so then I can't help you," she went on. "I never met any of the girls in his circle and he never spoke to me about them. I think he was rather careful not to so we wouldn't take it as a sign of serious interest. Mother jumped to the wrong conclusion on the one occasion Jacob did mention a girl. He was only seventeen at the time and the girl was the sister of a friend and held no real interest for him. He learned his lesson after that." She grinned at the memory but it soon turned wistful.

"If he never spoke to you about girls, how do you know they were jealous?"

"I wasn't talking about females."

"Then... Oh!" I stared at her so hard my eyes hurt.

She laughed again. "No, not in that way. At least, not for Jacob. I'm talking about boys who were friends. You know what boys are like."

"Not really. I don't have brothers."

"Well, sometimes they worship other boys. Bigger or older boys, clever ones, athletic ones, charmers." She shrugged. "Jacob was all of those so it's understandable some saw him as a hero. They wanted to be his friend, get his attention." She sighed. "And I'm afraid my brother didn't always notice them in return."

George had said the same thing. "Why was that?"

She shrugged. "I truly don't know. He was always kind to people, never cruel the way some boys can be to others, especially to smaller or weaker ones. But... " She sighed again. "But he just didn't notice them. I suppose that makes him sound selfish, doesn't it, and that's not really a fitting description either."

I really hoped Jacob wasn't listening to this conversation from the Waiting Area. It wouldn't be fair on either him or his sister. "Self-absorbed?" I offered. "Not interested in other people?" It sounded nothing like the Jacob I knew but I asked anyway. He might have been different when he was alive.

"Oh, he was interested in people. He had a good group of friends who did everything together. He was certainly interested in them. But everyone else... " She looked at me and there was sadness in her eyes, and resignation. "You're right. We can call it what we want but he was self-absorbed. Jacob had a power over people. He could charm them into doing anything if he chose to, but he never realized he possessed that power."

I understood completely. I was drawn to Jacob as if he'd put me under a spell, and I could easily imagine other people being drawn to him too. But to then not have Jacob notice me in return... It certainly would be upsetting. I was lucky to be the only person alive who could speak to him or see him now that he was dead, but if I couldn't, if I was just like everyone else, would I be overlooked too?

"He should have realized the effect he had on people," Adelaide went on. "He should have noticed them and not disregarded them simply because they held no interest for him. It was arrogant." Her voice grew quieter, more distant, and she began to cry again.

"No, Adelaide, this is not the way you should remember him. If it was a flaw, it was a small one. We all have them. Mine is vanity." I tugged on a lock of my hair that had come loose from its pins to emphasize my point. "And a willingness to speak my mind, as you saw in there."

She laughed and wiped her eyes. "And one of mine is timidity. I'll allow my brother his one flaw then." She suddenly stopped laughing and blinked at me. "Dear lord, I just thought of something."

"What is it?"

Concern carved out fine lines around her mouth. "It might not be significant. Indeed, it could mean nothing at all."

"Or it could mean something."

She nodded slowly. "A young man came here once, about a month before Jacob died. He said he was a friend of Jacob's from Oxford and wanted to see him. The butler, Forbes, said Jacob wasn't home and the boy got terribly agitated. I could hear his voice all the way from the library so I came to see what the commotion was about. The boy claimed he wanted to see Jacob and that he didn't believe he was out. He said Jacob cannot possibly always be out whenever he called, and then he accused us of lying to him."

"Lying? Why would he think that?"

"I don't know. But he said he knew Jacob was upstairs, deliberately avoiding him. I tried to assure him he was not, but he would have none of it. He grew terribly upset and his language was truly awful. I grew worried so I called two footmen and they coerced him into leaving. The situation stayed with me for a long time though."

"Who was he, do you know? Did he leave a name?"

"Only a first name, Frederick. I questioned Forbes later and he said the boy had claimed to be a friend of Jacob's from Oxford but I can assure you my brother never mentioned anyone called Frederick and we knew all his friends by sight anyway."

"What did he look like?"

"He was rather plain, not particularly one thing or the other. He had short, light brown hair, was about as tall as me and slightly built. That's really all I can recall. There was nothing very distinguishing about him, I'm afraid."

"So was Jacob always out when this Frederick boy called?"

She nodded.

"Is that odd?"

"Not really. Jacob was rarely home in those last few weeks before his death. He came to London from Oxford for the holidays but went out a great deal. I think he was enjoying the sort of freedom that comes to most eighteen year-old boys. He was old enough to go to clubs, taverns, races, that sort of thing. Beforehand he'd always been in Father's shadow but at eighteen he could do as he pleased."

"Did you tell Jacob about Frederick's visit?"

"Yes. He said he had no idea who he was and to make sure Forbes had at least one footman on hand whenever he answered the door. He was very annoyed and quite concerned. Do you think Jacob was lying to me and that he really knew him?"

"I don't know. I can ask him when I see him."

She smiled at that. "Yes, of course you can. Do you think you could say hello to him for me?"

I couldn't help a bubble of laughter escaping. "I will. I could arrange a meeting between you if you like." Jacob might agree to it if he knew his sister wouldn't be upset by it.

"Could you? How wonderful." But her face fell. "It might not be possible though. Mother is so careful with me ever since Jacob died. Or disappeared, as she thinks. She refuses to let me go anywhere on my own. It's so stifling."

"It must be." I was allowed to go wherever I pleased—well, almost. I couldn't imagine what it must be like for Adelaide always having her mother accompany her. I gave her arm a sympathetic pat then told her my address. "If you think you can get away, send me a message and we'll come and meet you wherever you suggest."

"Thank you, Emily." She leaned down suddenly and kissed my cheek. "I do think we shall be friends."

I smiled. Of course we wouldn't be, but I didn't say so. Our paths were unlikely to cross again unless it was so she could speak to Jacob's ghost. There was nothing about our lives that would cause them to intersect.

"Let me walk you to your door," I said, peering out at the rain still streaming down.

"No, I don't want Father to see you. I'll be all right. It's just a bit of water."

I laughed. It was almost the same words I'd spoken earlier to Celia. I squeezed her arm again, and fought off the melancholy that closed around me. I really would have enjoyed being Adelaide's friend. "One more thing," I said, turning my attention back to Jacob and his demise. "If you could press upon your parents the need to find Jacob's body."

"To learn the cause of his death?"

"Yes," I said, but it wasn't the whole reason. I hoped locating his body would mean Jacob could finally cross over to the Otherworld.

The thought opened up a hollow pit in my stomach. Jacob crossing over would mean he'd be out of my life.

Forever.

Chapter Eleven

For the second time that day, Celia had me change out of my soggy clothes and dry myself in front of a roaring fire. This time she insisted I remain in my room, dressed in my nightgown and a shawl, a hot cup of tea in my hands as I sat up in bed.

"I am not an invalid," I said as she placed another pillow behind my back.

"You could be if you don't warm up."

"I am warm. And dry. I took an umbrella with me."

"And yet you still managed to get wet."

"Only my bottom half. My hair is dry."

She frowned at my hair, splayed over my shoulders like a black, wavy waterfall. "A small miracle."

I sighed. "Celia, the deed is done, there is no need to remain cross with me."

"There is every reason to remain cross! If I do not then you'll not understand the seriousness of your actions."

"My actions? I got a little wet, that's all! Good Lord, Sis, you'd think I'd committed a crime the way you're treating me."

"You are a stubborn, obstinate girl."

"Stubborn and obstinate mean the same thing. Perhaps you'd like to say out-spoken instead," I said, recalling my earlier conversation with Adelaide. "Oh, and a little vain too." I sipped my tea and watched her over the rim of the cup.

Her face grew redder and redder until I was afraid it might explode. "This is no laughing matter, Emily."

"I'm not laughing."

"You could have been killed."

I snorted. "That is overly dramatic even for you, Celia."

Her lips locked together and tiny white lines ringed her mouth. I'd never seen her so angry. I wouldn't have been surprised to see steam billowing from her nose and ears. "This is all that ghost's fault!"

I choked on my tea. "Jacob?" I spluttered. "Why?"

"His influence over you is obvious."

"His influence?" I shook my head. "No, I truly don't understand you."

"He can walk about and not care if he gets wet. You cannot." Her gaze wandered around the room and she leaned closer to me. "He should not be encouraging you to go out in the rain," she added, voice low.

"He is not encouraging me to do anything! I happen to have thoughts of my own, Celia. I am not a puppet with Jacob holding the strings." Of all people, my sister should know I was not easily influenced by anyone. Which was why I was not going to concede the point she was making, even if she was right and I could have caught a chill. There was a different point at stake—she could not order me about. I was seventeen! Other seventeen year-old girls were married, or caring for elderly parents or going to the market on their own. I usually enjoyed the same level of freedom, so why was she getting so upset now?

"Well." Celia strode to the door but didn't open it. She turned back to me and the anger was gone, however the coolness remained. "That is not how it seems. Before he came you and I did everything together, went everywhere together."

Was that the real problem? My sister thought I'd abandoned her? "I didn't think you minded," I said. "Indeed, you seemed quite happy for me to go with Jacob to George Culvert's. I thought you were happy I was meeting new people."

"I was. I am." She shivered and rubbed a hand down her arm. "But I did not expect you to jeopardize your health in the process. It's not like you to be so cavalier about... " She looked down at the door handle and her hand resting upon it.

"Catching a chill?" I offered when she said nothing more.

"About death." She glanced at me and a stab of sympathy pierced my heart. My sister blinked away tears but the fear in her eyes remained. "That is the influence I'm talking about."

I climbed out of bed and went to her. "Celia, I am not dying."

"Continue to walk around in the rain on a cool day and you might."

I hugged her. She was as stiff as a plank of wood. "Oh Celia, don't fret. It won't happen again, I promise."

She relaxed a little in my arms then kissed the top of my head. "Good." She opened the door. "Nevertheless, you will dine up here tonight then go to bed early. I'll see you in the morning."

I sighed and watched her go then returned to bed. I read a book until the light faded and Lucy brought up my dinner and lit the lamps. She stoked the fire and added more coal until I asked her to stop. The room was warm enough. She bobbed a curtsy and left.

A moment later, Jacob appeared. "It's not an awkward time, is it?" he asked.

"If it is then it would be too late for you to leave and allow me to retain my modesty."

He chuckled but did not apologize for popping in uninvited. I went to put my tray aside but he stopped me and sat on the bed. "Eat." When I hesitated he picked up the fork and stabbed a slice of beef. He put it to my lips and my stomach growled. I was starving. He gave me a crooked smile as I opened my mouth and bit off the meat. "That's better." He fed me another piece and another. At first he found it amusing but then he grew more serious with each bite.

He watched my mouth as I chewed and my throat as I swallowed as if he'd never seen someone eating before. If it had been anyone else staring at me with such curious intensity I would have felt self-conscious, but not with Jacob. He had a way of making me feel special, not strange.

He reached out to my throat but pulled back without touching me. "May I?" he asked. I nodded. His fingertips lightly grazed down my throat and, as I swallowed, he gently pressed his palm against my skin. Tingles raced across my body as he caressed my throat with his thumb, his hooded eyes riveted to the spot.

"So beautiful," he whispered.

His words startled me. He'd said I was beautiful to Aunt Catherine but part of me assumed that was in defiance and he hadn't really meant it. But here he was using that word to describe me again, and this time he wasn't trying to convince anyone.

I swallowed once more because a lump seemed to have formed in my throat. The movement made him smile, but he pulled away nevertheless. "I'm sorry. That must have been disconcerting."

"Not at all."

"I like to watch you eat."

I'm sure there was a witty response to that if only I thought about it, but my mind wasn't working properly. It seemed to be filled with a fuzziness that made thinking slow. "I like it when you watch me," I said in a voice that sounded breathy and nothing like my own.

"You shouldn't," he said then added, "You shouldn't like me at all." He stood and removed himself to my dressing table stool where he stretched out his long legs, crossed his ankles and crossed his arms over his chest. He regarded me as if I'd been a threat and he was safer because he was further away from me.

I was too confused by his behavior to think clearly. "I'll like who I want to like," I said lamely. "Now stop sounding like my sister and, and... " I waved my hand. There really was nothing in my head worth saying.

He raised an eyebrow. "Your sister?" He grunted. "I see she thinks as I do. That would explain why you're in bed so early."

What in the world was he talking about? "Stop speaking in riddles. You and she are not alike at all, in thoughts or otherwise. You would not have confined me to my room after I got a little wet."

That brow forked again. "Wouldn't I? And what do you mean, 'got a little wet'? I told you to take an umbrella with you."

"I did. But it had to cover both myself and your sister at one point so—."

"Adelaide!" In a lightning quick move, he was at my side again. He must have done his vanishing and reappearing trick in order to be that fast. "You spoke to her? Alone?"

"Yes. She followed me out to the street after I left your parents' house."

"How is she?"

"In good health but concerned for them."

He sat down on the bed and took my hand in his although he seemed unaware he'd done so. "And how were they?"

I drew in a deep breath. "Exactly as you said they would be. Your mother doesn't believe you're dead, even after I told her about the song."

He squeezed my hand and gave me a sympathetic smile. "Were they very awful?"

"They were upset, Jacob. That was the awful part."

He lowered his gaze to our linked hands. "Yes, of course. But even when I was alive my father could be...domineering."

"You didn't get along, did you?"

He looked up, startled. "Not really. You learned that from a brief meeting?"

I laughed. "No, Adelaide told me."

He chuckled. "Yes, of course. My sister likes to gossip so I'm not surprised. She never did know when to hold her tongue." He said it without a hint of irritation and I got the feeling he would give anything to hear his sister talk just one more time.

"She wants to meet with you," I said.

"When?"

"When she can get away. It's not easy for her."

He nodded. "What else did she have to say? Tell me everything."

I rubbed his knuckles with my thumb. "We got to talking about your death and how it might have occurred."

His hand shifted in mine but I held it tighter, not letting him go. "I've told you not to concern yourself with my death," he said. "It happened and that fact cannot be altered."

"And I've told you we must learn more. It might be the key to why you can't cross."

He tore his hand from mine and stood up. "What makes you think I want to cross over?"

I stared at him but he was pacing back and forth, not looking at me. "But you must—."

"Why must I?" He stopped pacing and I recoiled at the anger in his eyes. Anger directed at me. "Why do you want me to go?"

My stomach knotted at the thread of pain through his voice. I climbed out of the covers and kneeled up on the bed but did not reach for him like I wanted to. "You think I want you to leave?" I shook my head over and over and fought against the tears threatening to spill. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, Jacob. You tell me I'm beautiful, you look at me as if I'm more precious than the stars in the sky, and your very touch leaves me aching for more. I've known you two and a half days and yet it feels like forever. How can you think I want you to leave?"

His breathing came heavy and fast. The muscles in his jaw pulsed rapidly and it took him a long time to speak. "I didn't know," he murmured. "You talk about me crossing over... I didn't know the extent of your feelings." He stepped closer, closer, until there was nothing between us but an inch of air.

I reached up and placed both my hands on either side of his face. "I only want what's best for you," I whispered. "What's right."

"This is right. You are right for me. Emily." He lowered his head and his lips brushed my forehead, the touch as gentle as feathers. "I don't want to cross. I don't want to leave you."

He didn't say "however" but I heard it nevertheless. My heart opened up and began to bleed, or so it seemed. It hurt so much. "Go on," I said, even though I didn't want to know any more. Didn't want to hear the awful words, the ones where he said he had to go because staying was too hard. Watching me grow old when he stayed the same was unnatural.

But instead of speaking, he lowered his lips to mine. His kiss was as light as air as he tasted and teased again and again until finally I could stand it no more and I pressed my hands to the back of his head and pulled him closer, locking him against me. A deep growl rumbled low in his chest and he put his arms around me and held me tight. I melted into him, conscious of nothing but the strength in his body, the tenderness of his mouth on mine, and the desire consuming me.

I don't know how long we explored each other but we became utterly lost as we did so. Eventually, too soon, we parted.

Jacob rested his forehead against mine. "Why is it that something that's so wrong feels so good?" he asked.

"Is it wrong?"

He kissed the end of my nose. "A ghost and a girl as full of life as you?" He nodded sadly. "Very wrong."

I'd not thought my heart could hurt any more than it already did, but it felt like someone was trying to pull it out of my body through the eye of a needle. "Are you going to tell me we must stop this?" It was too hard to keep the hurt from my voice so I didn't try. "Stop feeling what we feel?"

"Can you?"

"No more than I could tear my own arm off."

He smiled sadly. "Me too."

"Then what?"

He let go of my hands and I almost toppled off the bed as I'd been using him for support. He went to the fireplace and watched me from there, as if it were safer with more space between us. I wasn't so sure about that.

"I cannot watch you live half a life, Emily."

I shook my head. "What do you mean?"

"Either you will find another man in time—."

"I won't. There's no one else for me." Stupid, stupid ghost. How could he think that?

"Or you will spend your remaining years waiting to join me. That is not the sort of life you deserve."

I sat back on my haunches. "But if you are here with me, the waiting won't be so terrible." Except that I would grow old and he would not. Of course it would be easier for me, looking at the handsome young man everyday, but for him to see the woman he'd stayed for turn into an old hag... I couldn't imagine how distressing that would be.

"And how long can you wait?" he asked, challenging now. "How many years? You would not have children, not have a family of your own—."

"I would have you."

"Is that enough?" He shook his head and buried his face in his hands.

I went to him and drew his hands away. "Yes. It is." I traced the contours of his cheeks with my fingertip, down to his lips. They were still full and soft from when he'd kissed me.

"I cannot allow you to do it," he said, taking my wrists and gently drawing my hands away. "I cannot allow you to give up on living for me."

"I'm not asking you to allow it."

"You are. And what if... " He turned his face to the side and shook his head.

"What?"

He closed his eyes and the dark lashes cast long shadows on his high cheekbones. "What if I grow weary of watching you wait?"

What did he mean? That he would grow tired of me in years to come? I could never grow tired of him. Never.

And yet he was not the one who'd turn gray-haired or wrinkly, his body would not sag and his eyesight or hearing fail him. That would be my fate alone. Of course he wouldn't want to remain here and watch me age. I really couldn't blame him for it either.

And yet it hurt knowing his love for me wasn't strong enough to survive the ravages of time.

I let go of his hands and as if that was a signal, he opened his eyes and faced me.

"I'm not strong enough, Emily."

"Not strong enough?" Didn't he mean not in love with me enough to watch me age?

"It doesn't matter," he said and rubbed both hands through his hair. "I don't want to discuss it. All that matters is that you were right before. I must cross over."

"No," I said weakly. "I was wrong. I don't want—."

"Please, don't do this to me! I cannot stay. It'll be... torture."

Hot tears poured down my face. I couldn't stop them any more than I could stop loving him. I began sobbing, the sort where you can't breathe or barely make a noise but when you do your entire body shudders with the effort.

He put his arms around my waist and drew me to him as gently as if I was made of glass. He kissed my tears and caressed my hair. At some point he pulled my head against his chest. I listened for the heartbeat that wasn't there and held him. He rocked me and I stopped crying but the pain inside was so immense I didn't think I would ever feel normal again.

"Please," he said after a long time. He didn't need to say anything else. I knew it was a continuation of the same plea without having to hear the words.

"If it's what you want," I said through my raw throat.

He touched my chin and tilted my face up. His face, while still handsome, was distorted as if he were in pain. "It's not what I want. But it's what has to be. Do you understand the difference?"

I nodded. I understood. He could not stand to see me grow old. Could not look upon an ugly, toothless crone.

"Good." He kissed the top of my head again then held me at arm's length. So that was how it would be from now on—at arm's length.

I returned to the bed where I wanted to curl up and go to sleep then wake up from this nightmare. But it wasn't a nightmare. It was real and Jacob was in earnest now. I sat on the bed and rested my chin on my drawn up knees. I couldn't bear to look at him.

"After we've sent the demon back to the Otherworld," he said, "we'll search for my body. And my killer."

Body. Killer. Oh God, it was all so awful, so hopeless, so horrible.

At that moment I realized with startling clarity that I would do what was best for Jacob, and it was the best thing for him to cross over. It's what spirits are supposed to do. No matter how much I wanted to keep Jacob with me, I could not let the injustice done to him go unpunished. Whoever had taken his life should not be allowed to get away with it. Right then I set my mind on catching his killer. The man I loved deserved nothing less.

"Your sister told me something that might help us," I said.

His fists curled into balls at his sides and those blue eyes, duller than usual, stared unblinking at me for an inordinately long time. I could see he wasn't entirely convinced he wanted to follow through on his new resolution to cross over. We both knew that this was just the first step on what could be a long road, but it was still the first step to an end neither of us really wanted.

"You'd better tell me what it is," he finally said.

"Do you remember a boy called Frederick?"

I could have sworn he paled, something that wasn't possible considering he was dead. "Yes." He recounted the same story that Adelaide had told me about Frederick coming to their Belgravia home and accusing her and the butler of lying about Jacob's whereabouts. "It upset her greatly at the time but I'd thought she would have forgotten about it by now."

"You clearly haven't. Which means you thought it was important."

He gave me his crooked smile and I was overjoyed to see the charming Jacob back. No matter how hurt I was by the fact he didn't want to stay with me forever, I couldn't be mad at him for long. "You know me so well already." He sat on the chair near the fireplace and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His shirt gaped open and I was rewarded with a rather delicious view of his naked chest underneath.

Would I ever get to touch it now?

"Emily, are you listening?"

"What? Yes, of course I am. You said I know you so well."

"And then I said I told Adelaide I didn't know anyone called Frederick. But that probably wasn't true."

"Why would you lie to her?"

"I didn't lie deliberately. I thought at the time that I didn't know anyone called Frederick. But now... now I think I must have."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I now think he had something to do with my death."

I hugged my knees closer to my chest. "Why? No, let's start with who he is. How well did you know him?"

He turned his hands out, palms up, without shifting his position. "I didn't. That's the thing, I don't remember anyone from Oxford named Frederick."

"No one? It's a common enough name."

He looked down at his hands. "I know."

"Adelaide said he was fair haired, slight build, plain features. Can you recall anyone from school matching that description?"

"Not really. I suppose it could describe several of my classmates though."

"None of whom were named Frederick?"

He sighed and slumped back in the chair. "I can't recall. There might have been one or several Fredericks in my year. I just... "

"Can't recall." I sighed too. "It would seem you spent more time with your head in the clouds before you died than after."

He cocked his head to the side and gave me a withering look. "Very funny."

Adelaide and George hadn't been exaggerating when they said Jacob never noticed people. I was only now beginning to believe it.

"If I could have my life over again," he said, serious, "I would speak to everyone I ever met. Every single person. I'd stop people in the street and ask them how their day was."

"You would get some very strange looks." I tried to make light of the situation but it was no joke. It was obvious Jacob regretted what he'd been like when he was alive. It made me think about everything I wanted to change about myself. I made a mental note to give Celia a hug in the morning.

"Do you think Frederick killed you because he thought you were avoiding him?" I shook my head at the absurdity. "Not only is it a big leap but it also doesn't make sense. If he wanted to be your friend, then why would he kill you? He could never be your friend then." I drummed my fingers on my knee as another thought occurred to me. "Or perhaps there was some other reason he wanted to see you. Could you have owed him a debt?"

"How could I owe a debt to someone I didn't know? No, my death was certainly related to the fact he thought I was avoiding him."

I frowned at him. He looked away. "How do you know?" I hedged.

He shrugged one shoulder. "I just do."

"Jacob, what aren't you telling me? What do you know?"

"Nothing. Just leave it be. Accept that I'm almost certain Frederick the boy from Oxford is somehow relevant to my death."

"You mean he killed you."

"No. I think he had something to do with my death, but didn't commit the act himself."

I put my hands up, stopping his convoluted riddles. "If you don't know who killed you, how can you discount Frederick from the list of suspects? He sounds like the most likely one to me."

Jacob scratched his head, making his hair stick out at odd angles. "I can't tell you why I know he didn't do it, I just do."

"You can tell me, you just don't want to."

That cynical smile again. "Thank you for clarifying."

I climbed off the bed and crouched in front of him, touching his knees. "Jacob, you have to tell me everything. I need to know what you know."

"No!" He gripped my forearms and hoisted me up as he stood too. "There are some things you should not know, Emily. This is one of them."

Anger flared, bright and fierce, behind my eyes. Already tonight he'd decided we would not be together and now he was keeping information from me that could help me solve his murder? It was too much. I deserved to decide what was important and what wasn't too. "Why shouldn't I know?" I jerked out of his grip. He sat down again, shock rippling across his handsome face. But I wasn't prepared to let my anger evaporate beneath his sudden change. Sometimes anger is a benefit, if channeled correctly. "What could it possibly matter now? You're dead. And I will find out who killed you so you might as well tell me everything you know."

He said nothing for a long time, just stared at me, and for one breathless moment I was scared that he found my anger ugly and that he was relieved he'd not committed to spend the rest of my life with me. But I could not regret it any more than I could control it. Something was bothering Jacob deeply and I was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Very well." He sucked in his top lip and indicated I should sit. I sat on the bed, my stockinged toes just touching the fringe of the rug, my hands at my sides on the quilt. "I suppose it doesn't matter what you think of me now anyway," he said, bleak.

"What I think of you?" I felt like all the air had been knocked out of me along with my anger. I shook my head. I didn't understand.

"It might even be for the best." He rubbed his fists down his trousers and didn't quite meet my gaze. "Now that we've decided I must cross over, having you... despise me will make that easier."

"Despise you?" I got up and went to him but he lifted a single finger, halting me from curling into his lap and kissing him all over. "I could never despise you," I said instead.

He pressed the finger into his eye socket and his thumb into the other. "You haven't heard my story yet."

I sat back down on the bed and tucked my hands beneath my thighs. "Go on."

"I know that boy Frederick didn't kill me because... because I killed him." He waited for me to say something but I didn't. In truth, I couldn't have spoken anyway. I was too shocked by his admission to make any sense. "I was walking home late one night when a boy accosted me. I didn't realize then that it was the same boy that had come to the house. That only came later. Much later, after I died. Anyway, the boy began shouting at me, accusing me of ignoring him and deliberately avoiding him. Of course I had no idea what he was talking about. I tried to calm him down and make sense of what he was saying but he just got angrier and angrier." He rubbed his cheek as if trying to remove a smudge. "He struck me. It wasn't a very strong blow but I hadn't been ready for it and I must have stumbled back. He came at me again but I'd recovered enough to defend myself. In the ensuing struggle I punched him. He fell and... and hit his head on the ground. The pavement was uneven and... The sound... " He closed his eyes and his nostrils flared. "The sound his head made as it hit the ground has stayed with me all this time."

I sat on the bed and waited for him to go on but he didn't. My heart beat hard in my chest and blood pounded in my ears. Jacob had killed someone. Jacob. My Jacob. A murderer.

I sucked in air between my teeth and let it out slowly. No wonder he'd avoided telling me about the circumstances surrounding his own death. I'd suspected outside George's house that he was withholding something vital from me and now I knew what it was, and why. He was racked with guilt and he was afraid I would think badly of him.

"Don't look at me like that," he said upon opening his eyes.

"Like what?"

"Like... like you still love me."

"I do." What a stupid thing for him to say! "Of course I do."

"But... how can you after what I just told you?"

"Because you didn't mean it. It was an accident." I got up and crouched before him again. I took his hands in both of mine. "It was an accident, Jacob, and you don't deserve to carry this guilt, just as you didn't deserve to die." Oh God, is that what he thought? That he deserved death because he'd accidentally killed someone?

He blinked once then looked down at our linked hands. He lifted them to his mouth and skimmed his lips across my knuckles. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes! Jacob." I caught his face and drew it up so he looked at me. Our gazes met, briefly, then his flitted away to a point over my shoulder. "You are not to blame. Do you understand me?"

He smiled but it was weak and unconvincing. "I am to blame. Just because I didn't mean it, doesn't mean I didn't do it."

"But he attacked you first!"

"And I hit him last. That's what counts."

Men! Why did they have to think like brutes when it suited them? "Your logic is ridiculous, Jacob. No court would convict you."

"Emily." He said my name with great effort, as if he was beyond exhausted. "You don't understand. I hit him. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to stop him annoying me so I could go home, and to do that... I knew I would have to hurt him."

I frowned and shook my head. "That doesn't matter. You're a good person and I will not see you so angry with yourself because of something that wasn't your fault."

He drew my hands away from his face. His nostrils flared as his gaze met mine and held it. "You're not afraid of me?"

"No."

"You should be." He shoved my hands away, setting me unceremoniously back on my haunches, and stood up. "I'll stay away from you unless it becomes absolutely necessary." And then he was gone.

Chapter Twelve

I sat on the rug and stared at the chair where Jacob had been sitting. The cushion, embroidered with a vine pattern by my mother, hadn't yet sprung back to its full plump shape. I lowered my head and would have cried—I wanted to cry—but the tears wouldn't come. Perhaps I had none left. I felt empty.

After a while I climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. But I didn't sleep. I couldn't. Jacob might come back. He might explain the meaning of his final words to me.

You should be.

I should be afraid of him. But I wasn't. Not of Jacob. He was gentle and considerate and protective. He would never hurt me, nor would he harm someone who didn't deserve it, I was certain. Frederick had hit him first and he'd been dogging Jacob for some time if his visits to the Beaufort's house were an indication. Jacob wasn't to blame for his death.

But Frederick was the key to Jacob's.

I knew that as well as I knew my own name. The events leading up to Jacob's murder were too coincidental for it not to be linked to Frederick and the incident in the alley. But if Jacob had killed Frederick in the fight, who had killed Jacob later?

The answer to that lay in what might have happened after Jacob felled Frederick. I couldn't believe he'd leave the boy lying there, dying. Jacob was no coward. He would have faced up to his actions and I doubt he simply walked away.

So what had happened next?

And who on earth was Frederick?

These questions and a thousand others swirled around my head until, drained, I finally drifted to sleep.

I awoke with a start the next morning to knocking on my door. I jumped out of bed. "Jacob!" I opened the door but Celia stood there alone.

"No," she said with suspicion. "Why would you think I was he?" Her already narrowed eyes became slits. "Has he been visiting you?"

"Occasionally."

Her lips puckered. "Please don't tell me he's been in your room."

If Celia wanted to make it easy for me then she'd just given me the perfect opportunity. "Of course not." Of course not, I won't tell you. It wasn't exactly a lie...

"Because if I learn that he has—."

"Celia, stop questioning me." I stood with my hands on my hips blocking the doorway but she still managed to slip past me into my room.

"It's most improper," she said from my wardrobe where she contemplated my gowns.

"I doubt my reputation will be ruined by the irregular visits of a ghost."

She turned to fix me with a withering glare. "Don't be so sure. Anyway, I'm worried about more than your reputation."

More than... ? Oh. "Jacob has been the perfect gentleman, Sis, don't worry." I bit the inside of my cheek. He'd kissed me. Perhaps perfect was too strong a word.

"Emily... " She shook her head but I could tell she was bursting to ask me something. I had a feeling I would regret prompting her but I did anyway.

"Ye-es?"

"Well, do you think ghosts can... you know?"

Oh dear, regret wasn't a strong enough word for how I felt about this conversation. It was heading into very murky waters. "I have no idea what you're talking about and I don't think I want to."

"I know you know what I'm suggesting because we had that little chat only last year."

"Oh, that," I said, feigning nonchalance. "You're asking me if ghosts can have marital relations?" It was the phrase Celia had used during our talk on how babies were made. Even though most unwed girls my age were quite ignorant about what happened between men and women, my sister had insisted I be made aware. I'd thought it very progressive of her, particularly since she was essentially a prude. Not even I had seen her without her clothes on. Still, discussing it with her now was no less embarrassing than it had been then.

"Yes," she said. "Well, what do you think? Can they... you know?"

"I don't know. Would you like me to ask Jacob for you?"

"No!" She turned back to the wardrobe and studied the clothes with extra intensity.

I think I won that little battle.

"Why have you been crying?" she asked suddenly.

Oh dear, I was losing the war. I rubbed my eyes and yawned dramatically, putting my arms above my head and twisting my body for effect. "I slept poorly. I've a lot on my mind."

She seemed to believe me this time. She patted my arm and sighed. "So have I. What are you going to do today?"

"About the demon?" I padded across the floor to my dressing table and peered into the mirror. Good lord, I really did look awful. My eyes were rimmed red, my nose had swelled up and the dark shadows made it look like someone had punched me. Not even a strong cup of tea would help me look like myself again. "I think I'll go and see if George has contacted Leviticus Price," I said, frowning at me reflection. Hopefully a dose of cool air would help my complexion.

"Good idea." She laid the dress on the bed and whipped her palm down the skirt to flatten it. Satisfied, she made for the door. "If there's anything I can do, let me know." She left, her back not quite as straight as usual. She must still be blaming herself for letting the demon loose.

What she hadn't asked me was if there'd been another victim and burglary overnight. Of course I didn't know because Jacob had not appeared that morning.

My heart dove violently into my stomach as I realized he may not appear at all, ever again.

***

George was home, as was his mother unfortunately. When Mrs. Culvert saw us together in the drawing room, she turned her nose up at me and said, "You again," as if I was the plague. "George, a word."

"Yes, Mother." But he didn't move.

"In private."

With a loud sigh, he joined his mother outside the drawing room. A few moments later, I heard him say, "This is my house and I can entertain any sort of guest I want. Emily is an outstanding girl and—."

His mother's voice cut him off but I couldn't quite make out what she said. The click-clack of her footsteps retreating on the tiles was a welcome sound to my ears.

"Sorry," George said with a sympathetic smile when he returned. "Mothers."

I smiled too even though I didn't necessarily understand his meaning. My mother had never dictated who I could be friends with, but then I'd had so few friends growing up she'd probably have encouraged me to speak to the poor little girl who sold matches on the street corner.

"Now, where were we?" he said, sitting down opposite me once more. "Ah yes, Leviticus Price. I sent him a message requesting to see him."

"A message? Requesting to see him? George, you are being much too polite."

He looked slightly taken aback at that. "Emily, there is no such thing as too polite."

I refrained from retorting that he might as well live in a prison with all the society rules he and the people of his station had to live by. I suddenly felt an immeasurable amount of freedom, as I had done after speaking to Adelaide Beaufort the day before. My life, while complicated, was at least my own. "Come on, let's pay him a visit now."

I stood. After a moment, George stood too. "I'm not sure this is a good idea," he said slowly. "Price isn't the sort of man who likes insolence, particularly in youngsters."

"You're nineteen!" The urge to click my tongue, roll my eyes and generally make him see how immature he was behaving was very strong.

"You're right. Let's go." He tugged on his coat lapels and stretched his neck. "Greggs!" he called as he strode to the drawing room door. "Send word to the stables for the carriage."

***

Leviticus Price rented a few rooms in a brick terrace house in one of the newer suburbs on London's outskirts where street upon street was lined with identical brick terrace houses. The only distinguishing feature between them seemed to be the color of the door, but even there the palette was limited to blue, white and green.

Price's landlady showed us up to the tiny parlor where a thin man with short white hair and a long white beard sat eating breakfast. The Times was open on the table beside him and several books and journals were piled or scattered around the small space. Oddly, the mantelpiece was empty except for a smoking pipe on a wooden stand. The walls too were bare. It was almost as if he'd just unpacked after moving in.

Although it was almost noon, Price didn't seem concerned that he'd been caught eating at such a late hour, or that he'd been caught eating at all. He kept right on shoveling eggs and bacon into his mouth as if it was his first meal in a week. By the thinness of him, it might very well have been.

He greeted George with a nod of his long, horse-y head but hardly acknowledged me at all until George introduced us. My name did, however, catch his attention.

"Emily Chambers," he said, pausing in chewing to look me over properly. "Well, well, well." He had eyes of the palest blue, like a frozen lake, which left me shivering in the wake of his bald scrutiny.

"You've heard of her," George said, sounding pleased.

Price wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, all the while watching me. It was most unnerving. "I have indeed. She's the spirit medium. Quite a good one, I hear."

I did not like the way he spoke about me as if I wasn't there, or as if I was an object without the capability of thought or speech. "Mr. Price, if you would stop staring, I would be most grateful." I gave him a tight smile. "I'm not at my best today you see." It was a light-hearted attempt to cut through the awkwardness I felt in his presence but it was also a grim reminder of why I wasn't looking my best—I'd been up half the night crying over Jacob.

I shoved all thoughts of my ghost away. I needed to concentrate and I couldn't do that if I let sadness consume me.

Price snorted a laugh and sat back in his chair. The move made his smoking jacket gape open, revealing a plain linen shirt underneath. "Sit, sit, both of you." I sat on the only spare chair, a hard-backed, unpadded affair that looked as old as the white-haired man himself. George removed a stack of books from another chair and, not finding anywhere to deposit them, piled them up on the floor near the unlit fireplace. He sat too and offered me a small shrug. Price wouldn't have noticed since he was still staring at me. I felt like an exotic bird at the zoo, a feeling that wasn't entirely foreign but definitely not welcome.

"Can you really see ghosts, Miss Chambers?"

"Yes." I saw no reason to lie to him, or indeed to anyone. Once upon a time I would have been considered a witch but this was an enlightened age. Society had come a long way since the days when my kind was burned at the stake.

Price rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and pressed his steepled fingers to his lips. "Interesting."

Usually at this point people ask me to demonstrate my abilities by summoning a loved one. Sometimes I oblige them but most of the time—because Celia is with me and insists upon it—I agree to come back for a séance. Price didn't ask and I didn't offer, although he undoubtedly was intrigued. He couldn't stop staring.

I tried not to let him see how unsettled his scrutiny made me. It wasn't easy.

"We've come to ask you about a Mr. Blunt from the North London School for Domestic Service," George said. He offered no preliminaries, no how-do-you-do's or idle chatter and I sensed that was the best way to deal with Price. He didn't seem like the sort of man who liked to discuss the weather. George may not be the most socially adept person but he knew enough about Price to keep to the point. Was that because they were so alike in their obsession with the Otherworld?

"Blunt?" Price turned to George and I let out a relieved breath. I'd had enough of being viewed as a museum piece. "I'm on the board of his school. What of it?"

"He told us you and he had a discussion about demons, mentioning myself as an authority on the subject."

"We might have. What of it?" he asked again.

George cleared his throat. "I was burgled recently. The Complete Handbook of Shape-shifting Demons and Weres was stolen from my library."

I think Price squeezed his lips together but it was difficult to tell with his untrimmed moustache hanging over his mouth like a hedge in need of pruning. "A good general primer on the subject, suitable for a newcomer to the art of demonology."

Art? Now there was a word I'd not thought to hear in the same sentence as demonology.

"What a shame to lose it from your collection," Price went on, "but I fail to see the connection to myself or Blunt."

"I suspect it was stolen by my new maid who was sent to me from Blunt's school. I wondered if she perhaps overheard your conversation with the schoolmaster before she left. He suggested you might remember when exactly you had the conversation."

"He did, did he?" He appeared to think about this for a moment, then said, "No, sorry, I can't recall. Memory's not what it used to be. Could have been last week, could have been a month ago." Price picked up a piece of bread from his plate but didn't eat it. "What does it matter anyway? I assume the girl's long gone."

"She is but we'd like to find her."

Price frowned. "Does the book really mean that much to you?"

"It's not so much the book." George glanced at me.

"What then?" Price prompted and popped the bread in his mouth. He had not so much as offered us a cup of tea. Not that I would have agreed to one—I didn't want to stay any longer than necessary—but it would have been polite.

"A demon was summoned from the Otherworld during one of my séances," I said. "It was unwittingly done but it appears to have been orchestrated by someone intent on doing harm to others. The only lead we have is the stolen book."

We waited while Price chewed then swallowed. His frown grew deeper and darker as his mouth worked slowly. "You think the girl is using this demon for her own nefarious reasons?" he eventually asked.

"Yes," I said quickly before George could tell him we suspected she'd been ordered by others to steal the book. Thankfully he didn't counter my answer. "But we wouldn't like to blame her if she's not responsible. So if you could remember when you had that conversation with Mr. Blunt, we would be most grateful. Indeed, if you could remember anything at all... you could be saving lives."

Price rubbed his beard, dislodging a few crumbs, then reached for the newspaper. He flipped it open to a page and pointed to a small article with the headline DOG ATTACKS SERVANT. "Read it only this morning. It says the police think the footman was mauled to death by a stray dog. He sustained terrible injuries that killed him a few hours later. Do you think that's your demon?"

"Probably," I said without reading the article. "So you understand we need to find out as much as we can. The police can't do anything in this situation. It's up to us."

He nodded, stroking his beard again as he re-read the article. Then he suddenly folded the newspaper and placed it back on the tea table. "Sorry, Miss Chambers, but I can't recall the exact date of my conversation with Blunt." His freezing gaze shifted from me to George then back again. "I do, however, remember that he asked some very precise questions about demons."

"What do you mean?" said George.

Price suddenly stood and pressed a hand to his temple. "I don't like to tell you this as it might get the man into trouble."

George and I exchanged glances. "Go on," I urged Price.

He sighed and picked up the pipe from its little stand on the mantelpiece. He put it into his mouth but didn't light it. "Blunt wanted to know how to summon one," he mumbled around the end of the pipe, "how to control them, all the different kinds of demons, that sort of thing."

"You didn't think his questions unusual?" George asked, incredulous.

"Of course I did, boy!" He pulled the pipe out and pointed the end at George. "I told him about you and your library and I said if he wanted to know anything, you were the man to ask." He sighed, and folded his long, thin arms over his chest. "I even told him about that specific book you mentioned. I said it was a good place to begin."

George groaned and I closed my eyes. It was looking more and more like Blunt was involved. But if that was the case, why did he tell us about the conversation with Price at all? He must know Price could turn the suspicion back on him.

"And no one else overheard you?" I asked.

Price shrugged sharp, angular shoulders. "They might have. I don't know, do I?" He strode to the door, reaching it in two giant strides even though he had to avoid George's chair and a pile of books stacked beside it. "Anyway, it's not my problem, I didn't summon the bloody thing." This he directed straight at me, as if it were my fault my sister had accidentally released the demon. I suppose it was, in a way. "Give my regards to Blunt."

George stood but instead of leading the way out, he confronted Price. "I say, you don't seem too perturbed by the fact there's a shape-shifting demon loose in the city and that you might be partially responsible."

"I am not responsible, partially or otherwise." Price grunted and popped his pipe back in his mouth. His gaze flicked to me, cool and assessing once more, then back to George. "The death is a tragedy of course," he said with a nod at the newspaper. "But I don't see how I can help. Demons are your specialty, Culvert. Of course if there's anything I can do to help, I trust you'll let me know."

Dismissed, George and I had no alternative but to leave although George hesitated for a brief moment in the doorway. Once outside, we climbed back into his carriage just as the clouds parted above and let the sun shine through. It didn't last long and the gray clouds had swallowed up the beams by the time we reached the end of the street.

"He's not a particularly nice gentleman," I said. We sat opposite each other, our knees almost touching. Fortunately the bench seats were covered in padded maroon velvet cushions or it would have been a terribly uncomfortable ride. The carriage traveled fast along the wider, emptier outer-suburban roads and we were jostled about like beans in a pot of boiling water.

He sighed. "I'm sorry I subjected you to his rudeness. I should have come alone."

"Nonsense. I found it quite beneficial."

"Oh?" George pushed his glasses up his nose. "In what way?"

"It gave me a chance to form an opinion about him and I now think he had something to do with the release of the demon."

The spectacles slid down his nose again and he peered over the top of them at me. "You've made that assumption on the basis that he's not particularly nice?"

When he put it like that it didn't sound like a very convincing reason. "And because he didn't seem shocked at the damage the demon has caused."

George nodded and once more pushed the glasses up to their rightful position. "True. He was quick to turn the discussion back to Blunt and his possible involvement too. You do think he's involved, don't you?"

"Blunt? Of course he is. It's obvious."

"Yes, yes, obvious." He gave me a grim smile but it vanished when the carriage turned a corner and we both lurched to one side. Righting himself, George banged on the cabin roof. "Slow down, Weston!" To me he said, "Apologies. The driver knows I like to go fast but I don't usually have a passenger of the female persuasion with me."

"It's quite all right, George." I straightened my pillbox hat and hoped my hair had managed to maintain some semblance of control. "And another thing about Price," I said. "Blunt mentioned he was a generous benefactor, but I cannot see how Price would have much money if his housing situation is any indication." I pointed at the buildings through the window but we'd long since left behind the rows and rows of identical houses. They'd been replaced by the statelier, colonnaded, residences of old money and the occasional shop that catered for their exclusive needs. "Price doesn't seem like he can afford to be all that generous with his funds."

George nodded. "I'd not thought of that. Well done, Emily."
"Thank you, George."

He smiled at me. I smiled back.

And then I realized why he was smiling. He moved to sit beside me and covered my hand with his own. With a squeak of alarm, I slipped it free and shifted to where he'd been sitting so we were once more opposite each other.

His crestfallen face told me he understood the meaning behind the maneuver. Thank goodness. I thought he might attribute it to female coquettishness or some nonsense. He at least was mature enough to realize I was rejecting him.

That didn't make me feel any less horrible for doing it. "George," I said softly, "I'm so sorry."

He waved a hand and gave me a smile that was much too bright in its eagerness. "That's all right. We're not really very well suited, you and I, are we?"

I wasn't sure how to take that. Was it simply an excuse to cover the fact I'd hurt his feelings, or did he genuinely believe we weren't a very good match? Why he would think we weren't, I couldn't say. Perhaps deep down he agreed with his mother that I wasn't good enough for him. Perhaps I was just too odd.

I shoved that line of thought aside. George could think what he liked of me. It was Jacob's opinion that mattered most. "We are still friends, aren't we?" I ventured.

"If you'd like to be." I detected a pout in his voice even though there wasn't one on his lips.

I reached across the space between us and took his hand. "I have so few true friends, but I'd like to count you amongst them."

His face lifted and brightened. "And I you. Let's forget all this, shall we?"

"Gladly." I smiled but something inside me felt hollow, sad. I missed Jacob and it didn't help not knowing when I would see him again. I desperately wanted to speak to him, ask him more questions, and just hold him. But I could not.

How much easier it would be to love a man like George. Dependable, sweet. Alive.

"It's looking more and more likely Blunt and the Finch boy are involved," he said as if the rather embarrassing interlude hadn't occurred. If he wanted to pretend it never happened, then I was more than willing to go along with him. "The big question is whether Price is in it too."

"What I find odd is that Blunt asked Price about demons. If Price is to be believed, Blunt's questions were entirely unprompted and were quite specific. If he was indeed acting with Finch alone, then where did either of them hear about demons? The idea to summon one must have been planted in their minds at some point but by whom?"

"Price," George said. But then he shook his head. "It goes against the code of the Society. None of us would intentionally bring harm upon another by using supernatural means."

I wasn't convinced by the gentlemanly rule of conduct but I didn't say as much. I got the feeling the Society was important to George. It was probably the one place he felt accepted by people with similar interests, and I didn't want to destroy that security.

"There's one other mystery in this too," I said. "Who was the woman who sold Celia the amulet?"

"Mrs. White?"

It was looking more and more likely. I hoped I was wrong. I liked her. Lucy our maid liked her. But if Blunt had orchestrated the demon's release, then she might very well be involved. Drat.

"Shall we go and confront them now?" I asked.

"Perhaps we should contact the police."

"We can't tell the police there's a demon on the loose! They'll never believe us, and if they do then they're more likely to lock Celia and I up for releasing it, not Blunt."

"You're right." He sighed. "I'll drive you home then I'll go alone to the school."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm coming."

George had the good sense not to argue with me although he made a great show of scowling his displeasure at the suggestion. "I think Jacob should come along too," he said. "He could scare Blunt a bit if need be. Throw something around or create a disturbance."

I would have loved to have Jacob with us but I wasn't sure he would see the benefit of my presence. I wasn't sure he'd want to see me at all.

"I could do much more than create a disturbance," Jacob said, suddenly appearing on the seat beside me. He sat with his shoulder against the door, as far away from me as possible.

"Jacob's here," I said to George, jerking my head in the brooding ghost's direction. I tried not to let his presence unnerve me in any way, but I failed. My heart tripped merrily over itself at the mere sight of him and I ached to get closer to him.

"We were just talking about you," George said. He sat up straighter and pressed his finger to the bridge of his glasses even though they hadn't slipped down. "Care to visit Blunt with us?"

"You're not going," Jacob said to me, ignoring George.

"I am so," I said. "And you can't stop me."

"It's dangerous."

"Riding in this carriage is dangerous." I crossed my arms but it wasn't because I was making a point, it was to hold myself back from climbing into his lap and kissing him. I didn't think George would appreciate witnessing such a scene. Besides, I was almost certain Jacob would disappear again if I did. His closed expression with the shuttered eyes was a clear indication he didn't want to get into a discussion about last night.

Proving he was full of surprises, he said, "Is this about what happened between us in your room?"

"No, this is about you telling me what to do. You have no right."

He groaned and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. "I'm sorry we parted on such angry terms."

"I wasn't angry."

"You're angry now."

"No, I'm... never mind. Now is neither the time nor the place to discuss it." I risked a glance at George. He was staring out the window a little too hard for me to believe he was interested in the scenery whizzing past at an astonishing rate. "Aren't you going to tell the driver to go to Clerkenwell?" I asked him.

"We'll return to my house first," George said. "I have a pair of old dueling pistols that belonged to my grandfather in the study."

"Pistols! Do you think that's necessary?"

George nodded grimly. Jacob nodded, equally grim. "There was another victim last night," he said.

I gasped and put a gloved hand to my mouth as bile filled it. "Oh God." I told George what Jacob had said. He removed his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"Another footman," Jacob said. "Later on, the house where he worked was burgled. There was no sign of forced entry."

I passed the information onto George, all the while trying not to think what a shape-shifting demon could do to a poor, unarmed man.

"This is awful," George said with undisguised horror. "It's looking more and more like the person or persons who summoned the demon are directing it to take on the form of its victim in order to gain access to the house where he worked." He screwed his top lip up and shook his head. "For money," he spat. "Despicable."

We were all silent for some time after that.

"Did you speak to the footman's ghost?" I eventually asked Jacob.

He nodded. "He couldn't tell me anything useful. He thought a wild dog or a bear had killed him. He said it came out of nowhere, from the shadows. When I explained what happened he decided to stay in the Waiting Area until the demon is returned to the Otherworld."

We remained silent until the carriage stopped outside George's house and he got out. Finally I was alone with Jacob. But after the terrible news, I didn't want to argue with him anymore. I just wanted to hold him and be held by him.

On the other hand I couldn't allow the opportunity to speak pass me by. I might not get another one.

"You failed to finish your story last night," I said.

"I know." He shifted his long legs, cramped in the tight space of the cabin, but still managed to keep them well away from mine. He must not want to risk getting too close. "I owe you an explanation after... everything." He shifted his legs again, putting them back where they were to begin with, under the seat we shared, crossed at the ankles.

"You got to the point where Frederick fell and hit his head," I prompted. "What happened next? Did you check to see if he was thoroughly dead?"

"He wasn't dead at all. He got up and ran away."

"Got up! Not dead! Jacob, that's—."

He held up a hand. "Wait, let me finish. I know what you're going to say—that I didn't kill him."

"Well of course!"

"He was unconscious for only a few seconds during which time I tried to waken him. I was in the middle of feeling for a pulse when he opened his eyes. He took one look at me, screamed, then got up and ran off. He seemed disoriented and I went after him to ensure he didn't fall again but he climbed into a carriage that I hadn't noticed waiting further down the street, and sped off before I could catch up.

"For days I worried if he was all right. I also tried to think who he might have been, but I had no luck. Anyway, about a week after that incident, I was walking home again and was attacked once more. This time it was by someone wearing a hooded cloak. Whoever it was caught me off guard, delivering a blow that made me lose my senses. I woke up some time later with a blanket or cloak over my head. I struggled to free myself but my wrists were tied." He lifted both hands to his face and stared at them. "I was hit again as I struggled and it was then that I realized I was inside a carriage and it was traveling fast. I continued to struggle of course and by this time I was asking my companion, or companions, what they wanted. The only answers I received were more blows and again I became unconscious."

"Oh, lord." I sidled up to him and touched his cheek. How could anyone hurt my Jacob?

He took my hand and pulled it gently away and placed it on his thigh. Tears stung my nose and eyes and burned the back of my throat. He did not want my sympathy, or my love.

"The carriage stopped and I was dragged out. We were in the country, I know that much. I could smell earth and grass."

"Did it have a farm smell?" I screwed up my nose. I'd only been to one farm in my life, when Mama had taken me to see where milk came from as a child. I'd got dung on my boots and straw in my hair and the aroma had stayed with me ever since. I knew after that experience I was a London girl through and through.

He smiled, despite the horrible tale he was telling. "No. Just a pleasant country odor. I could hear an owl but nothing else. It was very quiet. I was dragged further away again and I remember rolling into a ditch."

"And left there to die," I whispered.

"I suppose so. I was in and out of consciousness by this stage. I remember being extremely cold, all the way through, as if my very bones had frozen. I'd lost my coat and hat and the blanket had also disappeared."

I shivered and hugged myself. "How long before you died, do you think?"

He shrugged. "It could have been minutes or days, I really don't know."

I looked out the window but there was no sign of George, which was good because I hadn't finished questioning Jacob and I wanted to continue to do it alone. I'd discovered years ago that discussing a ghost's death with them could be quite an intimate affair. I suspected Jacob wouldn't want George to know all the harrowing details. I felt privileged that he was confiding in me.

"Did the killer remain with you until you died?"

"No." He blinked rapidly and rubbed a finger across his bottom lip. There was something he wasn't telling me.

"Did your killer say something before he departed?"

He hesitated then his gaze leveled with mine. "Yes. He cursed me for killing his son."

My heart thudded once against my ribs. "Frederick."

Jacob nodded. "He must have died from his injury. The injury I gave him. Only not straight away but some time later."

I felt like I'd been punched in the chest. Breathing suddenly became difficult. I didn't understand. There was something wrong, something missing in this puzzle and I couldn't put my finger on it. Perhaps Jacob was still withholding information.

"What exactly did he say?" I asked. "Tell me the curse. We can do some research on it and perhaps find out more about your killer that way."

"I won't tell you the precise wording of the curse since I don't know if it can be activated by words alone." I agreed with an urgent nod. George had just emerged from the front door of his house and was speaking to the driver. "My attacker said if I wanted to live, I must prove I deserve to by sacrificing something important to me." His voice shook slightly. "He likened it to the loss of his only child, the most important thing to him. My loss had to match his."

"But prove how? You were dying in a ditch for goodness sake!" I clutched Jacob's hand. George would be joining us at any moment. There wasn't much time. "What did he think you'd do, get up and walk away to perform this sacrifice he wanted? And if you didn't, was he threatening to... ?" I couldn't finish the sentence. It was just too horrible to think about Jacob's murder. Besides, George was opening the door and climbing into the carriage.

He lifted the coat he carried over his arm to reveal a rectangular wooden box about the size of a large book. He placed it on the seat beside him and called out, "Drive on!"

The carriage jerked forward and the horses' hooves clip-clopped a merry tune on the road. I looked to Jacob. If he wanted to speak, he could and it would be like having a private conversation with me. But he did not. He turned away and looked out the window.

His words haunted me the entire journey to Clerkenwell: if I want to live, I must prove I deserve to by sacrificing something important to me.

So why hadn't the murderer given Jacob the chance to make the sacrifice before ending his life?

Chapter Thirteen

I was still thinking about the curse placed on Jacob when we arrived at the Clerkenwell school. It hadn't taken long by carriage but there was only so much silence three people in close confines can endure before time starts to stretch painfully. George had tried to instigate a conversation with me but I wasn't in the right mood for chatter so he spent the remainder of the journey loading the pistol. Before we climbed out of the carriage, he placed his coat strategically over his arm and hand to hide the weapon.

The school's maid showed us into the drawing room where we waited for Blunt. The giant figure of the schoolmaster soon filled the doorway. "Ah, Mr. Culvert, Miss Chambers, you've returned." His wary gaze flicked around the room. "But where is your sister, Miss Chambers? I'd hoped you had come to organize the séance." He bent down to my level and that's when I noticed the puffy, sagging skin beneath his reddened eyes. "The ghost still haunts me," he whispered.

I raised an eyebrow at Jacob. He gave me a smug smile. "We're not here about the ghost," I said to Blunt. "Mr. Culvert and I have some very serious questions to ask you."

"Yes," said George. He squared up to the much larger man and I wanted to cheer his bravery but then I remembered he held a loaded pistol. A weapon can make a person twice as courageous but sometimes twice as stupid too. I wasn't sure which camp George fell into. "Do you recall on our last visit we mentioned a book on demonology had been stolen from my library?"

"I do," Blunt hedged.

"We think you used the information within it to summon a shape-shifting demon from the Otherworld."

Oh dear, George had about as much tact as Jacob. Perhaps it was a male thing. His accusation certainly had an affect on Blunt. The schoolmaster bristled and his beard took on a life of its own as he spluttered an objection.

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing! Get out. Get out of my school." He stabbed a finger at the open door.

"Not until we have answers," George said.

Blunt stepped closer to him so that they were chest to chest, or would have been if the height difference weren't so pronounced. George only came up to the other man's armpit. He swallowed and a bead of sweat popped out on his pale brow.

Blunt chuckled, a nasty sound that gurgled up from his throat. "Stupid boy. What did you possibly hope to achieve by coming here?"

"The truth," George said without blinking.

Jacob sidled over to them. "You'd better say something before he gets himself clubbed by one of Blunt's paws. Use your charm," he added when I gave him a questioning look.

We were in trouble if we were relying on my charm. "Er, Mr. Blunt," I began, "we've just come from Leviticus Price's house and he claimed you were asking some rather specific questions about demonology."

"Did he?" He turned eyes the color of a stagnant pond on me and I recoiled at the viciousness in them. He wasn't trying to hide it now. "And what makes you think you can believe him, Miss Chambers? Did a ghost just happen to whisper it into your ear?"

"Yes. Just like he's now telling me you are the one who summoned the demon." Blunt clearly believed in spirits, demons and the Otherworld so why not use that belief to frighten him?

"What?" he bellowed, his bravado rapidly fading behind his facial hair.

"Spirits know everything, Mr. Blunt. They know what you had for breakfast today, what you do in your office when the door's closed and what you do at night in the girl's dormitory."

The big man rocked back on his heels and his face turned the same sickly color as his eyes.

"So tell us, where is the demon now?"

He stared at me, shaking his head over and over, all the while backing away but not towards the door. Jacob stalked him, taking a step forward for every one Blunt took back. His presence felt strong to me, real, and I wondered if either Blunt or George could feel it too.

"Tell us," I said.

Blunt, still shaking his head, said, "No. No, I... I won't. You can't hurt me. Your ghost can't hurt me."

It was my turn to shake my head. "What makes you think that?"

"Spirits travel right through solid things." He was blustering, his eyes wide, his hand gestures wild. It was almost as if he was trying to convince himself. "They don't have any form. They can't grasp objects." He spun round and lunged for the fire tools. He grabbed the iron poker and brandished it like a sword.

George whipped the coat off his arm to reveal the pistol. He pointed it at Blunt. His hand shook. "Put it down."

"You wouldn't," Blunt said, more self-assured than he had been when discussing ghosts.

"He's right," Jacob said to me. "George won't use it." There was no accusation in his tone. Neither he nor I would blame George if he couldn't fire the weapon.

But George, surprising us both, stretched his arm out. "I will use it. To save her." He nodded at me.

Jacob's gaze slid to mine. He grunted and crossed his arms then turned his attention back to the others just as Blunt lunged at George.

George jumped back and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. He cocked the pistol again but Blunt was on him, bringing the heavy iron poker down onto George's head.

George ducked and put an arm up in defense. The poker kept coming. A scream tore from my throat and I closed my eyes, a reaction I later chided myself for.

But instead of the crack of bone, the only sound was a grunt and it came from Blunt. I opened my eyes. Jacob had both hands on the poker, inches from George's head. He and Blunt battled each other for control, the older man's startled expression mingling with an angry one.

With a roar and a burst of strength, Jacob pushed up hard, causing Blunt to lose his balance and stumble. Using the momentum, Jacob thrust his opponent against the wall beside the fireplace. The force must have loosened his grip because Jacob was able to snatch the poker out of his hand. He swung it at Blunt's stomach. The impact made a sickening thud.

Blunt let out a whoosh of breath and bent over double, his face bright red. Jacob pressed the poker under Blunt's chin, sending his head snapping back. It hit the wall and his eyes rolled up into his head.

"Ask him about the demon again," Jacob said. He aimed the poker at Blunt's chest.

"Where's the demon being kept?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level. I did not want the men to see how squeamish the fighting made me. My insides might be wobbling like jelly but I would do everything in my power to ensure that's where the jelly stayed.

Blunt grinned a warped, nasty grin. "Get. Out. Of. My. School."

"Please, let's not have any more violence," I said. "I don't want my ghost to hurt you, Mr. Blunt. As you can see, he can wield weapons as easily as any of us. So please just tell us where the demon is and we'll let you go unharmed."

"It won't hurt me." He seemed to believe it too.

"Why do you say that?" It was George. He stood to one side, well away from Blunt and Jacob, the gun still in his hand but pointed harmlessly at the floor.

"Because I must be the only link you have to the demon or you wouldn't be here at all. And I think you want to find it before tonight." His beard and moustache lifted at one corner and the fleshy lips between them twisted into a sneer. "Am I right?"

Jacob, his face distorted with rage, shoved Blunt hard into the wall then pressed the length of the poker against the bigger man's throat. Blunt scrabbled at Jacob's hands, grasping nothing but cool, empty air since he couldn't see Jacob. His eyes widened with fear and perhaps the realization that he'd been wrong—Jacob might kill him. His cheeks and nose became a changing palette of colors—red to mauve to purple—and the veins on his forehead formed thick, bluish ridges. He tried to talk but only squeaks came out.

"He's going to kill him!" George took one step forward but hesitated. "Should we let him?"

"No!" I said. "Jacob, no! Stop this. Let him go."

"He deserves it," Jacob growled. His eyes frightened me. They were cold and dark, two voids of swirling anger.

Blunt jerked about trying to free himself, but it didn't dislodge Jacob. He held the poker against Blunt's throat as if his own life depended on it.

Oh God, I had to do something. "You can't do this, Jacob. Think about it. Think about what you're doing!" If only I could get through to the rational side of him, the side not blinded by fury. "Do you want another death on your conscience?"

George turned to me, his spectacles halfway down his nose. "Another death?"

I ignored him. My plea seemed to be working. With a roar of frustration, Jacob eased back. The schoolmaster slid down the wall like a splotch of mud and sat on the floor. He was still very pink and he held his throat with both hands as if he was holding it together. He heaved in great lungfuls of air and glanced feverishly around the room.

The maid entered carrying a tray of tea things. She gasped when she saw Blunt's state and the tray tilted dangerously to one side. "Mr. Blunt! Everything all right, sir?"

"He, uh, had a coughing fit," I said, trying to catch George's eye but to no avail. He held the gun in plain sight, seemingly unaware of the uproar he would cause if the maid saw it. I grabbed his spare jacket and threw it at him.

He placed it over his hand and the gun. "He's not going to talk now" he muttered, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the door.

With my heart rampaging like an advancing army of soldiers, we left. I glanced over my shoulder to see if Jacob would stay or go. Fortunately he was right behind us, his gaze fixed on George's hand holding mine. I thought he'd still be angry, wanting to fight, but he looked worried. No, not worried. Haunted. The irony of the word wasn't lost on me.

We reached the carriage and George opened the door for me. I checked for Jacob but he stayed back near the school's porch. "Are you coming?" I asked.

He shook his head.

I wanted him with me, holding my hand, telling me everything would be all right. I wanted him away from Blunt. I wasn't entirely sure he could be trusted not to return and... "Please, Jacob, come home with me."

He stalked across the space between us and slammed his hand against the side of the carriage, right near my head. George looked around as if he couldn't detect where the sound had come from.

I swallowed my squeal of fright and blinked at Jacob.

He stood close to me, his palm flat on the carriage, his forearm skimming the brim of my hat. He leaned down until our faces were level. "I told you last night," he said in that quiet, malevolent voice of his. "I'm dangerous. You should stay away from me."

And then he was gone and all that was left was the pounding of my heart and the background noise of George's voice as he spoke words that I couldn't quite hear.

"I can't," I whispered to the emptiness. "I can't stay away."

***

All I wanted to do when I got home was climb into bed and reflect on everything Jacob had told me that day. Unfortunately Celia bombarded me with questions over a dinner of roast pork in the dining room instead.

"Well? How did it go today?" she asked, popping a single pea into her mouth. Why did she always have to eat them one at a time? She couldn't be trying to impress anyone with her delicate eating habits since I was the only one there.

"Leviticus Price wasn't much help," I said. "He couldn't recall when he spoke to Blunt precisely."

"Oh. Yes of course."

I eyed my sister, a pile of peas balanced precariously on my fork near my mouth. "That is what you meant, isn't it?"

"Well... partly."

I frowned as I chewed my peas. Celia was being coy about something and she was not usually a coy person. Except on one subject. "Ah. You mean did I have a nice outing with George Culvert?"

"Now that you mention it, how are you faring with him?"

Faring? "We get on well enough."

"I see," Celia said as she cut off a small slice of pork. I put my knife down with a clank on the plate. She looked up from her dinner. "Is something wrong, Em? You're not finished. Aren't you hungry?"

I leaned over my plate to get closer to her, even though the large dining table kept us well apart. "I know what you're doing," I said.

"I am eating my food like a lady. You would do well to follow my example if you want to secure a gentleman for yourself."

"A gentleman like George Culvert you mean?"

She shrugged and anyone who didn't know her as well as I did would have thought her dismissive of the suggestion. I was not so easy to fool.

"I am not interested in George Culvert and he's—." I was about to say not interested in me, but that was clearly incorrect. "He can do far better than the likes of me."

It was my sister's turn to lower her cutlery with a clank onto her plate. "What has he been saying about you?" She'd raised her voice, a sure sign she was deadly serious.

"Nothing. He's the perfect gentleman."

She made a miffed sound through her nose. "I'd challenge him to find another girl more interesting than you." She stabbed a pea with her fork rather more viciously than necessary. "Or more suited to a demonologist. Does he expect a Society miss to merely overlook his peculiar interests?"

"Not George." His mother, however, probably would hope such a girl existed.

This time she stabbed two peas. It would have been amusing to watch if I wasn't a little disconcerted by her matchmaking. And if my mind weren't preoccupied with Jacob's behavior. Then there was our conversation in the carriage about his murder...

"Celia, can I tell you what else happened today?"

"Something else happened?" She seemed relieved to leave the subject of George behind.

"Yes. Quite a bit actually." I told her about our visit to Blunt first. I left out the part about the pistol, the fire iron and how close I came to a fight between Blunt and Jacob. There wasn't much more to that part of the story except to say, "We're quite certain Blunt is involved in some way with the demon and the thefts. We just need to prove it."

Celia's jaw dropped further and her eyes grew wider as I spoke. Despite my omission of the grimmer facts, she appeared to comprehend the danger perfectly. "I forbid you to return to the school, Emily. Do you understand? Mr. Blunt does not seem like the sort of person we want to associate with. We certainly won't be performing a séance for him now."

I tried not to smile. "No, we won't." I didn't say anything about not intending to visit the school again though. No need to lie unless absolutely necessary. "There's more I need to tell you, Sis. I... I need some advice."

"Oh?"

"It's about Jacob."

She sighed dramatically. "Not again," she muttered.

"What does that mean?"

Lucy arrived and collected our plates. Celia waited until she'd left before she answered. "I know you see him more than you let on. I know you... like him."

"What of it?"

"He's a ghost, Em. You cannot think of him... " She lowered her voice. "... in that way."

"I think of him as a friend." I folded my hands on the tablecloth to stop them shaking. It was a lie of course, but I didn't think my sister was prepared for the truth—that I loved a spirit. I would always love him.

"I'm not a fool. I know you care for him as more than a friend." She too placed her hands on the table, steepling them as if in prayer. "I recognize a girl who thinks she's in love when I see one. And while I sympathize—."

"Sympathize!" I shot to my feet, bumping my chair and sending it tumbling backwards to the floor. "How would you know how I feel? You've never cared romantically for any man. That part of your heart shriveled up long ago, if it ever existed at all."

Her lips flattened. Her nostrils flared and tears pooled in her eyes. My anger evaporated as suddenly as it had flared at the sight of her struggling not to shed them. "I'm going to my room," I said.

"Emily!"

If she was hoping for an apology she wouldn't get one. I regretted my outburst but not what I'd said. Celia had never been in love. How could she know what I felt for Jacob? "I'm going to my room and don't wish to be disturbed," I said, rounding the table.

"But you wanted to tell me something about him! I'll listen—."

"Forget it. It doesn't matter." I passed Lucy outside the dining room. The red and green jelly she carried on a platter wobbled when she stopped to let me pass.

"Don't you want jelly, miss?"

"No thank you, Lucy."

Her face fell. "But I made it 'specially. Mrs. White says my jellies are a marvel."

It did look rather delicious. "Very well. Bring me some to my room, please." I tried to smile because she looked upset. "Thank you, Lucy."

She bobbed a curtsey that sent the jelly sliding. Luckily she righted the platter and continued into the dining room without mishap.

I ran upstairs and changed into my nightgown then flopped on the bed, suddenly too tired to sit up and read like I usually would.

I was woken by Jacob in the deepest, darkest part of the night. I began to scold him but the look on his face stopped me. By the light of the candle he carried, I could just make out the dread imprinted on every exquisite feature.

I sat bolt upright. "What is it?"

"The demon has attacked Forbes."

The name sounded familiar but I couldn't place it. "Who's Forbes?"

"My parents' butler."

The full implication of his words took a moment to sink in to my sluggish brain. But when it did, I felt ill. "Is he... dead?"

Jacob nodded once and looked away but not before I saw the shine in his eyes, reflected by the candlelight. "He'd been with us for years."

"Oh, Jacob, I'm so sorry."

He shook his head and once more turned to me. His eyes had hardened again, the moment's vulnerability completely obliterated. "I need your help, Emily."

"I'll get dressed." He looked away as I put on a black dress, gloves and a long black cloak. I didn't bother with a hat and left my hair down. Usually I tied it into a braid before bed but I'd been too tired to do anything with it.

Jacob and I didn't talk. My mind was fully awake now, my thoughts tumbling over themselves, until one became very clear. Lord and Lady Preston were about to be burgled—and we had our best chance of sending the demon back to the Otherworld.

We left quietly, me with my boots in one hand, Jacob carrying the single candle. I had him wave it at the face of the clock in the entrance hall—it was three o'clock. Before we left, I found the amulet that had originally summoned the demon and hung it around my neck. I tucked the six-pointed star inside my bodice and glanced back up the stairs. All was silent. Hopefully we'd be back by dawn—I didn't want another argument with Celia. I felt bad enough about our dinnertime squabble.

Outside I put on my boots and together we set off down Druids Way. Oddly for our street, there was no wind. Not even a puff. Without a breeze to blow it away, the fog congealed around us, its damp fingers caressing my face, tangling my hair. I hated to think what my curls must look like with all the moisture in the air.

"It's very late," I said to Jacob. My voice sounded strangely disembodied in the thick night, our footsteps equally so. The feeble glow of the street lamps barely lit up the tops of their poles let alone us far below them. It was a strange feeling walking along the empty, fog-shrouded streets with a ghost at my side. My sense for the dramatic thought it the right sort of night for the dead—ethereal, silent, lonely. "When would your family usually arrive home after an evening out?"

"They're already home. I checked. That's why I woke you."

"To warn them," I finished for him. The cold dampness seeped through my clothing to my skin, all the way to the bone.

I started to run.

Jacob easily kept up but the candle extinguished. He tossed it away. I would have taken several wrong turns in the soupy miasma if it hadn't been for him guiding me. We half walked, half ran and reached Belgrave Square quickly.

At first I thought the house was silent, safe, but then I heard it.

A scream. High, nerve splitting, and filled with terror.

"Adelaide!" Jacob disappeared.

Lights came on inside the house. Adelaide screamed again. Another, higher scream joined hers—Lady Preston's?

Oh God oh God oh God. I raced down the stairs and banged on the servants' door, praying someone was in the service area, hoping they heard me.

"Open—!" A hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my shout. I was wrenched back up the stairs to street level, my attacker dragging me. My heels scraped against the stone steps as I tried to stand. Then I was shoved against the wall of the house. My head hit the stucco and a jolt of pain ripped through my skull. The night turned blacker for a moment but I fought against the fog trying to cloud my brain. Someone held me upright with an iron-clawed grip, stopping me from sliding to the ground.

My vision cleared. A face loomed over me like a moon in the murky night. I didn't recognize it but it was familiar nevertheless. He had the same drooping eyes and small mouth as Maree Finch.

Tommy.

"Let me go," I said. "Please."

Finch laughed, baring two rows of crooked teeth like old headstones. "Who's gonna make me? You?" He leaned in, his wide, white face close to mine. His breath, hair and his very skin reeked of ale and cigar smoke, sweat and something worse. I retched. That only made him laugh harder. "This the girl who can see ghosts, eh?" Was he talking to me or someone else? I tried to look past him but he was too big and the night too dark. "Looks like a mad thing." He sniffed my hair. And he thought I was the mad one.

Suddenly the sound of glass shattering filled the air. Finch pulled back, glanced up. "Christ," he muttered.

I followed his gaze just in time to see Jacob and a man dressed in servant's livery of scarlet breeches and coat falling from a high window. They were locked in battle and they fell together amidst a shower of glass, hurtling towards the footpath.

My heart leapt into my throat. I screamed. More screams echoed mine from inside the house.

It took me a moment to remember Jacob could not be harmed by such a fall. But his companion would not be so lucky.

I was wrong. The two hit the ground as one. Their impact sent a shudder along the pavement and cracked it open like an eggshell. Jacob sprang up immediately and to my surprise, so did the other man. It was as if they'd not just fallen several stories onto stone.

That's when I noticed Finch muttering behind me. I couldn't quite hear what he was saying even though his mouth was right near my ear, but I didn't think he spoke English.

Before I had a chance to guess at the language, my attention was drawn back to Jacob. He and the other man hurled themselves at each other like two beasts in the ring, using their bodies as weapons. Their chests slammed, shoulders hunched and heaved. Fists smashed into flesh. Flesh that wasn't like any flesh I knew—it didn't smack like real skin and no bones crunched. No blood was spilled.

The servant dove at Jacob, forcing him to the ground. Together they rolled into the circle of light cast by a street lamp and that's when I saw his face.

No, not face... faces. It constantly changed, forming and reforming into people I recognized and some I didn't—Finch, Blunt, Jacob, Adelaide, Lady and Lord Preston...

It was the demon, shifting shape as it fought.

Oh God, no. How could Jacob defeat a demon? From my discussions with George, I knew they were strong and that killing them was almost impossible and required a special Otherworldly blade. I also knew that being a supernatural creature meant the demon could tear Jacob's soul from his body. It could destroy his essence, obliterate him from this world and every other.

It could turn him into nothing.

I tried to get closer but Finch jerked me back. He was still muttering under his breath, the strange, poetic words blending together, sliding off his tongue. He was directing the creature—the demon—controlling it as it fought Jacob.

I struggled against him but his grip was too strong. He hissed in between his strange mutterings then looked over his other shoulder into the murkiness of the nearby alley. Something moved in the shadows. The sound of retreating footsteps echoed through the dense fog and I saw the flap of a coat before it was swallowed up by the night.

Finch grunted and bunched his fist into my cloak. He stopped chanting long enough to utter, "Soft-bellied toff." Did he mean me, or the person from the alley? Had someone been there or was it just a trick of light or my imagination?

Finch jerked me forward only to shove me back against the iron railing separating the pavement from the servants' stairs. Pain spiked down my spine as I almost toppled over the waist-high barrier onto the steps below. He stood in front of me now, his fist still bunching my cloak at my throat, but he was watching the fight. I followed his gaze and cringed as the demon's fist smashed into Jacob's mouth. On an ordinary human it would have knocked out teeth but it had little effect on Jacob.

Even so, I felt sick to my stomach. My heart had stopped beating the moment I saw him falling from the window and it felt like it had not restarted. If his soul was taken tonight by the demon, I didn't think it would ever beat again.

The demon punched Jacob once more and he reeled back from the force. Steadying himself, he ran at the creature as if he was still fresh and his fist connected with the demon's chin. How long could this go on? Would either of them tire?

I had to do something. Had to. Before the demon destroyed Jacob.

The amulet! With all the action, I'd almost forgotten about it. But Finch's big paw at my throat cut off access. I tried to pull away but my movement drew his attention and his fist tightened in my cloak. He snarled, baring teeth, and his mouth twisted into a gruesome smile.

With his focus on me and not the fight, the demon slowed, allowing Jacob to get in three quick, hard punches on the demon's chin, sending it reeling back into the shadows. He glanced at me for the first time since he'd fallen from the window. His eyes widened. His features seemed to collapse in on themselves.

"Emily!" His shout split the air.

Finch spun round and spoke in the strange language again. The demon flew out of the shadows and shoved Jacob back into the lamp post. The iron pole bent from the force.

"Jacob!" I struggled against Finch but it was useless. I was so weak by comparison, so useless. I couldn't get to the amulet. Couldn't get away. Couldn't do anything.

"Emily?" It was Adelaide. She and her father had emerged from the house, wrapped in thick coats with fur collars. Lord Preston's attention focused on the demon and what he thought of that I couldn't make out in the darkness. It must seem terribly peculiar, the creature with its changing faces fighting an invisible foe.

Two footmen joined them on the landing, pistols cocked. Lord Preston also held a long sword, its blade gleaming even in the dull light cast by the lamp Adelaide held. She seemed not to know where to look, first at me, then at the demon, then at her father.

One of the servants aimed his pistol at the demon.

"That won't do anything," I said.

"Shut up!" Finch slapped me across the face. It stung. I bit down against the pain and shook off the dizziness.

"Father, do something!" shouted Adelaide.

Lord Preston turned to me, his face like thunder. But there was a hint of confusion there too. He said nothing, gave no orders, and I decided he must be attempting to make sense of what he saw or he'd have taken charge already. His fingers flexed around the sword hilt. It was the sort of weapon found on library walls or behind glass cabinets, all gold and shiny metal with a tassel hanging from the hilt. It had probably never been used.

"Call the police!" I shouted and kicked out at Finch's shins.

He slapped me again. My head buzzed like a hive full of angry bees. I blinked away tears and battled to stay upright as Finch moved. Suddenly he was behind me, his arm around my waist. Something cold and sharp bit into my throat.

A knife.

"Emily!" Adelaide screamed again.

Onlookers emerged up and down the street, their lamps and candles glowing like faint stars. In the distance I heard a constable's whistle but it was far away. Too far.

"Unhand her!" Lord Preston bellowed. Thank God he'd regained his sense of command although I doubted it would do any good.

Finch certainly didn't cower. The knife pierced my skin. His breath came hot and moist in my ear as he chanted. I could feel his heart beating at my back, as rapid and erratic as my own. But his hand didn't shake. His life depended on keeping control of the weapon.

Off to our right, everyone either watched the strange spectacle of the demon or had their gazes on me. Adelaide, unaware that her brother's ghost was barely keeping a shape-shifting demon at bay, grew frantic. "Father! He's going to hurt her!"

"Stay," Finch commanded them in between muttering the lyrical chant.

The servants waited for their master to give an order. But any order to attack Finch would only bring about my death.

I closed my eyes.

An almighty roar from Jacob had me opening them again, just in time to see him throw himself at the demon. They toppled together. Finch gave a frustrated grunt and, miraculously, his grip on my coat loosened. It was enough. Just. I delved down inside my cloak and pulled the amulet up from beneath my gown.

I began the curse that Celia had taught me to send the demon back.

"Bitch!" Finch snarled. He snatched the amulet out of my hand, ripping the leather strip from my neck. "What d'you think you're doin', eh?"

The whack of the demon's head hitting the gutter forced us both to turn back to the fight. The creature, still in human form but with shadows swirling where there should have been a face, lay on the ground. It groaned and didn't get up. Jacob had used Finch's break in concentration when he took the amulet to deliver a knockout blow.

Finch growled low in his throat then began his chants again in earnest. The demon groaned but failed to rise. Finch swore and tried again. Still nothing.

Jacob glanced at me. He neither breathed hard nor sweated like a live person would after a fight but his hair was disheveled and his shirt torn. He stood there, fists pumping at his sides, and watched me with an expression I couldn't make out in the dimness.

Just watched.

"Jacob?" He could be at my side in seconds. With invisibility on his side, he could surprise Finch and snatch the knife away.

But he did not.

He didn't move in my direction at all. He just looked at me. And then he let out a low, primal wail like he was in pain. But he could not feel physical pain so—.

The demon stood up.

"Jacob, look out!"

He swung round and engaged the demon again. They tumbled together in the smudged edge of the lamp's light, limbs tangled, the smack of fists and the grunts of exertion the only sounds.

Behind me, Finch chuckled. "Your ghost lover wants you to join 'im, eh?" he said between chants.

I stared straight ahead, not quite at Jacob, not at anything. My heart had skidded to a stop in my chest. I felt hollow, empty.

Alone.

The notion that Finch might be right... that Jacob had not tried to save me... it was too much to take in. I couldn't even cry even though I was full of tears.

"You better come wiv me," Finch muttered. His arm squeezed my waist so hard I thought he'd snap me in two.

I gasped and scrabbled at his hands, tried to dig in my heels and plant myself on the spot.

But he was too strong. My attempts didn't even make him pause.

On the main landing, Adelaide also gasped but smothered most of it with a hand over her mouth.

Before I could turn and follow her wide-eyed gaze, a loud whump echoed through the night. Finch's grip slackened, he dropped the knife then slipped to the ground with as much grace as a rag doll. Behind him stood Lady Preston, a brass candelabra in her hand and angry triumph on her face.

I kicked the knife away and stepped out of Finch's reach. A footmen descended on him and stood guard. It all happened so fast. Adelaide ran down the stairs and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. Her mother calmly handed the candelabra to a maid and went to her husband. He folded her against his chest and rested his chin on her head, the sword loose at his side. His gaze returned to where Jacob and the demon fought.

But the demon suddenly spun round and fled. With a roar of frustration, Jacob chased it. I went to follow but Adelaide held me back.

"No," she said. "It's much too dangerous."

Behind me, the footman gave a short grunt. I spun round, just in time to see him stumbling backwards and Finch fleeing in the opposite direction to the demon and Jacob. The thick fog enveloped him before I could react with anything more than a gasp.

"Fool!" Lord Preston shouted at the hapless footman.

The servant rubbed his knee where Finch must have kicked him and shrugged an apology to me. I tried to reassure him but it was impossible to feel anything but a terrible fear pressing down on my chest.

The pressure eased slightly when Jacob returned. "Gone," he said. "It was too fast." He frowned. "Where's Finch?"

"Also gone," I said. "And he has the amulet."

Jacob paused then crouched down, the fingers of one hand on the pavement to balance himself. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. As I watched, his shirt mended itself as did the small cuts on his lip and cheek. The skin simply re-covered them. There had been no blood of course and the skin was neither new nor pink. If his hair hadn't remained messy there would have been no evidence of the fight at all.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Don't come near me." He rubbed a hand through his hair and studied the ground near his feet. "Damn it!" He slammed his fist onto the pavement and a guttural growl tore from his throat. It was full of desperation, anger, hurt and so many more emotions I couldn't identify. It ripped through the blanket of night, shot through my heart.

I pulled away from Adelaide and went to him but he got to his feet and moved to the edge of the light where I couldn't quite make out his features. "Don't," he said again. His voice sounded raw, not his own.

Adelaide came up beside me and held up her lamp. "My brother... he's here?"

I nodded. I couldn't speak. I wanted to go to Jacob, wanted to hold him. But he didn't want me near.

"Where?" Lady Preston joined her daughter and together they looked at the bent lamp post as if Jacob's ghost was there. "Where's my son?"

I waved in his direction.

"Can we speak to him?"

"I don't want to talk," Jacob said. He moved even further into the shadows so that only his silhouette was visible to me.

"Another time," I said through a tight, full throat.

Lady Preston's face crumpled, tears filled her eyes. Adelaide hugged her.

"He and I have Otherworld business to finish," I said quickly. "We'll return another day." It was the best I could manage when my thoughts were so jumbled together I could barely think let alone speak.

"Leave us!" It was Lord Preston, stomping down the stairs. As he spoke, two constables rushed up and took in the scene, truncheons poised to strike. "Move her on," he said, pointing at me. "She's not wanted here."

"But Father, she—."

"She's not wanted!" His bellow would have been heard up and down the street, despite the dense fog deadening it. The lights from the neighbors' lamps disappeared back inside their homes. I could only imagine what they must think of the events of this night and how it would be recounted in the clubs and coffee houses tomorrow. How would they explain what they'd seen? How much could they see? Certainly not the demon's changing faces.

"Jacob is here," Lady Preston said in a quiet voice, so steady compared to the first time we met but still small and thin like a child's. "He's busy now but he'll return soon."

Lord Preston took his wife's hand, looped it through his arm and patted it. "Go inside, my dear. Both of you. I'll sort this out and join you soon."

Adelaide didn't move as the constables approached me. "No, Father," she said, tossing her long braid over her shoulder. "You'll not treat her like a criminal. She's done nothing wrong."

"She can see Jacob," Lady Preston said, still staring off in the direction of her son. Jacob remained in the darkness but I could feel his presence as strongly as ever. It was troubled. And so very angry.

"It's all right," I said to Adelaide. "We have to go anyway."

"We." Lord Preston snorted. "You're very good, Miss Chambers. A genius at theatre."

"Theatre!" Adelaide cried, fists clenched at her sides. "Father—."

"Silence! Inside, both of you."

Lady Preston meekly climbed the stairs but kept looking over her shoulder into the shadows. Adelaide sighed and touched my arm. I nodded at her to go. It wasn't her battle and I didn't want her to be punished on my account.

"This is not theatre, Lord Preston," I said when they were gone. It was difficult to inject any real enthusiasm into the words. I just wanted to leave, with Jacob.

"You made all this up," the viscount said, nodding at the bent lamp post. "You're probably in league with that boy, the one who held the knife to you. And Forbes."

"Your butler? Of course not. He was a victim—."

"I saw his face!" he shouted. Even in the poor light I knew his cheeks were turning a mottled red. "There." He nodded at the spot where Jacob and the demon had fought. "Doing just as good a job of pretending as both of you degenerates. I don't know why he'd want to hurt my family like this after so many years of good service... "

"Forbes is dead," I spat as I shook off the constable who reached for me. I'd had enough. Enough of being doubted, enough of being ridiculed, enough of being treated differently to everyone else. "A demon killed him and took on his form. That's how it got into your house. Didn't you see it just now? It was fighting your son's ghost. Jacob saved us by keeping it occupied. All of us."

"Forget it!" Jacob hurtled out of the shadows and snatched at my hand. Despite all his exertion, it was still cool. It always would be. "You're wasting your breath speaking to him."

"Miss," one of the constables said. "Don't make this hard for yourself, miss."

Lord Preston turned to go. I wasn't prepared to give up so easily but I had to back away from the constables. "Didn't you see its face change? You must have."

"I saw no such thing," Lord Preston said, his voice dripping with disdain. "It was much too dark to make out anything clearly. You are a liar, Miss Chambers, and a thief and perhaps worse. If I were you I'd leave before the police arrest you. I think we can safely assume a judge would have you committed to a mad asylum whether you were found guilty of these crimes or not, don't you?"

I should have stopped. I should have chalked Lord Preston up as a disbeliever and left it at that. But I couldn't. I was angry now too and there was nowhere for that anger to go except out. One of the constables grabbed my arm but I barely noticed. Jacob still held my other hand, strong and reassuring. "Finch is not my accomplice! He tried to kill me. He's been controlling the demon all along."

As had someone else. The person who'd left during the fight. My anger reduced to a simmer as quickly as it had boiled over. I jerked myself free of the constable's grip. "I'm going," I assured him then turned to Jacob. "We have to go to the school. I think Blunt was here."

The constable looked at me as if he thought I really should be in an insane asylum. I ignored him. I didn't have time to worry about what he thought of me.

"In a moment," Jacob said. He let go of my hand and picked up Finch's knife. He stepped up behind his father then tapped him on the shoulder with the blade. Lord Preston turned around, gasped then glared at me as if I'd somehow caused the knife to be there even though I wasn't close enough. For one heart-pounding moment I thought Jacob would stab him, but he simply drew the point down his father's cheek. Lord Preston yelped and jerked away. He snarled at me—me!—and smoothed down his moustache with his thumb and finger.

Jacob sidled up close to his father and blew in his ear. Lord Preston glanced around. "Next time you call her names I won't hold back," Jacob whispered barely loud enough for me to hear. Despite the quietness of his voice, the malice in it was unmistakable. I swallowed.

For the first time since we'd met, I believed what Jacob had been telling me all along. He was dangerous.

Chapter Fourteen

The policemen took me as far as the corner of Belgrave Square and warned me not to return to Lord Preston's house or they'd arrest me. I thanked them and followed Jacob into the night.

"We need to go now, before Blunt escapes," he said.

Perhaps he already had.

But it would take time to get to the school, time we couldn't afford to waste. "You go ahead," I said, pulling my cloak tighter at my throat. It brought back the memory of when Finch had clasped it, right before he'd stolen the amulet. Without it, we had no way of sending the demon back to the Otherworld. "Stop Blunt leaving if necessary. I'll catch up."

Jacob shook his head. He'd calmed down considerably since the confrontation with his father. He could look at me now at least, although his gaze didn't quite meet mine. "You're not walking alone at night."

"There's no other way." I gave him a reassuring smile. I wasn't angry with him. Concerned, yes because I could sense something was very wrong, but not angry.

He lifted a hand to my face and brushed his knuckles down my cheek in a gesture that sent my heart flipping in my chest and filled my eyes with tears once more. He gave me the saddest smile I'd ever seen and whispered my name, as if speaking it aloud would hurt.

It was amazing the sound of my heart cracking didn't fill the night.

"Jacob," I murmured. There was so much to say but I didn't know where to start or how.

He touched a finger to my lips. "Shhh, my sweet." His finger dipped down to my chin and he kissed me, a fleeting, feathery kiss that was over too soon. But despite the tenderness, tension continued to ripple through him. He was still fuming.

Was he furious at himself for hesitating?

I hadn't a clue. I blinked back the tears but one escaped anyway. He kissed it away, his mouth so soft I wanted to sink into it. He licked his lips, tasting my tear.

"Jacob," I tried again.

"Don't," he said, voice shuddering. He stepped back, all business again. I tried to be the same, to shut down my feelings, but it wasn't easy.

"I have another idea," he said. "Let's wake up George and ask to borrow his carriage. He won't want to miss the fun anyway."

I wasn't so sure about that but I smiled an agreement. It was a surface smile. Inside me everything ached.

Hand in hand we ran the short distance to Wilton Crescent. "I'll go in and wake him," Jacob said when we reached number fifty-two.

"But how will he know it's you and that you want him to come with us?"

"There should be pen and ink somewhere in the house." He was gone before I could say anything else.

Hardly five minutes passed before a sleepy footman holding a candelabra opened the front door, his green jacket unbuttoned, his hair unpowdered. "Mr. Culvert wishes you to wait inside, Miss Chambers." He yawned and waved me through to the drawing room with the candelabra.

I wasn't surprised to see Jacob already there. We didn't speak as the footman lit the candles on the mantelpiece then bowed out of the room, yawning.

"Culvert snores," Jacob said when we were alone.

"What did he say when you woke him?"

"Well, he didn't scream."

"You thought he might?"

"I thought it likely." He gave me his devilishly crooked smile but there was no humor in it. Sadness still invaded everything—his words, his face, even the way he stood with his shoulders slightly stooped. He stared into the cold ashes of the fireplace and said nothing further.

I sat and waited in the awkward silence, trying to decide if I wanted to broach the subject of his hesitation in Belgrave Square. George saved me when he appeared, tugging on his crisp white cuffs. He was fully dressed right down to a black overcoat but his hair was in desperate need of taming. It stuck out on one side and was entirely flat on the other.

"My coach and driver will be around shortly," he said, holding out his hands to me. I clasped them and he squeezed gently. "Are you all right, Emily?"

Jacob frowned at our linked hands. I let go. "Well enough," I said. "Sorry to wake you, George, but we do so need your carriage."

"Of course. Think nothing of it. Glad I can be of service. Is Beaufort still here?"

I nodded and waved towards the fireplace where Jacob stood watching us beneath his lowered lids, an unreadable expression on his icy face.

"I'll go on ahead," he said, coming towards me. "I'll unlock the school's front door for you." The ice seemed to melt before my eyes, the tension slip away from his mouth, his brow. The pale candlelight barely illuminated the blue of his eyes but I didn't need to see their color to recognize the worry in them as they searched my face. He lifted a hand to my cloak's collar and straightened it. His thumb brushed along the underside of my jaw. "Will you be all right?"

I nodded. I couldn't speak. I just wanted to hold him, kiss him, but I was no longer entirely sure if that's what he wanted. He might be behaving tenderly towards me now, but what about later? I desperately wanted to ask him what he was thinking, and why he'd hesitated back at his parents' house, but I couldn't, not with George around.

Besides, I had a feeling I wouldn't like the answer.

He disappeared and I watched the space where he'd been for a long time until George's polite cough drew my attention.

He held out his arm. "Shall we wait outside?"

***

During the carriage ride to Clerkenwell, I told George everything that had transpired that night. From the light cast by the lamps mounted outside the windows I could just see the grave set of his face and the frown settling above his spectacles.

"So now we must speak to Blunt to find out once and for all how he is involved," I said. "And to find out where Finch lives."

He reached under the seat and removed a box. I recognized it as the one he'd brought with him the last time we visited Blunt. The one with the pistol inside.

We arrived at the school shortly after that. George took one of the carriage lamps and left the other for the driver. Together we tried the front door. It was unlocked, as Jacob had promised. I hesitated and glanced at George. He looked pale in the gaslight, a trickle of sweat trailing down his temple despite the coolness of the air. "I think it best if Jacob deals with Blunt first," I said. "If his methods fail then you should use that." We both looked down at the pistol. He tucked it beneath his cloak and nodded. A slight color returned to his cheeks. Whatever he was, he was not a coward. Fear did not make someone cowardly; allowing that fear to stop them taking appropriate action, did.

He followed me into the school, down the corridor, towards a sliver of light peeping out from underneath the door next to Blunt's office. Noises came from the other side—wood splintering, glass shattering, objects landing with thuds. Blunt's voice over them all, pleading.

"Stop! Please, stop. Don't hurt me. Please."

Jacob had started without us.

I ran to the door but George overtook me. "Wait," I hissed. "Wait out here." He looked like he wanted to disagree. "Just give me a moment," I said. "I'll try to calm Jacob first. You wait here to—."

"But Emily—."

"I'll be fine, George. Jacob will protect me and we need you as our surprise. If Blunt doesn't confess then you can come in and use whatever means at your disposal. I couldn't bear it if that pistol went off by accident."

I didn't wait for his answer but entered the room and was surprised to see it wasn't another office but a bedroom. Two candles flickering on the mantelpiece provided a little light, illuminating a mess. Someone sat in the big bed, the covers pulled over their head. Blunt. Jacob stood near the window, the broken leg of a stool in his hand. The rest of the stool lay on the floor in pieces along with torn sheets, clumps of wool from a pillow, shards of a mirror and various other oddments.

"Careful of your step," Jacob said to me.

Slowly, the bedcovers lowered to reveal the disheveled head of Blunt. "Thank God you're here," he said. "Tell it to stop. I haven't gone to the girls dormitory, I haven't! Not since that first haunting. Tell it, tell it!"

"The spirit knows," I said. "But he's still not happy." I nodded at Jacob. He nodded back. "He's here because of the deaths you caused, Mr. Blunt. You and Tommy Finch."

"I, I... " He swallowed so hard I could hear his throat working from across the room. "I had nothing to do with that, I already told you."

"Don't lie to me," I said with a sigh. "I'm tired. I want to go home. The sooner you confess and give us Finch's address, the sooner Jacob will leave you be."

Blunt's gaze shifted to the door as if he knew someone was out there even though no sounds came from the corridor. "Why do you want me to confess? What good will it do?"

"It'll bring peace to the souls of the dead." It wasn't exactly a lie. I felt as if the spirits of the demon's victims were listening, waiting.

Blunt's lips pinched tightly together. "You won't hurt me."

"We are out of patience, Mr. Blunt. If we need to hurt you to extract information then we'll do it. Come now, give in," I said when he didn't answer. "Your little scheme to rob the houses of your victims has been exposed."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"We know everything, Mr. Blunt, and so do the police." It was a lie but a necessary one. Jacob nodded his approval. "I wouldn't be surprised if Finch lets you take all the blame either"

Why didn't Blunt already know about our encounter with Tommy? He may not have stayed to witness the end of events at Lord Preston's house but surely he saw enough to not be entirely surprised. He certainly seemed shocked by the information. His mouth slackened. He hesitated.

It was too much for Jacob. "This has gone on long enough." He picked up a knife from among the litter scattered on the bare floor.

Blunt scampered back against the bed's headboard. He tried to bat the blade away but Jacob was fast and dodged every move.

"Call George in," Jacob said to me. "I want him to witness Blunt's death so that it's known you're not to blame."

"Jacob, no!" I shouted.

He ignored me and stabbed the knife into Blunt's nightshirt, right over the heart.

Blunt screamed as the blade tore through the gray linen and pierced his skin. Blood stained his nightshirt and the sight of it only made him scream harder. He tried to scramble away but Jacob knelt on Blunt's feet and shoved him back up against the headboard. "All right!" Blunt shouted. "I did it. Now get it away from me!" His breathing came in ragged gasps, fluttering the wisps of his moustache. "Call your ghost off!"

Jacob kept the knife at Blunt's chest. George rushed in, pistol poised, but I held up a hand to stay him. His eyes widened at the sight of the blood.

"What did you do?" I asked Blunt. "Did you order those people killed?"

"No!" Blunt shook his head very fast, sending his beard into a frenzy. "I helped Finch summon the demon, that's all. I told Maree to steal the book from your friend Culvert there, then I gave it to Tommy Finch. He's the one directing the demon. Not me, him! I swear, it's the truth."

"But you knew about the murders and burglaries."

Blunt hesitated and Jacob shifted his weight onto the knife. Blunt ground his teeth together and nodded.

"I think his role was more than he's admitting to," Jacob said.

"You helped Finch decide who to attack next, didn't you?" I asked Blunt. "You chose the victims. They all worked in grand houses where you had recently placed a servant." As soon as I said it, I knew it must be true. It made sense. Blunt knew which upper servant to attack because he'd questioned the lower servant he'd placed in the household. They'd been his spies—perhaps reluctant ones—informing him of the potential victim's movements.

Again Blunt hesitated and again Jacob pressed on the knife. The bloodstain on Blunt's nightshirt bloomed.

"Yes!" Blunt said, squeezing his eyes shut. "Satisfied?"

Jacob eased back just as Mrs. White entered the room carrying a candle. She clutched a shawl over her nightgown and looked, well, white. "Oh my," she muttered. "Oh my, oh my, Mr. Blunt... " Her gaze fixed on the knife that Jacob still held and she promptly keeled over in a dead faint. I managed to catch her and lower her gently to the floor. The candle fared worse but extinguished itself on impact.

Jacob dropped the knife. George steadied his pistol and aimed it at Blunt's head. "Now what?"

"Now we find out where Finch is keeping the demon," Jacob said without taking his eyes off Blunt.

"Where can we find Tommy Finch?" I asked.

Blunt swallowed. George cocked the gun. The click sounded terribly loud. "There'll be records here somewhere," George said. "Records with Maree's last known address. I suspect we'll find her brother there or if we can't, we'll find someone who can tell us for the price of a few coins."

Well done, George! I raised an eyebrow at Blunt. He swallowed again then groaned. He fell back against the pillows, deflated. "Very well. You can find him in the eastern shadows of St. Mary's in Dwindling Lane." He started to laugh, a thin, high-pitched laugh that sent a shiver down my spine. "You'll need more than one of those in Dwindling Lane, Miss Chambers," he said, nodding at George's pistol. "And more than your pet ghost too."

Jacob picked up a broken chair leg and Blunt threw his hands over his head. He slunk down into the covers. "Call him off!" he shouted.

Jacob waved the piece of wood at Blunt's head. "Tell him he'd better leave London before sunrise or I'll haunt him until he does."

I repeated the order to Blunt adding, "And don't think you can intimidate or harm any of your charges again. I have contact with every ghost up there and they don't like people like you. They'll find you wherever you are, I can promise you that."

Blunt nodded quickly.

"Well done," Jacob said.

George pulled me aside. "Aren't we going to call the police?" he whispered. "We can't just leave him here, unpunished."

"No," I whispered back. "It's likely I'll be arrested, not him. Besides, I think the warning is punishment enough for his involvement, don't you? I doubt he'll try anything like this again."

George, his gaze on Blunt cowering on the bed, nodded.

Mrs. White moaned at our feet. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. George and I helped her into the kitchen where we explained everything. All of it. She needed a cup of tea before she could make a coherent sentence but she appeared to understand what we were saying, and, more importantly, accept it.

Jacob hadn't joined us. I had no idea if he was still at the school, in the Waiting Area or if he'd gone to find Finch. I prayed he hadn't. I didn't want to think about what could happen if the demon attacked him again. He might have held it off in Belgrave Square but could he do so again? The thought of the demon removing his soul... it made my bones cold and my heart sore.

When I finished telling Mrs. White all I could, I asked her the question I needed to ask. "Did you have anything to do with this business?"

She lowered her cup. It tilted too far and tea spilled over the side. She didn't seem to notice. She was too busy looking offended. "No, I did not. Miss Chambers, I've been here for five years now, longer than Blunt, longer than most of the children. I came here after my husband died and I've not regretted a day since. I have no children of my own, no family that need me. This school has been my life, my sanctuary those five years." Her eyes filled with unshed tears and she carefully put the cup down in the saucer. "I'm never idle here and I've always been valued, by the children as well as the other staff. I'd never risk what I've found at this school, not for anything."

I breathed a sigh. "I'm very glad to hear it, Mrs. White. I'm sorry but I had to ask." The woman who'd sold Celia the amulet remained a mystery. Perhaps I would never learn her identity.

George cleared his throat and jerked his head toward the door. I didn't need to be told twice. With Mrs. White settled and promising to call the police if Mr. Blunt hadn't gone by the morning, George and I left.

Outside, he hopped up beside the driver. "Get in," he said to me. "I'm going to ride up here, keep watch." A glint of steel shone in the wan light. The pistol. It was our protection from whatever we might come up against in Whitechapel, both human and demonic.

I clamped down on my fear and climbed inside only to find Jacob seated on the far side, his arms crossed over his chest, his face in shadow. It wasn't a pose to invite me to sit close so I sat opposite. The separation didn't make me want him any less. He could have the most forbidding expression and I'd still want to be near him.

"Where did you go?" I asked, jolting as the carriage rolled forward.

"To Dwindling Lane to see if Finch is still there."

"And is he?"

He nodded.

"Good," I said. "We'll sort—."

"There's no 'we'. You're going home."

Jacob certainly had a lot more to learn about me if he thought I'd leave he and George to go on alone. "It would seem the carriage is heading towards Whitechapel, not Chelsea."

"Tell George to take you home."

I crossed my arms. "No. I know you think it's the best thing for me—."

"It is the best thing for you, Emily, I don't even need to think about it. Go home. It's too dangerous for you."

"It's just as dangerous for you, Jacob," I said quietly.

He leaned forward and stared at my mouth as if he wanted to kiss it, or bite it. It was hard to tell what mood he was in. "I'm already dead." His words hummed across my skin like a caress. If he was trying to addle my wits in an attempt to gain some sort of control then it was working. Almost.

"But you still have a soul worth losing," I said.

He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. "Are you sure about that?"

I switched sides to sit next to him. I felt rather than saw him stiffen. "Jacob, what happened tonight? At your parents' place? Tell me what was going through your mind."

He tilted his head back and blinked rapidly up at the padded ceiling. "I can't," he choked out. "God, Emily, stop being so stubborn for once and listen to me. Go home. Stay away."

"From you or from Finch?" I snapped.

"Both of us! Damn it, don't you see?" He rubbed both his hands through his hair then drew them together at his chest, as if he were praying, or pleading. "What happened at my parents' house should have warned you that you need to stay away. It was dangerous for you there and Whitechapel will be ten times worse. Finch will be expecting us now and I... ." He swallowed hard. It was dim in the cabin but the shadows around his eyes were darker than they should have been on a ghost. "I can't... be sure how I'll react."

I felt the heaviness of his words on my shoulders, my limbs, my heart. They dragged me down until I thought I'd fall through the floor onto the road below. "I'm going with you, Jacob," I said through my tight throat.

His body shuddered and he wrapped his arms around himself. "Please, Emily," he whispered, "I need you to stay away. Don't put me through that again."

"Through what?" I slipped closer along the seat and reached for him but he shrank back as if my touch would burn. I clasped my hands together to stop them shaking and tried to look as if his rejection hadn't shattered me. "I have to come, Jacob." The steadiness of my voice surprised me. I thought it would be as broken as I felt inside. "I'm the only one who knows the curse to send the demon back. You'll be too busy fighting the demon to snatch the amulet from Finch and George... well, I'm afraid George may not be all that helpful when the crucial moment arrives."

He turned to the window and stared out to the darkness beyond. He seemed calm, still, his shoulders relaxed, his profile smooth.

But then he let out a loud roar. The muscles in his cheek and jaw knotted, his hands clenched and he slammed a fist into the cushioned seat between us. If it had been made of wood or glass, he would have shattered it. I jumped and shrank back.

And then he disappeared.

I pressed a hand to my racing heart and sank into the seat. At least he'd given up trying to make me go home.

I was still thinking about Jacob's outburst when the carriage rolled to a stop. It tilted as George jumped down and opened the door for me. He juggled the pistol and lamp in one hand and helped me out with the other.

"All right, Weston?" he said to the driver.

Weston nodded grimly from his position on the box. Metal gleamed on his lap. Another pistol.

George lifted the lamp high. The opening to a narrow lane yawned between two crumbling brick buildings nearby. Of course it would have to be a narrow lane. A thief with a demon at his disposal would hardly live anywhere else, like a well-lit, broad street for example.

"Perhaps you should remain here with the carriage," George said. He let go of me so he could hold the lamp in one hand and the pistol in the other.

"I'm not sure the carriage is any safer," I said, glancing around. It was too foggy to see very far ahead but I had the feeling we were being watched by dozens of pairs of eyes. "Let's go."

Just as I said it, a loud crash came from the lane. Someone shouted, another scream followed it, and four small people ran out of the lane. They were children, barefoot and dressed in little more than rags that hung from their thin bodies. They took one look at George and his pistol, screamed again, and ran off.

"I think the demon's still here," George said without moving.

"And Jacob has already found it. Come on." I wanted to run but the lack of light meant I had to keep near George and his lamp. But he was so slow, and Jacob could be...

The stench at the mouth of the lane made me recoil. The stink of urine, excrement and degradation cloyed at my throat. I coughed into my hand. George retched and buried the lower half of his face in his arm.

"God," he said, "how can anyone live here?"

Another crash had me moving again. The fog hung in misty tendrils but through the veil I could just make out the shape of two people fighting. "Jacob," I said to George. "Come on."

But he caught my arm and pulled me back. "Where's Finch?"

I squinted into the farthest shadows and could just make out the figure of someone sitting on a crate, his back against one of the high brick walls looming up on either side of the lane. "There. Chanting probably."

"Giving the demon the advantage in the fight," he murmured. "Fascinating."

"This is not the time to be scholarly, George."

"Right. Of course. So... "

I took the lamp off him and turned down the gas. "Follow me."

I counted on the fog and darkness covering us, and Finch having his attention on the fight and not the entrance to the lane so that we could sneak up and knock him out. I didn't want to use the pistol. Taking a life was not something I ever wanted to do. Although I knew the dead still existed elsewhere, I'd spoken to enough souls troubled by their death to know I didn't want to send one to the Waiting Area. The pistol would be a last resort.

My plan of stealth would have worked if the demon hadn't landed a punch to Jacob's stomach, sending him careening into the brick wall. I gasped. Finch spun round, spotted us, but didn't stop his mutterings, merely intensified them. The demon responded. It leapt onto Jacob while he was still down and slammed its big fist against his chest. Jacob grunted in pain.

"Get him, George!" I shouted. "Stop Finch!"

George didn't move. Jacob roared again and I could just make out his hands clutching the demon's fist, trying to push it away from him. But the demon was so much bigger, a giant in comparison, and Jacob was in an awkward position to defend himself from such an attack. Oh God, no! No!

I turned to George. Even in the darkness I could see he'd turned white. A light sheen of sweat slicked his forehead. He pointed the pistol at Finch but his hand shook so violently the bullet could have gone anywhere.

"Forget the gun," I urged him. My voice sounded shrill. "Good Lord, George, attack Finch with your fists."

"My... um... "

There was no time to convince him to be manly and fight. I ran at Finch myself, the lamp raised to use as a weapon to knock him out. If I could only get him to stop chanting, Jacob might be in with a chance against the demon. A scream tore from him and I dared not look lest I see my worst fears realized—Jacob gone, his existence extinguished forever.

I no longer cared how I was going to stop Finch, I only knew I had to do it NOW. "Stop!" I shouted at him. I raised the lamp.

He suddenly stood and thrust something at me. The glint of steel was visible in the small circle of light cast by my lamp. A knife. "Back," he said. It was all he said. His chant came fast, the strange words tumbling out of his mouth. He glanced between the fight and me.

But it wasn't a fight anymore. Jacob was still holding the demon's human hand, stopping it from digging into his chest but only just. Now that I was closer I could see his face distorted with pain and exertion, his teeth bared as he used all his strength.

He couldn't last.

"No closer," Finch said to me.

I backed back to George. He still held the pistol but it wasn't even pointed at Finch anymore, but down at the ground.

"Give up," I shouted at Finch. "It's over. Blunt told us everything and the police have him now." It was an outright lie but if it was enough to get him wondering, pausing in his chants, it was worth it.

The news seemed to have little effect on him. "Blunt?" he said, barely breaking his rhythm. "You think he... ?" He never finished the sentence but laughed as he continued controlling the demon.

There was only one option left. "Fire!" I yelled at George.

"I can't," he whispered. "It's murder."

"The demon's going to take Jacob's soul if we don't."

George swiped at his sweaty brow and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "He's already dead."

I stared at him in horror. "He may not be alive but he exists. He has thoughts and feelings just as if he were alive. If the demon extracts his soul he'll be nothing."

He shook his head. "There must be another way."

Jacob shouted again. Then he became silent. His mouth fell open in an empty scream and even in the darkness I could see him writhing on the ground, the demon's hand buried inside his chest. Everything around me went still. My mind cleared. I felt like I was floating in a bubble, not quite part of the world anymore but still able to see it, feel it. I had the most startling, amazing clarity all of a sudden.

I knew what I had to do.

I grabbed the pistol, aimed and fired. Finch fell down. Dead.

"Jesus," George muttered. He crossed himself.

The demon sat back on its haunches and looked around, its hand still buried in Jacob's chest. Jacob kicked out, toppling the demon. He got to his feet but his shoulders sagged. He rubbed his chest.

"The amulet," he rasped as the demon righted itself. "Hurry."

I ran to Finch's body and rummaged through his pockets, trying to concentrate on my task and not look at the blood pooling around him. I pulled out a few coins but nothing else. I rolled the body over and tucked my hand inside his shirt. My fingers touched sticky, warm blood and the cool metal of the amulet. The brass felt heavy and solid, reassuring.

"Anytime soon," Jacob said then grunted as the demon slammed its fist into his stomach. He doubled over, clutching his middle.

I pulled the amulet out but didn't remove it from Finch's neck. There was no time. I began to chant the curse Celia had taught me. As if I'd struck it, the demon stopped fighting. A strangled growl bubbled up from its throat. Then it ran towards me.

I paused.

"Don't stop!" Jacob shouted.

The demon kept running, straight at me. I could just make out the dark swirls of shadow where it should have had a face. It still wore the servant's livery but the clothes were ripped, the torn fabric flapping uselessly. I kept chanting.

The demon ran right past me and I groaned in frustration. If it got away the curse wouldn't work. It needed to be close. How close, I didn't know.

Jacob swore and began to run but he was either in pain or exhausted and couldn't catch it.

The demon passed George and I just hoped he would shout a warning to his driver to get out of the beast's way. He didn't. He dove at the creature and together they tumbled to the ground. George grunted a loud oomph as his shoulder connected with the stones.

I uttered the rest of the curse and prayed I had it right, prayed the demon was near enough for it to be effective.

A strong breeze whipped at my skirts and monetarily separated the thin curtain of fog only for it to re-settle around us when the wind died. George sat up, blinked. His glasses had come off and his eyes were huge. He was alone.

"Is it gone?" I asked.

Jacob came up beside me. "Yes." He looked worse than the last time he'd fought the demon but again his clothing quickly returned to the way it had been before and his skin healed, erasing all evidence of the fight. He grasped my shoulders and turned me to face him. "Are you all right, Emily?" He looked down at me with an intensity I was now used to.

I nodded. "You?"

"Of course." He let me go and strolled over to George, still sitting on the ground. He looked dazed, the poor thing. I suppose reading about demons is quite different to encountering one.

Jacob searched the immediate vicinity then found what he was looking for—George's hat and glasses. He held them out. George stared for a moment then accepted them.

"Thank you," he said. He stood and brushed himself off then slapped his hat on his head. "Shall we go?"

"Gladly." I glanced back at Finch's body. "What shall we do about him?" I didn't want to leave him there for the rats to eat. Ugh.

"I'll have my butler contact the police when I get home," George said. "They'll take care of it."

"Good idea but have him do it anonymously," I said. "None of this is your fault and there's no need for you to become involved any more than you are."

"You'll get no argument from me," he said on a heavy sigh.

The three of us made our way back down the lane to the carriage. The driver still sat on the box, the pistol in his hand. He looked immensely relieved that his master was alive. No doubt Mrs. Culvert would have dismissed him if George had wound up dead from this adventure. He hopped lightly down to the ground and opened the door.

George took my hand to help me in but I removed it and turned to Jacob.

He wasn't there.

The most awful feeling of dread swamped me. The demon was banished which meant Jacob had finished his assignment. There was no need for him to see me anymore.

It might even have led to his finally being able to cross over.

No, Jacob, please. Not yet. Don't leave me.

Somehow I didn't cry as I climbed into the carriage. It was as if my body couldn't make any tears. It was too empty. It felt like I'd just lost a part of myself. A big part. The best part. The most vital part.

And I hadn't even said goodbye.

Chapter Fifteen

I managed to sneak back into the house and return to bed without waking Celia or Lucy. Already the sky was turning gray as dawn crept up on London with its usual stealth. I lay in bed for what felt like an eternity before my room finally lightened. I spent every single one of those minutes thinking. Waiting. Hoping Jacob would do his old trick of suddenly appearing in my bedroom.

And then he did.

"Jacob! Thank goodness." I tumbled out of bed and threw myself at him, not caring how I looked or what he thought of my unladylike display. I was just so blissfully happy to see him.

He caught me and circled his arms around my waist, holding me tight as if he would never let me go. The hard muscles in his shoulders and chest shifted, flexed. Then loosened. He pushed me away and held me at arms' length.

"He was in bed."

It was not what I'd expected him to say. Not even close. "Who? Finch?"

His hands dropped to his sides, severing all touch entirely. "No, Blunt. When I arrived at the school last night he was asleep."

My chest clenched. My mind reeled. This was not the conversation I wanted to have with him. I wanted to find out what happened now, would he leave, and what was troubling him. I wanted to know what was in store for us. Did we have a future?

But those questions would have to wait. Jacob seemed keen to tell me something about Blunt so it must be important.

"I, uh... " I gave my head a little shake to clear it. "It is a little strange now that you mention it. Surely he must have suspected we would be coming for him after what he witnessed at Belgrave Square. Unless he was very certain of Finch and the demon's victory."

"Nevertheless, if I was him I'd have left London immediately and destroyed all evidence linking me to the demon."

I twisted a strand of hair around my finger, thinking. It only made sense if... "What if it wasn't him at your parents' house?"

He nodded but said nothing. He didn't seem surprised by my conclusion.

"Who could it have been?" I asked.

"I don't know. Are you sure you saw someone?" He shrugged. "The light was poor, you were afraid... Could it have been a spirit?"

I sighed and brushed the end of my hair over my lips. Jacob's gaze followed it. "I suppose so. I don't know. Oh Jacob, what if we're wrong? What if Blunt wasn't to blame?"

He licked his lips and lifted his gaze to my eyes. "Don't think it, Emily. We were right. He confessed and all evidence points to his involvement. He's guilty. But... "

"But there might have been someone else," I finished for him. "Someone with a deeper involvement."

He nodded. "I think Blunt orchestrated the thefts, using Finch and the demon. He targeted the servants and the houses, gathered the information, but I don't think it was his idea. He doesn't seem cunning enough to me."

"He doesn't seem to want to get his hands dirty where the supernatural is concerned. That explains why he got Finch to control the demon. But if there was another involved, then who was it?"

He shrugged. "With Finch dead and Blunt gone, we won't learn the answer to that." He sighed and rubbed a hand over his chin. "And I've been wondering about one other thing."

"What?"

"My family was home when the demon entered the house. For the first theft, the house was almost empty. If I was organizing a burglary, I would ensure no one was home first, especially the family themselves."

"Maybe Blunt or Finch made a mistake."

He suddenly looked ill. If his face was capable of turning white it probably would have. "Or maybe the purpose was for my family to be home at the time of the break-in."

"Wh-what? But why?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I really don't."

"No." I shook my head firmly. "No, that's ridiculous. Don't think it. It was a simple burglary." Even as I said it, a small doubt formed in my mind where I couldn't dislodge it. But if he was right and someone wanted to harm his family... why? Why go to so much trouble? It didn't make sense. "At least the demon has been returned," I said, trying to reassure him.

"But how long will it be before another is summoned?" His jaw hardened and he grunted in frustration. "I should have questioned Blunt more. Or Finch."

"You were fighting a demon! Besides, at the time neither of us thought anyone else was involved." I stepped closer and touched his arm to reassure him. He tensed, his muscles knotting, and I rubbed to alleviate some of the anger simmering inside him.

"Don't," he whispered and stepped back, out of my reach.

"No, you don't. Don't leave. Not yet." If he blinked himself off to the Waiting Area without resolving any of the tension between us I was going to scream until the Administrators made him return. "We have something we need to discuss."

To my surprise he nodded.

I waited but he said nothing. The tension seemed to have vanished from him, but he certainly didn't appear relaxed. He shifted from foot to foot and looked everywhere except at me.

Finally, when neither of us spoke to fill the growing silence, his gaze met mine. Shock rippled through me. There was a shine in his eyes that wasn't usually there and a tightness to his lips as if he was pressing them together on purpose.

"Jacob? Say something." Tell me you won't go, tell me you'll stay forever, tell me you love me.

He took my hand in his and drew little circles over my knuckles with his thumb. "I want you to know what happened back there, in Belgrave Square."

Finally. Finally! But now that the time had come I was afraid. Absolutely terrified. A lump clogged my throat and my mouth went dry. I wanted to know the reason—of course I did!—but a feeling of dread swamped me. I was drowning in it. Against every instinct screaming for him not to speak, I nodded at him to go on.

"I warned you," he said. His voice sounded thick and hoarse. "I tried telling you I was dangerous, that you shouldn't develop feelings for me."

"I can't help it! Jacob, I love you—."

He smothered the rest of my words with a light, airy kiss. "Let me finish," he chided gently. "I'm dangerous to you because... because I love you too."

My heart swelled. I think I saw stars. Those beautiful words were exactly what I'd wanted to hear. Nothing, nothing could ever be wrong again now that he'd admitted it.

Then the bubble burst. The stars vanished and my heart collapsed in on itself. "What do you mean? Why does that make you dangerous?" But I knew. I knew.

"Do you remember that day Maree Finch tried to stab you at Culvert's house?" I nodded. "I knew before then that I loved you," he went on. "From the moment we met in fact. It was like... your breath filled my lungs, your heart beat for mine. But it wasn't until the incident at Culvert's that I realized how much I loved you." He watched me with a kind of ferocity, as if he could persuade me of his feelings by a single look. "When Maree ran at you with the knife it was like I was dying all over again. I hated watching you in pain, the fear in your eyes... it was horrible. I was consumed by you in those few terrible minutes... by everything about you. I knew then that I wanted to be with you. Forever." His thumb circled faster. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Forever," I repeated dully. It was difficult to think straight. Impossible to breathe. "In the Otherworld."

He nodded and tilted his face to the ceiling rose. He blinked rapidly then looked back at me. "When I thought you could have died... I was... glad." He whispered, as if he was afraid to say it out loud because it would somehow make it more real. "I wanted Maree to stab you."

He removed his hand from mine but I caught it. I pressed his palm to my lips and kissed the cool flesh. His fingers uncurled against my cheek, his head bent closer to mine. "Ah, Emily, I'm so sorry."

I heaved in a breath. It was difficult with my chest feeling so tight but I did it. "I won't accept your apology, Jacob. You wouldn't have hurt me. I know that like I know I can see the dead. You worried about my health when I got wet and you even warned me to stay away from Whitechapel. That's not the actions of a man who wanted me to die."

He shook his head and pulled his hand free. "I didn't want to hurt you and I didn't want to see you get hurt. The thought of you being ill or in pain... I couldn't bear it. I wanted the end result without you feeling even a moment's discomfort. Until... " His eyes shuttered closed.

"Tonight."

His nod was slight and I would have missed it if I hadn't been watching him so intently. "I can't explain how I felt," he went on, opening his eyes again. "Perhaps I was drunk from fighting the demon, or frustrated from spending so much time with you and not being able to claim you as I wanted to, or perhaps I was all too aware that our time together was limited."

I let his words settle before I spoke what had been on my mind for some time. "So the other night when you left my room abruptly, it wasn't because you realized I would grow old and ugly while you stayed young and handsome?"

He suddenly laughed. "Oh Emily, I do adore you."

I frowned. It had been a perfectly serious question. "Your exact words were: 'What if I grow weary watching you wait?'." I could never forget them. They were branded on my memory.

He reached up and touched my hair, curling it around his finger as I had done earlier. His laughter vanished just as rapidly as it had erupted. "I was afraid I would... do something terrible to you if the waiting became unbearable for either of us. It had nothing to do with you aging while I didn't. That's why I left that night, not because I didn't want to stay with you forever but because I didn't want to encourage your affections any more than I already had. I didn't want you to love me, you see. Knowing how you felt about me only made it harder not to think about you joining me in the Waiting Area, and in the Otherworld when I'm able to cross. I began to justify your death to myself after that." He turned away and buried his head in his hands. "Oh God, Emily, don't you see?"

I saw. And I should have been afraid of his admission, of him, but I was not. "You're a good person, Jacob. What you're feeling is perfectly natural." I pressed myself into his back and put my arms around his waist, holding him close. I kissed him through his shirt near his shoulder blade. "You're a wonderful, caring, brave soul and nothing you say will stop me loving you."

A shudder rippled through him and I held him tighter. But only for a few beats of my trembling heart because he shrugged me off and moved away to stand near the door.

"You were right when we first met," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "Do you remember? You said I'd forgotten how a gentleman should behave when I insulted your sister." I began to protest but he put up his hand and I stopped. "I am starting to lose a little bit of my humanity each day. I can feel it. I'm slowly losing myself, Emily. I don't want to, just like I don't want to hurt you, but I can't help it."

"Don't talk like that. You're still very much a gentleman."

He shook his head. "I can't come to you anymore," he rasped.

"But I'm going to help you find your killer, your body." It was the only thing I could think of to hold onto, the one thing tying Jacob to this world, to me.

"I'll do it on my own."

"But Jacob—."

"No. I can't risk another hesitation like tonight. Ever. Or I won't be the person you love anymore. Do you understand? Having you despise me for that would be... worse than anything I could bear."

I understood. And I hated myself for it. The tears poured down my face but I didn't care. I let them flow unchecked as I watched him. His nostrils flared and the muscles high in his cheek throbbed.

"Goodbye," he whispered.

And then he was gone.

I sat down on the rug on my bedroom floor, lowered my head to my knees and cried until Celia came in and guided me back to bed.

***

I spent the day in bed. I slept fitfully. Celia and Lucy both came and went on occasion, fussing and trying to get me to eat, but I barely heard anything they said. My sister didn't ask me why I was so upset and I was grateful for that.

But her sympathy ended the following day and the questions began almost as soon as she hauled me out of bed. She helped me dress then marched me downstairs to the small parlor behind the front drawing room. Lucy set a breakfast of eggs and toast in front of each of us. I pushed mine away.

"Tell me what happened," Celia said when Lucy left.

I did. Everything.

Afterwards, she watched me for a long time over the rim of her teacup. There were no recriminations for leaving in the middle of the night, no lectures, but no gentle or wise words to make me feel better either. I was grateful. I didn't want them. Nothing would make me feel better ever again. I had a hole in my heart the size of England and it was sucking everything out of me, even the tears.

"So that's that then," Celia announced. I wasn't sure if she was referring to the demon being returned or Jacob leaving. I didn't care.

Later that morning George visited. We talked over the events of the night. I left out the part where Jacob had said goodbye.

Celia, however, did not. "The ghost is gone." She smiled at George and handed him a large slice of sponge cake. It was his second. "More tea?"

He held out his cup and returned her smile. While he was studying his cake, no doubt deciding how best to attack the mountain with his fork, my sister winked at me.

With a huff of breath, I got up and left. She could flirt with George on my behalf without me.

That afternoon she knocked on my bedroom door and said we were going to visit Mrs. Wiggam.

"Can't you go alone? I'm very tired." I'd just woken from a nap but I felt like I needed more sleep. I couldn't imagine ever feeling completely awake again. Jacob was gone. What was there to be awake for?

"No. She sent me a note, pleading our help, blaming us for her husband haunting her. Can you believe it! The nerve of the woman when it was her demands for money that made him so angry."

"Let them sort out their own problems," I said and rolled over in bed.

She sat down on the mattress behind my back and placed a hand on my shoulder. "You can't remain in here forever. He's gone and you're needed."

"I don't care."

She hugged me, her face close to mine. Her hair smelled like lavender. "You have a gift, Emily. With that gift comes the responsibility to use it properly. If the events with the demon have taught me something, it's that. We summoned Mr. Wiggam, admittedly on his wife's behalf, but we now must end her suffering. At least we have to try. I... I'm worried about what he might do to her if we don't intervene."

I sighed and rolled over. Why did she have to be sensible all the time? "Let's go," I muttered.

She smiled sympathetically and hugged me tighter.

***

I expected the Wiggam household to be in turmoil but it was quiet. Messy but calm. Shreds of newspaper littered the hallway and drawing room floor, muddy footprints spoiled the rugs, and what appeared to be flour was strewn over every piece of furniture. Most of the figurines, candelabras and other objects that had decorated the mantelpiece, walls and tables were either broken or missing although a few had been spared. An oil painting of a lighthouse by the sea, a small black statue of a rearing horse. They had probably been favorites of Barnaby Wiggam. It was truly a terrible scene and I could only imagine what it had been like for his widow living there while her dead husband made his presence known by destroying her house.

Mrs. Wiggam calmly laid out a cloth on the flour-covered sofa for Celia and I to sit on. She offered no apology for the state of her house, or her person. It had only been a few days since the séance but she looked like she'd not eaten or slept in that time. Her waist seemed to have shrunk, sacks of skin hung loosely under her eyes, and her hair looked more tangled than mine had that morning after my night out. I felt sorry for her but didn't dare show it. Nothing about Mrs. Wiggam's countenance invited pity.

"I'd have tea brought up but the maids have all left," she said with not a hint of shame.

Barnaby Wiggam appeared in the vacant chair by the window. He seemed more translucent than the last time. Or perhaps I was used to seeing Jacob, solid and strong, not dim with fuzzy edges like Mr. Wiggam and the other ghosts. It made we wonder, again, why Jacob appeared so real to me. I would probably never find out now.

Mr. Wiggam crossed his arms and glared at his wife as she exchanged inane pleasantries with Celia. The entire scene struck me as absurd and a bubble of laughter escaped, despite my best intentions to smother it.

Mrs. Wiggam glanced at me the way her husband looked at her—as if everything was my fault.

"He's here isn't he?" she said, glaring at the chair in which her husband's ghost sat.

"Yes," I said.

She humphed and shrugged, accepting the ghost's presence.

"Good," Celia said, urging me to speak with a raise of both her eyebrows. "We're here to speak to him."

"Don't trouble yourselves," Mr. Wiggam said, heaving himself up from his chair. His face was still very red, the purple veins prominent on his cheeks and nose, as they would always be thanks to the manner of his death. "I'm leaving."

I almost choked on my surprise. "Why?"

"What's he saying?" Mrs. Wiggam asked. "What does that good-for-nothing lump want now? My life?" She stood and offered her wrists to him like a platter of biscuits. "Take it! Isn't that what you want to do? Fetch a knife from the kitchen and end it all here. Go on!"

He laughed, a grating, humorless laugh. "Tell her I don't want to take her with me. Eternity is a long time and I'd prefer to spend as much of it as I can without her."

"Is that why you're leaving?" I asked.

Mrs. Wiggam, sensing her blood would not be spilled by the ghost of her dead husband, lowered her arms. She sat back down in her chair, smoothed her skirt over her lap and gave my sister a polite smile as if nothing was untoward. Celia didn't return it.

"I'm leaving because I'm tired of haunting her," Barnaby Wiggam said. "No, actually I'm just tired of her. This is only fun for so long and I've realized something important these last few days." He picked his way across the messy floor and removed the painting of the lighthouse from the wall. The sea in the picture was calm and the sun shone on the red-brown rocks and the white sail of a ship in the distance. "As much as I wanted to hurt her, I couldn't bring myself to do it. It's not in my nature." He returned the painting to its hook on the wall and stood back to admire it. "It's strange, don't you think, Miss Chambers?"

"What is?" The painting? It looked lovely to me, peaceful.

"That the characteristics of who we were during life, our essence if you like, are carried with us to our death. Up there, in the Waiting Area, there are thousands of souls waiting to cross over, each one of them as unique as they were in life. Did you know the Otherworld is segmented?" I nodded. "The segment we're assigned to depends on how good we were when we were alive. A scale of worth if you like." He looked down at the flour-covered rug. "I don't know what the segment where the rotten ones go is like and I don't want to know." He thrust his triple chins at his widow. "I've never committed a mortal sin so I'm quite sure I won't end up in the worst section. However I'm not so good that I'll help her clean up."

I stared down at my folded hands in my lap. Jacob too had been a good person in his lifetime. Even George thought so and he hadn't been his friend. As Mr. Wiggam said, a good nature in life meant a good nature in death too. That didn't change. Jacob hadn't changed. Everyone told me he'd been kind when he was alive—a little unobservant of those around him, but never mean. He'd never harm anyone on purpose. It was the same in death. He wouldn't hurt me. Couldn't. I knew that to the depths of my soul.

Jacob Beaufort wasn't dangerous.

Mr. Wiggam gave me a short bow. "Good bye, Miss Chambers."

"Wait!" I sprang up from the chair. Mrs. Wiggam and Celia watched me, curiosity printed on their faces, but neither interrupted. "There's a spirit in the Waiting Area... I want you to give him a message from me if you see him."

"But you're a medium, you can summon any ghost you wish at any time. You just called my name and I came."

"You came when I called because you wanted to. Jacob... probably doesn't want to."

"Very well. How will I recognize your ghost? There are many souls up there."

"He's more solid than others. You can't see through him and—."

"What do you mean, more solid?" He held up his hands, twisting and turning them as he studied them. "I'm as solid as I ever was when I was alive." He patted his bulging stomach and laughed.

"Not to me you're not. But Jacob was."

Mr. Wiggam dismissed my description of Jacob's presence with a shrug. "What's his name?"

"Jacob Beaufort. Tell him I said he was wrong. Then tell him what you just told me."

"Very well. I'll see what I can do." He bowed again and winked out of existence.

I turned to Mrs. Wiggam. "He's gone."

Her eyes narrowed and her gaze flitted around the drawing room. "Is he coming back?"

"No. Celia?"

My sister rose. We said our farewells to Mrs. Wiggam and she promised to employ our services again when the house was set to rights.

"That would be delightful," Celia said with an ingratiating smile. It wasn't until we were out of the street altogether that she said, "I sincerely hope we never return there."

I couldn't agree more.

We walked for a while without speaking until we turned into Druids Way. We held onto our bonnets and bent our heads into the breeze.

"You asked Mr. Wiggam's ghost to tell Jacob something up there." She nodded at the sky—it was cloudless for once, the constant haze turning it a faded blue—but neither of us knew where the Waiting Area was actually located. It was as good a place as any I suppose. "What was it?"

I told her about taking our good and bad characteristics with us when we die. We'd arrived at the steps to our house by the time I finished. I looked up, half hoping to see Jacob lounging against the door as he had been on our first meeting. He wasn't.

Celia did something entirely unexpected then. She sat on the top step and patted the spot next to her. "Tell me how he died."

I did, or as much of it as I knew. I held nothing back. By the end of it I was shaking. Celia put her arm around me and rocked me gently. After a while, she said, "This Frederick boy is at the heart of it all."

I nodded. "The person who killed Jacob is most likely connected to him in some way."

"No, I mean he's at the heart of Jacob's guilt and for all we know, that guilt is what's stopping him crossing over. You need to prove to him he's not a bad person. Remind him Frederick's death was accidental and help lift the guilt from his shoulders."

"How do I do that when he won't even speak to me?"

She sighed and squeezed me. "I don't know that part. But I do know you're a clever girl and that we don't yet have all the answers. Find them and then decide what to do."

Sometimes my sister astounds me. She appears so disinterested in deeper matters, matters of the mind and the heart, and yet she can say something so insightful. I tilted my head to rest it against her shoulder.

I only wished she knew what to say to make Jacob come back.

The End

To continue the series with Posession now, click here to visit the author's website: cjarcher.com.

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##    
Dream Student  
Dream Series  
Book One  
By J.J. DiBenedetto

##

##

Prologue

(November 24-25, 1989)

Sara rarely remembers her dreams. She has no idea that she's had more or less this same dream two or three nights a week since the beginning of the semester. She's sitting there in the lecture hall, and if she were ever able to remember this dream she'd recognize it as the same seat she actually sits in every Tuesday and Thursday at nine-thirty in the morning. She'd recognize Dr. Wallabeck, too, and in the dream he's wearing one of those dreadful patterned ties he always wears; he's peering over his awful wire-rimmed glasses exactly the way he does in real life. Every detail of the lecture hall is captured by Sara's subconscious with almost perfect accuracy, including her fellow students. Two rows in front of her is the tall redheaded girl whose name she can never recall and who nods off in the middle of almost every class; in her row and six seats to her left is Adam Walker, who lives directly above her in the dorm, with his huge thermos full of almost-but-not-quite-undrinkable dining hall coffee. In the dream Sara looks around and sees them and all the other faces she sees in class twice a week, and they're all just as puzzled in the dream as they usually are in class.

Sara is the only person in the whole room who's not. If she could remember the dream, she'd understand why: Dr. Wallabeck isn't lecturing about angular momentum or torque or any of the other mystifying topics that make up Physics 121. Not now. Instead, the good doctor is talking about amino acids and protein structures, a topic that Sara just last week aced a quiz on in her Introductory Biochemistry course. It doesn't seem the slightest bit odd to Sara that her physics professor is lecturing about biochemistry instead of physics...

***

Brian's never properly met Sara, never actually spoken to her. He's seen her quite often, though. In the dining hall, walking back from class, in the student union or the bookstore, in any one of a dozen other places on campus. Even, once, at a party, where he'd just about worked up the nerve to approach her before she disappeared for the night. But he doesn't really know her; he doesn't know anything about her that isn't revealed in the student directory.

He's dreaming about her anyway.

Not only about her; Sara is just one character in this dream. She's there in a cheerleader outfit a size too tight, watching Brian, admiring him, cheering for him, shouting for him as he stands there on the basketball court about to hit the game-winning shot. Sara's there, admiring and watching and cheering and shouting right alongside every other woman on campus that Brian is attracted to. All admiring and watching and cheering and shouting.

But for some reason Sara's outfit is just a little tighter than anyone else's; her voice is the tiniest bit louder than any of the others...

***

Sara is still in the lecture hall, still the only student in the whole room who's not completely lost. She's so far ahead of what Dr. Wallabeck is talking about now that her eyes and her mind begin to wander.

In the back of the room she sees her roommate, Beth. Sara is not surprised to see her in Physics, even though she knows that Beth isn't actually taking the class. She's also not surprised to see that all the students sitting near her are male. Long-legged, blonde-haired, beautiful Beth; of course the boys all look at her, she thinks, rather than plain old Sara.

Sara isn't terribly bothered by this. First of all, Beth is not only her roommate but her best friend, and has been since halfway through the first semester of freshman year. Second, on a campus with twice as many men as women, Sara doesn't really have to compete with Beth for male attention. The true competition is between Sara's interest in male attention and her own generally quiet – verging on shy – nature, not to mention the extremely demanding course schedule that the pre-med program requires of her.

***

Suddenly, Sara isn't in the lecture hall anymore. She's sitting somewhere else, on metal bleachers inside a large gym. The bleachers are mostly filled, and every eye is directed towards a tall, dark-haired young man standing at the free-throw line, preparing to take the game-winning shot.

It takes her a moment to gather her bearings. Sara has no idea why she's in a gym watching a basketball game: she has no friends on the team, and she doesn't even like the sport. She has the oddest feeling that she doesn't belong here at all, that she's not supposed to be here. And then she sees herself down there on the court with the rest of the cheerleaders.

As soon as she sees that, she knows: this is not her dream anymore. It has nothing to do with her. The Sara in the cheerleader outfit is a character in someone else's dream. She doesn't know how she knows this, but she has no doubt whatsoever that it's true. It's crazy and it's impossible and it's happening just the same.

Sara doesn't know what to do; this is so far out of her experience that she doesn't even know where to begin. All she does know is that she's in someone else's mind – or somebody else is in hers. When the young man with the basketball looks up from the court and sees her, locks eyes with her, it's all too much.

This isn't supposed to be happening, Sara thinks, but she doesn't know how to get out of his dream, any more than she knows how she got into it in the first place. And then panic sets in – what if she's trapped here, what if she can't ever get out of his mind, or throw him out of hers, whichever it is – and she begins screaming...

Chapter One

(November 30-December 1, 1989)

I'm staring at my clock radio. According to the big green digital numbers, it's exactly 3:14 AM. I think it might be off by a minute or two, but that's not really the point. The point is that I'm awake to know it's somewhere in the neighborhood of 3:14 AM.

This is not by choice. Actually, it sort of is, I guess. I'm awake because I don't want to fall asleep. And why I don't want to fall asleep? It's a fair question. I'd ask, if it were someone else.

The answer sounds stupid, even to me. If I'm honest, I have to admit I'm just being a baby about this. I don't want to fall asleep because of the dreams I've been having. "Nightmares" is a better word. I don't think even that really gets the point across, though. Is there a word for dreams that are worse than nightmares? There should be.

It's been the same the last four nights, exactly the same. The people in it are the same, the places are the same, everything happens exactly the same way, in the same order, and the worst part is that it all feels so real. There isn't any of that weird imagery that people always talk about – talking rabbits or losing your teeth while flying naked behind trains through long dark tunnels or whatever else. Everything that happens in this nightmare could come right out of the news. It could all really happen.

Oh, God. That's a horrible thought. What if – maybe it is really happening?

No. Absolutely not. It can't be.

I know, I know. There are lots of people who believe in stuff like that. Bob – my younger brother – is one of them. He's sixteen years old, and the magazines he hides under his bed, or in the back of his closet or wherever teenage boys usually hide copies of Playboy or Penthouse, include Psychic Times and UFO Monthly.

Personally, I think most of that is nonsense. People don't really have visions of the future or psychic flashes or any of that. This nightmare is probably just from some stupid slasher movie somebody rented for one of our dorm movie nights. Against my better judgment, I sat through it and even though I was only half watching, not really paying attention, it leaked into my subconscious or something. That makes sense, right? I'm sure that's all it is. Probably happens all the time. Except that I don't remember ever sitting through a slasher movie in the first place.

It wouldn't be so bad, except that the dreams are incredibly disturbing when I'm actually experiencing them, and, of course, in the moment I'm not thinking logically. I'm just reacting to what's going on, and it's really getting to me. What makes it even worse is that, up until this last week, I've almost never been able to remember my dreams at all. And now, suddenly, I remember them perfectly. That seems like it has to mean something.

It's not just what I'm seeing, either. It always feels like – and I know this doesn't make any sense – I'm not in my own head. It's completely wrong, in a very "not in Kansas anymore" sort of way. I don't know the words to describe it any better than that. I'm not sure there actually are any better words.

And then once I wake up and the whole stupid horrible thing replays itself in my mind, I can't fall back asleep even if I wanted to, which at that point obviously I don't anyway. So then, on top of being freaked out and miserable, I'm a tired mess the whole next day.

To top all that off, I had another dream that I remembered right before the nightmares started. It had that same not-in-my-own-head feeling. But that first dream was different. I was frightened, because it felt so strange, but the dream itself wasn't creepy or horrible at all. It was – well, "flattering" is the word that comes to mind. I remember waking up screaming, not because of the content of the dream but because I knew – somehow – I wasn't where I was supposed to be. I think that's it, anyway. Unfortunately, I don't really trust my own analysis of any of this very much right now.

Now it's 3:20 AM, give or take. Beth is snuggled up under her blankets in her bed, and she looks all peaceful and happy. Every so often she makes these funny little noises, not quite snores, but almost. I never really noticed she did that before, and we've been roommates since freshman year. I suppose it makes sense, though. In the two and a half years we've been rooming together, I can probably count on my fingers the times she's gone to sleep before I did.

I haven't told her about the nightmares yet. Partly it's because I have this feeling – and, yes, I know it's a naïve, childish thought – that if I don't talk about them, maybe eventually they'll just go away. But mostly it's because I know what she'd say. First, she'd pretend to analyze them, probably throwing in something from one of her advanced Psychology classes to make it sound better. And then she'd get just slightly more serious and tell me that the nightmares are my subconscious trying to get me to let my hair down, have some more fun, don't take everything so seriously. Basically, live a little.

After which I would say that I do have fun, I do let my hair down and I do live a little, after all my studying is done. "Like the Halloween party," I'd say. "I went to that, didn't I?"

She'd scoff and say that, yes, I went, but only after she harassed me for over an hour to come downstairs to the party. And she'd point out that my "costume" was a lab coat with a plastic nametag reading "Dr. Feelgood" that my brother bought for me as a bad joke when I came home for Christmas my freshman year. Which I only had because Beth grabbed it out of my bedroom when she came to visit me last summer. She waited four whole months for just the right moment to embarrass me with it. She's got good timing; I have to give her that.

Then she'd remind me that what "going to the party" actually entailed was me spending an hour standing off in a corner. And it included highlights like not dancing even though several people from our dorm tried to drag me over. Oh, and completely ignoring a tall, cute guy from another dorm who – according to Beth; I didn't notice him – kept looking hopefully over at me the whole time. And then to top it all off, taking exactly three sips of punch (even Beth can't really blame me for that – it was a mix of the vile forty proof fake vodka they sell in the little grocery store just off campus, combined with generic orange soda. No thank you!), before I snuck away to revise a lab write-up for Advanced Organic Chemistry that I was already going to get 105% on.

But she probably wouldn't mention how lucky she was that I left early and sober and that when she stumbled back to our room at four o'clock in the morning I made her drink a big glass of water, take two aspirin and got her safely to bed. Actually, I take that back. She would mention that. She did mention it the next morning, when she woke up without a hangover, in a clean bed, with her smelly, nasty costume in the laundry bag. She was very grateful.

Anyway, like I said, I haven't told her about the nightmares for what seem like very good reasons to me. Looking at her there, it's as though she doesn't have a care in the world. I wonder what she's dreaming about...

***

...Sara is in the back of the ambulance, rattling off items on her checklist and somewhere between excited and frightened out of her wits. She's been over this and over this a thousand times, but that was all practice, all fake, and this is real and it's her first time and...

"Nice and easy, Sara," comes Tom's voice from up front. "We haven't lost a volunteer yet, and I promise you won't be the first."

She manages a laugh. "It's not myself I'm worried about losing."

Sara expects Tom to say something, but the radio crackles to life and cuts off any reply he might have made. It doesn't matter anyway, because now they have a call. Her very first call.

"One minute!" The ambulance speeds through the night towards the scene of the accident. The car wreck, Sara hears that much from the radio. The rest of the call goes right past her and then, more quickly than she expects, they're there. Sara opens the doors, steps out. At first she can't see anything; it takes her eyes a couple of seconds to adjust to the darkness. Once she is able to see, she realizes she preferred it the other way.

The scene is a mess: a compact car – Sara thinks it might be a Toyota but it's impossible to tell for sure now – had a run-in with a big Jeep and it had lost, badly. Her feet crunch glass as she makes her way towards what had once probably been a very nice car, and is now so much scrap metal.

The car isn't anything compared to its driver; he's lying on the ground and to Sara it looks like more of his blood is on the street and all over the remains of the car than inside him. Her first thought is to wonder how the man could still be alive, and her second is that if she doesn't do something, and fast, he won't be for long.

But what to do? She hears a voice, one of the policemen at the scene, running down the man's condition. Somewhere in the back of Sara's mind, as she listens to the litany of injuries – major blood loss, a broken leg, several cracked ribs, almost certainly internal bleeding and all that just for starters – she wonders if the policeman has any idea that she's seventeen years old and a volunteer on her very first ever ambulance run and utterly clueless. No, Sara decides, he probably doesn't know all that. He probably expects Sara to actually do something for the man. But where to start with someone this messed up?

The absence of a pulse gives Sara the answer. CPR, that's easy, she can do it in her sleep. Except the patient's ribs aren't supposed to give way like that when she puts pressure on them.

Still, it works; the man's eyes blink open. They focus on Sara and even though he can't speak, she sees the question there. What can she possibly tell him? He has to know how bad it is, doesn't he? She owes it to him not to lie, not if it will be the last answer he ever gets. She holds his stare and shakes her head. And then she reaches down and takes his hand, squeezes it. It's only a few seconds after that; Sara knows the exact instant when he's gone...

...Sara isn't at the accident scene anymore. She's somewhere else, somewhere strange. Except not strange at all. She's been here before. Hasn't she? Yes, she has, she feels very sure about it, but she can't remember the circumstances.

It's a bedroom. A big bedroom. Bigger than her dorm room. It's also a man's bedroom; there isn't a thing in here that has even the vaguest suggestion of a woman's touch. It's certainly nice; the furniture looks expensive, as does the painting on the wall above the bed: a picture of a sailing ship with the sky full of color behind it, framed in gold.

Definitely gold. Sara knows that for a fact. Just like she knows that the watch on the dresser is a genuine Rolex. It doesn't occur to her just now to wonder how, exactly, she knows these things.

Sara sits down in a comfortable recliner in the corner. She reaches down for the handle, on the right side of the chair near the back, exactly where she knows even without looking – how? – that it will be. She leans all the way back. Everything is right with the world.

No, it isn't. She's not completely sure, but she thinks she hears footsteps just outside the bedroom. Scratch that, she is sure now. Footsteps, and the doorknob turning, and the door opening.

A man enters. He's big; easily over six foot tall and well built. Not quite Schwarzenegger big, but plenty big enough. And familiar. Sara knows she's seen him somewhere, but she can't guess where that might have been. He's leading, or maybe dragging, a girl into the bedroom with him. She's a teenager; she might be as old as eighteen, but Sara doubts it. She's blonde and petite and Sara can just picture her leading cheers at a high school football game.

There won't be any cheerleading from the girl tonight. Right now she looks scared to death. So scared she doesn't notice Sara even though Sara is looking right at her. The man doesn't see Sara either. Or hear Sara when she screams, after the man throws the teenager onto the bed and begins to tear at her clothes.

The girl is fighting, scratching, shouting her head off, but none of it does any good. Sara can't help her; she stands up, but she can't get to the bed. It's as though there's an invisible wall in her way. She can't get to the phone, or out of the room. She can't do anything except watch. And scream until her own lungs give out...

***

Someone's screaming. No, not "someone," me. I don't know why. And then it hits me all at once. I see the whole nightmare, every detail. I go right on screaming.

It's not until my voice just about gives out that Beth wakes up. That's the only reason I stop, because my throat hurts too much. I can barely breathe, and I'm clutching myself, holding my arms across my breasts. In my head I'm still seeing that bedroom and the man and the girl over and over and I barely notice that Beth is sitting up now, staring at me.

She looks worried, or maybe frightened out of her wits is a better description. Frightened for me. I've never seen that expression on her face before. It doesn't make me feel any better. All it does is make me want to cry, even more than I already am.

I can't really see her, between the tears and the fact that I'm too much of a mess to even focus my eyes. She must have gotten out of her bed and walked over to mine, because now she's hugging me, holding me, telling me everything's OK, everything is going to be all right. I don't know how many times she has to say it, over and over, before I start to believe it.

A little bit, anyway. Enough that I stop seeing the nightmare on infinite replay inside my head and I'm back in our room again.

***

I don't know how long it takes me to collect myself enough to talk intelligently. A few minutes? An hour? I have no idea, and I don't even have enough energy to turn my head to look at the clock to find out.

I'm still shaking, still about two seconds away from bursting into tears again. I don't know why it was so much worse just now; it's been the same the last four nights. Maybe the lack of good, restful sleep has frayed my nerves to this point?

That, and knowing that I'm probably going to go right on seeing this every night. If it's been four nights in a row, why would it stop tomorrow night? Or the night after? Am I going to see this sick, horrible shit inside my head every night for the rest of my life?

Beth is looking at me with the saddest expression I think I've ever seen on her face. She clearly has no idea what to think about me right now. Having to take care of me in the middle of the night is a new experience; like the aftermath of the Halloween party, it's usually me seeing to her.

I don't want to say anything. I don't want to think about it at all. But I have to tell Beth something. And maybe talking about it will help, somehow. I know I need to share it. I can't handle this alone. And then the tears do come again, and it takes another few minutes before I'm able to speak. But when I do, finally, recover the power of speech, I tell her everything.

It's not easy, obviously. Talking about the nightmare brings it back again. I can see it all and it's just as bad the hundredth time through as it was the first. "It was really horrible," I say. Beth still has her arm around me, and I can feel myself leaning against her without really thinking about it. She's warm and comforting and best of all she's just here.

"I've had the same dream the last four nights. Nightmare. Whatever the hell it is. It doesn't start out bad. I remember..." What do I remember? Just a feeling, darkness, and a mixture of fear and excitement. And then two details come to me. "There was – I think it was a siren, maybe? And then glass – I was stepping on glass, under my shoes, it was making this noise, a sort of crunching sound."

The ambulance. My first night. I must have been dreaming about that. What else could it be? "It was my first call as a volunteer, my first night out with the paramedics, you remember that, right?" I feel myself calming down a bit as I mention the accident, and yes, I do realize how disturbing it is that talking about a fatal car wreck is actually comforting to me right now.

Beth knows about it, because I told her the first night of freshman orientation. All the other freshmen in Carson House, too. We'd finished up the scheduled and approved activities and our group leader took us out to a scuzzy little bar two blocks off campus called Club Illusion, which I think is the least aptly named place I've ever been to. It's a tiny hole in the wall with about three tables inside and a dance floor that's something like two feet square. The appeal of Club Illusion, at least for us, is based on two things: it's a five minute walk from the dorm, and (much less of a concern since I turned twenty-one back in October) they rarely if ever card anyone.

Anyway, off we went, and after a couple of pitchers of beer we ended up playing sort of an informal game of Truth or Dare. Someone, I don't remember who, asked if anybody at the table had ever seen someone die. "I did," I said, and I told them what happened that night.

I was a volunteer with one of the local ambulance units during my senior year in high school. I've always had the idea that I wanted to be a doctor, for as long as I can remember. That seemed like a great way to see how I'd do with the blood and guts and everything. And of course my guidance counselor kept reminding me how good it would look on my college applications.

Three months of training and it was finally time for my first ride. We drove around for maybe half an hour when the call came in, and then there was the accident scene, that poor man bleeding to death on the street. I hadn't ever seen a dead person before, at least not that way. When I was ten, I went to my Uncle Albert's funeral. But seeing someone laid out like that, after the mortician is done with them, isn't the same thing at all. Seeing someone die right in front of you is something most people never experience, I think, at least not if you're lucky. I was the only one at the table that night who had, for whatever that's worth.

I handled it really well, too. I didn't freak out and I think – I know – that I gave that poor man some tiny bit of comfort before he passed. Maybe it doesn't sound like such a big deal, but think about it. He was in pain, he knew he was going to die, and he was all alone and frightened and pretty much as bad off as a person can possibly be. I couldn't save him, but at least I was there. It could have been anyone, all I did was hold his hand and look him in the eye and not lie to him, but "anyone" wasn't there. I was. It was only a few seconds, but as far as I'm concerned it was important. Nobody deserves to die cold and scared and alone.

Obviously, I still dream about it. I don't really remember anything more than feelings and vague impressions, but I think it must have been a replay of that night. What little I do remember about my dreams is usually like that. Very boring. Until now, anyway.

I don't have to tell Beth all that, so I skip ahead to the awful part: the man and the girl and the bedroom. I realize, as I'm telling her about it, it wasn't separate dreams, it was the same dream. I was in one place, and then in the other, just like that. And it was the same feeling of being not in my own mind again, just like all the other times. I must have been on the street, at the accident scene, and then I was in the bedroom watching. There wasn't any in-between at all.

By the time I get to the end, I can barely get the words out. I don't want to see it, but it's there, playing out over and over and over.

I don't know how long I cry for this time, but Beth is a real trooper, she holds me until I finally recover a little. Not much, but enough to keep talking. "He killed her. I watched the whole thing, and I tried to help but I couldn't move, and they didn't hear me and there wasn't anything I could do. She was – she was kicking and fighting but it didn't do any good."

Beth thinks about that. She's staring hard at me, and I can tell exactly what's going through her head. She's wondering where the hell this came from. I don't like horror movies; I hate even watching the news sometimes. And nothing's ever happened in my life or to anyone I know like what I dreamed. Beth knows all that, and I can see from her expression that she's nearly as freaked out as I am.

"God, Sara. I don't blame you for losing it. That's – I'd say horrible, but horrible doesn't cover it."

Yes, I know. "The worst thing is that it looked so real. And I have no idea who they were. They didn't look like anyone I can think of." Well, the girl didn't, I'm sure about that. When I picture the man I can't place him either, but I've got this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I ought to be able to.

I keep talking. "It all came out of nowhere. The only thing I can think of," and it's just at this moment that it occurs to me, "is that it's something subconscious. Maybe deep down I get off on that kind of stuff?" That can't really be true, can it?

Beth doesn't think so. She shakes her head and answers me immediately. "No way. I know you better than anybody. If you had that kind of a dark side – well, you don't. Trust me."

She's right, I think. I hope. "Thanks. I guess I just needed to hear that." She's still sitting on my bed right next to me. I lean close, hug her, and give her a little kiss on the cheek. "I feel much better," which isn't true, but talking about this more isn't going to make me feel better, and both of us should get back to sleep. "Why don't you go back to bed? I promise I won't wake you up again."

"You're sure you're OK?" I nod. We both know I'm not, but she doesn't call me on it. She just pats my head before she gets up and goes back to her own bed. "No more nightmares, right?"

"I promise."

***

Thankfully, there aren't any more nightmares. I actually get a couple of hours of decent sleep. I wish it could have been more, God knows I need it, but it's Thursday and I have an early class.

So does Beth, but she's still lying in bed when I get out of the shower. She's awake, though, talking on the phone. It's her younger sister Chrissy. It's easy to tell, because Beth is complaining about how she doesn't want to be called Liz or Lizzie. It annoys her, so of course her sister does it whenever possible. I've got a younger brother so I understand completely.

Beth is still on the phone when I leave for 9:30 AM physics. I don't like 9:30 AM physics. I wouldn't like it at eleven o'clock, or at any other time. Just like green eggs and ham, I guess. But I need it for the pre-med program so I'm trying to slog through it. I don't have a problem with any of my other classes, just this one. It doesn't click for me, and I wish I knew why.

I've got a nice long, cold walk to think about it. Physics is on the other side of campus, in one of the old, dingy engineering buildings on the main quad. At least it's something to think about instead of the nightmares. On the other hand, it's kind of disheartening that there's something going on in my life that I like even less than physics.

***

I make it to class, and I manage to stay awake and even take some notes, not that I understand anything that Dr. Wallabeck said. I haven't understood much in that class since the last exam. At least, I had to concentrate so much on trying to comprehend it that I couldn't think about the nightmares.

No such luck now. I'm sitting in my Science in Western Thought class. It was the only class this semester that fit my schedule and that filled the requirements for a Liberal Arts elective, so I signed up for it. I can see where the material could be interesting, except that the professor, Dr. Sorenson, somehow manages to suck all the life out of it. She's a very dry speaker, and it's hard to concentrate on anything she's saying. Usually, it's not that much of a problem since she's taking everything straight from the textbook. But sometimes my mind wanders....

...the blonde girl's on the bed, and the big man climbs on top of her, and all Sara can do is watch helplessly...

"Is there a problem, Miss Barnes?"

Yes there is. Very much so. "I'm – I'm not feeling well, I need to go to the bathroom." I must have shouted something, or maybe I just completely spaced out when Dr. Sorenson called on me. I'm not really sure what I did, to be honest.

I don't wait for her to even acknowledge me; I run out of the room, down the hall to the ladies room. I splash some water on my face and then I lock myself in a stall. It seems like the only sensible thing to do.

I thought I was getting over it. I talked about it with Beth, and isn't talking about bad things supposed to make them better? Besides, for God's sake, I'm twenty one years old. I'm an adult. Some stupid nightmare isn't supposed to affect me like this. Right?

Wrong, apparently, or I wouldn't be sitting here in the bathroom hiding. And I'm not even sure exactly what I'm hiding from. This absolutely sucks, and that's by far the most polite way I can think of to say it.

I sit there another few minutes and then I hear the door open, footsteps echoing and finally a voice. "Sara? Are you there?" It's Marcia Goldstein. She lives just down the hall from me, and she's also in the class.

"I'm still here."

"Dr. Sorenson wanted to know if you were OK. She was worried about you."

I'm worried about me too but of course I can't say that. "It's really nothing. I'll be fine. I'll be back in a minute, OK?"

That's good enough for Marcia, and, although it takes more than just a minute, I'm able to keep my word. I go back to the classroom, back to my seat and I sit quietly for the remainder of class. When it's over, I tell Dr. Sorenson I'm sorry for disrupting class. She smiles patronizingly at me and shakes her head. "Don't worry about it. It happens to all of us at one time or another."

I don't think so. I don't think this kind of thing happens to most people ever. For their sake, I certainly hope not.

***

It's almost twelve-thirty in the morning and I'm not asleep. I was staring at the poster of Daffy Duck over Beth's bed, but I gave that up a few minutes ago. I thought he was staring back at me. I've got a print of Monet's Water Lilies over my bed and now I half think they're staring at me, too.

I realize that's not good. It's pretty far from good, actually.

So I crawl out of my bed, put on my slippers and my bathrobe and go downstairs. Two of my fellow residents are sitting on the big discolored couch watching David Letterman. I give them a little wave and I sink into a corner of the couch to watch the show.

People trickle in a few at a time. It's Thursday night and The Cellar – our own little on-campus "nightclub" in the basement beneath the dining hall – always has a live band. Sometimes, the shows go until two or even three in the morning, but tonight's band, a group called – God only knows why – Wounded Dog Theory, must not have been very popular. I talk with the returnees, although I'm not nearly conscious enough to have any idea what they're saying or what I say in return. I'm on autopilot.

And then, just like that, Letterman's done, and the little crowd in the lounge disperses. I head back to my room, hang my bathrobe back up in my closet, crawl back under the covers and...

***

... Sara is awake, sitting in a chair, her eyes wandering around a large, expensively furnished bedroom. There are details that seem familiar, but Sara can't quite remember why: a Rolex watch on a dresser, an expensive painting on a wall. And then, suddenly, a large man and a much younger, much smaller girl come through the door.

What happens next is also familiar, and terrible: frantic shouting from the girl as the man throws her onto the bed, and screaming from Sara, which no one else hears...

***

...Something's wrong. I'm awake. Someone is screaming.

It's me. Goddamn it, I hate this!

I turn on the light, and what I see doesn't make me feel any better. The first thing I notice is the blood on my pillow. I can taste it in my mouth. I guess I must have been biting my lip to keep from screaming, and I bit so hard that I drew blood. And then I screamed anyway.

No more sleeping.

***

It's almost three o'clock in the morning now. It seems like it's three o'clock a lot lately.

The door opens, and Beth comes tip-toeing in. She takes one look at me and she knows she doesn't need to worry about making noise. She doesn't need to ask what's wrong, either; she can see it's last night all over again.

I haven't looked at myself in the mirror, but I can picture what she sees all the same: dead eyes staring out at her, clutching my bloody pillow as though I'm drowning and it's a life preserver. Beth doesn't say a word, she just throws her coat on her bed and strips down to her underwear. I never really gave it much thought before, but she really does that awfully quickly. She puts on the double extra-large Van Halen t-shirt she always wears to bed – she keeps telling me there's a really juicy story behind that shirt, but after two and a half years of not hearing it, I'm not sure I believe her. "Move over." It's the first thing she says to me. "You obviously need someone to hold you. Scoot over."

I do, and she gets into the bed with me. "You really ought to be doing this with a boyfriend. When are you going to start dating again?"

She's just trying to distract me. I realize that. But she hit on a good subject. It works. "You're the one who kept telling me to dump Thomas!"

"Yeah, but I didn't tell you to join a convent or anything. You need to find somebody. Soon. Right?

Maybe. I'm not sure I really want to have this conversation right now. On the other hand, it beats the alternative. "Sure. You're right, Beth."

"Of course I am. But since you don't listen to me, I guess this is my job tonight." She laughs. I know what she's going to say next. "Besides, it's not like we haven't slept together before, right?"

Last Spring Break, to be exact. We went to Florida with two other girls from the floor, Kathy and Theresa. Someone – Beth, not that there's any point in bringing it up just now – messed up booking the rooms. We ended up with just one room and a single king size bed instead of two rooms with two double beds in each. The second night down there, Kathy saw a spider, and nobody was willing to sleep on the floor after that. So all four of us ended up in the big bed every night that trip.

She's got her arms around me. I don't object, because she's exactly right, I do need holding. It's half an hour later before she asks about the nightmare. I tell her, it was exactly the same. Exactly as awful as the last few nights. But I do feel a little better right now, thanks to her. She says she's glad she can help. She says that she'll stay right here the rest of the night, if I want her to. I'm fine with that. She asks me if she can turn out the light. I'm fine with that too.

***

There's someone in bed with me. Someone's next to me, someone warm and soft and he's – wait a minute, that's not right. There isn't any "he" at the moment for me to be in bed with.

She. It's Beth. She's in bed with me – I don't know why, I don't remember – and then it all comes back in a rush. I had a nightmare, I freaked out, and she decided I needed to be held. Except it isn't helping. I sit up, and it's as though it never went out of my head – I'm seeing it again, the bedroom, the man, the...

Beth stirs herself awake, sits up. I can barely see her; I'm still in that bedroom, still watching that helpless girl scratching and clawing and...

Beth fades in and out of view; for a moment I can see her more clearly. Her eyes narrow, focusing on mine. Then she's gone again, and I'm watching the – the – the murder. That's what it is. I can't get it out of my head.

I feel – what? A hand, soft, gentle, on my cheek. It's Beth. She's back. She's moving towards me, her face is just an inch or two away from mine, her lips are...

"What the hell are you doing?" The bedroom and the man and his victim are gone, and Beth is suddenly three or four feet away from me, her hand up, bracing herself against the wall. My hands are out in front of me; I must have shoved her away into the wall without even realizing what I was doing.

She's staring hard at me, right into my eyes, trying to see if I'm back here with her, if the nightmare is out of my mind. It certainly is. She stares for another moment or two and then, without any warning, she dissolves into laughter. "You should – God, you should see your face right now!"

I don't really see what's funny about anything right now. "What were you doing?" I snap at her, breathing rapidly.

She needs a few seconds to recover her composure. "You were gone again, and I felt like I had to do something to bring you back. It was either that or a good hard slap."

My breathing slows; it's almost back to normal. "I guess that makes sense." I think I might have preferred the slap. But I have to admit that her way did work; I'm certainly not thinking about the nightmare now. I'm pretty sure she's driven it away for the night.

"You forgive me?"

Of course I do. I lean over and hug her. "You bet." Our heads turn towards the alarm clock in unison: 5:20 AM. "You think we can get a little more sleep? I'll be OK by myself now, I think." If I didn't know better and I heard myself just now, I might even believe it.

She's already up and halfway over to her bed. "I know you will," she answers. I wish I were as confident as she is.

***

I'm sure I did things this morning. I must have gone to my class, and I assume I had conversations with people and all the usual things that make up the day. I can't remember any of it right now. It feels like I've been sleepwalking all morning, which really isn't too far from the truth.

Now, lunchtime, I almost feel something close to awake. I'm in Lardner Commons, which far too often means I'm staring at a bowl of Froot Loops. Today is no exception.

Needless to say, Lardner is the dining hall for this side, the north side, of campus. Also needless to say, the food is usually, to use a technical term, yucky. We've got a rule: if you can't immediately identify it by look and smell, you don't eat it.

Almost everyone else at the table shares my opinion of today's entrée. Beth is sitting across from me, and – maybe to show solidarity with me – she's also chosen the Froot Loops. Joe Karver, the upstairs Resident Assistant, went with Cheerios. John from New York selected Frosted Flakes, and George from the fourth floor apparently decided to be a rebel and went straight for dessert. He's busy slurping down a bowl of vanilla ice cream.

Jackie and Fred, two of our freshmen, joined us, too. When I say "our freshmen," I really mean it. Carson House is a very friendly place; at least it's been for all of my time here. With only a handful of freshmen out of the hundred or so of us who live there, most of us have gone out of our way to make sure all of them feel like they belong. It looks like we've fallen down on the job a little bit, though. They clearly haven't memorized the rules of the dining hall; Jackie and Fred are the only ones at the table to brave the hot food.

"I think its Swedish meatballs. That's what the sign said," Fred says, when Joe asks him what, exactly, he's eating. Amazing.

"If you have to read the sign," Joe starts, and then we all chime in, "You don't want it!"

We chat about our final exam schedules while we eat. Finals start a week from today – on a Friday, for some reason none of us have been able to figure out. Jackie's the most worried, she doesn't know what to expect. We all try to reassure her that finals really aren't that bad. George tells her that last year, when he was a freshman, he played Monopoly every night of finals and he still did fine. I happen to know that's true, since I played in a couple of those games as well.

Having put Jackie at ease, our conversation turns to plans for tonight. It is Friday, after all. There are a couple of fraternity parties, and the campus movie. As usual, none of that really appeals to me, so I just sit tight and listen as Jackie and Fred start talking about this new club downtown that they got into last week, a place called Checkpoint Charlie's. It's the new "in" spot, apparently.

"That's a great idea," I hear myself say. I'm not quite sure where the words are coming from. "Yeah. I want to go out and dance and drink way more than I should. Let's go."

Beth stares at me, extremely confused. A few hours ago, I was a complete wreck. And in any event, the idea of me actively wanting to go out when there's studying I could be doing is a shock to her. Honestly, I'm just as surprised as she is. I had no idea that's what I wanted to do until I heard myself say the words. I'm not entirely sure that's a good thing, but too late to worry about it now. "Are you sure?" Beth asks

"Maybe it's not such a great idea," Joe adds. "You don't look like you're feeling too well."

Well, thanks for noticing that. Thanks a lot. I wasn't sure until just this second, but now I definitely am. "I'm fine. And I'm sure that I want to go out. OK?" It's OK with everyone. "Jackie, you and Fred want to join us?"

"They're only eighteen. How do you expect them to get in?" Joe asks. It's not his fault; he is the RA, after all. I suppose it's his job to discourage irresponsible behavior. Maybe that means we should be irresponsible every so often, so that he's got something to do. Isn't that what they call "division of labor?" "They got in last week, Joe. I'm sure they've got it all figured out."

Jackie grins, fishes into her purse and pulls out what looks to me like a pretty convincing fake driver's license. Hey, whatever works. The rest of us are legal, at least Beth and Joe and me are. It doesn't matter anyway. The really important point is that maybe going out and having a good time will take my mind off the damn nightmares and I can get a decent night's sleep. It seems like a good plan to me.

***

It's nine o'clock, and everyone's waiting downstairs for Beth and me. She looks great, which is no surprise. She generally does. What is a little surprising, at least to me, is just how good I look. That sounds immodest, but what the heck. I'm allowed to be immodest once in a while, right?

Beth spent the last two hours helping me do my hair and makeup, and she absolutely demanded that I wear the dress I bought with my birthday money. It doesn't quite say "do me" – nothing I own says that – but it might say "buy me some drinks and dance with me and I'll think about it" if I wear it with the proper attitude. It's black and strapless and – for me, at least – very short. It's such a change from my usual wardrobe that I barely recognize myself in the mirror. Especially with my hair up and the way-more-than-usual makeup job.

She gives me a final once over, and claps her hands. She's thrilled. "There may be hope for you yet!" She doesn't need me to check her over, she knows without even looking in the mirror that everything's right, not a hair or anything else out of place.

I have to take one last good long look at myself, though. The woman staring back at me has my eyes, but the rest of her...

I hear my own voice asking, "Who is that?"

Beth laughs, and steps into view next to me. "That's one hot babe, that's who it is."

Hot babe? Me? Not quite. Beth is the only hot babe in the mirror. There's really no comparison between us. She's got ridiculously perfect shoulder-length blonde hair, while I've got a tangle of barely-manageable brown curls. She has unbelievable legs and a good five inches on me. And to top it off, she's – "well-endowed" is probably the best way to put it, and I'm, well, not.

You know what, though? Despite all that, even though she's beautiful and the most I'd ever call myself is "cute" or, maybe right now, at my absolute best, "pretty," I'm not a bit jealous or envious.

I feel really good next to her, actually. I look into my own eyes, green and bright and alive, as though I haven't just gone through a week of horrible nightmares and barely any sleep, and I like what I see.

OK, enough staring. We've got places to go. I grab my purse and we're off, out the door, down the stairs. "Prepare to be amazed, people!" Beth shouts out ahead of us. There's a crowd in the lobby, and they all stare up at her coming down the stairs. And then they stare at me.

Someone says "wow," and there's a whistle or two. I'm sure it's all just joking, but still, it feels really good to hear it. I can't help showing off, I do a little twirl at the bottom of the stairs. Why not? It's a special occasion. I'm not sure why, but it feels like one.

Beth knows it too. She winks at me, and I wink right back; maybe it's just wishful thinking, but I don't think so. I'm convinced it's more than that. This is going to be an evening to remember. I don't have a doubt in my mind about it.

Chapter Two

(December 1-2, 1989)

Making it downtown in one piece turns out to be quite the adventure. Five of us jam ourselves into Joe's car, which isn't a recommended number for a creaky old VW Beetle. Jackie and Fred and I squeeze together in the back seat, while Beth is driving Joe crazy in the front.

Beth can't help but give advice when she's a passenger. Usually it's along the lines of "you're not going to let him cut you off like that, are you?" Not surprisingly, that kind of thing doesn't tend to go over very well. I spend the whole drive massaging Joe's shoulders and telling him over and over that everything's OK.

Thankfully we do make it downtown in one piece, and we even find parking only a couple of blocks away from the club. That's got to be a good omen, right? So here we are. We're walking down Superior Avenue; I'm hanging back with Beth and Jackie. The boys are half a block ahead of us, leading the way. Right now Jackie's telling us that she's hoping Fred will make a move on her tonight.

"I know he wants to. I'm pretty sure anyway. I thought he was going to last week but he got nervous, I guess."

"You could just make a move on him," Beth tells her. It sounds simple enough, but Jackie's clearly not comfortable with the concept. I know how she feels, but two and a half years of living with Beth have rubbed off on me at least a little bit.

"She's right. If there's anything you can trust her on, it's matters of the heart," I reassure Jackie.

"And other organs," Beth says. "They're much more fun than the heart anyway." Well, that's settled. As usual Beth has the last word. And here are the boys. Joe's stopped to talk to someone. It's a small world, because he's talking to a mutual friend.

"Hey, Reggie!" Reggie Morton's an RA on the other side of campus. Now, anyway. Our freshman year she was our next door neighbor.

"Sara! Wow, you look fantastic!" It really is nice to be noticed like that once in a while. I could probably get used to it.

"Thanks! Where are you headed?"

"I was just telling Joe, we've got some free passes to Sharky's. You guys want to join us?"

Free is good. It'll be fun to go with Reggie, too. I haven't done anything with her in a while. "Fine by me."

"Sure," Beth agrees. Jackie and Fred nod their heads. Sharky's it is. It's just a few doors down from Checkpoint Charlie's, so it's not out of the way. This is good, because it's freezing cold and I'm not wearing nearly enough to be walking around outside for any length of time.

***

I feel much better. A couple of drinks and an hour of dancing were just what I needed. Right now, I'm resting for a few minutes, dancing takes a lot of energy. And it's very crowded and warm in here too. I'm enjoying myself, which is the most important thing. I made the rounds, said "hi" when I spotted a couple of folks I knew, danced with Beth a little, and I danced with Joe quite a bit.

I remember reading in a novel once how a character took a turn on the dance floor that "could've gotten her pregnant." I was never sure quite what that involved before, but now I know exactly what it means. I'm sure Joe wasn't expecting anything like that. It's good to know I can still surprise people once in a while.

Jackie catches my eye. She's wading her way through the crowd to me. It doesn't look easy, but she eventually makes it over here. "Sara!"

"Yes!" We're not quite two feet apart and we still have to shout at the top of our lungs to hear each other.

"We want to try the other club!" I think that's what she says, anyway.

I like this place just fine, but right now I think I'll do great wherever we go. Besides, I've never been to Checkpoint Charlie's and from the little I've heard it sounds kind of interesting. Why not? "I'll go get Beth! You find everybody else! Meet us outside!"

She nods her head and starts pushing through the mass of people away from me, so I assume she heard me correctly. I head back onto the dance floor; Beth is there somewhere. I'm shaking and swaying my way into the crowd and I see her. No surprise; she's dancing with three guys, all very good-looking. She finally sees me, smiles, gives me a little wave. I slide between two of her guys and grab her arm. She blows all of them a kiss as I pull her away.

"Something wrong? Or were you just jealous?" she asks me when we get off the dance floor and then to a halfway quiet spot so we can actually talk.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to spoil your fun, but we're leaving. Jackie wants to go to the other club, and I kind of want to check it out too. OK?"

Beth looks back at her suitors, shakes her head. "Oh, well. I can do better anyway," she says as she follows me towards the door. We get outside, pushing past the line of people trying to get in. Joe and Jackie and Fred are waiting for us a little way down the street.

"Is everybody having a good time?"

"I know you sure are," Joe answers me.

"And you aren't? What, you didn't like dancing with me?"

He drapes his arm around my shoulders. "I didn't say that. I just didn't expect you to be so..." he's got that lost-in-thought expression now. Joe's usually very particular about what he says and how he says it. "...friendly." That isn't quite the word I'd have chosen, but I let it pass. He goes on: "You never got that 'friendly' when we were dating. That's all I meant." Ancient history. We went out a few times last year. Nothing came of it, there just wasn't any chemistry, I guess. It never got too serious, physically or otherwise, so it wasn't ugly or awful when we stopped dating. I'm pretty sure that's why we're still friends today.

Beth is curious now. "How 'friendly' are we talking here?"

"Friendly enough to make you proud. How about that?" And I don't even blush when I say it. I think that's what surprises her the most – she's utterly speechless now. Hah! I actually managed to shock her. That doesn't happen often.

We're in front of Checkpoint Charlie's now. It's a warehouse, or it used to be one. It isn't much to look at from the outside – rundown is the first word that comes to mind. But there's a line to get in, so it must be better inside than out. I head for the back of the line, but Beth shakes her head and walks right up to the doorman. She's talking to him, pointing at us – me, I think, but I'm not completely sure.

It doesn't take long at all for her to talk him into letting us in. I'm pretty sure it wasn't what she said as much as her miniskirt. It could get her arrested for indecent exposure if it were about an inch shorter. Not that there's anything wrong with that, she wears it very well. Besides, the truth is that the whole sex kitten thing she does is mostly an act. A little bit of it is real, but nowhere near as much as she likes to pretend. Not that I'd ever say that to her. Anyway, act or not, if she can work it and get us to skip the waiting-outside-in-line part, I'm all in favor. It looks like it is working; she waves us over to her, and in we go.

The place is decorated in – well, East German chic by way of a military surplus store is probably the best way I can describe it. There's a big video screen covering almost one entire wall. It's showing one of those old May Day parades, where all the tanks and planes and missiles drive around Moscow or wherever. There are neon fighter planes hanging from the ceiling; and from the little I can see all the bartenders are wearing military uniforms.

It's a clever idea, I guess. Cold War military surplus is not something I would ever have thought of, but it is pretty funny, and it's definitely unique. Popular, too, if the line outside is anything to judge by.

Except, now that we're inside, it isn't quite as crowded as I expected. Not that it's deserted or anything, but there's room to walk without having to shove past people, and it isn't so loud that you can't hear yourself think, like Sharky's was.

So we're wandering over to the bar. I look over at a table in one corner with a red and gold neon fighter plane hanging right above it. My eighth grade boyfriend would have known exactly what it was called and all the vital statistics about it. I just think it looks kind of funny. And...

And what?

...Sara is in the stands, watching a basketball game, watching herself down on the court cheering for a tall, dark-haired guy who's getting ready to take a shot. Watching herself, watching someone else who's dreaming about her...

It's him. The guy at the table under the fighter plane is the guy on the court. The one from the dream. It's definitely, absolutely, bet-my-life-on-it him. That's impossible, isn't it? It wasn't real, he wasn't real. It was just a stupid, weird dream. But he's sitting right over there!

And so what? I'm in uncharted territory here, but I know it has to mean something. I didn't just dream about him. I was inside his head, or he was inside mine. Whichever. There was him, and then there were the nightmares.

At least the dream with him, as weird as it felt, wasn't all creepy and horrible. Actually, if you take away the weird, it didn't feel bad at all. So if the nightmares are making me crazy, maybe this guy will – what? Make the nightmares stop? Make me sane again? I don't know, but I have to find out.

"Hey, what's going on?"

It's Beth. I assume she's wondering why I stopped dead in my tracks and why I'm staring at some random guy. "Nothing. I just need to talk to somebody over there. You go get a drink, I'll find you in a little while."

I don't wait for an answer. I head straight for my mystery man.

***

I've seen love at first sight happen. When I say that, I mean two people seeing each other for the first time and the moment their eyes meet there's an instant connection. It's almost like electricity, everybody in the room can feel it. I've been there when it happened, and there's no doubt at all that's what it was. Say what you want about it being silly or sappy or just plain BS, I don't care. I know it's real.

That's what it feels like when I'm halfway over to him, and he turns his head, sees me, and we make eye contact. Everything else disappears. There's me and him and nothing else in the world. We're connected. I don't know why, I don't know how, but that doesn't change the fact that it's happening.

And now I'm there and he's staring at me like he can't believe I'm real. It's OK, I feel the same way. I reach out, put my hand on his arm and I really expect to feel sparks or something, but I don't. It's just him, just the fabric of his shirt.

I slide my hand down his arm and I can feel the goosebumps as I go. I've got them too. I take his hand, and now I'm pulling him away from the table and everything else is starting to come back. It's louder than it seemed a few minutes ago, and it feels much too crowded all of a sudden, and what I need right this second is quiet and just him.

"We have to talk," I whisper in his ear, and he doesn't say anything but he does follow me. There's a back door, it looks like there's a patio for when the weather's nice. I head for it, and I need it to be open and it is and out we go.

I don't feel the cold at all. It's perfect, just the two of us, and with the door closed the noise from the club is all drowned out. He can feel it, too. He knows we're connected; he knows this is exactly where we're supposed to be the same way I do. Neither of us says anything at first. We're just looking at each other, trying to think of the appropriate words. The silence goes on for probably only a few seconds, but it feels like minutes or even hours.

Enough. I say the first thing that pops into my head: "You've been spending your nights with me. I think I deserve to know your name." No, that's all wrong! "God, did I really say that?" He nods his head. "I'm sorry, let me start again. I'm Sara, and I don't know who you are."

He looks so nervous, he's got exactly the same expression my dog Lumpy gets whenever someone starts up the lawnmower. It's a long story. He manages to shake my hand. "Brian Alderson," he says, but I guess he doesn't think that's enough. "I've been dreaming about you."

Now I think about it, I have seen him before – outside the dream, I mean. I've seen him on campus. He's – I think he lives over in Allen House, the dorm right next to mine. Which means he lives probably two or three hundred feet away from me. I never really gave him any special notice before, but now that he's right in front of me, he actually is kind of handsome. He's on the tall side and pretty slim and he's got short, dark hair and the brownest brown eyes I think I've ever seen.

And besides all that, we've got some kind of psychic connection, apparently. I can keep telling myself that I don't believe in it, but I can't ignore the fact that it's happening to me anyway. "I know. I was there, remember?" He nods. He still looks nervous, worse than poor Lumpy ever gets. I reach over and take his hands in mine. "Calm down, OK? I'm nervous enough for the both of us."

He relaxes, almost. At least he looks slightly less nervous. But to be fair, why shouldn't he be nervous, too? This has to be just as weird for him as it is for me. "You're not – not angry about it?" he stammers. "I mean, I understand if you are."

Angry? Not at all. Freaked out? Yes, very much. But not angry. "No. Why should I be? I'm – I'm flattered, I guess. I didn't think anyone dreamed about me like that." If I hadn't seen it, I never would have believed I was a part of anybody's romantic fantasies.

"You're..." I don't know what he was going to say, but whatever it was, he thinks better of it, takes a second to make sure he gets this right, "...really beautiful and smart and friendly too, why wouldn't I dream about you?"

Wow. He's got it bad. He's had it bad for me for a little while now, obviously. And he's being so sweet about it. I do the only thing that makes sense right now, without even thinking about it. I lean close to him and I kiss him, very gently, on the lips. He's really surprised at that. I am, too. "Hey, you know something? That's the nicest thing I think anybody's ever said to me."

"Then you're hanging around the wrong people."

"What?"

"Oh, God, did I actually say that?" I just nod my head. Poor Brian, he looks like he's ready to run for the hills any minute. It's all I can do not to laugh. "I thought I just thought it. But it's true. I mean, you are really beautiful."

Beautiful? He really does mean it, I can see that. Amazing. None of my boyfriends have ever been this taken with me. Not like this. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to respond. I don't want to scare him off – and this is incredibly flattering – and he is sort of cute. Not to mention the connection, the love at first sight thing, whatever the hell it is that's going on here. Maybe the best way to handle it is just to go with it. Why not?

"Like I said, that's really sweet. I'm totally flattered. But, you know, you should have talked to me before if you felt that way. I'm pretty harmless, honest." I think just about everybody I know would agree with that.

He doesn't know it, I guess. He's still way too nervous, he's just looking at me waiting for me to do God only knows what. I wish I knew what to do here. Here I am, with a guy who's acting like he's in love with me even though we've never actually met before tonight. And then there are the weird dreams. It's not like there's a guidebook for this kind of thing.

One of Aunt Kat's bits of advice pops into my brain: "in for a penny, in for a pound." She says that a lot and she's right more often than not. Maybe that's what I'm supposed to be doing now? "Besides, how did you expect to go out with me if you never actually talked to me?"

I don't think he was expecting me to say that. I'm not sure I was, either. "Go out? You mean go out go out? You and me?"

That could be what everything is about, maybe this really is meant to be. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

"Yeah – yes, that would be great. That would be absolutely great," he says. He takes my hand, but he's holding it exactly the way you'd hold something breakable. I really hope he starts to relax, or else he's going to make me as nervous as he is.

"I just have a couple of ground rules. First, I'm not fragile. And second, calm down, please? I already told you I'm pretty harmless. OK?"

He nods; I doubt he's capable of much more communication than that at the moment. "Great, now that we've got the rules sorted out, I think you could probably use a drink and I know for sure that I can. So how about we go back inside and get one?" He's fine with it, so back inside we go.

***

Beth spots us heading back to the bar. She gives me a "what's going on?" look and I just smile and point to Brian. I think she gets the idea. When we get home, we'll be up for hours talking about it, I'm sure.

We get our drinks, and we find a table in a dark corner. It's not all that quiet, but we can mostly hear each other and that's good enough. We don't say anything right away; I sip my beer and he just looks at his. What I'd rather do is dance, but I'm fairly certain he's not up for that at the moment. I've got to say something, just to get things going again. "Are you here with anyone else?" Lame, I know, but conversation openers aren't really my thing.

"A bunch of us from my dorm. I wasn't going to come at all, but they talked me into it."

"Tell me when you see them, so I know who to thank," I smile, and he almost smiles back. Almost. "Look, I know you're nervous. But you have to trust me, OK?" I don't know how to make him trust me; I don't know what I can say.

Maybe it's not something I say – maybe it's something I do. I lean close, I take his face in my hands, and this time I really kiss him. He's just stunned; I swear I can actually hear his heart beating. But he recovers, he returns the kiss. I break it off and pull away, just a little. We're still only an inch or two apart. I think it worked, I can see the tension draining away from his face. Thank God. "See? Would I have done that if I didn't really like you?"

"It's just – well – I..."

"Take it easy. One word at a time."

He does exactly that. "I never thought I had a chance with you. You're – it's not just that you're beautiful. I mean, you're popular, everyone likes you. And I'm a freshman and you're a senior..."

"Junior, actually," but close enough. As for me being popular? And beautiful? Please.

But he really believes it. I do understand him worrying that I wouldn't be interested in him because he's a freshman. Personally, I couldn't care less, but a lot of people would. So I get that. The rest of it, though – it's way more than just flattery. This might be more difficult than I thought. "Don't go and put me on a pedestal like that. You won't be able to reach up and touch me. Come on, I'm not a model or anything. I'm just plain old Sara."

He rolls his eyes. I guess that counts as progress. "Did you look in the mirror before you came out tonight? You aren't plain old anything."

Well, I have to give him that one, too. I did go all out tonight, and I haven't looked this good since – well, ever. "OK, tonight's a little out of the ordinary, fair enough. This is me at my absolute best. It doesn't change what I said, though. It's really flattering that you think I'm beautiful, and I'm glad you like me. But if all you're going to do is sit there and wait for me to change my mind and decide that I can do better, tell me now, OK? Because if that's how this is going to be, I can do better." That's a lot harsher than I meant it to sound, but better to get it out there right away instead of having it blow up on me later.

He has to consider that for a bit before he answers me. "That's not me. Usually it isn't, really." He sounds more than a little desperate, but I let it go for now. It's the best I'm going to get, I think. And honestly? For right now, it's good enough.

"Good. That's what I was hoping. So now can we talk like regular people? I don't know a thing about you besides your name."

He's still a little shaky as he starts telling me about himself, but he gets progressively less so as he goes on. Better. Much better. There may be hope after all.

***

It's almost two in the morning and we're still talking. I was right; he does live in Allen House – if my room were on the other side of the floor, we'd be able to see each other out our windows. He thinks he wants to study mechanical engineering, or at least some kind of engineering. He's also from Pennsylvania, just like me. His house is actually less than an hour away from mine. Go figure. Things are moving along very nicely, even if I never do manage to get him onto the dance floor. Nothing's perfect, I guess.

I just thought of something. Dancing. I wonder...

"Were you at our Halloween party?" I've got a feeling he was. I'll bet he was the tall, cute guy who supposedly kept looking at me the whole time, the one I didn't notice. He nods. "And you wanted to dance with me, or at least talk to me, right?"

"By the time I'd talked myself into going up to you, you were gone," he says with an embarrassed smile.

"If it's any consolation, I wouldn't have been very good company. I was obsessing over a lab report and I snuck back upstairs the minute my roommate took her eye off me." It makes me wonder, though. What could he possibly have seen in me that night that he'd dream about me afterwards?

I realize I may not be the best judge, but I think I was pretty far from the most desirable girl in the room. If I were a guy, I don't think I would've been interested in me based on that night. "I'm curious. Why me? Out of all the girls who were there that night, I mean."

I don't really expect an answer, but he surprises me. "You – well, you didn't have this look like all the other girls did, like you couldn't be bothered to talk to some freshman who didn't even have a decent costume for Halloween, you know?"

I'm disappointed; I'd rather have had nothing than that. "That's not an answer," I say, and then something more comes into my head and straight out through my mouth. "I am not interested in what he will not be. I am interested in what he will be."

"What?"

I don't blame him for being confused; I'm sure he hasn't seen the movie. It's only because my Mom loves it and watches it every time it comes on that I remember it. "'Guys and Dolls.' The movie. Ever seen it?" He shakes he head; I was right. "OK. So Marlon Brando is the lead. He's a gambler, kind of a mafia guy. A big shot, but still basically he's just a crook. And he's trying to romance Jean Simmons, she's a charity worker, she's with the Salvation Army, OK?"

"Gene Simmons? From KISS?" I have to give him credit for feeling relaxed enough to joke. I guess that's something.

"Jean with a J. From the fifties. Stay with me, OK?" He nods. "So Marlon Brando isn't getting anywhere with her, and he asks her, what kind of man would she go for? And she says, right away, 'He will not be a gambler.' But that's not good enough. It's not really an answer at all. You see what I mean?"

He laughs. "So I'm Jean Simmons, whoever she is, and you're Marlon Brando?"

I laugh too, but I'm not letting him off the hook. "You're avoiding the question."

He takes a deep breath, gathers his thoughts. "It's hard to explain."

"Try."

"When I look at you – the Halloween party, or just when you're a couple of tables over at the dining hall, or now. Whenever I've seen you, you have this quality, I guess it is – I'm not sure if this is the right word, but it's all I can think of – you're open. Do you know what I mean?" Actually, I think I do. But I want to hear him say it, so I shake my head.

"You're open to whoever you're talking to, you're not judging, not looking down on anybody. You – when I look at you, I can see, you actually care what I'm – what anybody else is saying, what they're thinking. You're not just sitting there waiting to talk and thinking of something clever to say back. Like – like I'm – like whoever you're talking to is a real person, and not just someone who's only there because you are. Do you – do you have any idea how rare that is?"

I do. And – not to be immodest, but it's one of the things I really like about myself, now I think about it. If that's truly what he thinks, if he's not just making it all up, trying to come up with whatever answer will satisfy me...

He's not finished. "And the way you smile – it's genuine, there's something really there, and most people aren't like that. But you are."

"You keep saying I'm beautiful, but really that's what you mean by it, what you said just now." I feel a tingling down my spine as I say that. I think I'm right. It's not my body, it's not the dress I'm wearing tonight, it goes much deeper than that. I hope. I want more than I think I've ever wanted anything in my life to be right about this.

"Yes," he says. He's staring intently at me now, holding me in place with his eyes. I can't move, and I don't want to. "It's your eyes, too. They're so – so bright." There's something different in his voice now; the words are coming from somewhere deep inside, someplace that's strong and sure and confident. It's a place I think maybe he didn't even know he had inside himself until this moment. "You know that saying, the eyes are the windows of the soul? Looking at you now, I know it's true. And that's why."

"Why mine are so bright?" I can barely get the words out. Nobody's ever looked at me the way he is now. Not in twenty-one years.

"Yes." I don't know how to respond; I suddenly feel warm and a little bit dizzy. I thought that the moment I first saw him was love at first sight, but I was wrong. That was nothing. It's now, this moment. And I don't know what I'm supposed to do...

There's a voice from behind me, and the spell is broken. "Hey!"

It's Beth. I don't know whether to thank her for rescuing me or smack her for breaking up a moment that – I don't even know the words for what it was.

"Hey yourself," I say, recovering my composure a bit. "Beth, this is Brian. Brian, this is my roommate Beth."

"Her very tired roommate."

The practical part of my brain kicks in. It is kind of late, and it's not like I won't be able to see him again. "Very subtle, Beth." I shrug, try to look apologetic. "I guess that's my cue to leave."

He stands up, reaches over to hold my hand. I feel him shaking, just a little. He's not in that strong, confident place anymore, but if he found it once, I know he'll find it again. I'm the one who brought it out in him, right? Just like he brought – something, I don't know what – out in me.

I hope he will. I hope everything he said is true. I have to take it all at face value and hope he really meant it. If I hope and wish and want hard enough for it to be true, maybe it will be?

"I'll walk you out," he says. Yes, please.

It's still really cold outside but it isn't bothering me a bit. I don't think Brian notices either. "I had a great time tonight. I hope you're around tomorrow, we can go out?"

He likes that idea. "We can meet for lunch."

Nope. "I don't think lunch is going to happen. If I'm up before noon it'll be a surprise. How about I call you when I wake up, OK?"

That's just fine with him. "There's just one other thing," he says, and the look he gives me is basically asking permission. I mouth "yes" and he takes me in his arms. I can see in his eyes – he's found that place again. As he pulls me close I find it, too. He kisses me, and...

We kiss for what seems like a very long time. I don't notice my friends or the cold or the noises all around or anything at all, just him and how he feels, how we feel.

When it's over, he turns away from me; he's heading back into the club to find his friends and his ride home. I whisper after him, "Thank you. Thank you so much," and he gives me a little wave before he disappears inside.

Wow. It's been too long; I'd almost forgotten how good it feels. Just – wow. That's the only word for it. I'm in my own little world, I don't really pay much attention to Beth dragging me back to the car, I just follow along blindly.

***

I'm back now, the magic has passed. We're in the car.

"Sara Barnes, explain yourself! What the hell was that?"

At least she didn't use my middle name. I don't know if I could handle that. "I was just following your advice. You told me to go out and meet someone."

"Well, fine, but that was not like you. I saw how you stared at him when we got there. What's up with that?"

"It's complicated. I'll explain it later."

"You better," Beth is not with the program on this. She clearly thinks it's just too strange, and I can't really argue that, but at least she lets it go for the moment.

I think she's mainly surprised that I kissed him like that, in public and everything. "You're not the only one who gets to put on a show. The rest of us get to have our moments too."

It's only now I notice that Jackie and Fred are doing exactly that; they're making out right next to me in the back seat. No wonder neither one of them has said anything all during the ride home.

Beth considers my words. "Fair enough. You just had a rough week, that's all. I'm trying to look out for you. That's what best friends are for, right?"

"Right."

***

We're back in our room and not surprisingly at all, it's three o'clock in the morning again. This is becoming a habit for me.

We've been talking for a while already, and there are moments when I'm back there in the club, with Brian looking at me, into me, and there are moments when that feels like the whole night happened to someone else, some girl I barely even know.

I didn't tell Beth that, and I'm not even sure why – normally I tell her everything. Instead, I told her about that first dream, the one with Brian, where I'm watching him watch me-as-a-cheerleader. "At the time I didn't know what to make of it. I figured it was just a weird dream, a one-time thing, and not worth talking about. And then the nightmares started the next evening." Beth doesn't think that my weird dream is the ideal basis for a relationship. Not to mention, what if he's got something to do with the nightmares?

He doesn't, though. This sounds ridiculous, I know, but I would have known if he did. I realize I sound like someone who should be doing ads for the Psychic Friends Network, but I know what I felt and what I saw. And there's so much more anyway. When I first saw him the connection was so strong, and then later...

"Do you remember – the first week we were here, remember Adam and Marie, how they met?" They're the ones I was thinking of when I thought about love at first sight. I'm trying to get this across to her without saying anything about the way he looked at me, or what I felt when he did.

"That's your ideal couple?" It's not working. Beth is staring hard at me now; I think she's more worried than she was when I woke up screaming from the nightmare. Mentioning Adam and Marie wasn't the right approach, clearly. I probably should have known that – things didn't end well for them. It was pretty ugly, to tell the truth. The details aren't terribly important right now; it's enough to say that the words "train wreck" come to mind.

I try again. "No, no, no. But you remember when they met, right? It was love at first sight, we all knew it. It was like seeing lightning strike. I felt the same thing at the club when I saw Brian. I swear to God, it was exactly the same. Like we were meant to get together. Like we're connected somehow." Wow, I do sound crazy, don't I? And that's without talking about the craziest part of all.

Beth scoffs. "You're a hopeless romantic. Behind that Little Miss Sensible face you put on, that's exactly what you are. I remember Adam and Marie too, and if it was anything at first sight, it was lust. They wanted to screw each other, that's all. Don't get me wrong, I completely respect that. I think that's probably just what you need right now, so go for it. But don't try to convince yourself it's anything more than that."

No. She's wrong. I'm no expert on the subject, but I do know myself pretty well. I'm certainly not above plain old lust, but that's not what this is. I start to say that, when something very depressing occurs to me. I know exactly what Beth thinks about Brian and why he's interested in me. I couldn't understand at first what he saw in me, but Beth – I think – has an idea.

It's not a very nice idea. It's a pretty simple one, though: that night at the Halloween party I looked pathetic and desperate and lonely enough that he thought he had a chance, and at the same time I looked – just barely – pretty enough to be worth the effort.

She would never, ever say that to me, but I know she's thinking it. Why shouldn't she? I thought it too. But Brian had an answer, and it was the right answer. I'm going to believe it because – well, I need to believe it. And also because nobody could look at me the way he did if he thought I was just barely worth the effort.

I try one more time to explain to her how I feel, without really telling her. I want her on board with this. I want her to agree with me.

No such luck. "You're scaring me," she says when I'm done. "I just want you to know that. You wake up screaming and crying because of these nightmares, and now you completely flip for this guy, you think it's one of these soulmate things like you're in a movie or something. And you've never even seen him before, except that you dreamed about him dreaming about you. Did I miss anything?"

No, that's pretty much everything so far. The only thing she missed – the one thing I left out – is those last few minutes inside the club. How he looked at me – and another thing about that occurs to me. I felt it at the time, but I didn't have the words until this moment: He was looking at me like I was the only woman in the world.

No, that's not quite right. He wasn't looking at me like I was the only woman in the world, he was looking at me like I was the only woman in the world worth looking at.

I leave that out, and I leave out what he said about my eyes and my soul and how I felt when he did. I can't bring myself to tell Beth that, even though it explains everything.

She's my best friend, and I've never held back from her before. And it's only at this moment that I understand why. It's not just that I'm afraid of how ridiculous it'll sound if I say it out loud, or at least that's only a tiny little part of the reason. I've been ridiculous in front of Beth before, and I'm sure I will be again; I'm kind of used to it by now. The real reason is because I want to – need to – keep it for myself, at least for a little while. Nobody's ever said something like that to me, and nobody's ever looked at me the way he did when he was saying it. It was just for me to hear, and just for me to remember. I can't share it with anyone yet, not even my best friend.

"I know how this all sounds," is what I say instead of what I'm really thinking. "But it felt right," I tell her. Because I do know her so well, I add, "and it felt so good. I've been going out of my mind, and now this happens and it's exactly what I need, and I have to believe in it. Can you understand that?" That ought to be enough to convince her.

I realize something more: walking him through everything, completely taking the initiative, I needed that too, I think. Maybe I can't control what I see when I go to sleep, but here's something I can control. I tell her that as well, and I look at her hopefully.

"What do you want me to say?" is her response. "You don't need my approval. I'm not your mother or anything. All I'm doing is telling you what I think." She's all serious when she says that, but she brightens momentarily, "Just enlightening you with the wisdom of my experience."

What do I want you to say? That you completely understand what I'm saying, and you don't think I'm crazy. How about that? "I don't know. You've always had good advice about men. You've always been right about the guys I date. I guess I want you to tell me if you think I'm making a mistake, but the truth is I'll feel much better if you tell me you don't think I am."

She's serious again. "I don't know. This is out of my league. I just don't want to see you get hurt. You've been a mess the last week. I don't mind helping you pick up the pieces because God knows you've helped me through enough crap. I'm just worried about you. I don't think you sound like yourself. I don't think you're acting like yourself. I hope this thing works out for you, I hope he's everything you think he is, and you have totally amazing sex and whatever else you're looking for. I really do." Her face tells me she doesn't believe that's going to happen. "If not," she gives me a huge sigh, "I'll be here and you can cry on my shoulder or yell at me or whatever you need to do. How's that?"

She's right, everything she said is right. I haven't been myself the last few days. And tonight was an applied exercise in acting as unlike myself as I possibly could. But it worked. I felt great, I didn't think about the nightmares at all, everything was wonderful. Maybe she's right to be worried; maybe it'll all come crashing down. Probably it will. But I'm going to enjoy it until it does.

"I'll be careful. I promise. Good enough?"

"Good enough," Beth says. "Can we get some sleep now?"

I've got a much better idea than sleep. I give her my biggest smile. "Actually, I feel like dancing some more. You want to go see if any of the fraternity parties are still going on?" I wish I had a camera right now. Her expression is absolutely priceless. I'm just full of surprises today.

Chapter Three

(December 2-3, 1989)

I wake up and I'm not screaming. There aren't any horrible scenes going through my mind. If I had any dreams, I don't remember them.

So this is how it feels to have a good night's sleep and wake up normally – I'd almost forgotten. It's really nice. It's like they say, whoever "they" are, you should appreciate the small things. Waking up well rested, refreshed and definitely not terrified.

Maybe I did have a dream last night. I was at a club downtown and I met a guy, and we hit it off – no, I don't think it was a dream at all. That's a memory. That's what I did last night. At least I hope it is.

His name's Brian and he lives in the next dorm to mine. We talked and he did something to me – we did something to each other, I think – and then I made out with him in the middle of the street, in front of everyone. I completely fell for him in just a couple of hours. He gave me his phone number and we're going to – I don't know what we're going to do exactly but I have very strong feelings about what I'd like to be doing with him.

I'm fairly certain it really happened, but there's only one way to be sure. I reach over to the desk, grab the phone. I dial the number, 1550, just the four numbers because it's on campus. It rings. Once, twice, three times.

"Hello?" It sounds like his voice.

"Is Brian there?" I hope, I hope, I hope.

"Sara?" Yes! Yes, I'm Sara, and you're Brian, and you're real and everything is right with the world.

"In the flesh. Good morning," I notice the clock and I correct myself, "Oops, I mean afternoon. I hope you had a good time last night."

He hesitates. I know it's not because he didn't have a good time, but because he's trying to think of exactly the right words to say. "Um – it was – you were...yes, I had a good time," is what he settles for. "Did – did you?"

There aren't words. But I do have to say something, don't I? "I absolutely did, and I'd really like to see you today. Please tell me you don't have any plans."

"You want to go out on a date, right? That is what you mean?" He still doesn't believe it. His nerves are back; he's lost his way from that strong, confident place. But that's no problem – he'll find it again. I'll make sure he does.

"Yes, I do. So when are you going to come over here and pick me up?"

***

Beth walks in from the shower just as I hang up the phone. "So how's your new boyfriend?"

He's not my boyfriend!

Not yet, anyway. But I'd like him to be, if things keep going the way they did last night. I put on my best stuck-up voice: "Brian is fine, thank you very much. He's taking me out to dinner and a movie tonight, if you must know."

"You do realize I'm just teasing. Right?" She looks almost worried, as though maybe I don't realize it. I guess she thinks she was too negative about Brian last night. I don't think she was, really. She was just looking out for me. Besides, I didn't tell her everything – she'd understand if I had. Or maybe she'd be even more worried about me.

"I know you are," I tell her, and just to make it clear that I understand I throw a pillow at her. I hit her right in the face, interrupting her from the long and complicated process of drying her hair.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"Nothing," I giggle. It just seemed like the only appropriate response. She throws it back at me, I catch it and lie back down on my bed. She doesn't look 100% convinced that I'm not mad at her, and she's just about to open her mouth and rehash the whole conversation again, but I stop her.

"You don't have to say it. Look, I asked you for your opinion and you told me. End of story. The truth is, if it was anybody else telling me all the stuff I told you I'd think they were a few tacos short of a combination plate too." It looks like she's going to protest that, no, she didn't think that at all, but I wave her off. "Don't. I know that's what you were thinking, and I don't blame you a bit."

I sit up, stand up, walk over to her, hug her. "Thanks," I say.

"For what?"

"For being a good friend. I'm lucky to have you worrying about me."

There, everything's all better now. I go back to lying on the bed, and she goes back to drying her hair. We're both quiet for a while. Finally, she says: "I'm thinking I should see if Ron," her boyfriend, "wants me to spend the night over at his place. I'm just thinking, since I haven't seen him all week. And you'd have the room to yourself, in case, you know, there's anything that you wanted to do where you'd need the room to yourself."

She's smiling as she says it, and I don't think she expects my answer. Neither do   
I. "I think that's a great idea."

"Seriously?"

Yes! "I think so, yeah."

"Sara, you've known this guy for what, twelve hours?"

Not counting last night, when it comes to my love life I have no secrets from Beth. She knows that I'm no prude or anything, but I do take things pretty slow. I've never gone to bed with someone I just met, never had a one night stand. My last boyfriend, Thomas, we'd been dating for a month before we slept together. Before him, back in high school it was a year and a half of dating Richard before – well, before I gave in, and I'm not going to think about that now. I put it right out of my mind. "I know. It feels weird to me, too. But – it's like you said last night, it would probably do me good."

"Wow, you are serious." She's staring at me, maybe looking for some tipoff that I'm a pod person who's taken over the real Sara. "Promise me you'll be careful."

She has to ask? I can't believe she thinks I'd be irresponsible enough to – no, that's not it at all. She shakes her head when she sees the face I make at her. "That's not what I meant! Just really be careful with him. I don't want to see you get hurt. I mean, you don't know much about him, and I know he seems harmless and all, but still – just promise me, OK?"

If it'll make her feel better, fine. "I do. I promise I'll be extra careful, and I won't let anything bad happen." There, that should convince her that I'll be fine, except it won't. But that's OK. If she wants to be concerned and nervous and everything about me, well, good. It's nice to have someone worrying about me instead of the other way around for once. Why not?

Exactly.

***

Here we are back at the dorm. Brian and I are standing right outside the front door. It's freezing cold, and it just a minute ago started to snow.

I've had a great time. We went to Brandywine's, one of the two pretty nice restaurants that are right near the campus. I didn't suggest the really expensive French place; that probably would have been overdoing it. Besides, I couldn't afford it without breaking out the emergency credit card, and I very much doubt he could have, either.

Dinner went very well. We talked, we ate, we had wine – well, I had a glass of wine, he had soda. I doubt they'd have carded him, they usually don't there if you're ordering a full meal, but I guess he didn't want to risk the embarrassment. Besides that, I hardly saw any nerves from him at all, and a couple of times when he looked at me – I felt it. When dessert came – we had an ice cream brownie – he moved his chair over to sit next to me and we shared it. I'm pretty sure we annoyed everyone else around us by being so cutesy about it. Not that either of us noticed at the time, and not that we would have cared if we had.

The movie was great, too. They sometimes play old movies at the campus theater on Saturdays, and tonight was "The Thin Man." It's the one from the thirties with the husband and wife detectives. To tell the truth though, I liked the dog best.

Actually, that's not even the truth. What I liked best was having his arm around me, and mine around him, up in the very back of the balcony of Strack auditorium. You don't get the best view of the screen from way back there, but there are other benefits to compensate.

Afterwards, we made our way back to my dorm, snuggling close the whole way and not really noticing the cold at all.

And now here we are, outside the front door. What to do?

Kiss him goodnight and go our separate ways for the evening? Or does he come upstairs with me? I'm calling the shots right now, that's clear. As confident as he's been tonight, it only goes so far. I know he wants to come upstairs, but I'm going to have to ask him. There's a part of him that's still trying to grasp the fact that I obviously like him as much as he does me. He's not going to push his luck. Unless I push first.

Well, what do I want to do? It's easy, it's obvious, there's no question what I want to do.

Except, if I'm being completely honest, I have to admit I am just a little bit nervous myself. If you told me last night that in less than twenty four hours I'd be ready to go to bed with a guy I hadn't even met yet, I'd have said you were crazy. But here we are and here I am and this is so completely not me, but at the same time it feels completely right.

Besides, the truth is, unless I'm completely wrong about him we're going to go upstairs sooner or later anyway. It's just a question of when if it doesn't happen tonight.

But right at this moment, what I decide feels so important. This is going to sound totally ridiculous, but it feels like something out of a movie. You know what I mean, that moment when the music softens and the romantic leads are in the spotlight and everything else is forgotten; the whole world stops except for them.

Maybe it's only my imagination or maybe I've got an overly developed sense of the dramatic – a few days ago I would have said it's definitely that. But it isn't. It's not just my imagination. It's real. It's exactly what's happening right now.

I don't know why it's so important – no, that's not true. I do know. It's important because it's exactly what I want and need right now, and maybe I'm lying to myself about love at first sight and everything else. Maybe I'm just using him to distract myself from the nightmares and not sleeping right, maybe – well, maybe a lot of things.

You know what? I don't care about maybes, and I don't care about motives and I don't care about anything else except that he's here right now. He's looking at me, waiting for me to decide. Everything else is silent, frozen. The snowflakes are hanging in midair; the whole world is waiting for my answer.

No pressure, though. No pressure at all. Yes or no? Nothing else matters except what I decide.

Yes.

***

Brian's asleep, and I'm drifting in and out myself. This is so right, this is exactly how it was supposed to be, me and him here under the blankets, and I'm warm and safe and...

***

Sara's holding Brian's hand, they're right outside her room. Sara's just aware enough to realize this is as much a memory as it is a dream. The night is replaying itself for her, and it's better than any plain old dream could ever be.

She's holding his hand and turning the doorknob. She hears his voice, asking hesitantly, "Are you sure?" She doesn't answer with words; she simply opens the door, leads him inside, and locks it behind them.

Fast forward: she's on the bed, arms wrapped around him, kissing him and then breaking into giggles because she can still taste the chocolate from their dessert. She can feel herself melting into his arms when he caresses just the right spot on the back of her neck.

Skip ahead again: she's leading him along, encouraging him every step of the way. Unbuttoning her sweater, pulling off her top, and watching his eyes go wide when she asks him to take off her bra.

And then a little later, there's her voice, tinged with surprise: "Wow. I've never been anybody's first time before." She remembers thinking: This is how I wanted my first time to be, slow and romantic and exploring each other, really and truly making love.

The moment of truth: she lies back, feels his weight on top of her. Where he's been tentative and careful and happy to let her take the lead so far, she feels the exact instant that he stops thinking and worrying, the precise moment that he finds that strong, confident place inside himself and just loses himself in the moment.

And at the end, the feelings are all she has: his body and hers, and the sounds she makes: first gasps and then low moans, and finally a shout of pleasure.

Afterwards, quiet time, Sara drifts off to sleep, holding Brian close and feeling his heart beating, feeling it come into rhythm with hers.

She takes the pieces of memory and plays them over and over again; no room for any other dreams – or nightmares. For one night, at least, everything's right with the world.

***

There's someone in bed with me. Someone's holding me, someone warm and strong and I'm running my hand up and down his back and his eyes flutter open. "Hi."

"Sara?"

In the flesh, literally and figuratively. "You were expecting someone else?"

He gives me a hesitant little smile. "This is going to sound really dumb, but for a second there I wasn't sure if last night really happened or if it was just a dream."

Any other time I would be very annoyed at that, but considering how we met it's a fair thing to wonder about. "It was definitely real, but if you want more proof you can go next door and ask Kelly and Amanda what they heard. We were pretty enthusiastic, I guess you could say." If Beth heard those words come out of my mouth, she'd have a heart attack. It might even be worth it, just to see her expression before she keeled over. Honestly, I'm kind of shocked myself.

But it is true – I'll bet they heard everything. The walls are pretty thin, after all. And it certainly wouldn't be the first time someone in room 208 kept the neighbors up. From what I've heard, Beth isn't exactly shy about expressing herself when she's, let's just say, entertaining a guest in the room. Why can't I have some fun once in a while too?

He's quiet for a bit. He seems very contemplative. I ask him, "Hey, what are you thinking about?"

He looks embarrassed. I have a feeling I know what he's going to say. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Well, I know this is probably a stupid question, but – is it always like that?"

I knew it. They always ask, don't they? The phrasing varies, but the question's the same. Except I don't think it is right now. That was his first time, after all, so he's got no basis for comparison. It could be an honest question. I'm definitely willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

I tell him the truth: "I'm not saying this for your ego, I really mean it – it's never been like that before for me." But then again, I've never felt this way about anyone before. I've never needed someone the way I do now. And I've definitely never lost myself in it the way I did – we did – last night. I'm sure that's got a lot to do with it.

I'm glad it was like that for him. They say you always remember your first time, and – this is exactly the kind of thing Beth meant when she said I'm a hopeless romantic – it's supposed to be special and wonderful and perfect and all of that. I'd say that last night qualified on that count.

I wish my first time had been like that, instead of what it was, with Richard, the time I didn't want to think about this morning. Rotten, awful, terrible, pick your adjective. And I can't think of another time that I've ever felt worse about myself.

We lie in bed a little longer and he asks me something else. "What happened to you?" and as he asks he's got his hand on my belly. Right over my scar.

"Oh, that? You noticed it?" It's funny. The two boyfriends I've had since it happened never noticed, or if they did they never bothered to ask.

"Well, I saw it last night, and after about two seconds it went right out of my mind," he says, going quite red.

"I should hope so," I laugh. "Anyway, I had my appendix out, senior year of high school."

"Really?"

"The night before the prom."

I see a flash of pain in his eyes. I know exactly what just went through his mind – for a moment there, he experienced what he imagines I must have been felt. It's extremely touching – none of my previous boyfriends would have reacted that way. "That's – wow, that's horrible," is what he finally says.

"It wasn't any fun, that's for sure." It was incredibly painful, in fact. I remember very clearly that after we got to the emergency room, I cursed at my father for the first and only time in my life. My exact words, lying there in the exam room waiting for the nurse, were: "Dad, it hurts so bad! Make them give me the fucking pills! I need them to knock me the fuck out!" When he heard that come out of my mouth, he knew for sure I was seriously ill.

I relate that to Brian, and he gets a good chuckle out of it. It is funny now, three years later. "But I didn't even really get my mind around the idea that I missed the prom. I was completely loopy on the pain medication for, I don't know, three or four days. By the time I was thinking straight again, I was all caught up in getting ready for graduation. Besides, it wasn't like I had a hot date that I missed out on."

I'd be happy to just lie here together all morning, but Brian's got to go back to his dorm so he's there for the weekly phone call from his parents. His mother apparently gets all agitated if he's not there and awake at exactly eight AM on Sunday morning. I guess it's a way of making sure he isn't partying too much or something like that. It sounds dumb to me, too, but like Brian said, "They're paying the bills, so I guess I have to keep them happy."

So he gets dressed and I throw on my bathrobe and walk him downstairs. The lounge is empty – it is way too early on a Sunday morning, after all – so we take the opportunity for one more kiss before he heads out the door.

I'm just standing there watching him go, and there's a voice behind me: "I didn't think you went in for public displays like that." I turn around and I see Mona Charleston, a second-year medical student and our Resident Director. She's standing in front of the door of her little apartment. She must have just come out; she looks like she's getting ready for her morning run.

I've known Mona since she was a teaching assistant in my freshman chemistry lab. I wouldn't say we're best friends or anything, but we got along well enough then and she's been a pretty good RD. And, she's been giving me and Janet and Melanie – the other two junior girls in the dorm who are pre-med like I am – all kinds of advice. How to get ready for the MCAT's, what to think about as we prepare for the application process, course schedules, stuff like that. So Mona's OK in my book.

"I didn't think it was public. It's not my fault you want to go running at this hour."

"Force of habit," she says, looking me up and down. "It sure looks like you had a good time last night. You're glowing. You do realize that people are going to talk."

I blush, even though I know she's teasing – mostly teasing, anyway. And so what if she's not? People talk all the time, who cares if anybody wants to joke about how I "got lucky." They can go right ahead. "Well, I can't complain about it, that's all I'll say."

Mona laughs. "No, from the way you look, I wouldn't think you can. Tell you the truth, I'm glad to hear it. You've been looking awfully stressed lately, I was starting to worry about you. But I suppose your new friend will help with the stress relief, so I won't worry anymore."

"That's good." I think.

"Besides, it's nice to know that someone had a good night. It sort of reaffirms my faith in humanity."

"Why? What happened to you last night?"

She shrugs. "It wasn't any one thing. I was on call, and every five minutes it was some stupid little problem. There's a car alarm going off in the Brinkley House parking lot and it won't stop, somebody's passed out drunk on the fourth floor here and he doesn't look like he's breathing right, someone's throwing stuff off the fourth floor balcony in Morgan House. All night long, nonsense like that."

Last year I thought, briefly, about applying to be an RA. It's conversations like this that make me glad I came to my senses. "So nothing really serious?"

"No. No property damage, no injuries, except to my nerves and my patience," she says, heading for the door. "Maybe a good long run will clear my head. I'd ask if you wanted to join me, but I think you got all the exercise you need already." I blush again.

"Thanks, I guess." She's off on her jog, and it's back to bed for me. Another couple of hours in my nice comfy bed sounds like a great idea. Before I crawl back under the covers, I take a good long look at myself in the mirror. Mona's right. I am glowing. And why not? Good for me.

Chapter Four

(December 3-4, 1989)

The day flies by. I lie in bed until ten o'clock or so and then it's time for some work. I want to get my final paper for Science in Western Thought finished and out of the way. It's not actually due for another week, but Beth very kindly agreed to read it over for me tonight or tomorrow. She's a much better writer than I am, besides which she had the class last year so she knows exactly what Dr. Sorenson is looking for in a final paper.

It takes me a good three hours, but finally it's done, formatted, saved on disk and ready for Beth to go over it. By then I've missed lunch at Lardner Commons, and Beth walks into our room just as my stomach lets out a particularly loud growl. I talk her into taking a walk with me off campus, up Mayfield Road to Coventry for a meal and a milkshake at Tommy's, which is absolutely the best place in the whole city to go for a milkshake.

Of course, I know it's not the milkshake that convinces Beth. It also certainly isn't the half-hour walk in the cold on a day when the icy wind and solid gray sky make it feel like we're living on Ice Planet Hoth. It's only the prospect of getting a full report about Brian that makes her agree. I must still be glowing; she takes one look at me and she knows exactly what happened last night. But I know her; she wants to hear about it from my lips.

By the time we finally get there, red-cheeked and shivering, she's got her full report. She presses for every little detail as we enjoy our strawberry and vanilla (her) and chocolate and peanut butter (me) milkshakes. I finally tell her what I didn't tell her Friday night, too. I tell her everything he said, and what it did to me. "Nobody ever looked at me like that. I felt it all the way down to my toes. It – I don't even know how to describe it." As I say the words, I feel dizzy and warm all over again, and my face is flushed. Beth is looking at me like she's never seen me before.

In a way, maybe she hasn't; I don't feel like myself, and I haven't since Friday night. After a moment, Beth closes her eyes; I know what she's doing. She's calling up a mental image of Brian, and trying to square that with what I've just said and what she saw. She isn't quite managing it. "If it was anybody else saying that..."

"I wouldn't believe it either," I finish her thought. "But he – oh, my God. Maybe I am crazy, but I've never felt that before. And – I couldn't tell you the other night. I – I needed to keep it for myself. You understand?"

She reaches over, squeezes my hand. "Completely." She sighs. "And let me tell you – you deserve to feel that way. If he..." she still can't quite believe it, even though the evidence is sitting right across from her. She finally shrugs. "Well, I'm happy for you. And," she pauses, shakes her head ever-so-slightly, "maybe a little bit jealous, too, if you want to know the truth."

She says it with a smile and a laugh, but I've known her long enough to tell that crack about being jealous isn't just a crack. There's some truth there. She's never been jealous of me before – she's never had any reason to be. And I have to admit, as much as I'm not proud of saying this, I kind of like it.

I'm rescued from having to respond to her by the arrival at our table of Jane and Jessica, who live on the other side of the floor from us. They can see Brian out their window. I'm grateful for the interruption and even more grateful that they drove here rather than walked, because they very kindly offer to give us a ride home.

Once we get back, it's time to concentrate on physics. I spend the rest of the afternoon straight through dinner and until nearly midnight going over some of the (many) things I don't understand. At around nine o'clock in the evening, just after I take a quick break to call Brian, I'm reduced to going down to the lobby and pleading for someone to help me make sense of torque and all the mystifying equations that go with it. A dozen of my so-called friends let me embarrass myself for a full five minutes before Julie Paschal from the fourth floor finally takes pity on me.

We go upstairs to her room, which she shares with her boyfriend Glenn. I don't know where Julie is supposed to live, but as a practical matter she lives here, the only girl on the whole floor (Carson House is co-ed by floor – it's girls on the second, and guys on the third and fourth; obviously, Julie uses our bathroom and our showers). As far as I can tell, they might as well be married already.

Anyway, she – and Glenn, before we're finished – very kindly spends almost an hour trying to explain torque to me, with some success, although not nearly as much as I'd like.

Finally, it's time for bed, and as I get under the covers it hits me that it's now been two nights in a row without the nightmare. It's almost starting to fade out of my memory. The details aren't as distinct, and the whole experience just isn't as frightening as it was. I'm not worried about falling asleep. Not at all. Not even a little bit...

***

...Sara's sitting on her bed, listening to the radio. It's a pleasant, restful Sunday afternoon. The door opens, and in walks her roommate.

"So?" Beth says by way of greeting.

"So what?" Sara answers back, even though she knows exactly what Beth is asking.

"So what happened last night?"

"We had a very nice time at dinner, and we both liked the movie."

"And?"

"And we came back here, and we – well, we kept on having a very nice time." Sara's laughing, enjoying the attention.

"Details! You owe me details, girl."

"Let me put it this way. If we were talking about sports, I'd call him rookie of the year. Is that good enough for you?"

Beth considers that. "Rookie? You mean...?" Sara nods. "Wow. I hope you gave him a good introduction to the major leagues."

Sara goes serious just for a moment. "You know I'm not one to brag, but you're damn right I did. And it was exactly what I needed, you were right about that too."

They both laugh at that, and they sit there and talk. Beth manages to finally draw some of the juicy details out of Sara...

...Sara's not talking anymore. She's in a bedroom. The bedroom. The man and the teenage girl are there too; the man's carrying her limp and lifeless body out of the room. Sara is carried along; she's not walking, but she's somehow moving just the same. Following the guy and the girl – no, not a girl anymore, a corpse.

And then without transition she's in the back seat of a big tan car – a Cadillac, Sara notices. Sara knows without knowing how that the girl's body is in the trunk, and she can do nothing but sit and watch as the man – the killer – drives out of the garage, down the driveway, and onto a tree-lined street. She doesn't bother shouting or trying to get out of the car or anything else; she knows it would be pointless. She's just here to watch what happens. What finally does happen is that the car comes to a stop on Old Tree Road, and the man gets out, takes the body from the trunk. He dumps it on the side of the road and calmly drives off, as though he's done nothing out of the ordinary, as though people left corpses by the side of the road every day.

His nonchalance is what pushes Sara over the edge, and now she does begin to scream...

***

...I wake up to the sound of my own screaming. Again.

Goddammit!

I thought it was over with. I thought there wouldn't be any more nightmares. Obviously I was wrong. What the hell do I do now?

***

So here I am lying in bed but not asleep, again. I wish Brian was here, I wish he was holding me, telling me everything's OK. I'd believe it if he did. But he's not here so I guess I'll talk to Beth about it instead. She didn't wake up right away from all the noise I made, but she's stirring now.

It takes a couple of minutes for her eyes to open, and then she sits up on her bed, takes one look at me and frowns. "Don't tell me."

"I don't want to, believe me. But I had the nightmare again last night. God, I'm so sick of this!" I tell her about it, how it felt different than the previous nightmares. Neither of us has any idea what it means or what the hell I'm supposed to do about it. We stare at each other racking our brains, until Beth comes up with something. She's got an "a-ha!" smile on her face.

"Dr. Ritter! I don't know why I didn't think of him sooner!"

"Who's Dr. Ritter?" I can't place the name.

"He's the professor in my Psychology of Personality class." Right. Now I remember. "Last month he talked about his research. He studies dreaming and sleep patterns. You should go talk to him."

This idea doesn't fill me with confidence. "What's he going to do?"

Beth throws up her hands. "How should I know? If he studies how people dream, maybe he'll have some idea what's happening with you. Look, it's worth a shot, isn't it?"

She's right, I suppose. What harm can it do?

***

Here I am at the psych department office. Unsurprisingly, I'm very preoccupied and I almost walk right into someone. A man in a suit, very big, very tall, with a faint scar down his left cheek. It's impossible not to notice it. He's vaguely familiar, but I can't immediately place him. Did I ever have a professor who had a scar like that?

Out of nowhere, a name jumps into my head: Dr. Walters. Beth's academic advisor until he left this year on sabbatical to write a book, if I remember right. He gave a guest lecture one class when I was taking Intro to Psychology freshman year; he's looking at me very curiously right now. He can't possibly remember me out of a roomful of people from one class session two years ago, can he?

Apparently not; he mumbles an apology and continues on his way. Now that I'm thinking about it, I do remember that he had a scar. I think that at the time I thought it looked dashing, or something ridiculous like that.

Anyway, I go into the office. It's familiar territory; my work-study job freshman year was here. I recognize Ray the graduate student, buried in the Xerox machine. It seemed like that's all he did two years ago and I see that nothing's changed since then.

Dr. Ritter isn't in his office, so Ray and I chitchat for a couple of minutes and I ask him to look up his office hours. While I'm waiting I see there's someone else in the office, another student. He's obviously waiting for something or someone and reading the newspaper. I glance at the front page, and then I look again. There's a photo there. I grab the paper out of his hands, completely ignoring his protest, and I look closely at it.

I've seen her before.

No.

No. It can't be. It's not possible. The girl in the picture looks exactly like the girl in my dreams. It's not possible, except that I'm seeing it with my own eyes. I start reading the story. "Seventeen year old Amelia Morgan – high school senior – found murdered – body discovered on Old Tree Road..." No, no, no.

I read it again, and the words don't change. Of course they don't.

No.

Yes.

I just start wailing, shouting nonsense. I'm standing in the middle of the room screaming my head off. Ray comes out to me, puts his hand on my shoulder, starts to tell me to calm down and I push him away, shove the newspaper in his face. "It's her! It's her! It's her, and she's dead!"

She's dead, she's dead. She's dead and I saw it and she's dead and – and – that's all I know. She's dead and I saw it and it's all real and – and what?

I don't know, so I keep on screaming.

***

I'm sitting in a chair. I don't remember sitting down. I don't remember coming here – and I don't even know where here is. Lots of books, a desk, a computer. An office? A doctor's office? A professor's office?

Someone's office, anyway. Someone who's here. He's sitting across the cluttered desk from me, he's speaking to me. "Miss Barnes? Sara?"

Who? Who's Sara? Me, right? I think so. "Yes? I'm Sara. That's right, isn't it?" It sounds right – it feels right.

"Sara Barnes. That's what I was told, at any rate. I was also told you were here to see me."

Sara Barnes. Yes, that's me. I'm Sara Barnes, and I'm sitting in someone's office, someone I was here to see. Someone who was going to help me? "Um – I don't know. Who are you?" There's a glass of water in front of me on the desk. It's only half full. I don't remember drinking out of it, but I must have. I take another sip as he talks.

"Michael Ritter. This is my office."

Ritter. Someone told me that name. Someone – Beth! Beth, Beth is my roommate. She's taking a class, she told me about her professor. Her psychology professor. Everything comes back into focus.

"That's right. I was looking for you."

He doesn't smile. "Good, we agree on something. Can you tell me what you wanted to speak to me about?"

He's holding a newspaper – today's newspaper, with the picture, with the article that set me off. The girl, the dead girl. "Her!" I point to the picture in the paper. "I saw it! It was a nightmare, every night I've seen it. I saw her, I saw him kill her, and I saw him dump the body!"

"Calmly, please."

I take a deep breath, try to find some composure. I don't really succeed. "The girl in the article, that picture there. I've been having the same nightmare, over and over, every night. I see that girl, and this guy – he – he – he kills her, and last night when I had the nightmare it kept going and I saw him dump the body. I saw him, it was exactly where they said in the paper."

He gives me a nasty look, as though I just insulted him or something. "This isn't something to joke about, or pull some stupid undergraduate prank, Miss Barnes. Someone was killed."

You asshole! "I know that! I know it better than anyone! Do I look like I'm joking? You think I freak out and start yelling and crying just for fun? You think I'm getting a laugh out of this, you creep? Well, fuck you, then!" I get up and head for the door.

God, where did that come from? That isn't like me. I never talk like that, not to anyone, certainly not to a professor! I hope I don't, anyway. That doesn't seem like something I'd want to do.

"Miss Barnes – Sara – please." He's almost pleading all of a sudden. I guess he can hear in my voice that I'm serious, that it's not some stupid horrible joke or something. I stop two steps from the door. "I'm sorry. Please sit down. You're very upset and I shouldn't have accused you like that." Well, that's something. I walk back to his desk, sit down again.

"Thank you. And I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have said – I never – this has been so stressful." He looks at me a little more seriously now. Maybe he's actually considering what I said.

I take a deep breath, and I go on. "I only came here because Beth – my roommate – said maybe you could help me with this nightmare. I didn't know it was real until just now, when I saw the newspaper. But it is, it's all really happening."

He asks me to describe the nightmares in more detail, and of course it's awful but I do. Finally: "You're sure the girl in the article is the one you saw in the nightmares? Really sure?"

I'd bet my life on it. "I know that two plus two equals four. I know the sky is blue. I know my little brother is a pain in the neck. And I know the girl I saw is the same girl in the picture! OK?"

It's OK with him; at least he says it is. From his expression, I think he at least believes that I believe what I'm saying. There's nothing else I can say anyway if he doesn't. I have no way to prove what I saw.

He is still listening. I guess that's worth something. He asks about specific details of the nightmares and I tell him everything I remember. Then he asks if I've had any other unusual experiences recently and I tell him about that first dream with Brian and then meeting him at the club a few nights later. He asks for more details, and I tell him those too, leaving out Saturday night of course.

When he's satisfied, he ticks off what he sees as the possible explanations on his fingers:

"One, nothing at all is happening. You're consciously making everything up," I start to protest, but he sighs and holds up his hand. "I don't think that's it. I'm just laying out all the possibilities." I nod my head, and he goes on. "Two, you're unconsciously convincing yourself that your nightmares have some connection to this story in the newspaper. Perhaps you read an article about the girl's disappearance, or you saw a flyer her family put up in the neighborhood and it so upset you that it worked its way into your dreams." If it was anybody else telling all this to me, that explanation would make sense. But I know that's not it. The dreams are so real. It's not just my subconscious making stuff up!

"Three," he continues. "You saw something you don't even realize you saw. It's possible you actually saw the girl herself, perhaps you saw her getting into a car with an older man. Your conscious mind may not have registered anything odd about it, but you subconsciously knew you'd seen something wrong, something criminal. And now your subconscious is trying to get through to your conscious mind in your dreams." I could almost accept that. Almost. Except...

"But last night, I dreamed – I saw where he left the girl, and it was Old Tree Road, just like in the paper! How could I come up with that on my own?"

"Are you sure you're remembering the dreams accurately? Most people have great difficulty remembering dreams even five or ten minutes after they wake up."

I wish! "I told my roommate about it. I woke her up at four o'clock in the morning. You can ask her. And we didn't see any newspaper or TV or anything, so I don't think it's any of those explanations you said."

He shakes his head, sighs again. "Well, your roommate is correct that I do research with dreams and sleep patterns. Actually, I run the Sleep Lab at University Hospital. I can bring you in for a night, monitor you while you sleep, and we'll see what the data shows. Would you be willing to do that?"

I want these nightmares to go away. I'm willing to do whatever will accomplish that. A night at the hospital probably won't be too unpleasant. I do ask if it can be tomorrow night instead of tonight. "I'd like to spend some time with my boyfriend." Well, there, I finally said it out loud.

"I'd prefer to get you in as soon as possible, but it's obvious you're very shaken up by this experience. I can understand that you'd want to be with someone who cares for you." He finally smiles. It's not much of one, but it is there. "It seems there are quite a few people in this department who care for you as well, by the way. Do you remember Ray bringing you into Dr. Korben's office and sitting with you?"

No, I don't. I blush at that and look away from him. I don't want to think about Dr. Korben seeing me – well, how I must have looked. She's the department chair, I reported to her when I worked in the office two years ago. I liked her a lot. I hate the idea that she saw me in that state.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, Sara." Not "Miss Barnes" anymore. I guess I made a good impression on him after all. "You had a traumatic experience, and you had a very natural reaction to it," he smiles again, and there's a little actual humor there this time. "Who would understand that better than a couple of psychology professors?"

I manage a very weak grin.

"Go home, see your boyfriend, try to get some rest and we'll plan for you to come in tomorrow night. I'll make the arrangements and I'll call you with the details." He hands me a slip of paper and I write down my phone number for him.

"Thank you." We shake hands and he shows me out. I guess it could have gone worse. I'm not really sure how, but there's probably some way it could have.

***

I don't remember walking home from the Psychology department, but obviously I did. I don't remember throwing my coat and scarf and everything in a pile on the floor but there it is. All I remember is getting into the bed, under my blankets, reaching up to grab the phone, and dialing 1550.

The phone rings five times before Brian answers it. "Hello?" He sounds out of breath.

"It's me."

"Sara! I'm glad I ran back to get the phone, I was just heading over to the library."

No! "Can you not go over there?"

He sounds confused. "Why?"

"Can you come over here instead? I need you to come over here, OK? Please?"

"Is something wrong?" I wonder what gave it away?

"I'll tell you all about it, just please come right over." Please? Now?

"Sure. Give me two minutes."

It feels like the longest two minutes of my life, but Brian is true to his word. "Come in, and lock the door behind you," I tell him when he arrives. I'm under the covers, peeking out at him. He looks all concerned and worried, which is entirely appropriate.

"Sara, what's wrong?"

Everything. Simple, isn't it? "I need you to hold me. Come over here, get under the blankets and hold me. Make me feel safe. Tell me everything's going to be OK."

That's exactly what he does. I only wish I could believe him when he says I'm perfectly safe and that everything will be OK, but I know he's just lying to make me feel better.
I haven't told him about the nightmares yet. He has no idea what I've been going through. I tell him now. I tell him everything, right up to my little breakdown in the Psychology department office. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry," is the first thing he says when I'm done. "What can I do?" is the second thing. It's so sweet of him. Not to mention being exactly what I need to hear.

"You're already doing it. Just you being here makes me feel better." It's true. I do feel ever so slightly better right this second. As long as I'm in his arms, things can't be that bad. What's really amazing is that he's not trying to make a move on me right now; I think most of my past boyfriends would have. I know that's not what I need at the moment, not when I'm in this frame of mind. Later, maybe. Definitely.

The words spill out from me: "You know I want to make love to you – just not right now. Not when I'm still scared and everything, this isn't the right time. But we will, you know that, don't you? It wasn't a one-time thing, we have something real, don't we?" His face lights up when I say it. He needs to hear it as much as I need to say it, I think.

He holds me even closer. "We do, definitely." The strength, the look in his eyes that I can't even describe, is there. Then, he starts to say something more and then catches himself, and it's gone again. He's afraid to say it, but I know what it was going to be. I want to hear it. I need to hear it.

"What were you going to say?"

"You'll think I'm crazy," I shake my head no, "I – I think – no, I know, it's so fast, I don't want to mess this up, but – I – I love you." I haven't known him for even 72 hours. Can he possibly mean it?

"Say it again," I whisper.

And now the fear in his voice is gone; he's back in that place – our place – again, and so am I. "I love you, Sara." Yes, he can. Yes, he does.

I kiss him, and then I'm still whispering when I tell him, "I love you too," and that's the last thing I remember before I fall asleep.

Chapter Five

(December 4-5, 1989)

I hear voices. Brian's, and – Beth's? Can that be right? I must have fallen asleep. Beth must have come back, they must think I'm still asleep. That's fine. I keep my eyes closed and I listen. Brian's still holding me, keeping his voice down so he won't wake me. That's very thoughtful of him.

"Don't worry about it, she sleeps like a log," Beth says, not keeping her voice down at all. "Until the last week, anyway."

"The nightmares."

"The nightmares. She wakes up screaming," Beth says in a resigned voice. "I hate to see it. I mean, obviously I don't like being woken up like that, but that's not really the problem. She's helped me out enough times, I figure I owe her, and I'm a big girl, you know? I can deal with a few bad nights. It's just – seeing her like that, it's – really horrible. It shouldn't happen to anybody. Definitely not to my best friend."

"You're very close to her," Brian whispers back.

"Let me put it this way. I've got five sisters. Four by blood and then Sara." Wow. She's never said that to my face. How do you respond to something like that?

"I think she feels the same about you." We talked a little about it on our date. I told him how close Beth and I are, how she spent a week at my house last summer, how I went on a cruise with her and her family the summer before that.

"I know she does," Beth tells him, "so you better keep making her happy, you understand me?" She doesn't need to say that, but I love her for saying it all the same. For all the crap I've been going through, I'm so lucky to have her in my life. And Brian, too, now.

This seems like as good a time as any to "wake up" and join the conversation. I let out a big yawn and Brian jumps a little. "Hi. How long was I asleep?" I ask, giving him a good squeeze. We're still wrapped up in each other's arms under the covers. Fully clothed, if you must know.

"A couple of hours," Brian tells me. "Your roommate – Beth just came in five minutes ago."

"Brian here was just telling me what happened when you went to see Dr. Ritter."

Yes, and a happy topic of conversation I'm sure it was. Also a conversation I don't want to have right now. I feel much better, at least for the moment. I don't want to go into the nightmares and what they mean and ruin my better mood. I know I have to talk about it, and Brian and Beth are going to be the two people I know I'll be able to talk about it with, but not now.

I should be studying, or doing something more productive than lying in bed, anyway, but I'm not going to. Instead, what I think I'm going to do – well, it does involve getting out of bed briefly. Just long enough to go from here over to Brian's room, and then it's right back into bed again.

I tell Brian about my plan for the rest of the afternoon, and he's fine with it – heck, why shouldn't he be? Beth, however, looks surprised. "Sara, what Brian told me, we have to talk about that, don't we?"

"Yes. We do. I need to talk to you about it, and I need to talk to Brian about it. Not now, though. I'm not scared, I'm not shaking, and I want to go and do something happy and life-affirming, and we can talk about unpleasant things later. OK?"

When I put it that way Beth – surprised as she is to hear something like that coming from me – understands completely, and off we go.

***

It's later, and we did something happy and life affirming. We did something happy and life-affirming twice, in fact. And then for a while we didn't do anything except lie there next to each other, and that wasn't bad either.

But I can't put off the unpleasant business forever. I call back to my room to check on Beth. I really don't want to have this conversation twice, and I definitely want to hear from her and Brian both, so we'll all get together and analyze my nightmares. She's there, so we go back to meet her.

"Sara, honey, you're not supposed to be the one making me jealous. It's supposed to work the other way," is how Beth greets me when we walk into the room. Brian goes beet red, but – from Beth at least – I'm used to those little jokes and it doesn't bother me at all.

"I told you it was love at first sight, and you didn't believe me. Maybe now you'll give me a little credit." I sit down on my bed, with Brian right next to me.

"You better watch yourself with her," she says to him. "She's dangerous when she gets this way. Trust me."

He almost laughs. Almost. "But she told me she was harmless. She wouldn't lie about something like that," he says. Ha! It's a very good sign that he feels confident enough to tease me like that – and also that he thinks I'm doing well enough that I can take it.

"She would say that," Beth laughs. "Don't worry, I'll tell you everything you need to know about her. She's got lots of secrets. Has she done her chipmunk thing? When she gets really excited, she makes these weird little chipmunk noises. I can tell you all kinds of things like that."

Brian stares at her; he's not sure if she's completely joking, or if there's a tiny little bit of truth there. Just for the record, I don't now nor have I ever made chipmunk noises. I hope Brian realizes that if I were prone to such a thing, he'd have heard it by now.

I honestly don't mind that it's two against one and they're both picking on me; I'm just glad that both of them feel comfortable enough with each other to joke around like that. That absolutely has to be a good thing.

Unfortunately, we can't just keep joking around. I have to talk about the nightmares, as much as I really don't want to. There are two things I need to figure out, as far as I can tell. First, are they "real," and second, if they are, what the hell do I do about them? After my little breakdown reading the newspaper earlier, I have no doubt at all that they're real. Call it psychic, call it supernatural, call it whatever you want, I definitely saw what that man – that murderer – did to the girl.

Brian agrees completely. He should, after I saw into his dream about me. He knows it's not just my imagination. And Beth believes me, because it's me telling her, but I know if it was anybody else at all saying it, she'd laugh in their face. And honestly? So would I.

So we're all agreed that I'm officially psychic, or whatever the right word is, if there even is one for this. I know it doesn't matter right this second, but I would like to know, why is it me who's psychic – or whatever – and not Beth, or Brian, or my brother, or whoever? There's something different about me, something real, something physical, right?

It's not like I just happened to randomly witness a crime. I'm not one of those unlucky people who sees a mafia murder or something and has to go into the Witness Protection Program for the rest of their life. They don't sit around wondering what's wrong with them. Well, OK, maybe in a Book of Job kind of way, but that's not what we're talking about here. They're just in the wrong place at the wrong time; they just have incredibly bad luck. If they lived to be a hundred years old, it might never happen to them again.

But these nightmares aren't just bad luck. I'm having them because my brain can pick them up and nobody else's can. They're going to keep right on happening, and what the hell am I supposed to do about them?

So there's the second question. At least the person who sees the mob hit, they've got pretty clear choices about what they can do. Crappy choices, granted, but even crappy choices are better than none at all. Aren't they?

We can go around and around wondering exactly what the specific physical cause of the nightmares is. I can go to Dr. Ritter and he can tape electrodes to my head and do whatever else he's going to do. He can maybe give me some technobabble explanation, and I guess I'm going to go through with that but I'm honestly not sure what good it will accomplish. Will it make me feel better about the fact that I knew that poor girl was going to get murdered and I couldn't do a damn thing about it? No. Will it help me cope when I start seeing the next girl this guy is going to go after – because there's no question in my mind that he's going to? No.

I hate this. I absolutely, completely, utterly hate this. I hate being scared all the time. I hate waking up screaming in the middle of the night. I hate having to cling to my friends to hang on to tiny little bits of sanity. I hate the things I'm seeing. And I hate the fact that it doesn't make any sense! What purpose does it serve that I can see these things if I can't do anything about them? That's not how human beings work. Everything about us has a purpose, every part of our bodies, every thought process. If I'm psychic – or whatever this is – there's a reason for it. So what's the reason? And then if there is something I can do about what I'm seeing, something I'm supposed to do, why the hell can't I figure out what it is, so I can go and do it already?

***

We've all just been sitting here quietly for a while now. I don't know for sure what Brian and Beth are thinking about, but I can guess. Probably a lot like what I've been thinking, maybe with a little less of the angry and scared and a little more of the "oh, poor Sara" in its place.

Actually, I can read Beth pretty well and – yeah, right there – I can see it in her eyes. Just a second ago, it went through her mind: "How would I be coping if it was me this was happening to instead of Sara?"

The answer just went right past, too, and I can guess what it was – no better than me, and probably a whole lot worse. Which would be pretty bad because I'm certainly not coping with it very well. I hate myself a little bit for thinking she's right about that, but I know she is.

So what do I do now? Call the police?

"They wouldn't believe you," Beth says. "I only believe you because I know you wouldn't lie about something like this. Besides, you aren't imaginative enough to make it up anyway." Which is maybe not exactly how I'd phrase it, but it is true. So forget about the police.

"How do you know any of the details are right anyway?" Brian asks. "I mean, if you're seeing this guy's dream, how do you know that the way everything looks in his dream is how it really is in real life?"

"But the girl in the newspaper looked exactly like the way I saw her in the dream," goes through my mind, and before I can say it, I can see that Brian's thought of that as well. "Maybe some of the things look the same. But just because he had a Cadillac in the dream doesn't mean he has one in real life. Maybe he has a crummy old car, and maybe he's really ugly and scrawny, but when he's dreaming he's this big, strong man with a really expensive car, because that's how he imagines things should be for him."

He has a point. Dreams are weird; just because part of them is very literal doesn't mean everything is. So even if I did go to the police, and even if they did somehow believe me, the things I told them might be completely wrong anyway. Great. Just great.

So apparently there isn't anything I can do about what's already happened. But what do I do when it happens again? What happens when I start having the next nightmare with this guy and a different girl? "Could you find the next girl and warn her before it happens?" Beth asks. The guy might look different in real life than in the dreams, but poor Amelia looked exactly the same in the dream and in the newspaper, so why shouldn't it be the same if – when – it happens again?

There's just one little problem with that: how do I go about finding her? There are several hundred thousand people in this city. Other than blind luck how do you find someone with just a mental image of them? I wouldn't have a photo, and I can't draw worth anything. It sounds good in theory, but in practice I don't see any way to do it.

If telling the authorities won't work, and finding the girls won't work, there is a third possibility. Neither Brian nor Beth are willing to suggest it, and I'm not prepared to think about it myself.

Thankfully, something else, totally unrelated, pops into my head, and it's as good an excuse as any to change the subject. "I almost forgot – I bumped into your old advisor today," I tell Beth. "When I was going to see Dr. Ritter? I literally ran into Dr. Walters, he was just leaving the department office."

Beth gives me a puzzled look in return. "I thought he was out of the country. He was supposed to be doing research somewhere in England. He was going to be gone until next summer."

"Yeah. That's right. You told me that," I remember. "Well, maybe he's just back to visit family for the holidays or something," I say.

"He hasn't got any family," Beth says doubtfully. "Not around here, anyway. He lives in that big house all by himself," she goes on. "Remember, he had all of us over, everyone he was advising? He had a cookout for us at his house last spring."

Now she says it, I remember that as well. "Well, whyever he was there, I saw him."

"Too bad I missed him. I'd like to have seen him."

"Maybe you still will. He might be here until after Christmas for all we know," I say, and then, sadly, we drift back onto the topic of my nightmares.

***

We talk about the whole situation for a while longer, but nothing comes of it. We go around and around with the same questions, and keep coming up with the same lack of good answers. At least I'm pretty calm and rational the whole time. No crying, no screaming, no hysterics. Good for me, right?

So we're all tired of asking the same unanswerable questions over and over, when Beth happens to glance at the clock and see that it's almost six. All three of us realize at the same moment that we're very hungry, so off we run to Lardner to partake of the daily offerings.

When we're finished, Brian has to go study, for real, since finals are now only four days away, and Beth and I have to get back to the dorm because at seven o'clock we do our drawings for Secret Santa. It's a nice little distraction, if nothing else. Something fun and cheerful to think about for a little while. God knows I need all the help I can get on that front.

We do this every year. You pick somebody's name out of a hat, then you buy gifts for them for five days. At our big Christmas party next Wednesday we all find out who was giving what to whom.

So here I am sitting in the lounge waiting to pick my name. Last year I let Beth do it for me. She drew Joe Karver, who wasn't yet an RA then, and with whom I'd just broken up after a few unsuccessful weeks of sort-of dating. I was not thrilled by her pick, which I'm still not convinced was totally random. I thought it over a bit, though, and decided to try and be mature about the whole thing, and also have some fun with it.

The first gift I gave him was a can of tomato soup, which is what I spilled on him on one especially unsuccessful date. The next three gifts were all along the same lines, and the final one was a video of the old movie, "The African Queen." We were going to go see it together at the campus movie theater one Saturday night, until we officially broke up that afternoon. He didn't figure out what the early gifts meant, but he finally realized when he saw the movie. He got all upset. He was ready to make a big scene in front of everyone and I had to yell at him: "Read the card, dummy!"

I had put quite a bit of thought into what to write, which probably you can't tell from the words I ended up putting down: "So what if we're not boyfriend and girlfriend? I hope we can still be good friends! Love, Sara." Okay, it's not exactly poetry, but it did get the point across, and everything was right again with the world.

Even though that ended up turning out fine, I'd rather get someone I don't have quite as much of a history with. It finally gets around to my turn, I go up and pick out of the hat with the men's names – you're supposed to get someone of the opposite sex, at least until we run out of girls and then the remaining men get other men. Written on the little paper is "George." There's only one George in the dorm, and I got my wish – other than a few games of Monopoly, I don't have any history with him at all.

Which, I now realize, maybe isn't so good after all. I don't actually know much about him or what he liked or dislikes, other than that he's from Florida and he enjoys playing Monopoly. At least the first gift isn't until Saturday, so I have some time to try and figure out what he might like, or at least what would embarrass him.

Now that's done, it's back to studying for me. I've spent far too much time dwelling on the stupid nightmares; I've got a lot of catching up to do if I'm going to be ready for my finals.

***

Tuesday night. The last official day of classes went by, and I couldn't honestly describe anything I did today. I do have a few pages of notes that I took, so I assume that I not only went to my classes but paid at least some attention in them. Things get clearer around dinnertime; I had Captain Crunch instead of the fried-whatever-it-was in brown gravy, I'm sure about that. And then I spent two hours finishing up my last lab report for advanced Organic Chemistry lab, getting it ready to print out so I can hand it in along with the rest of my work and have that class out of the way.

And right now I'm supposed to be on my way to University Hospital to be monitored. I'm still not completely clear on exactly what that's going to involve. I think it's just a few unobtrusive electrodes taped to my head while I try to sleep, but I don't really know for sure so I'm a little nervous.

"Are you sure about this?" Beth asks me. "You can cancel if you want to, I'm sure Dr. Ritter will understand."

I'm sure he will too, but I have to do this, I think. If only I could get the image of myself as a lab rat out of my head. I've got this picture of me with a little rat face and little rat legs and a cute pink bow on the little rat tail. Beth laughs at me when I tell her about it

"Oh, grow up. I'm sure it'll all be harmless and easy. And no mazes or anything either."

I hope not. "Fine, but if it is weird and creepy, I'm going to blame you and never ever let you forget it."

"OK, OK. That's fine by me, just go already!"

So I do.

***

It's just starting to snow as I walk over to the hospital. I'm really cold, and I wish Brian was walking with me so I could cuddle with him and he could keep me warm. But he's studying, and I think that it's probably better in some ways that I do this myself. It builds character or something, right?

Cold or not, I make it over there and I find the sleep monitoring lab without any trouble. Dr. Ritter is waiting for me. He goes over everything again, how this will be perfectly safe and harmless. It's pretty much what I expected, although it's not just "a few" electrodes, it's quite a lot of them, with wires going all over the place.

Dr. Ritter is very reassuring about the whole process, and I almost do feel reassured. The electrodes are applied to my forehead, and I'm lying here in the very comfortable bed trying to fall asleep. The EEG monitor is beeping every so often...beep, beep, beep.

Beep, beep, beep. Just like counting sheep. Beep, beep, beep, sheep, sheep, sheep...

***

...Sara is arguing with her brother. He sits at her desk in her dorm room while she paces around the room yelling at him. It makes perfect sense to Sara that Bob is here, even though he really ought to be back home, a few hundred miles away. It makes perfect sense that he knows all about the nightmares she's been having, even though she hasn't said a word about it to him.

It even makes sense that they're screaming at one another at the top of their lungs, though their arguing is usually low level guerilla warfare, with metaphorical sniper attacks and the occasional bomb to liven things up. Comparatively speaking, this is nuclear war.

Still, it all makes perfect sense...

...And then, for a moment it doesn't; Sara is somewhere else, someone else's bedroom. And then it all makes sense to her again. She's been here before. This isn't just any bedroom, this is the bedroom, his bedroom.

Here he is, with another girl, another teenager, another victim. She looks familiar, Sara knows she's seen her face somewhere – the newspaper, maybe? Or on TV? Yes! Now she remembers. It was on the news a couple of nights before: a runaway girl, frantic parents, fears that the worst had happened. And here the worst is happening right in front of Sara, and just like all the other times she can't do anything except watch, and scream...

***

...Someone's talking to me. Trying to reassure me. "It's OK, it's OK." As if saying that over and over makes it true. When my eyes finally start focusing again, I can see who it is. Dr. Ritter. He's standing over me, and he keeps looking back and forth between me and some papers he's holding.

"Hi. So much for your experiment, I guess." I try very hard to keep my voice calm and casual. I really don't want to lose it in front of him. Again.

Strangely, he doesn't look as though this was a complete disaster; what he does look is puzzled. "I take it you had another nightmare, Sara?" He helps me sit up, hands me a glass of water.

Oh, God. I take several deep breaths, drink the water in one swallow, then several more deep breaths. I tell myself over and over: relax. Be calm. Dr. Ritter is waiting expectantly, and after a minute, or ten, I'm finally able to speak in a relatively even tone. "Yeah. It was different – a different girl, I think I saw her on the news, she ran away from home or something – and the same guy, and he..."

"Yes, I can imagine what you saw. I'm sorry." He has the decency not to look me in the eye as he says it. "But you have to see this," he goes on, giving me the papers he was looking at, printouts of – I assume – my EEG readings. I force myself to focus on it. Anything to keep those images out of my head. Calm. Relax. I can do that. I have to.

"Right there. Something happened. Your delta waves just changed – it's as though the monitor was switched on to someone else right in the middle of the session." He's pointing at a spot on the reading where it goes all of a sudden from nice straight lines to jagged up-and-down.

That's it, that's exactly it. I don't know much about brainwaves or what they're supposed to look like, but a sudden change like that has to mean something. For whatever it's worth, this is proof. I'm seeing what he's dreaming about. Somehow. "It's not me. Not my dream. It's his dream."

"This can't be right. This doesn't happen. The only possible way you would ever see something even remotely like this," Dr. Ritter says, more to himself than to me, "is if there was a sudden traumatic event, a seizure or something similar. And even then it wouldn't be this extreme."

I agree completely. "OK, so I'm not crazy, it's really happening. Tell me what I'm supposed to do about it."

He remembers I'm sitting right here. He frowns. "Don't jump to conclusions, Miss Barnes. I'm going to have all the equipment checked over. That has to be the explanation. There has to have been some sort of malfunction, some kind of error with the computer. Otherwise, this," he waves the printout, "is simply impossible."

He's wrong. Well, it is impossible, that's true, but it's happening just the same. And his printout proves it. There's something real, something physical going on here. It's not just my imagination, it's not just my subconscious. I'm actually seeing what other people are dreaming. And honestly, there is some comfort in knowing that it is real, that I'm not losing my mind. Not a lot of comfort, but some.

Of course it still doesn't explain why it's happening to me, or how it's happening, or what I should do about it. The only thing I'm sure about at this moment is that there's no point in sticking around the lab for the rest of the night. Dr. Ritter tries to talk me into it, into staying here until he can recalibrate his monitors and reboot the computer and re-whatever some other thing that needs re-whatevering. All I want is to go back to my own bed and try to get a couple of hours sleep without anything stuck to my head.

And so off I go.

Chapter Six

(December 5-8, 1989)

I make it as far as the hospital lobby. I step out of the elevator and Brian's there. What's he doing here? I run straight to him, hug him. "You're not sick, are you? You're OK?"

He's confused; he has no idea what I'm talking about. "I came to see you, I thought you would want someone to be with you." Oh my God, that's so sweet of him! I can't think of anything to say, so I kiss him instead, and I keep right on kissing him. People are staring at us, but I couldn't care less. I'm just so glad he's here. I finally back off a little and let him breathe. "I can't believe you came here for me. That's the nicest thing..."

"I love you." He says it in pretty much the same tone that you'd say "the sky is blue" or "water is wet" and that hits me even more than the words themselves. "This is where I should be." Yes, yes, yes. And yes.

Except – there is a tiny little part of my brain that isn't 100% happy. It's saying, since when are you so needy? You're such a baby running to Brian every time you feel a little bit scared. Yeah, maybe. That might be true. Right just now, though, I don't care if it is. He makes me feel better, he makes me feel safe, and that's good enough for the moment.

"Sara?"

Oh, right. "Sorry, I was just thinking. You know what, you have great timing. I was just leaving, so you can walk me home. And maybe we can go back to your room, we can spend the night there, how's that?"

"Okay."

I didn't think he'd object.

***

Now it's Wednesday, and I'm another day closer to finals. Biochemistry is Friday morning. There were a lot of complaints about that since nearly everyone in the class is dreading that exam, so the fact that it's on the first day of finals seems particularly cruel. Personally, I don't mind, because it's my best class; I know I'll do just fine.

Then there's Statistics for Experimenters on Monday, which I'm also not worried about. Physics, on the other hand, next Wednesday morning, has me somewhere between frightened and terrified. If anything I'm even more lost than I was Sunday night. Everything Julie tried to explain to me has gone right out of my head.

On the plus side, I didn't have any more dreams last night, mainly because I didn't get a lot of sleep. Brian and I were up until almost five in the morning talking about everything except the dreams. He was very comforting, very understanding. And it's funny; since I told him about the nightmares he's pretty much always been in his confident place. He hasn't had any attacks of nerves at all.

I know what's going on. He's so worried about me and my mental state that he doesn't have time to be insecure and all the rest of that nonsense. I just wish I wasn't having these stupid nightmares and I could be a little less nervous myself.

Whatever. Enough introspection for the moment. It's time to get up and start the day. Brian's still asleep, so I slide very slowly out of bed and tiptoe to the door. It's better this way, because if I wait until he wakes up, or if I wake him up, I know what'll happen next. I won't be able to help myself, especially since we spent so much time talking that we never got around to it last night.

Not that I don't want him right now. I do, very much. Too much. We could easily spend all day in bed, but as boring as it sounds studying for finals is more important. The world doesn't stop turning just because of my own personal needs and wants, after all.

***

So I spent the majority of today in the library trying more or less in vain to get a handle on physics. My only break from that was to turn in my Science in Western Thought paper – Beth just about rewrote the whole thing for me, and I have to admit it's a heck of a lot better now. And then I ran into the Student Union for a quick snack and a stop into the bookstore to find something I could use for a Secret Santa gift.

I ended up buying a slinky. I have no idea why they sell slinkys in the school bookstore, and I have no idea if George will like it. All I know is that he'll get at least one gift for Secret Santa, and I consider that a moral victory for me.

Honestly, I think the fact that I can still function on any kind of level at all after several hours of torque and rotational motion – not to mention a couple of weeks of freakish nightmares – is a big moral victory.

Of course, I still have to find four more gifts for him, and what those might end up being I have no idea. My brain really isn't up to the challenge of trying to figure it out at the moment. I need food, sleep and Brian, although probably not in that exact order.

***

I'm back in Brian's room. He's lying here right next to me. He just a couple of minutes ago drifted off to sleep. I can feel myself slipping away as well. It's been a long day, after all...

***

...She's somewhere vaguely familiar, but Sara can't immediately place herself. It takes a few seconds. It's a dorm room, that's obvious, and a guy's room, that seems pretty clear as well. It's the exact same size as her room, so it's most likely another room in her own dorm. She concentrates on the details, trying to figure out where, exactly, she is. There's a definite theme here, she notices: the poster of the Manhattan skyline, a snowglobe with the Statue of Liberty – John! John from New York, this is his room.

And just as Sara figures that out, in walks John, and he's not alone. The weird thing is, neither John nor his companion – Sara can't tell who it is yet – appear to see her. The light bulb goes on: this isn't her dream! It's like the nightmares, except it isn't a nightmare. It's John dreaming, and she's watching. Sara's not frightened, because after all, John is harmless enough, and if she's really honest with herself she has to admit that she is a little curious about all of this.

The door closes, and now Sara gets a good look at John's companion. She's stunned to see someone she recognizes. He's with a tall, dark-haired girl named Annie Sellers. Sara can't help but notice that Annie's wearing a blouse cut far too low and jeans at least a size too tight. Sara doesn't really know her, except by reputation; Sara's heard more than once that Annie "gets around" pretty frequently. She thinks to herself: why the hell is he dreaming about her? What does he see in Annie Sellers?

She gets her answer when John and Annie descend together onto his bed. Sara doesn't want to watch anymore – this isn't frightening, but it sure as heck isn't something she has any interest in seeing – but she can't turn away, can't stop looking...

... just like that, John's room is gone, and Sara finds herself outdoors. It's sunny out, and warm, and she can see green all around. The athletic fields. Intramural softball. Sara looks around, wondering whose dream this is. When she spots Jackie standing there at the plate ready to bat she knows for sure, although she couldn't say how, that this is her dream. It seems perfectly normal, a regular game of softball. Until she turns her gaze towards the pitcher, and standing there instead of another player is a giant insect. An ant, Sara thinks. Wearing a university sweatshirt, with a glove on one of its – claws? – mandibles? Whatever, Sara thinks, this is just too strange. What the heck is going on in Jackie's head? And the ant winds up, and throws a pitch...

...And she's back in another dorm room, also vaguely familiar. She's been in this room, and its occupant is a friend of hers. Mark. Mark Bainbridge. Sara remembers attending several of Mark's parties freshman year – or at least remembers not remembering some of them. She also remembers that for the first couple of weeks of that year, she had a huge crush on Mark, just like nearly all the other freshman girls. Tall, handsome, clever Mark. Mark who is just now opening the door and walking in. Walking straight towards his bed, which, Sara notices for the first time, is not empty. Someone's hidden under the covers. For one guilty moment Sara, the memory of her crush still in her mind, hopes that when Mark pulls the covers up, it'll be Sara under there, Sara that he's dreaming about...

...Before she can find out, Sara is somewhere else. A lecture hall, filled with students busily writing in exam books. It takes her just a moment to realize what's going on here: she sees that there's one student standing up, a little way apart from the rest of the class. A tall girl with long blonde hair. A tall, naked girl, and even before she turns around Sara knows that it's her roommate. Sara laughs, because this dream she understands perfectly, especially when she looks at one of the exam books. Statistics, the class Beth hates most, the exam she's most afraid of...

... Only a second or two after Sara understands what she was seeing in Beth's dream, she's gone, and now she finds herself in the lounge of her dorm, crowded with people, music playing, beer flowing. The Halloween party! She looks all around, and when she sees one of her floormates, a short, pretty brown-haired girl named Diana Filardi, she knows, somehow, that it's Diana dreaming this time. Diana's sitting all by herself on the front steps, and Sara follows Diana's wistful – again, she somehow knows that's exactly the right description – gaze to its target, who turns out to be John from New York. John was the DJ at this party, and, it seems, Diana's interested in him. Sara laughs; if only he knew that, maybe he'd be dreaming about her instead of slutty Annie Sellers...

...Once again, Sara suddenly finds herself somewhere else. This time, she's in the back seat of a car – and in the driver's seat is Brian! Sara knows who's in the passenger seat, and when she looks, her knowledge is confirmed: she's looking at herself. Outside the window, the streets are unfamiliar, but there's only one place they could be going. When the car turns a corner and slows to enter the driveway of a two-story brick house, she knows this is Brian's home.

The car is parked, the doors are opened, and Brian and dream-Sara exit, with the real Sara following close behind. They walk up to the house, and Sara sees the Christmas decorations everywhere: reindeer outside, a big wreath on the door, lights strung all around. The front door opens, and Brian and dream-Sara are greeted by what seems to be Brian's entire extended family. Sara can feel the pride and happiness that Brian is radiating as he walks in with dream-Sara on his arm. She's overwhelmed by the feeling...

***

...Someone – Brian – is kissing me.

That's all I know, and it's the only thing in the world that matters, being woken up by a kiss like a fairy-tale princess. We kiss for a good long while. Finally, I back off from him a little. "You were dreaming about me," I say, unable to suppress a giggle.

"And you were dreaming about me dreaming about you."

"That too," I answer, and then I go back to kissing him. It seems like the only reasonable thing to do at the moment.

***

Thursday morning. Brian and I walk over to Lardner, and while he goes to get his breakfast, I spot Beth and sit down next to her. "You didn't come home last night, young lady," she says to me, somehow managing to keep a straight face. "I'm shocked. Simply shocked," but she can't keep it up; she quickly dissolves into laughter.

I laugh too, but seeing her brings to mind the dreams I had – I saw – last night. Including hers. I know we don't keep secrets from each other, but she at least ought to have the choice to keep them if she wants to. How would I feel if I knew someone else was seeing what I was dreaming about?

She notices that I'm looking at her funny, and I realize I can't not tell her. "Uh – I've got something I have to tell you," I start, and she gives me a blank look. "Last night – well, last night I had more dreams. But I wasn't seeing the nightmare, I wasn't seeing that guy. And I wasn't seeing Brian – well, actually he was one of the ones I saw – but..."

Her eyes go wide; she realizes immediately what I'm getting at. "Are you trying to tell me that you...?" I nod. "Me?" I nod again. "You're not joking?" I shake my head. "I don't even remember..."

In for a penny, in for a pound. "You were in your Statistics final. Standing in the middle of the room. And you were..."

Now she remembers. "Naked. Of course." She doesn't look embarrassed, or at least she's covering it well if she is. I'd be red from my ears down to my toes. "OK. That is just a little freaky," she looks away from me, collecting her thoughts. "But it's not like you can control it. And it's not any surprise that I'm nervous about that exam. Right?"

Right. "I don't want to be seeing any of this. If I knew how to switch it off, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I don't want to know why Jackie down the hall is dreaming about giant ants, or that John from New York has a thing for Annie Sellers. I don't want to know any of it."

She looks at me in disbelief when I mention John. "You didn't know that? He's been like that all semester. It's pretty sad, really," Beth says, shaking her head as though I've disappointed her by not knowing the details of everyone else's love life (or lack thereof). "He's not her type, obviously – but you started this, now you have to tell me, who else did you see? Besides Jackie – and honestly? That's just really weird. I'm not sure I want to know about the giant ants."

Brian returns with a plate of what looks sort of like scrambled eggs as I'm telling Beth about the other dreams I saw. I told him already; we talked all about it on the way over here.

I kind of wish I hadn't told either of them about the dreams; I feel like I'm breaking everyone's confidences – but I go right on doing just that. I've just finished retelling Diana Filardi's dream when Brian sits down across from me. I look over at his plate, and at Beth's now-empty tray and I realize that I haven't gotten anything to eat yet. So I excuse myself, and by the time I get back to the table, Beth's spotted poor John from New York on his way out of the dining hall, and she's flagged him over.

She's not going to – oh, of course she is.

I'm too late to stop her, she's already advising him to think about Diana. "Don't you think she's cute?" she asks him, and he agrees that Diana is, in fact, cute. "She really likes guys who have a big..." I glare at Beth, and she finishes with a laugh, "...stereo." That's why John is usually the DJ at our dorm parties; he's always willing to lug his stereo with the ridiculously large speakers down to the lobby.

It's clear from his expression that he hasn't given Diana much thought before, and it's equally clear that he's now considering her in a new light. He leaves, with a very preoccupied look in his eyes. I'm at a loss; I don't know whether to laugh or yell at Beth. "Don't look so worried," she tells me. "It's not wrong if you're using your powers for good."

Powers? I almost laugh at that. But even though it was a joke, it's kind of true. I guess I do have a "power." Sara, the amazing psychic girl! That does have kind of a ring to it. Except...

"Sara? Are you OK?" Brian's voice brings me back to the moment. He looks very concerned. I take his hand, give it a squeeze. That seems to satisfy him.

"I'm fine. I was just thinking. First of all, I'm not sure that pimping out Diana qualifies as 'good.'"

Beth protests, "You say pimp, I say matchmaker." She doesn't give me the chance to respond. "It's in a good cause. She obviously must be interested in him, and if he had any sense he'd be interested in her instead of Annie Sellers. We're just helping nature take its course, right?"

I shrug. What can I say, really? Besides, she probably is right, at least about that little part of the dreams. The thing is, she's so interested in using my dreams to play matchmaker that she hasn't considered something else; if I can use what I'm seeing to (hopefully) help people I know, then don't I have to use what I'm seeing in the nightmares to do something about them too?

Another thought goes through my mind just now, and it throws me off track. "If I've got a power, right? I'm psychic, or whatever you want to call this, right? Well, where's my wise mentor? In every story I can think of, people who suddenly find they have a special power or something always have one. King Arthur had Merlin. Luke Skywalker had Obi-Wan. The Scottish guy in that stupid movie Ron likes, where they're all cutting each other's heads off..."

"Connor MacLeod," Brian pipes in. "And the movie is 'Highlander.'"

Beth snorts. "All you guys like that movie. I'll never understand it."

"Anyway," I say, trying to get back on track. "Connor whatever, he had Sean Connery to mentor him, right? So where's the old wise master to tell me how to deal with all this?" Brian's amused by the thought, but Beth has a different reaction.

"I'd let Sean Connery tell me what to do," she sighs. "Anytime."

So would I, although not that way. He's old enough to be my grandfather, after all. Besides, I'm taken! And I will definitely have to tell Brian that that was my first thought, once we're alone of course. But I definitely wouldn't say no to Sean Connery's advice. I bet he'd know exactly what to do about the nightmares.

***

When we're all finished with breakfast, we each head our separate ways. Beth has a paper to finish, and Brian's going to a review session before his calculus final tomorrow. And I agreed to go over Biochemistry notes with Melanie Vondreau, so we're meeting over at the Student Union for that.

The thing about Melanie is that, and I honestly don't know why, we've always rubbed each other a little bit the wrong way from the first time we met way back at freshman orientation. Don't get me wrong, it's not as though we're blood enemies or anything. It's just – I guess I'd call it a cold feeling towards her, which I know is reciprocated in full.

She's been having trouble in Biochemistry for a few weeks now, and it must be even worse than I thought if she was willing to come and ask me for help. Desperate times and all that, I guess.

Not that she said it that way, of course. I knew what she was asking, though. I started to come up with some excuse to say no, but then I remembered how Julie Paschal was nice enough to help me with physics when she must have had better things to do. It's only good karma to help someone else in kind, right? Besides, helping her will be a good review for me. So I agreed, and I think she was a little surprised that I did.

We find an empty study room – with a nice big table to spread all our books and notes out – and we get down to work. We start at a little after ten in the morning, and we keep slogging on straight through the afternoon until Melanie finally pronounces herself done at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Amazingly, we actually both manage to act like grown-ups for pretty much the whole time. She makes a couple of snotty remarks the first hour, and I'm snotty right back, but we get past that and we get a heck of a lot done. By the time we're finished, I'm completely confident, even more than I was before, in the A I'll be getting on tomorrow's final. She's pretty sure – I think she's right, too – she'll be able to pull out a B.

She looks at her watch as she's packing up her books. "I can't believe we were sitting here for six hours!"

I agree! "You said it, Mel," I answer, cringing as I hear the word escape my lips. I know she hates being called "Mel." I think it was literally the very first thing she said when we all introduced ourselves that first day at orientation. I really, truly didn't do it on purpose. Not this time, anyway.

She surprisingly doesn't take offense. "I appreciate you taking all this time. Really. You didn't need to go over this all day, you know it cold." Well, that's true. But it's very classy of her to say so.

"You can make it up to me sometime," I say. "But right now I want to get back to the dorm, drop everything off and get something to eat. I'm starving!" She agrees, and we walk back, chatting pleasantly enough as it just begins to snow. I'm wiped out – doing six hours of anything in one sitting is tough, no matter what it is. But I feel like I did a good deed for the day, and that thought warms me up ever so slightly on the cold walk home.

***

Now I'm lying in bed, at the early hour of ten o'clock. I want to be sure to get a good night's sleep so I can be at my best for the Biochemistry final tomorrow. I may know it all cold, like Melanie said, but that won't help if I'm ragged and half-awake during the test...

***

...Sara's in a classroom in the middle of an exam, and a roomful of students is busily writing away in their exam books, all except one of them, a tall blonde girl who's standing up in the middle of the room, completely naked. Sara shakes her head as she watches her roommate grow more and more agitated, and then the door to the classroom opens, and three women, all tall, all blonde, and a fourth, a teenage girl with dark hair, troop in.

Beth's sisters. They point at her in unison, as Beth just stands there, seemingly unable to do anything at all. Sara closes her eyes, not wanting to see any more, thinking that she knew Beth was concerned, but she had no idea her roommate was that worried about her statistics final...

...and without transition, Sara finds herself elsewhere. She's outside, on grass, trees all around, and above the trees in the nighttime sky tall buildings loom everywhere. She wouldn't swear to it, but she's pretty sure this is Central Park, in New York City. When she sees her floormate Jane, Jane Barnaby, she's convinced she's right; Jane, like her roommate Jessica, is from there. Sara follows Jane as she sits down on a bench, next to a young man who looks about her age, with the same brown hair, the same coloring, a young man who might be her brother. Yes, Sara remembers, she has a twin brother. They really do look very alike, except that while Jane is wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, her brother wears a dark suit, and a cape around his neck. He turns to her, telling Jane that it's time for her to join him, he knows she wants to, and it'll be so quick and so easy, and then he opens his mouth wide, baring big white fangs...

...and now Sara is standing in a small living room. She recognizes it immediately as the apartment Mona the Resident Director lives in downstairs. Mona is sitting at a table, with a stack of books next to her, scanning pages quickly, highlighting frantically, trying to keep up as the pages begin to turn on their own. When she finishes one book, two more appear from nowhere on top of the stack, and now she opens two books at once, her eyes darting back and forth, and then another book appears, and another, until finally the table collapses under the weight of them all...

...she's back in her own dorm room, sitting on her own bed, inside Beth's head again, looking over at Beth's bed, where Beth lies seductively – it's the only word that fits – wearing nothing but a gold bikini that barely covers anything at all. Clearly her dread of the Statistics final is forgotten. There are footsteps outside the door, and Sara turns to watch as the doorknob turns, the door opens, and in walks a tuxedo-clad Sean Connery, gun in one hand, cocktail shaker in the other. Beth asks him who he is, and Sara thinks to herself that this is all her fault; she put this image in her roommate's mind. Sean Connery answers, as Sara knows he will, "The name's Bond, James Bond..."

***

...there's a ringing sound, ringing, ringing, ringing. I open my eyes, expecting to see my roommate in bed with a world-famous British secret agent, but it's just Beth there, sleeping peacefully. She does have a very satisfied smile on her face, though. I won't be telling her I saw that particular dream. I will take that particular secret to the grave.

Anyway, she's sleeping so deeply that the ringing – the fire alarm, obviously – isn't registering with her at all. I get up as quietly as I can, unlock the door, inch it open and sniff the air out in the hallway.

It's exactly what I expect, the stench of burned popcorn. The door to the next room over opens up, and Kelly Travers pops her head out, hair all over the place, eyes unfocused. She, too, sniffs, and then turns towards me. "Who was it?"

The horrible little stove is on the other side of the floor from us. And sure enough, just now here comes someone around the corner, as up and down the hall doors are opening one by one. Kate Billings, who's isn't even technically a student of the university – she goes to the Ohio Institute of Music and they've got an arrangement for their students to live in our dorms – has a guilty look on her face as she sees us. "Terrie and I were up late studying. We just wanted a snack. We were really careful," she says, wincing as she does. You can't be careful enough with that stove. In my three years here it's never worked right.

Behind me, I hear the voice of our floor's Resident Assistant, Melody Katz. "Go back to bed, everybody. Try to get some sleep." She glares at Kate, shakes her head, but she doesn't say anything further to her; seeing Kate's wretched expression, she doesn't have the heart to berate her. "I'll go find Rita."

Rita Danelo happens to be – as far as any of us know – the only person in the dorm who knows how to open the fire alarm panel down in the lobby and turn it off. Otherwise we'd have to wait for Security to show up. And they wouldn't turn the alarm off until they were satisfied that every single resident was safely out of their room and outside.

I'm not sure how Rita learned how to do it, and at the moment I don't really care. It's freezing outside and I don't want to wait half an hour for Security to get here. Melody heads down the hall in her ridiculous bunny slippers in search of Rita. Reassured that we won't have to trudge outside in our bathrobes or pajamas, the rest of us all retreat back into our rooms.

"'night, Kelly," I mutter to my neighbor as her door closes behind her, and then, a little more sharply, "'night, Kate." She doesn't quite meet my eyes. And then I close the door gently behind me, relock it. Beth, of course, is still smiling, and still fast asleep.

***

It's early in the afternoon on Friday, and the air outside is a little bit less frigid than it's been for days. The sky is – well it's still gray, but it's a lighter gray, at least. And I have only two exams left to go, now that Biochemistry is done.

How did I do? Well, I did fantastic. No question I'm getting an A. Between that and Science in Western Thought, I'm done with two classes, and only three to go. I wasn't happy with everything I've put together for the advanced Organic Chemistry lab, and I want to make absolutely sure I get an A there as well, so once physics is done next Wednesday, I can take as much time as I need to get it perfect.

I'm not even leaving until the following Wednesday – I made the reservations a month ago, before I had any idea what my finals schedule would look like. Brian's last exam isn't until Monday the 18th, the final day of exams and he's leaving the next morning, so it works out well that I'll have plenty of time with him. That's especially good since we haven't figured out how or when we're going to get together over Christmas break. We worked out that it's probably only about a forty minute drive from my house to his, but with family stuff who knows when we'll be able to see each other.

On top of all that, there's another reason I'm glad I'm staying on campus after my last exam: I can help Beth with her Statistics. That's not until next Friday, and after what I saw in her head last night it's obvious that she doesn't feel remotely prepared for it. I'll tell her my plan as soon as I see her.

I'm on my way back to the dorm right now, and then we're going to go downtown together to see what we can find for Secret Santa. We're supposed to start giving the gifts tomorrow, and all I've got for George so far is a slinky. He'll get that tomorrow, so I need four more things. It'll also just be nice to be off of campus for a couple of hours. I think I've earned a break.

Chapter Seven

(December 8-13, 1989)

It ends up being more than just a couple of hours; Beth and I don't get back until almost eight o'clock. By the time we do, the temperature's dropped at least twenty degrees, and it was pretty cold to start with. The minute the train stops at the University Circle station and the doors open, the frigid air hits me. I hurry out and down the platform and take the steps three at a time until I'm out of the station, with Beth right behind me. We cover the three blocks to Carson House at a dead run, and we're both completely winded by the time we get there. I collapse onto the ugly purple couch, raising a small cloud of dust – which normally I'd find gross, but right now I'm too cold and exhausted to care.

And hungry, too, as my stomach loudly reminds me. Everyone in the lobby is already staring at me. Melody Katz laughs. "You shouldn't skip dinner, don't you know that?"

We got caught up shopping, and then I wanted to get back so I could spend some time with Brian tonight, so we ended up not eating. "We were busy," I pant, pointing at our shopping bags. I just now notice that Joe Karver is hooking up the communal VCR to the TV. I take a couple of deep breaths until I can talk in something close to a normal tone of voice. "Sorry to interrupt. What are you guys watching tonight?"

"Yeah, that is a good question," Melody says, a little too sharply. Clearly we came in right in the middle of the regular Friday night argument over who gets to pick the movies. It's bad enough when the debate is what to rent at Vidstar video up in Coventry. It's worse on a night like this, when nobody's willing to brave the Arctic conditions outside to go there and the choices are limited to what videos the folks currently in the lobby have in their rooms. Which doesn't leave much.

After a couple more minutes collecting my breath I head upstairs, Beth right behind me, as the argument gets up to speed. I put my shopping down, throw my coat on my chair, and my hand's on the phone and dialing Brian before I even realize what I'm doing.

Beth rolls her eyes while the phone rings once, twice, three times until Brian picks up. "Hey," I greet him.

"I was starting to worry when I didn't hear from you all day," he answers me, but I hear more hurt than worry in his voice. I said I'd meet up with him sometime after my exam; I guess we had different definitions of "sometime."

"I lost track of time. Beth and I went downtown, we only just got back," I tell him, trying to put a bit of reassurance into it. I try to suppress the thought that I haven't done anything wrong and I shouldn't need to be doing any reassuring.

"Are we still getting together tonight?" Apparently, I do need to be doing it.

I put my hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, and I sigh. "Absolutely!" I tell him, trying again, and this time it seems to work.

"What were you thinking?"

Considering that it's about minus two hundred degrees out right now, the options are pretty limited. He can come over here and sit on the couch downstairs with me while we watch a movie, I can ask Beth to give us a couple of hours to ourselves in my room or I can go over to him. It's no choice at all, really.

"My roommate was talking about having her boyfriend come over here," I say, looking over to Beth, and she nods, "so how about if I run over and meet you? Give me fifteen minutes or so," I say, shuddering already at the prospect of going back outside, even to run a couple of hundred feet. "I need to work up the courage to go back out into the cold."

"I'll be downstairs to let you in," he says, and the line goes dead. I can almost hear his door slamming shut as he heads for his lobby to meet me.

"That's not a bad idea, actually," Beth tells me once I've hung up the phone. "I wouldn't mind seeing Ron, so long as I don't have to go back outside to see him. Besides," she says, "it'll be better than watching Monty Python downstairs for the twentieth time this semester."

She's on the phone almost immediately, while I'm getting my coat, scarf, hat and gloves on, ready to brave the elements once more. When I get back downstairs, wrapping my scarf around my neck, covering up every possible inch of flesh as I head for the door, I see that Beth was right – it's "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" again. Somebody in this dorm really needs to stock up on some new movies.

***

It must be my imagination, but I swear I can feel icicles forming inside my nose, just from the thirty seconds I'm outside running from Carson House over to Allen. Brian's already got the door open, and in I go. I notice he isn't quite meeting my eyes, though. We head straight upstairs to his room, and when he shuts the door behind us, he still isn't looking at me.

I can't believe he's upset that I didn't call him earlier. I sit down on his bed, and he sits across from me, on the spare bed. He doesn't have a roommate. At least, he hasn't had one, since the one he did have, Paul, started to have crippling panic attacks and withdrew from school two weeks before Thanksgiving

Brian looks like he's about halfway towards having one himself right now. I really don't understand. Does he really think – what? I don't even know. "Brian, come over here. Sit next to me."

He does, after a minute or two. "Look, I'm sorry I wasn't around all day. I know I said we'd get together, and I should've waited to hear from you before I went downtown. Do you forgive me?" I haven't done anything that needs forgiving, but I try very hard to keep that feeling out of the words I'm saying. I think that comes across because he relaxes a bit, nods his head slightly. "So how was your first college final exam?"

That's what the problem is, right there. He thought I'd be waiting for him after he got out, to congratulate him. On top of which, he was probably terrified about his first exam, and if I'd been paying attention I'd have known that.

"Easier than I thought," he says. "I was expecting..."

Something horrible and impossible. Exactly. My first final, freshman year, was Chemistry. I knew that class backwards and forwards. I'd gotten an A on every quiz, I did every piece of extra credit offered. I could have aced that test in my sleep. And I was still frightened when I walked into the classroom and opened up my exam book. I was so relieved afterwards, so proud of myself for getting through my very first final...

Just like Brian. And he wanted to share that feeling with his girlfriend, wanted me to be proud of him.

Oh, my. I just had another thought, and now it all fits together. I wasn't just his first time. I'm his first real, proper girlfriend. Everything he does with me, he's doing for the first time. Including the first time something happens that isn't exactly how he imagines it should be – the first disappointment, however silly and minor. Like the first time his girlfriend blows him off when she said she'd be there, even if it is only for a couple of hours.

I move right next to him, touch his cheek, turn his face to me. Now he's finally looking me in the eyes, and I take his face in both hands. I pull him closer and kiss him. I'm not sure how long it lasts, but it feels like forever.

***

It's ten-thirty now. We've been – mostly – talking for the last two hours. I was absolutely right about him, about being the first girlfriend he's had. I can't believe I didn't realize that right away. It was pretty obvious. It's easy to forget that he's only a few months out of high school. Then again, in my defense, I have been somewhat preoccupied lately.

My thoughts are interrupted by one of the most hideous sounds I've ever heard, and what's worse is that it comes from me. Brian is so startled he backs several feet away. He's looking at me as though he thinks something's going to explode out of my stomach like the guy in "Alien."

"I'm hungry, OK?" I say, and Brian bursts out laughing. I glare at him for a moment, and my stomach rumbles, very loudly, again. I can't help it; I have to laugh too. "Wow, that was pretty bad, wasn't it?"

Brian very gallantly offers to go to the only place we can think of that's open at this hour, Little Caesar's Pizza, and bring me back some much-needed food. I don't feel right about sending him out alone into the freezing cold, and I definitely don't feel up to going out there with him. Besides, I've got a better idea. I ask him how much money he has on him, and he says "Thirty dollars." I ask him to give it to me. I pull my clothes back on – I did say mostly talking, didn't I? take his money, and tell him to wait here.

I go down to the lobby. At the bottom of the stairs, I loudly clear my throat, and call out to the small crowd gathered there watching a movie on their dorm's communal VCR (I notice they're watching Monty Python, too. Clearly the video selection here isn't any better than in my dorm. At least it's a different Monty Python, "Meaning of Life."). "I've got twenty bucks here for whoever will go to Little Caesar's, pick up a double-cheese-and-pepperoni pizza and a two-liter of coke, and bring it up to me in room 411. Anybody?"

Someone answers, a redheaded guy I vaguely remember from a couple of my chemistry classes. "That's Brian, right? 411?" I get a couple of questioning looks, which quickly become knowing looks when they – and I, at the same time – see that my sweatshirt is inside out.

Oops.

I go a little bit pink – but only a little. And – I'm kind of surprised at myself for this – I have no desire to run for it, or to try and make up some excuse and pretend that things are anything other than exactly what they appear to be. "It certainly is," I say with the biggest grin I can manage. "And we're both very hungry. Doesn't anybody want twenty bucks?" The redhead agrees to go, so I give him the twenty, plus the other ten to pay for the food. "I'll call it right now, so it'll be ready when you get there," and I turn around and walk back upstairs.

"I owe you thirty dollars. I'll pay you back tomorrow," I tell Brian when I open the door and sit back down on his bed.

"What did you do?"

I laugh. "I just did wonders for your reputation," I tell him, and he blushes a very satisfying shade of red. "Oh, and I arranged for our dinner." This time a week ago, I would never have done something like that. Instead of blushing slightly pink, I'd have been even redder than Brian is now, and I'd have slunk back upstairs as quickly as my shame would have allowed me to. But just now, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do. He is my boyfriend, and I do love him. Why shouldn't everyone know it?

The redheaded guy – I finally did remember his name, Mark Maxwell, we'll see if I remember it next time I see him! – brings us our pizza a half hour later, and we have our belated dinner. And afterwards, dessert.

***

...Sara's sitting in a comfortable chair, looking at a painting on the wall that seems very familiar to her, although she can't quite recall why. She gazes around the room – the bedroom – and all of it seems familiar. The brass lamp on the side table, the sliding closet door that's never – it doesn't occur to Sara to wonder why "never" is the word that comes to mind here – closed all the way, the Rolex watch on the dresser. She knows she's seen all of it before, but for the life of her, she can't imagine where. And then the door opens, and a man, a large man, comes in, with a brown-haired girl who can't possibly be older than sixteen. Now Sara knows exactly where she is and what she's seeing, and she can't leave, can't look away, can't do anything except...

***

..."Stop! Stop it! Oh, God, oh, fuck, stop it!" someone's shouting, in a ragged voice filled with anger and mixed and absolute revulsion.

It's me. I'm in that bedroom – no, no, that was the nightmare. I'm in – where? Brian's room. Brian's bed. He's looking at me, eyes full of confusion. I can tell exactly what he's thinking – "why is she yelling at me to stop? I wasn't doing anything. I was asleep," or something along those lines, and then the penny drops.

"Sara, you're in my room. You're safe," he says, in what ought to be a reassuring voice. But I'm not in a state where words are any comfort. I put my arms around his neck, pull myself to him, and I squeeze, holding on for dear life. I think I'm probably hurting him, but he doesn't say a word, doesn't even wince. He just wraps his arms around me, holds on to me equally tightly. We lie there like that, not saying anything, until I can feel my heart rate start to fall back close to normal. I don't know how long it takes, but it feels like forever.

***

We've been talking about it for an hour. We keep going around and around. That's all I've been doing since the nightmares started, and I am so, so tired of it. "There's got to be some kind of logical way to figure this out," I say. "You're going to major in mechanical engineering, I'm in pre-med. We're both intelligent and logical and all that other crap, and we're taking all these stupid science courses and, damnit," I punch my hand into the wall, which does nothing at all except hurt, "we ought to be able to come up with some kind of answer!"

Brian's expression says very plainly that he'd gladly give everything he owns to be able to tell me something helpful right now. He starts to say exactly that, and I hold up my hand. "I know, I know. OK, one more time?" I yawn. I don't want to go back to sleep, but my body does and it feels like my body is winning the argument. Still, I'm determined to take one more stab at an explanation.

"So the first time this happened, it was you. You turned me on," I say, and I'm not sure if it's because of exhaustion or my sometimes-slow sense of humor that it takes me a good ten seconds to realize what I said and why Brian is fighting to keep from laughing.

"You flipped my switch," I try again, and Brian just looks at me, a tear starting to leak from his left eye from the effort of not laughing. "I give up," I say, throwing my hands in the air. "There's no way I can say it and not have it be a bad pun, is there?" he shakes his head. I almost smile, it's the most I can do right now. Even though, actually, it is pretty funny.

"Fine. It was you. You dreaming about me is what started this. You were close by, it's probably not even two hundred feet, right, from here to my room?" he nods. "You were dreaming about me, and you had very powerful feelings so maybe," this sounds absurd as I'm saying it but I press on, "it's all electrical signals, right? Maybe we do broadcast when we're dreaming. Maybe it's too weak to measure, or maybe we just don't know as much as we think about our brains."

"OK," Brian says. "That makes sense so far."

I'm glad one of us thinks so. "So, fine, you're broadcasting, I'm broadcasting, everybody's broadcasting, every night. And that night, you broadcasted just a little louder than usual, in just the right way, and my brain picked it up. Maybe it's like a radio," and this is starting to make sense to me too, now. "You know how, when you get really bad reception, all you hear is static, right?" He agrees. "But then you finally manage to tune in a station, and once you've heard that you get better at hearing the other stations in the static. Maybe they're not as clear, but once you hear the first one, you know what to listen for."

I'm not sure if this is actually reasonable or if I'm too tired to think clearly, but I soldier on. "So once your signal came through, the radio in my brain got better at picking up all the other signals around me. That's why I've been seeing Beth's dreams, and Jackie's, and all the other people I've seen." And the killer. Because his broadcast is coming from the tallest radio tower with 50,000 watts behind it, even if nobody in their right mind would ever want to tune it in.

And then Brian has to go and ruin my wonderful theory. "If all that's true, if you're right – does it help at all?"

No. I can't see how it helps. I start to say something nasty, but I catch myself. Barely. To be totally honest about it, if our places were switched and he'd just told me what I told him, I'd probably have asked exactly the same question.

I sigh, and I grab his arm and pull him down until we're lying next to each other, and I pull the covers over us. "It doesn't help. But you know what does? You do." I say, and I kiss him quickly. "We can still get some sleep. I'll be OK now. I'll be OK as long as you're with me," I say, and with him holding me I do feel – well, not OK, but a lot closer to it than I was. I guess that'll have to do for now.

***

Brian and I walk over to breakfast, but that's all the time we'll have together today. I have to keep at the physics, and Mark Bainbridge from upstairs agreed to take two hours to try and help me. Hopefully that'll get me to the point that I can go to the review session a few of my classmates are having tonight and be able to keep up. On top of that I've got some paperwork that's due Monday to finalize things for the volunteer program at University Hospital that I'm going to be doing next semester. So it's a busy day.

We chat about Christmas, and what our families will be doing. Brian just found out the other day that his brother won't be coming this year. He's got just the one brother, Jack, twelve years older than him. The story is that Jack went into the army right after high school, got sent to Germany, got married, and stayed there after he was discharged. He's got two kids that Brian's never even met. Apparently, there was some hope that Jack would bring the family back here this Christmas, but it fell through. I think it's really sad, that Brian has a niece and nephew he hasn't ever met.

We still haven't figured out when we'll be able to meet over the holiday. I guess we'll just have to play that by ear. We've got nine days to be together before then, though, and I intend to make the most of them.

We "dilly and dally" over our food, as my Mom puts it, until I can't put off studying any more. Brian walks me back to Carson House before heading off to the library, and he kisses me just outside the front door. A girl could get used to that.

Then it's up to my room, and I get working on the paperwork for the hospital. There's a ton of it to go through, and it takes me a good hour to finish it. Just as I plop myself down on the bed for a few minutes before I move on to my least favorite course, there's a loud, heavy knock on the door.

"Hang on," I call out and I sit myself up, get to my feet and open the door. Jim Quarters, who I've known since my first day here, fills my doorway. I mean that literally; he's a lineman on the (not very good) football team. I don't think I've ever seen him on my floor in all the time I've lived here. "What's going on?"

He's looking into the room. "Your roommate's not here, right?"

He can see that, so I'm not sure why he's asking but I hold back a smart answer. "She's at the library, finishing up a paper. I can tell her you're looking for her."

He shakes his head. "No, I thought that's where she was. I wanted to ask you something without her here," he says.

I'm confused; I can't imagine what he wants with her. He can't be interested in her, can he? He's got a serious girlfriend, and he knows she's got a boyfriend. I'm pretty sure they aren't in any classes together. On the other hand, he's never been anything but decent to me, so it probably can't be anything too weird. "Come in," I say, ushering him into the room. He sits down on my desk chair and it creaks a little. "You're being very mysterious. What's the big secret?"

"It's the Secret Santa. I've got your roommate, and I have no idea what to do."

Secret Santa completely slipped my mind. I'm glad for the reminder, and I'm also glad that suggesting a gift for my roommate – unlike the dreams, or my physics final – is a problem that I can actually solve. "No problem. You want to play it straight and give her something she'll like, or embarrass her a little?" I wouldn't say that, except I know Beth wouldn't really mind an embarrassing gift, so long as it wasn't too mean-spirited. Jim isn't up for that, though.

"Straight."

The only rule is that you're supposed to spend less than $25 for all the gifts. But considering it's finals week, it's also got to be something that's relatively easy and quick for him to get. I think I can suggest something that'll cover all that, and that she'll get a good laugh out of as well. On top of all that, it's even something she's dreamed about, in a way. "OK, we can do this. Five gifts. Let's see," I've got a pretty good idea, if I do say so myself. "Can you get somebody to give you a ride up to the mall?" He nods. "You're twenty-one, right?"

"Last month." He doesn't bother to ask why I'm asking. It's nice when people put themselves in my hands and just let me run the show sometimes.

"Good. You're going to go to the state liquor store and get her a decent bottle of gin. That's the big gift. The other gifts, you get her everything else to make a martini with. Olives, toothpicks, maybe you can find one of those cocktail shakers for five bucks somewhere. Sound like a plan?"

He seems very pleased. "Nice!" which he says as though the word has four or five syllables, is his answer. But then he lapses into deep concentration for a minute. "You're missing an ingredient. Vermouth, right?"

True, I think. "But the limit is $25 and you'll already be going a little over as it is." There's a solution to that. I get my wallet, fish out a $20 bill. "Here," I say. "Buy a bottle of vermouth, too, and drop it off to me when she's not here. I'll give it to her after." I have no idea how much vermouth costs. I wonder if I'll see any change?

He looks doubtful, but he takes the money just the same. Then he peers at me more closely. "Are you all right?" he says with some concern in his voice. I guess that means he's noticed the circles under my eyes and the hollow, lifeless stare that's been looking back at me in the mirror far too often the last couple of weeks.

"I haven't been sleeping all that well the last few nights," which is as much truth as I'm interested in telling him.

"I know what you mean," he says knowingly, even though he doesn't have the slightest idea. "This semester's been brutal. These group projects are killing me; I'm up until two in the morning every night trying to get everything done." I wish schoolwork was the only reason I'm up until two in the morning. I'd trade with him in a heartbeat.

"Yeah. Exactly," I say. "Anyway, do what I said, Beth will love it." He gets up, starts to head for the door. "Oh," I stop him, remembering something else. I take the box with George's slinky in it and hold it out to him – I don't even remember when I put it in a box and wrapped it, which I think is kind of a bad sign. "Here. Can you put that by 418 when you go upstairs?"

He takes George's gift. "Sure. And thanks!" he says as he goes, closing the door behind him. Well, I've done another good deed, and now I get my reward. Several hours of studying physics. That seems very unfair somehow.

***

At about five o'clock or so, after Mark graciously spent not two, but nearly three hours trying to force my protesting brain to understand some of the things it's refusing to grasp about physics, Beth tries to get me to take a break. I refuse.

Brian calls at seven-thirty, after two and a half more hours of working on my own – I didn't feel up to the review session with my classmates after all – to try and tempt me out of the room. I refuse again.

It's almost nine o'clock now, and I don't think I can stand to look at my notes or that textbook for another second. I feel like my eyes are about to start bleeding from the strain. I turn my attention to a small, very nicely wrapped box, my Secret Santa gift. I tear open the paper, open the box, and find – nothing. It's an empty box. Someone went to all the trouble to do a professional wrapping job, with a bow and everything, for an empty box. Why would someone give me an empty box? What does it mean?

There's a knock at the door, interrupting my questions. I get up to open it, and Mona the RD is standing there, with Melanie Vondreau and another of my floormates, Janet Black, right behind her. "Get your coat," Mona says. "You're coming out with us."

I just stand there. I'm not sure what's going on. "Come on," Janet pleads.

I'm still looking blankly at the three of them. "Where?"

"I'm taking you girls out to the movies," Mona says.

But the campus movie is usually at seven and nine o'clock. We already missed it. I don't know what Mona's talking about. "I'm not taking 'no' for an answer. Now get your coat and your hat and whatever else, we need to get moving," Mona demands.

With the three of them all glaring at me, I don't feel like I have much choice. I grab my coat, scribble a quick note to Beth and leave it on her bed, and follow them out. Mona leads us downstairs and out the back door of the dorm as I button up my coat. Her old, beat-up Jeep is parked right there and we all pile in.

She's a much more aggressive driver than I'd have imagined. She's laying on the horn, passing people in what doesn't seem like a very safe manner and not even worrying about the patches of black ice that I'm sure are out there on the roads. Despite all that, we manage to get where we're going in one piece.

Where that is, is a second-run movie theater about ten minutes away from campus. As we walk past the posters outside the theater I realize why we're here, and why specifically it's me, Melanie and Janet that she took. "Four for 'Gross Anatomy," Mona tells the pimply boy in the ticket booth, and she sends me and Melanie in to get seats. She and Janet join us a couple of minutes later, passing out drinks and popcorn to us as they do.

Then the lights go out, the projector whirs to life, and for the next two hours, I watch a pretty good story about a plucky group of people struggling through their first year of medical school.

***

In the car on the way back to the dorm, Melanie asks Mona how accurately the movie portrayed life as a medical student. "It's pretty close," she says. "It brought back a lot of memories."

Janet, shaking her long red hair out of her eyes, asks about something that had struck me as well. "Matthew Modine's character said they had to do 3,000 pages of reading a week. That can't be right, can it?"

"It's not far off," Mona answers, and while I can't see Melanie's expression from the back seat, I'm willing to bet it's exactly the same mix of surprise and terror that's on my and Janet's faces. Mona scoffs at our fear. "You'll get used to it. Believe me. You'll be amazed when you see what you're really able to do, once you're in the middle of it."

I don't find that nearly as reassuring as Mona probably intends it to be. Still, despite the high probability of more answers we don't really want to hear, we keep asking her about the movie and how it compares to her actual med school life the rest of the way home.

"Thanks, Mona," we say in unison as we get out of the car once Mona's back in her space behind the dorm.

"Don't mention it. I figured my pre-med girls could use a little treat. Besides, I didn't feel like going alone," she says, heading for her little apartment in the lobby. "Now go get some sleep," she tells us as she disappears inside.

I go upstairs, and the note I left for Beth is still on her bed; I have no idea where she is, although I can make an educated guess. I think about calling Brian, but he's probably asleep and we did say our good-nights earlier, before I was abducted out to the movies. I don't want to wake him. After last night and me keeping him up, he can use some restful sleep.

For that matter, so can I...

***

I open my eyes. Through the cracks in the blinds, I can see a light-ish sky. Which means I actually slept through the night, with no interruptions, no nightmares, no anything.

Beth is in her bed; she's just starting to stir as I quietly sit up and look at the clock. It's almost eleven o'clock. We got back from the movie last night at eleven-thirty or so, and I fell straight asleep, and that means I've slept for nearly twelve hours. I don't know the last time I've slept that long.

I hear mumbling from Beth. I tiptoe over to listen more closely. "Stop poking me! Can't you see I'm taking a test? Chrissy, leave me alone!" Then she rolls over, facing me, and her hand waves out; I'm so surprised I don't step back and she connects with my elbow. She lets out a yelp, her eyes open and she's staring at me with utter confusion on her face. "Chrissy, I told you – oh – Sara? What?"

"Morning, Beth!"

She rubs her eyes, blinks several times and then, slowly, sits up. "I must have been dreaming."

I nod. "And talking in your sleep. I've never heard you do that before. You were yelling at your little sister."

"There's a surprise," she says getting her feet on the floor and unsteadily standing up. "I'm not going to get back to sleep. You mind waiting so I can take a quick shower and then we can get some breakfast?" Sounds like a good plan to me.

"You mean lunch. But, yes. And I could use a shower, too, before I venture out among the living." It's nice to feel like I belong among them, for a change.

Beth showers, I shower, and we go over to Lardner to eat. I call Brian to see if he wants to meet me there, but he's already eaten and he was just heading to the computer lab to finish typing up his final assignment for Expository Writing. We plan to get together for dinner, though.

After a lunch of cold cereal, Beth and I go back to our room. We're both going to review statistics. My exam is tomorrow and even though I'm very confident about it, a little more studying can't hurt; her exam isn't until Friday but she needs all the help she can get.

As we study, Beth keeps telling me to worry about my own exam, but I tell her that helping her is helping me with my own review. Which is – well, it's not completely a lie. Besides, I owe her. Aside from the fact that I'd help her because she's my best friend, I owe her for getting me through two semesters of French (which she speaks nearly fluently thanks to her grandmother) last year with my grade point average still intact.

About four o'clock in the afternoon there's a noise right outside our door, and by the time I get over there and open it up, there are two boxes sitting there on the floor – our Secret Santa gifts. Beth opens hers to reveal a jar of olives. She's not much more impressed by that than she was by yesterday's box of toothpicks. I avoid her eyes and mumble something about how I agree that her gifts have been really inadequate so far. Mine is another very well-wrapped empty box, which isn't so much inadequate as frustrating. There must be a good reason for it, but I can't imagine what it might be.

I had Beth drop off my gift for George earlier – it's a Frisbee today, and tomorrow it'll be a little wind-up robot that walks along your desk. I realize that's not very impressive, but at least children's toys are a theme. If nothing else, the final gift is halfway decent. I remembered that I did know at least one vaguely personal thing about him. He was very vocal in his disappointment when it came out that his favorite comic strip, Bloom County, was going to end this last summer. And completely randomly I saw a nice big stuffed Opus the Penguin doll when Beth and I were downtown yesterday. In the display he had a baseball cap on, so I bought the cap as well.

Anyway, opening our gifts seems like as good a reason as any to take a break for a little while. A little while stretches out until dinnertime, and at five-thirty I meet up with Brian for dinner. I invite Beth along, but she says she's going to skip the dining hall tonight. "You two lovebirds go have fun," she tells me as she shoos me out the door.

***

We have a very pleasant dinner. Well, the company and the conversation are pleasant, anyway. The actual dining, as usual, isn't quite as good. We linger there until Lardner closes at seven o'clock, and then even though it's freezing out we walk slowly around the back of the building. We go past the other three undergraduate dorms out behind Lardner and the ten story building that's for grad student housing before we loop around and come back to the front door of Carson House. He doesn't seem to mind the cold, and with his arm around me I don't either.

He's got exams Monday and Tuesday, so I won't be seeing much of him until after physics on Wednesday. I can see in his eyes that he's thinking exactly the same thing. It hits me that this is the exact spot we stood in a week ago Saturday, after our first date, when it felt like the whole world was waiting to see what I would decide.

Right now, standing here in the same place there isn't a world at all. There's just him, and just us, and I pull him close and we kiss.

It's not until I've watched him walk back to his dorm, watched the door close behind him, that I go inside myself. I can feel goosebumps all over my body, but they've got nothing to do with the cold. "That was some show you just put on," Melody Katz calls out to me as I'm unbuttoning my coat. I guess we had an audience.

"A lady doesn't kiss and tell," I say, laughing.

Mark Bainbridge and his roommate Allan are on the couch next to Melody. Allan answers me. "No, you don't really have to, not with a performance like that!"

I'm still laughing. This is just teasing; I've known all of them for my whole time at school, I'd call all of them friends. You know what, though? It wouldn't matter to me right now if they were being mean.

Still, I feel like I ought to give a little something back. "You're one to talk, Allan. I remember you and Rita," Rita Danelo, queen of the fire alarm panel, was his girlfriend until last summer, "going at it in the produce aisle of the supermarket that time. I thought somebody was going to have to hose you two down."

I can see by the nodding of heads and the silence from Allan that I've scored a point. I think I'll leave on a high note. I wave goodbye and head upstairs to my room. I can probably get a couple more hours of studying done and still get to sleep early so I'll be ready for my exam tomorrow.

***

The next three days pass by in a blur. I don't have any nightmares, for which I'm very thankful. I take my Statistics for Experimenters final on Monday and I'm pretty sure I ace it. I spend Monday night and all day Tuesday working on physics.

By Tuesday night I'm pretty much going out of my mind, until Beth forces me to close my book and listen to her for five minutes. She reminds me that I did get an A minus on the first exam, way back in October before I stopped understanding anything. She adds that I've done all the homework and that as long as I just show up for the exam and write something down for each question, there's no way I can score badly enough to actually fail the class. She asks me, "Doesn't that ease your mind?"

It's a mark of how much I value her friendship that I don't dump on what she said. I don't point out that while I might not fail, if I do badly enough on the final I could end up with a D for the course. I don't add that that would look just as bad as an F on my med school applications. Instead I thank her, hug her, and tell her with as much conviction as I can muster that, "Yes, it eases my mind a lot."

Finally, Wednesday arrives. The exam is at one in the afternoon. I try to cheer myself up by telling myself that at least it's not at high noon. Beth forces me not only to walk over to Lardner for breakfast, but to put food on my tray and actually eat it. When we get back, I make sure my calculator, several pens, and the two sheets of notes we're allowed are all in my purse. Then I repeatedly go back into the purse to check that they're still there. I turn the calculator on to be sure it's working. I fret about whether I should stop by the bookstore and buy an extra battery for the calculator just in case, on my way to the exam. I think it's probably a mark of how much Beth values my friendship that she doesn't strangle me to death.

At noon, I'm sure to Beth's great relief, I start to head over to the exam. It might be the cold air calming my mind, or maybe just knowing that in three or four hours it'll all be over with, but by the time I get to the exam I feel – well, not confident, exactly. Maybe "accepting" is the best word. Whatever will happen will happen.

***

It's over. The exam was bad, but not nearly as awful as I imagined it would be. The hours and hours of beating my head against the wall going over and over everything did some good. I'm pretty sure I didn't merely pass but – hopefully – managed at least a C on the exam.

I walk out of the exam room and all thoughts of the test are banished; Brian's outside, waiting for me. I run to him, hug him so tightly that he winces and I know that, for me, for this minute anyway, everything is right with the world.

Chapter Eight

(December 13-19, 1989)

I completely forgot that Brian's got another exam tomorrow, so I don't want to distract him tonight. He walks me home, though, keeping me warm and contented all the way. I give him a quick kiss when we get to the front door, and then, as he's turning to leave, I pull him back for a not-so-quick kiss. But then I really do have to let him go so he can get back to studying.

I also forgot about the dorm Christmas party tonight, but I'm immediately reminded when I walk in the door. Joe and Melody are stringing tinsel up all around the lounge, and there are a bunch of gifts already under the Christmas tree in the corner. I wave to them, head upstairs to drop off my coat, and return with my gift for George.

"You guys got everything under control?" I ask. I've got some free time, if they need help.

"The eggnog is in the fridge. Julie Paschal's got a bottle of rum she promised to bring down to spike it with. And Mona's going up to bring food from Hunan Coventry, so I think we're all set," Melody answers. I guess they're covered, so I go back upstairs for a much needed and well-deserved nap...

***

Someone's got my arm, they're shaking me – my eyes open slowly – it's Beth. "Up you get," she orders. "It's almost seven." The party. I could use another hour or ten of sleep, but I do as I'm told and get on my feet. I look down: still dressed, even my shoes are still on. I must have gone out the moment I sat on the bed.

We go downstairs, and most everyone in the dorm is there. The food's here and I help myself to a couple of egg rolls and squeeze in between Jackie and Kelly Travers on the couch. Joe Karver is playing Santa. He's by the tree handing out gifts one at a time, making sure to give the recipients enough time to open them and be either pleased or embarrassed at what they got and who they got it from.

There's a cute moment when Jackie gets her gift, a pair of tickets to the Symphony, from Fred. "Yeah, that was random," her roommate Carolyn yells out. The next gift turns out to be to Fred, and it's an autographed baseball card. From Jackie, of course.

Beth opens her bottle of gin to much ooh-ing and aah-ing. When she asks him if it was all his idea, Jim Quarters proves to be incapable of lying with a straight face, and admits that he had help. Beth doesn't need to ask who from. "We'll be opening this Friday night," she promises.

George gets handed his gift, and opens it up. He seems very pleased by his Opus the Penguin, and especially taken with the Cleveland Indians cap it's wearing. But then he looks around blankly, trying to guess whose gift it is. "There was a card!" I say, rolling my eyes at him. "Not that you need it now," I add, with a sigh. He thanks me; I have to say I did good.

Finally it comes around to me, and I'm handed a rectangular box. There's definitely something in it this time. I do open the card before tearing into the package. "Paging Dr. Barnes," the card reads, "You might find these useful in the future. Merry Christmas, Mark."

I open it up, and it's light-blue scrubs, the same kind they wear at University Hospital. "These are great!" They really are. I'm thrilled. "But what the heck was up with the empty boxes?"

Mark shrugs. "I thought they were funny. Didn't you?" No, but there's no point saying that, is there?

***

I'm back in my room now, and I'm not sure how I've managed to stay awake this long. The party went on until almost eleven. By popular request, I put on my scrubs and modeled them for everyone. A good time was had by all, but as soon as things started to wind down I went straight upstairs, got ready for bed and here I am, drifting off...

***

...Sara's in the pool, the giant Olympic-sized pool on the other side of campus, swimming laps. She wouldn't call herself a great swimmer, but she's OK in the water, and she can't figure out why she's having such trouble now. Or why the water seems to be hurting her; she feels as though she's getting paper cuts all over her body. When she opens her eyes, she sees the answer: the pool is filled, not with water, but with books. Textbooks...

...Without transition, she finds herself in the lounge of the dorm. The usual dusty purple couches are there, but where the TV should be there's nothing, not even the faded old carpet. Just open ground with rocks strewn about. There she sees two familiar faces: Allan, who'd been teasing her the other night, she remembers, and another fellow resident, Jake. Jake, Sara recalls, is now dating Rita Danelo, who had been Allan's girlfriend. They're both dressed as though they ought to be in a swashbuckler movie, and they've both got swords. When Allan raises his sword towards Jake and calls out to him, "My name is Allen Irving. You stole my girlfriend. Prepare to die," Sara knows that it's Allen's dream she's in. She also knows that it's at least partly thanks to her that he's having this particular dream...

...Sara's in a dorm room now, but whose? It's very neat, with the two twin beds pushed together to create a single makeshift queen-sized bed. She recognizes the occupants from a photo on the desk; dark-haired Julie Paschal, and her boyfriend, short, sandy-haired Glenn. Sara notices the mail on the floor by the door, and then the door opens and in walks Julie. She picks up the mail, examines it carefully. Sara knows despite never having seen it that the logo on the two clearly not identical letters is that of the American Plastics Corporation. She needs no special knowledge to guess that both Julie and Glenn have had on-campus job interviews with them. Sara watches Julie as she examines the thicker letter, addressed to her, and then the thinner one, the rejection letter, addressed to Glenn. Sara sees the conflict in Julie's eyes as she grasps the two letters in both hands as if to tear them up...

...the room vanishes, replaced by the back seat of a car. A very nice car, a Cadillac, Sara sees, as she looks out the window, watches as the car turns on to Old Tree Road, then continues on for a few more blocks. When it finally stops, Sara doesn't need to see the driver's face to know what it looks like; she doesn't need to see what's in the trunk to know what's there; doesn't need to watch to know what will happen next. She watches anyway, she can't turn away no matter how much she wants to...

***

I'm – where am I? In a car, out by Old Tree Road. He did it again. He – no, I'm in my room. In my bed. My left hand is aching – there are teeth marks. I can't believe I – God, I must have stuffed my hand in my mouth while I was asleep, to try and keep from screaming, so I wouldn't wake Beth up.

I guess it worked; she's sleeping soundly, not a care in the world. I look at my hand more closely. I came very close to drawing blood. It's almost funny – for a minute I'm distracted by wondering what would have happened if I had? I would have needed stitches. How would I have explained such a severe bite, obviously by a human? Would I have needed a tetanus shot? Almost funny.

But it isn't, really. Because I know what the dream meant. I know that the girl is dead for real. Another girl. Two, now. I knew it would happen again, I said it, and now it's happened. And I know there'll be more.

The tears are flowing, and it's taking every ounce of strength I have to keep quiet, to let Beth sleep. I want to scream my lungs out. I want to call Brian and have him come and rescue me, even though I'm only the witness, and the one who really needed rescuing is beyond any help now. I want this to end.

But I don't do what I want or get what I want. All I do is clutch my pillow tightly and cry silently and beg for God or someone to help me, but nobody does.

***

I might have drifted back to sleep for a few minutes here and there the rest of the night, but mostly I just laid there and cried. Beth is still asleep but she's starting to stir, she'll be up in a few minutes. I have to try and put the nightmare out of my mind, to be in a better state for her today. I told her I would spend as much time with her going over statistics as she needed, and I just have to keep my promise, that's all there is to it.

I take a deep breath, and another, and a third, and then I slowly sit up and even more slowly stand. I put on my slippers and my bathrobe; maybe a hot shower will clear my mind a little, get me ready to help her.

It doesn't really work. My mind is not any clearer, and it isn't eased at all. At least I'm clean, and maybe – if Beth even notices how bad I look – I can pass it off as a bad night's sleep thanks to too much eggnog. Maybe she'll even be too worried about her exam to remember that I didn't actually have any eggnog.

"Don't tell me you had another nightmare," she says when I walk back into the room. So much for making up a story. She knows me too well, and I didn't give her nearly enough credit. I should have known she wouldn't just let it pass.

She hugs me, and I hug back. If I don't break any of her ribs, it's not for lack of effort. "We don't have time for it today," I say when I – finally – let her go. "Let's get you ready for your exam. We can talk about it tomorrow. Afterwards." I gesture towards her Secret Santa gift, "We can do it over a couple of martinis. Fair enough?" I don't even like martinis, but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to drink my share of them tomorrow night.

She seems doubtful, but either I look much more resolute than I feel, or she doesn't have the heart to argue with me, because after just a moment she gives in and agrees with my plan, such as it is.

***

As much as I had a mental block about physics, Beth has one with statistics. It's frustrating to watch, because she's this close to getting her mind around it. She just can't make that last jump to the place where it all makes sense to her. About the only thing I can say for sure we've accomplished today is keeping my mind off of the nightmare. I didn't describe it, so she doesn't know how bad it was, and I don't intend to tell her. At least, not until after she's done with her exam, and then done celebrating being done with it.

Actually, I'm not giving her enough credit again. She probably already knows. She kept looking at my hand, and even though they've faded you can still see the bite marks. I think she knows exactly what I saw and what it means, but I'm simply not going to talk about it right now.

It's dinnertime and we've been at it all day, except for a short break a couple of hours ago for her to get a snack and me to check in with Brian and see how his exam went. "I'm putting too much pressure on myself," Beth says, stepping away from her desk with a defeated expression.

"You just figured that out now, Miss Psychology Honors Student?" I get up from the desk as well. "Remember what you told me the other night? Even if I failed the final, I'd still done enough to at least pass physics anyway? You realize the same goes for you."

"I'm not taking physics," she shoots back.

"You used to be funnier. Is that the best comeback you've got?" is my reply. "Come on, let's get some food in you, maybe it'll start to make sense with a full stomach." Probably not, but anything's worth a try at this point.

We meet up with Brian at dinner. Beth looks over at me, a question in her eyes, and I answer with a quick shake of my head. Brian doesn't notice any of it. I don't want to spoil dinner – well, spoil it any more than the cooks who made it already have – so we're not talking about the nightmare now. Beth goes along with it, and we talk about how finals have been going, and Christmas plans, and a lot of other things that don't seem all that important in comparison.

The three of us walk back from dinner together, and when we get to Brian's dorm I tell Beth to go on ahead, and I'll catch up with her. Brian and I go upstairs to his room, and my hand automatically goes to lock the door behind us but I catch myself.

I want to. I need to, frankly. But if I do, I won't leave this room until morning and I promised Beth I'd stick with her as long as she wanted to keep going tonight. Now that I think about it, though, that's not really such a good plan for either of us.

She is putting too much pressure on herself and if I leave it up to her, she'll be up all night driving herself crazy. She'll get no sleep and be worse off than when we started this morning. I've got a better idea. I pick up Brian's phone and start dialing.

I call Beth's boyfriend. He's surprised to hear from me. "We're having a statistics emergency. We've been having one all day," I tell him. He's not surprised to hear that. "We're going to keep at it for a while longer, but I need you to come over and distract her. Can you do that?" He asks what I mean by "distract her," and I say, "I'll trust your judgment. Can you be over to us at nine or so? I'll head over to my boyfriend's room, and you'll have her all to yourself." Brian blushes a bit as I say it. Over the phone, Ron gladly agrees. "But no spending the night. She needs sleep. Distract her all you want, but only until midnight at the latest, OK?" He agrees; it's a plan.

I realize that I didn't even ask Brian; I just assumed he'd be fine with me coming over tonight. But looking over at him, it's obvious that he's not bothered by my failure to ask; he was hoping all along that I'd want to come over. I kiss him, much too quickly. "I'll be back at nine," I say, and I can see in his face that his answer is something along the lines of "I'll be counting the minutes."

Who was it on TV who said "I love it when a plan comes together?" Was it Mr. T, maybe? He ought to see me...

***

I come back to our room and Beth isn't at her desk; she's sitting on her bed looking at last Friday's edition of The Observer, the school newspaper. I was too caught up in – well, everything, I guess – to even glance at it at the time.

"Well, now we know what Dr. Walters was doing when you ran into him last week." She tosses me the paper and I quickly read the short article.

"He resigned? That's weird – you said he was on sabbatical, why would he do that?"

Beth shrugs. "The article doesn't say. But it is weird, and it's even weirder that I haven't heard anything from anybody else in the department about it. Even Ray didn't say anything about it, and he knows everybody's business. I don't know how everyone kept so quiet. They must have known he was leaving." She looks a little put out by it, which I guess makes sense. He was her academic advisor, after all, and she liked the two classes she took with him.

"It's a mystery, I guess," I say. "I'm sure the dirt will come out soon enough, though. But in the meantime..."

Beth frowns, but she knows I'm right, and we have to get back to statistics. So back to studying we go. It's slow and difficult; was I this bad before physics?

I don't want to admit it, but yes, I guess I was. Still, by nine o'clock, I think we've made – well, not a breakthrough, but at least some progress. I feel pretty safe in saying she won't completely bomb the exam, and maybe she can even scrape out a C.

Ron shows up right on time, and Beth is surprised for about two seconds, until she looks over to me and I can't keep a straight face. She doesn't even protest; she knows she's crammed as much as she can and she needs to try and relax. "I'll be going now," I say. "Remember what I told you, Ron," I remind him from the doorway. "At midnight the ball's over. She turns back into a pumpkin and you get back into your carriage and go home."

I close the door behind me, and I can hear Ron asking, "Wasn't it the carriage that turned back into a pumpkin?" and Beth answering, "Who cares! Get over here," and then I'm gone. I run down the stairs, through the lobby, across the quad over to Allen House and Brian's waiting in the lobby there to let me in.

We go upstairs, and this time I do lock the door behind us. Before Brian can say a word my coat's on the floor, I've kicked off my shoes, and I'm on him, shoving him down onto his bed. All I know is that I need him, need this, need to keep...

And then I feel the tears coming, suddenly, in a flood. Poor Brian doesn't know what to think. I get off him, and he sits up, breathing raggedly. He puts his arm around me, looking at me with both confusion and concern in his eyes.

"I – I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I've never..." of course I have, but never quite like that. I don't want to talk about it; I've been mostly keeping it locked away all day. But he knows.

"You had a nightmare," he says very gently, his face only a couple of inches from mine. "Was it like the other one, where he was in the car?" I nod; that's all I'm capable of at the moment. "You think it happened again for real." That wasn't a question; we both know exactly what happened. "And you haven't told Beth, because she needed your help today, you've been carrying it around with nobody to tell."

He pulls me very close, caresses my cheek. "You really are amazing," he says after a long time, after I've stopped crying. "I wouldn't be keeping it together half as well as you are. I don't think anybody else would be." The tears start flowing again at his words, and he doesn't say anything more, he just holds me, and we stay that way until I fall asleep.

***

Sara's in a dorm room, identical to her own except much neater, and with the two beds attached together to make one queen-sized bed out of two twins. There's a man sitting on the bed, a short, sandy-haired man. Glenn, from upstairs. He's reading a letter, and without seeing it, Sara knows it's from the American Plastics Corporation, inviting him for a follow-up interview, offering to fly him out at their expense. There's another letter, in a much thinner envelope on the desk, also from that company, addressed to his girlfriend, Julie. Glenn reads his letter over and over again, and then he looks over to his side of the desk, where there's a receipt from Levine and Son Fine Jewelers. He stares for a while at the receipt, then retrieves Julie's letter, takes his letter, and holds them as if to tear them both up...

...without warning, Sara finds herself somewhere else. It's a bedroom. All it takes is a moment's glance to know that it belongs to a teenaged boy, a high school boy. There's a varsity letterman's jacket draped over the back of a chair, a Remedial Algebra textbook on a desk, a poster of three bikini-clad models posing on motorcycles hanging on one wall, and dirty clothes piled halfway up the wall in the corner next to the closet. Loud music throbs through the walls; this is the biggest party of the year, Sara somehow knows.

The door opens, and a girl who, except for her long blonde hair might be Sara, is pulling someone into the room. Before she gets a good look at who it is, Sara already knows it's Brian. The girl, not-Sara, is wearing a too-tight Central North High School t-shirt and a too-short skirt, and she pulls Brian over to the unmade bed, pushes him down onto it.

Sara knows that this isn't a fantasy, this is something that happened, something Brian hasn't yet told her about. As Sara watches, the girl who isn't her is all over Brian, and at first he appears fully involved in the proceedings, but Sara catches his eye wander over to the jacket hanging on the chair. The girl tries to recapture his attention, and almost succeeds, but Brian keeps coming back to the jacket, and Sara can feel the fear coming off of him, and something more, too. She hears a voice, but it isn't coming from anyone in the scene; it's just in her head, and it says: I'm glad this didn't happen. I'm glad I waited for you...

***

My eyes open and I feel Brian all around me, his face is only an inch or two from mine. I'm still processing what I just saw.

"That was two years ago," he says, and he's blushing redder than I've ever seen him. He begins to tell me about it, but he doesn't have to. I know the whole story. How, though? How could I possibly know it?

"She was somebody's girlfriend, they had a fight, she was drunk, she grabbed you..." I feel like I'm describing one of my own memories instead of one of his.

He scoots back a bit from me. "She didn't actually look like you. My brain must have mashed some things together. But otherwise it happened like you saw. You're right. Her boyfriend was on the football team. A linebacker. Nasty temper. I remember thinking if he ever found out he'd rip my head off," he says, spilling the words out, and then I pick up the story. I'm not at all sure where my words are coming from.

"She was just being spiteful towards him, she didn't even know you..."

"No," Brian shakes his head. "Not really. I was just the first guy she saw who wasn't a complete mutant or too drunk to walk three steps in a straight line, and that was good enough," he says. Even though it's two years later I'm angry on his behalf. He deserved better than that.

"You didn't have a girlfriend, and you just went along." How do I know that? Not just the fact, but the feelings?

"If it wasn't for her boyfriend, if I wasn't afraid of getting killed when it got around, because it would have, right? It was high school, it totally would have. If not for that, I probably would have done it. Just to – just to have done it, to know what it was like."

I know exactly what he means. I start to tell him my version of a very similar story, but I catch myself. This is his story to tell and I have to let him, if he wants to finish it. "What you saw, that was pretty much how it went, but you didn't see the end," he says

I didn't see it, but as he says the words, the rest of the story is somehow in my memory anyway. I remember it as though I'd been there. Not just in a dream, but actually in that room two years ago. It's enough to say that nothing happened and the girl was far too drunk to remember, let alone tell anyone, what hadn't happened and why.

It explains so much, about his nerves, about how hesitant he was our first time together. But how do I know it?

It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I'll never say a word about it to him, or to anyone. "Don't," I whisper, putting my finger to his lips. I don't need to hear it, and he doesn't need to say it aloud. "It's enough that you trust me to want to tell me."

He looks both relieved and pained at the same time. I understand completely. I know what he's afraid of right now, and I would feel exactly the same. But he doesn't have to be afraid. I run my hand through his hair, and I hold his eyes with mine, not wavering an inch. "It wouldn't matter anyway. It wouldn't change how I feel about you, or what I see when I look at you. The only thing I'll take away from it is that I heard you say that you're glad you waited for me." I pull him to me, and I kiss him, and I go right on kissing him. Finally, much later, I tell him, "I'm glad, too."

And then we show each other how glad we both really are.

***

I wake up in Brian's bed, in his arms, and right at this moment the nightmare seems very far away. I know it won't last, but I'm going to enjoy this as long as I can. Still, I can't help thinking about the other dreams I saw last night. I know I keep saying this, but I don't want to know everyone's secrets. I don't want to see what they're preoccupied with or afraid of.

It's one thing with Brian; he knows, even though he's unconscious, that I'm there. He opened himself up to me last night in a way that's just mind-boggling. And I think that he could probably kick me out of his dreams, if he wanted to. I don't have any reason to believe that, but I know it just the same.

Everyone else, though, they don't know I'm there. I saw Glenn last night, and he's afraid he'll get a job and Julie won't. I saw her a couple of nights ago, and it was the same in reverse. It's all very "Gift of the Magi" and it really is sort of touching. And honestly, I probably could have guessed they were both worried about that without seeing their dreams. But it's still not my business, and I don't have any right to know it. It isn't fair to them, even though I have no intention of saying a word about it to anybody.

There's got to be something I can do about the dreams. I tell Brian what I'm thinking, and he doesn't have an answer. I guess I could start sleeping with a tin-foil hat, like the crazy people who believe in UFOs and mind-control beams or whatever. I'm sure my brother would be able to tell me all about that. If I had the slightest confidence it would work, I would do it, no matter how ridiculous I'd look. But of course I don't.

Neither of us have any better ideas all morning. We don't even leave the room until lunch. After a quick and totally unsatisfactory meal, Brian heads over to the library and I go back to Carson House. It's a quarter after twelve as I'm heading in the front door and Beth, completely in a world of her own, plows right into me, knocking me right on my behind.

She starts to curse me for getting in her way, before she realizes who she's yelling at. She grins in a very embarrassed way and helps me up. "I'm sorry, I was..."

"Yeah, I know," I answer. I hug her. "Good luck!" I tell her, and give her as serious a stare as I can manage. "You're going to be fine."

She shakes her head, but I keep on staring. "Listen to me. If you can't trust yourself, trust me. I say you're going to be fine. OK?" She hugs me back, hard. "I'll take that as a yes."

She lets me go, and hops down the two steps to the sidewalk. "Make sure you're here when I get back. We'll be opening that gin," she reminds me, and she's off.

***

Beth is as good as her word. It's five o'clock when she gets back from her exam and the bar is immediately open. She passed; she's sure of that. "It really did start to make sense," she says. "You got me through it," she says, clinking her glass to mine.

We're on to our third round before we get around to my nightmare. I read the story in the newspaper earlier today and I already knew everything in it, except the girl's name: Katie Barnett. Knowing her name makes it much, much worse.

I don't really want to talk about it but Beth wants to know and I guess I do need to tell it. It's definitely easier after a couple of very strong drinks. Beth is properly horrified, and she doesn't have any better ideas than Brian or I did about what I ought to do. I'm sure the martinis aren't helping us think clearly; it might be easier to talk about all this, but it certainly isn't more productive.

She lets me off the hook, finally, but she's still curious if I saw anybody else's dreams the last couple of nights. I flatly refuse to discuss it. She plays the "best friend" card, but I'm not having it. "I already told you way more than I should have the last time," I say.

"But we don't keep secrets!" she protests.

No, we don't. She's right. But, "They're not my secrets. If it was somebody else this was happening to, say it was Jane down the hall, would you want her telling Jessica what she saw in your head?"

She considers that. "No," she answers halfheartedly. "I guess not."

Thank God.

God – that's it. Maybe she'll understand it better that way. "Think of me like a priest taking confession. I can't tell anybody except God, right? 100% confidential."

Beth finally, if somewhat reluctantly, accepts that as an answer and drops the subject. She then pours us each another drink. We're both feeling it now, and it hits us at the same time that we've been doing this on empty stomachs. We really ought to know better.

***

It's ten-thirty, and the impromptu party we started is going strong. We moved down the hall from our room to the little study area in the corner between Melanie Vondreau's corner room and Tishy Mccall's large single. We brought the remainder of Beth's gin and the vermouth. Jackie popped her head in and contributed a couple of bags of potato chips. Tishy had half a bottle of rum. Melanie had a bottle of peach Schnapps and three cans of orange juice. Her roommate Marcia Goldstein stuck her head in, surveyed the scene, ran out, and came back ten minutes later with several bottles of ginger ale and three boxes of microwaveable mini bagel pizzas.

Then Jane and Jessica heard us from all the way over on the opposite corner of the floor, and they immediately went upstairs to bring Mark and Allan down, along with two bottles of vodka, another bottle of rum, some instant margarita mix and a blender.

By now, I think nearly everyone in the dorm has at least dropped in and had a drink or two. We had to open the door to the little balcony that adjoins the study area to cool things off, with so many people packed in and warming the hallway up. I've lost track of how much I've had to drink, which I don't think has happened since sometime freshman year. I'm not sure how I'm still on my feet at this point. But, you know what? This is exactly what I needed tonight.

***

I need aspirin. And then I need to vomit. And then I need to die. That might not be the right order.

This is why I haven't gotten drunk like that since freshman year. It was a great party. Everyone was there. Unfortunately for everyone, if the sounds I hear from the bathroom are any indication they all feel pretty much the same as I do. Beth certainly does; "death warmed over" would be about ten steps up from how she looks right now. I don't even want to imagine how I look.

I – very slowly – walk to the bathroom. I keep my eyes closed as much because I don't want to see my reflection as because the light is so painful. I stick my head in the sink, turn on the cold water and splash my face.

At some point later, I cup my hand under the tap and try to drink a mouthful of water. It takes several tries before I can manage it. I'm not sure how I keep the water down. It seems like this task takes a good half hour.

I go back to my room, find my aspirin, open it, get three pills out. It seems like this also takes a good half hour. I take the aspirin, and thankfully they go down. Maybe they'll even stay down. I slowly, carefully sit back on my bed and, an inch at a time, I get myself lying flat on my back.

I can hear the wind blowing against the window. There's a small part of my brain that knows it's just a light breeze, gently rattling the screen. But what I'm hearing right now is hurricane-force winds slamming against the window, shaking the entire building right to the foundation.

What did I tell myself last night? We really ought to know better.

***

I'm at Lardner, one zombie among a table full of them. The day was a complete loss. I didn't get out of bed until an hour ago. I talked briefly to Brian, who spent last night studying and then went to bed at ten o'clock. He doesn't feel like the living dead today; he was able to spend a productive day preparing for his last final on Monday. In my defense, if I had a final on Monday, I'm pretty sure – even with how I've been feeling – I wouldn't have let go like I did last night. But I don't have a final on Monday, so there.

Even with the lost day, I'm fine, schoolwork-wise. I do still have to finish my portfolio of lab reports for Advanced Organic Chemistry, but I got a lot done yesterday waiting for Beth to get out of her exam. All I've got left to do now is an hour or two of work, a quick proofread, and then print the whole thing out. I ought to be functional enough by tomorrow to do that.

As for Beth, she's here, in about the same condition I'm in, halfheartedly pushing her food around her plate just like everyone else is. She's got an early flight home tomorrow, back to Cincinnati. She already asked me to make her get to bed by nine o'clock, and somehow I don't think she's going to be fighting me on that.

When we're done not eating, a group of us walk back to the dorm together. I think we've all got the same thought – if we walked back alone, we might slip and fall and not be able to get up and then we'd die of exposure. Beth is hanging onto my arm, which is probably a mistake because I don't feel any steadier than she does. But we make it back to Carson House in one piece, we don't lose anybody.

As I collapse onto the couch in the lounge, I feel stupidly proud of myself for surviving the trip to the dining hall and back, as though I've just returned from an expedition to climb Mount Everest or something. I'm not the only one; Mark Bainbridge plops down next to me, laughs weakly, and says "Does anybody else feel like they've been to Antarctica and back?"

"I was thinking the North Pole," Kelly Travers pipes up from across the room. Just about everyone mumbles in agreement. Well, we may all look and feel like crap, but at least we lived to tell the tale.

***

It's Sunday night, and I'm sitting in the lounge watching TV. Brian's studying, still. I'd be spending the night with him, but I don't want to risk having a nightmare and waking him up in the middle of the night, messing him up before his exam tomorrow morning. I'm lost in my own little world. I'm not even sure what I'm watching on TV when there's a tap on my shoulder. John's standing behind me. "Did your roommate leave already? I knocked on your door and she wasn't there," he says when I turn to face him.

"Yeah, she flew home this morning. What's up?" I've got a good guess.

He's not quite smiling, but he is standing straighter than he normally does. "I wanted to thank her. For telling me about Diana." I was right. I catch myself from blurting out that he's thanking the wrong person.

"Really?" is what I say instead.

"She was right about her." I was right about her.

"And?"

He walks around, sits down on the couch. "We sat together at the movie last Friday. And we walked back together, just by ourselves. And," his eyes don't quite meet mine, "that's it."

"No, it's not," I say. A couple of weeks ago, I don't think I would have realized that, and I definitely wouldn't have said anything about it.

"Well, OK, I kissed her," he says, and now he is looking at me again, "But that was it. Seriously."

He leaves out the "so far," but I can see it's there. Well, good for him. Good for Diana. And I guess good for me. I still don't want to see anybody else's dreams, but I am glad to know that something positive has come from them.

Later, we're still in the lobby when Diana comes in, and after she pulls down the hood of her parka and takes off her woolen hat she smiles at John as she walks past. She also casually but very deliberately runs her hand up his arm as she does. Seeing that, I can honestly say that Beth was right. I do feel more like a matchmaker than a pimp, and that's definitely a good thing.

***

Monday night. I'm in Brian's room, sitting next to him on the bed, staring across at the spare bed that's just wastefully taking up space. "Why haven't you gotten rid of it?" I ask. Then out of nowhere Glenn and Julie come to mind, the way they put their two beds together.

Or maybe it's not out of nowhere that they come to mind. What was I thinking about them the other day? They might as well already be married. And I saw Glenn dreaming about an engagement ring. Was there a reason my brain picked up on that particular dream?

I take a deep breath. That can't be it. I've known Brian for a grand total of seventeen days. I'm just being silly. Right?

"Sara?" I must have been lost in thought for a while; Brian looks worried.

"I'm fine. I was just..." I can't tell him what I was really thinking, can I? It's too much, too soon. "I was just thinking, if you don't want to get rid of the extra bed, you could put it together with yours and we'd..." There I go again. I really did mean to say "you" instead of "we." But "we" is better, and I'm not sorry I said it. And Brian didn't even blush anyway; he obviously agrees. "Well, there'd be twice the room. I think it's a good idea."

"I thought about it," he says, but then he lowers his head a bit as he goes on, "I – there's a reason I haven't. But it's stupid. You'll laugh."

I take his hand. "No. Just tell me."

"It is stupid," he insists. "I've been afraid to do it. I feel like, the minute I did it they'd replace my roommate. They'd know I was pushing my luck, and they'd have somebody new in here five minutes later."

I do laugh, but not because it's stupid. Well, actually, it is. But it's also exactly what I might think in his place. "Can we call it superstitious instead of stupid? Because I'd kind of feel the same way if it was me."

He's not totally convinced, but he lets it go. "Great minds think alike?" he finally says.

"Something like that," I answer, leaning over to kiss him, and then there's nothing else either of us need to say.

***

A buzzing sound stirs me awake. An alarm. Brian's alarm clock. But he's not in the bed with me. He's sitting on the spare bed, already dressed, watching me. He was watching me sleep. That's one of those things that could either be creepy or incredibly romantic, and here, now, I vote for romantic.

"How long have you been up?" I mumble, yawning and stretching.

"A couple of hours. I slept like a log. How about you?"

I did, too. No nightmare, nobody else's dreams either, as far as I can remember. Just good, solid uninterrupted sleep. I look at his clock. It's eight o'clock. His flight is at – when was it? Ten-thirty. "Fine. Really great. But I have to get dressed, we have to get you to the airport."

I throw my clothes on and I know I must look like a complete mess; clothes wrinkled, hair all over the place, but there's nothing to do about it. Luckily, he's ready to go. His bags are all packed; his ticket is already in the pocket of his coat, everything in its place. And so we're off.

When Beth left on Sunday, I only walked her over to the train station and helped her up the stairs with her luggage. We hugged, and she reminded me that she was leaving Tuesday – today – on a Christmas ski vacation with her oldest sister, so she'd be out of touch until after New Year's, and then she was off.

But for Brian I get on the train with him, all the way to the airport. I go through the X-ray machine and stay with him all the way to the gate. I curse myself for not changing my ticket so I could be on the same flight with him – we're both flying into Philadelphia, after all. I guess that's what I get for booking my flight too early.

So this is goodbye, for now. Who knows when or if we'll be able to get together during the holiday? I am pretty sure we won't be able to get together the way we were together last night until we're back at school in January. I can't believe I've known him less than three weeks; it feels like I've known him my whole life, and, yes, I do know how that sounds.

Anyway. We're at the gate, and they start boarding his flight. I throw my arms around his neck, and I kiss him. I put everything I'm feeling into it. He does, too. It feels like the moment in one of those old movies where the girl is sending her guy off to war, and she kisses him like she knows it might be for the last time.

They call his row, and he breaks the kiss. He heads for the jetway, but he's looking back at me the whole time. I stand there, exactly in that spot, until his plane is in the air and out of sight.

I can only imagine what Beth would think of all that. She'd say that it proves I really am a hopeless romantic. Maybe even a world-class hopeless romantic. You know what? She's absolutely right. And I don't care one bit.

Chapter Nine

(December 20-23, 1989)

I wish I could say I'm surprised, but honestly I'm not. I'm barely off the plane before I have my first argument with my brother. It's a new argument, at least, not one of the usual ones, but I'm sure we'll hit all the old favorites before too long.

Bob just got his full unrestricted driver's license two months ago, and he came out to the airport to pick me up, which I honestly do appreciate. I suppose I could give him some credit and assume that his skills have improved since the summer, but – no. I don't feel quite that generous. Or lucky.

"No, Robert, you're not driving. What part of that do you not understand?" I only just noticed, I do the same thing that my parents do – when I'm annoyed with him, I call him Robert instead of Bob. I'm sure I've been doing it for years, but this is the first time I've ever been conscious of it. At least I never use his full name. When Mom or Dad were really angry at me, that's what I'd hear. "Sara Katarina Barnes, come downstairs this instant!" is usually how it went.

"Like you're so much better," is his witty reply.

"Well, yes." The truth hurts sometimes. "You remember, I'm the one who mostly taught you, and I remember exactly how well you did. I'm not getting in the car with you driving, simple as that."

"Yeah, and since you're the oldest, what you say goes, is that it?" He makes a face.

"I hate to pull rank," I say, but obviously that's a lie. I do it all the time with him. It might be a crummy way to treat my little brother, but it does have one advantage – it usually works. "Basically, yes. I'm the oldest, and I said so."

He grumbles while we walk to get my bags and he grumbles while we go out to the car, and he grumbles all the way home, except for asking me if Beth will be visiting for a few days like she did over the summer. It's funny, that was the first time in his life he ever called himself Robert. I assume he thought it sounded more grown-up and mature, for all the good it did him. At least Beth was nice about it. She didn't torment him too much, even though he gave her every opportunity to.

I actually do almost feel vaguely bad about dashing his unattainable adolescent fantasies concerning my roommate, but she won't be visiting for the holiday. Once I break the bad news he resumes the grumbling, and he keeps it up all the way home. When we finally get there, I park the car, and Bob's out the door and on the way up to his room to do whatever it is that he does in there before I've even turned the engine off.

I bring my bags up to my bedroom, and then I head for the kitchen, fix myself a sandwich, settle down and wait for Mom to get back from the vet with Lumpy.

Even though I've been away at school for the last two and a half years, Lumpy is still definitely my dog. Mom and Dad gave him to me when I was twelve – he was my big Christmas present that year. It was a huge surprise. I'd always wanted a dog, as far back as I can remember. Right after my brother was born, the day Mom and Dad brought him home from the hospital, I have a very clear memory of asking if we could take him back and exchange him for a puppy, because a puppy would be much more fun to play with. I kept pestering my parents for a while but I'd pretty much given up hope, and then that Christmas morning there was a huge box under the tree. It was shaking and there were yelps coming from inside it. I opened it up and there he was – a beautiful golden retriever puppy.

He didn't have a name at first. Dad told me that since he was my dog, it was my responsibility to name him. I couldn't think of anything right away and obviously naming him was a really important job – who knows how he'd turn out if I gave him a bad name? It took almost a week, and how he finally got the name Lumpy is, he liked sleeping in my bed during the day when I was at school. When I came home, he'd still be there and I thought to myself that with him there the bed looked all lumpy, and there it was, that was the perfect name for him.

Everyone else thinks it's an appropriate name because he sits around a lot and doesn't do all that much and they think he isn't very smart, but they're wrong. He's definitely smart – he understands everything I say to him, and he does whatever I tell him to do and he plays with me all the time when I'm home. I think the reason he doesn't respond as well to anyone else is that he can tell they don't love him the way I do. At any rate, it's an hour later when they finally get home. I hear the car coming up the driveway, and I run out to meet them. I hug Mom, and I go and let Lumpy out of the car.

Just like always when I come home, he's happy to see me. He jumps on me, he licks my face, he wags his tail frantically. He doesn't do that for anyone else. And I have to tell him how wonderful he is, "Lumpy, you're such a good boy! Yes, you are!" and so on. After a couple of minutes of that, he finally calms down enough that we can all go inside. "What did the vet say? How is he?"

Mom answers, "He's fine, honey. We have to give him the new worm pills and they recommended we try this new food for him, but he's perfectly healthy otherwise." Mom told me a couple of weeks ago that he wasn't eating as much as usual, and he'd mostly stopped barking at the squirrels outside. So I was concerned about him.

"Good. You had me a little scared." I notice that Mom seems a bit distracted; whenever I come home from school she usually spends ten minutes hovering over me, telling me how much she missed me and all of that. But not today. Once the subject of Lumpy is done, Mom moves on to the question of holiday plans and I learn why she's not her usual self.

She's got a surprise for me. Apparently, she got a phone call last night from someone called Helen Alderson. It takes me a minute to process that. Alderson is Brian's last name – Helen must be his mother. Mom tells me that she called to invite all of us to dinner on Christmas Eve. Mom patiently explains to me how very confused she was; she had no idea why some strange woman was inviting her family to dinner. It took her a while to realize what was going on. It wasn't "some strange woman," it was my boyfriend's mother. Obviously it didn't help that I haven't mentioned Brian to my parents yet.

The truth is, I haven't mentioned him because he's all wrapped up with the nightmares. I still haven't decided what – if anything – I want to tell them about that. It's not that I don't think they'll believe me; it's just that I can't imagine what good could come of it.

And I am a little bit afraid of what they'll think about how fast things have moved with me and Brian, and how hard I've fallen for him. Probably because I have moments where I'm a little afraid of how fast things have moved, too. Even though I've been the fast one.

Maybe especially because of that.

Anyway, I tell her about Brian. I give her a heavily-edited version of the story. I leave out any mention of dreams or nightmares at all; I tell her we met at the nightclub, something about him caught my eye, and we hit it off immediately. I tell her that Brian's a freshman, he's two years younger than me, that he hasn't had a real girlfriend before and I'm the one setting the pace on, well, everything. I tell her how thoughtful and kind he's been to me, how I've been feeling very stressed out with final exams and thinking about the MCATs in the spring and how he's helped me so much.

As we talk, I can see her relaxing a little on the whole subject; I'm not sure how good a job I'm doing convincing her about Brian – I think it's more that she's putting herself in my shoes remembering times when maybe she didn't tell her parents right away when she had a new boyfriend.

She also knows I'm not telling her everything. I can see in her eyes that she has a very clear idea of what I'm leaving out – and obviously the dreams aren't the only thing I'm editing when I talk about Brian. I can also see that she's perfectly happy not to hear the things she thinks I'm leaving out. I'm glad we agree about that, anyway!

***
I was able to sleep peacefully all night long. Maybe it was just being in my own familiar bed at home, or being a couple of hundred miles away from the people whose dreams I've been seeing. I don't know, and as long as it keeps up I don't really care why.

I take my time getting around in the morning; the house is very quiet. Thankfully, Bob's still in school most of this week, so I don't have to fight with him about who gets to use the car today. Not that it would be much of a fight anyway, but it's easier if I don't have to argue with him over every little thing.

I need the car today because I'm meeting Aunt Kat for lunch. I find what seems like one of the very last parking spaces at the mall, and I make my way over to the restaurant. It's precisely 12:05 PM according to my watch, and since we were supposed to meet at noon, Kat's probably already been here for twenty minutes. I wander into the restaurant and I spot her right away.

There's the obligatory hug and kiss on the cheek, of course, followed by a little bit of small talk before we get to the important stuff. I see that she's got a bottle of wine on the table already – I'm sure Mom's talked to her and given her instructions to find out more information about Brian.

Aunt Kat – Katarina Wells to be exact – isn't actually a blood relative. What she is, is my mother's best friend, my godmother, and also one of the very few people in my life who I can tell absolutely anything to. There's Beth, and now there's Brian, and there's always been Aunt Kat. My whole life I've gone to her first for advice, before any of my friends and definitely before my parents. And she's always, always, always been there for me.

The thing about her isn't just that she's there for me, but she's there with exactly the right thing to say. Like the night I lost my virginity. It was awful, I've said that before. When it was over Richard drove me home, and I managed not to go all hysterical until I got out of the car and he was gone. But between the driveway and the front door, I totally lost it.

Aunt Kat just happened to be over at our house; she was sitting with Mom in the living room having coffee. I opened the door, took one step in, and I think they both knew more or less what happened as soon as they saw me. I was a complete disaster: clothes all wrinkled, hair a mess, crying uncontrollably.

They sat me down on the couch, got me a big glass of water, and I told them everything that had happened. Any other time, I wouldn't have told Mom any of it, but at the moment I wasn't thinking rationally, if you could call it thinking at all. I'm sure she was surprised, disappointed, upset, take your pick, but she didn't say anything about that, she just comforted me and held me and told me it was going to be all right.

Kat did the same thing for a little while, and then she took me upstairs to my room. She sat next to me on my bed, and then proceeded to tell me how disappointed she was in me.

Not because I had sex, not because I was stupid or careless or anything like that. She was disappointed, she said, because I didn't listen to my instincts. I'd told her a couple of weeks before that I was having some doubts about Richard. I couldn't say why, there weren't any tangible reasons, just a gut feeling.

That's something Kat always said, for as long as I can remember: always trust my feelings. And I completely ignored them; she was absolutely right about that. We talked all night about it, and by morning I was feeling much better.

I just realized that, to the casual observer, I must sound like quite the fragile little mess. Always crying and screaming and running to the nearest available help when anything bad happens. I don't think that's really fair, though. The whole thing with Richard, for example. I was seventeen, I thought I was in love, and I was pretty delusional about him. So what? Who isn't, at that age? Looking back it's easy to say, "what did you expect from him?" and looking back of course I was crazy to imagine it could have been anything like my romantic fantasies. But that's the whole point: at the time, you don't know – at least I didn't. I made a mistake. I trusted when I shouldn't have and said yes when I should have said no. I don't think I'm the first girl in history to do that.

And of course, I was horribly upset and I thought the world was going to end, or at least my little piece of it, because that's how everything feels when it's happening to you. I still feel bad about it, because I was so stupid, but I learned from the whole experience so it wasn't a total loss in the end. And as for running for help, isn't that what your friends and family are for?

With these stupid nightmares, well, I won't apologize for freaking out about them. I'd like to see what anybody else who starts seeing psychic visions of a serial killer would do. I don't think there's an instructional pamphlet for that anywhere.

I've gotten a bit off track here, I suppose. The original point was that Aunt Kat's probably the person I trust more than anyone else, and we're about to get to talking about what's been going on with me recently. I go through the whole story – well, the most important parts, anyway – and she's surprised, frightened and appalled by turns. I tell her about the dreams, about the articles in the newspaper, all of it.

"Do you believe me?" I ask her when I'm finally done with it.

She answers immediately. "Yes." Then she stops to think for a minute. "Of course, I believe you. Your brother, if he told me something like this, I'd think it was just one of his strange little things, some sort of odd fantasy. But you, no. I know you're telling me something true." She sort-of frowns. "Or at least something you believe is true."

I don't say anything. I had this exact same conversation with Dr. Ritter and I don't want to explain myself all over again. I want her to accept it at face value, but I guess that isn't reasonable. Would I accept it at face value from someone else? Probably not.

"You have to admit, what you told me is pretty far out there, Sara," Kat finally says, more because one of us has to say something to fill the silence than anything else, and it clearly wasn't going to be me. "Like I said, I do believe you, but it's pretty hard to wrap my mind around it."

"I know." I wish I didn't, but, boy do I know. "I've tried to think about it logically. I mean, I'm going to be a doctor. I'm training to be a scientist. I know how things work, physically. This – this doesn't make sense. It doesn't fit anything I know, or anything I've read. It shouldn't be happening. This isn't how people's brains work." That all sounds great, and it's all true, but my brain doesn't seem to know that.

Kat empties her glass of wine before she answers me. "That doesn't matter, Sara." She pours herself another glass. "Should and shouldn't don't matter. Sense doesn't matter. What matters is that it's happening, and you have to figure out how to cope with it. And it's all on you because it's in your head, nobody else's."

She's absolutely right. When I close my eyes, when I'm asleep, I'm alone. Whether I'm at home and Mom and Dad are just down the hall, or I'm in the dorm and Beth is six feet away, or I'm with Brian and I'm in his arms, I'm still alone inside my head. Nobody can make the nightmares stop, nobody can turn off whatever switch got flipped in my brain that's making me see them.

But I notice that she looked away from me for a moment there. She didn't say anything about the fact that what I'm seeing in the nightmares is really happening out in the world. That two girls have died already. That I'm the only one who knows what's really going on. She still won't look me in the eye. She's waiting for me to say something about it, because she can't bring herself to. Well, neither can I.

She's known me my whole life, and this is the first time she's ever held back on me. It's also the first time I'm glad she did. She finishes her second glass of wine in one gulp, and pours a third. She looks back at me, and for a long time, neither of us says anything. Finally she can't stand it anymore and she asks me, "So tell me more about your boyfriend?" and I'm more relieved than I can say that she's changing the subject.

***

Just like that, it's Friday – another night without nightmares, too! – and Christmas is three days away. After lunch with Kat, I was able to get most of my shopping done. There's just one person I don't have something for, but he's the most important one of all and I've been having no luck thinking of the right gift.

We've only known each other for three weeks. There's so much I don't know about Brian, and I want my first Christmas gift for him to be special, something he'll always remember. I've been getting more and more worried that I won't be able to think of anything.

But last night I found inspiration – in the sports section of the newspaper of all places. There was an ad for a big memorabilia show today, in Philadelphia, at the Spectrum. There'll be pro athletes there, players from the Phillies and Eagles and Flyers, signing photos and all that sort of thing. Brian's not the biggest sports fan in the world, but he does follow them, and of all the local teams, he follows the Phillies the most. And he's got something in common with my father – they both have the same favorite player, Mike Schmidt, who just retired this past season. And who, conveniently enough, will be at the show.

So I decided to take the car and go there, and wait in line however long it takes, and get Mike Schmidt's autograph for Brian. He'll love it. He has to, right?

I was going to try to get one for Dad as well, but he saw the ad too, and since he's off from work today he was thinking of going himself. So we'll go together, just me and Dad. My brother couldn't care less about sports, and Mom wasn't interested in waiting in line for hours.

Right after breakfast we get in the car and Dad is as excited as I think I've ever seen him. He's a huge sports fan. I remember back in 1980, when the Phillies won the World Series. They had a victory parade the day after, and Dad took off from work. He kept Bob and me home from school, and he dragged Mom along too. We all went to Philadelphia and spent the day watching the parade. The whole time he was weeping, tears of joy, literally all day long. It's the only time in my life I've ever seen my father cry.

The entire ride up, Dad is reminiscing about that, going on and on how he can't believe he's going to actually get to stand two feet away from "Mr. Schmidt" and maybe even – perish the thought! – shake his hand.

It's a very long ride.

We finally get there, park the car, and Dad goes to the trunk, opens it up and pulls out a box. He takes out his official replica Phillies uniform and puts it on, and then he hands me a Phillies cap to wear. Now that we're properly outfitted, we start walking into the arena. I've only ever been here once before, to see the circus, and in my opinion this is kind of a circus all its own. Most of the people around us are wearing jerseys for the Phillies, or the Eagles or one of our other teams. And most of them have this distant sort of look, just like my father does now. As though they're on a pilgrimage or something. All I want is a nice Christmas gift for my boyfriend.

For the two hours we wait in line, Dad acts like the people waiting all around us are long-lost relatives. They're rehashing every play from the World Series. It's amazing. Most of them, my Dad included, start to get less talkative and more nervous as they get close to the front of the line.

Finally, we arrive. There's a table piled high with photos of Mike Schmidt in action and behind the table, the man himself. My first impression is that he seems smaller in real life than he looked when he was playing. And it's weird to see him in a suit instead of his uniform. But it's definitely him.

He looks at Dad, waiting for him to say something, but in the presence of his hero my father has lost the power of speech. I forcibly grab Dad's arm and shove it towards Mike Schmidt, and Schmidt dutifully shakes it. "You're his idol, sir," I say for him, and it's obvious from Schmidt's bemused expression that this is far from the first time today he's encountered a scene like this.

"Who do I make it out to?" he asks, taking a photo from a stack on the table by him.

"Could I have two? One is for my Dad here. Howard Barnes," I answer, and the great man quickly signs a photo of himself. "The other one, it's for my boyfriend, I wanted him to have something really special for our first Christmas together," I babble, and then realize I haven't said his name. "It's Brian, please," and he signs a second picture while the people behind us in line glare at me for wasting so much time. I grab the pictures, mumble "Thank you, sir," and drag Dad away.

He recovers his wits a few minutes later, and we wander around the show some more. He gets a couple more autographs, and then we – finally! – head out of the arena. When we're back at the car he carefully and reverently takes off his replica uniform, folds it neatly and puts it back in its box along with my Phillies cap, and then we're off.

We stop at McDonalds for a quick bite on the way home, and we just sit for a few minutes after we've eaten. Dad is staring longingly at his autograph. "This is beautiful," he says, a faraway look in his eye. I look at Brian's gift. Mike Schmidt signed it, "Brian – Go get 'em, slugger! – Mike Schmidt, #20."

He's going to love it. How could he not? I just stare at the words, picturing Brian opening up his gift, imagining his reaction, feeling him holding me, kissing me...

There's a sound, my Dad clearing his throat, and I'm back in the here and now. He looks at the picture in my hand, and then, with a very odd expression on his face he wags his finger at me. "I think I need to meet your young man."

"You're going to, Dad. On Sunday." What's going on?

He's still got that expression. He's looking at me as though he's noticing something he's never seen before. "I see so much of your mother in you. I don't think you realize how like her you are," he says, finally.

I do, actually. I look a lot like her. I've seen pictures of her when she was young, and if you didn't know it you might think you were looking at me. I start to say that, but he shakes his head.

"It's not just that you look like her," he says, reading my mind. "It's – well, I was watching you just now. I saw how your eyes lit up when you were thinking about your Brian." How long was I staring at that picture?

"Nobody else has eyes like yours. Nobody else's are that bright. Nobody else's light up the way yours did just now. Except..." and now he chokes up a bit, and he has to have some water before he can go on, "Nobody except your mother. How you looked just now, that's how she looks sometimes, when she's looking at me."

Oh.

Oh, my.

I didn't expect that. "Um – I – I don't know – Dad, I'm not sure what..." As I'm babbling, it hits me. I've heard this before. From Brian, the night we met, at the club. He said something very similar to me, and suddenly I'm feeling dizzy, and warm. I have to hold on to the edge of the table to steady myself.

"I saw it, honey," he says with a gentle smile. "I see it right now. You're done for. This Brian, he's in your heart. You can't hide that, and you can't fake it, either."

I can't believe I'm having this conversation with my father. But he's right. Brian's in my heart, that's exactly how it is. There's no point pretending it's not true. And it's such a relief to have someone really and truly get what I'm feeling. Even if it is Dad.

"Can I ask you something?" My voice is very small and very far away. I still need to hang on to the table for support.

"Always. Anything. You know that," he says.

I already know the answer, but I want to hear it anyway. I let go of the table and my hands are shaking. "Sometimes when I look at him, when I look into his eyes, I mean really look into them, and he catches mine, it's like everything else just disappears. Like we're the only two people in the whole world. Even if we're in a crowd, or at the movies or wherever. Isis it like that with you and Mom?"

He reaches across the table, takes my hands in his. "Boy, you do have it bad. Worst case I ever saw. Or the second-worst, anyway." He lets go of my hands. "It was. It was exactly like that."

"Was?" What does that mean? Why not "is?" That's not what I was expecting to hear at all! Dad reads my mind again. "I can tell you the exact day that it stopped being like that. October 12th, 1968."

Wait. October 12th. That's my...

"What? I don't understand. October 12th is my birthday. 1968, that's when I was born. I don't..."

He rolls his eyes, laughs. "For a girl who's got a 3.7 grade average in pre-med, you're pretty slow on the uptake." I still have no idea what he means. "Before we had you, it was just how you said it. When we were together, when everything was right, there was nobody else in the world but us. And I know it was the same for her."

He has to take another big gulp of water before he can go on. "But from the minute we first saw you – perfect beautiful little you – after that, I couldn't ever imagine the whole world disappearing. Because if it did, then you'd disappear too. And I never want to imagine a single minute without you in it. If you ask your mother, she'll tell you exactly the same."

I feel tears running down my cheeks as he says that, and I'm out of my chair and hugging him. I can't get any words to come out, but they're not necessary.

***

We don't talk much on the ride home. We're both lost in thought. When Dad parks the car, Mom is there, opening the front door, and she starts to ask how our day went. I don't give her the chance to talk; I run to her and throw my arms around her, and I hold on tight. I don't let go until she makes a sad little moan and wheezes, "Sara, honey, I can't breathe!"

I let her go, and she grabs my arms, stares hard at me. "What happened to you today?" I don't say anything right away, I'm concentrating on not crying again, but it's difficult. I feel a single tear roll down my cheek, but then I'm able to get control of myself. I'm just looking into her eyes, trying to see what Dad was talking about, trying to see in her what he saw in me today.

"I love you, Mom. That's all. I just wanted to make sure you knew." I can see it. It's there. It's always been there, I just never paid enough attention to really notice it in her before. "You do know, right?"

Now she hugs me back, just as tightly as I did a minute ago. "Oh, Sara. I know. Of course I know!" Out of the corner of my eye I see my father, standing by the car, and I don't think I've ever seen an expression quite so full of contentment as he's got right now. He watches me and Mom for a while, then, just when we let each other go, he comes up and grabs the both of us. We're there for what seems like a long time, holding each other and not noticing the cold at all.

Finally, after what might have been a couple of minutes or maybe an hour, I've lost all sense of time, Dad lets us go. He asks Mom, "Is Bob upstairs?" and she nods. "Sara, go get your brother. We're all going out to dinner. My beautiful family deserves a treat tonight."

***

It is a treat, too. Dad takes us to his favorite not-quite-fancy Italian place, he orders wine for everyone – even Bob is allowed half a glass.

I have to admit, it feels very strange to be drinking wine, like an actual adult, with my parents. When I'm at school, obviously, I don't have these thoughts. I'm twenty one years old. I'm in charge of my life, making real, important choices. I'm working hard, making serious progress on as adult a goal as I can think of. I'm in a real, serious relationship with a man I love. Then of course there are the damned nightmares, and the fact that I'm still even close to being in one piece after several weeks of them qualifies me as a functioning grown-up for sure.

Still, something happens to me when I come home from school, even now, even though rationally I should know better. It's not that Mom and Dad do anything, really, to make me feel that way – it's pretty much all in my head.

I realize that partly it's just the fact of sleeping in the same bed I've slept in since I was in kindergarten, and looking at the picture of Kermit the Frog that's been on my wall since 1977 or so as I fall asleep. Everywhere I look in my bedroom there's a reminder of my childhood. Especially the poor ratty, dog-chewed stuffed rabbit that's sitting on my bed right now. Good old Mister Pennington.

But right now, my father is looking at me very differently. He's been ever since lunch and I just now realized that's why. I guess he was right, when he said I'm slow on the uptake. What it is, is he's seeing me as really and truly an adult for the first time. Well, if he thinks I am, I certainly ought to be able to believe it myself.

I get more proof when we get home. Mom and Dad don't know it, but I learned years ago, when the conditions are just right and the heating vents in their room and my room are both open but the heat isn't actually blowing in either room, I can hear them quite clearly.

What I hear tonight, as they're getting ready for bed, is Dad telling Mom about his day with me. Then he tells her that he's thinking about putting off the big kitchen renovation they've been planning for the last year. He wants to save the money for something much more important that he thinks might be coming a lot sooner than he expected.

My wedding.

I don't know what to say to that.

I'm willing to bet that Mom and I have exactly the same expression on our faces right now, and that we both just went precisely the same shade of white. I don't know how I keep from fainting at the shock of hearing those words.

There's only one reasonable thing to do then. I jump out of bed and over to the thermostat, crank the heat as high as it will go and with the blast of hot air out of the vent, the voices of my parents are gone. I lay back down on my bed, grab Mister Pennington to me in a death grip, and try to put my father's crazy words out of my mind and fall asleep.

***

Two hours later I'm still clutching Mister Pennington, and Lumpy is snoring at the foot of the bed. I'm finally just now drifting off to sleep. The last thing that goes through my mind before I'm out is that, maybe, my father's crazy words might not be quite so crazy after all.

Chapter Ten

(December 23-25, 1989)

I wake up thinking of the color white. All I can figure is that I must have been dreaming about – well, what I overheard my father say last night. I can't remember precisely what was going on in the dream, but it's really not that hard to guess.

It seems unfair that I have to see everyone else's dreams whether I want to or not, but I have so much trouble remembering my own. I still haven't had any of those dreams since I've been home. I'm sure I'm not lucky enough to be done with them, but I am very grateful that I'm not seeing what Bob or my parents are dreaming about. I don't think I could handle that.

Speaking of Bob, when he sees me walk past his room on the way to the bathroom, he sits up on his bed, snorts, and starts humming "Here Comes the Bride." I freeze in my tracks. I'm completely at a loss – why would he be doing that? How could he know what I was dreaming about? He isn't having the dreams too?

I'm looking at him in total shock, and he's looking back at me like I'm from Mars. "What?" I growl at him.

He shakes his head in mock sadness. "You're not the only one who knows about the heating vents," he tells me. "Give me a little credit." Well, that's a relief. Sort of. I'm glad he's not having the same dreams I am – although I guess it would make sense in a way if he was. It would definitely be a genetic thing, then, something inherited. It would even – in a way – be comforting somehow to know I'm not the only one going through this. But on the other hand I wouldn't wish it on anybody, even my little brother.

Of course, now I'm wondering how long he's known about the vents.

Oh, God, what if he can hear what goes on in my room, as well as our parents' room? Was he listening in for hours on end when Beth was here last summer and we were up all hours of the night talking about everything and anything? That thought is almost more horrible than the nightmares.

OK, maybe it's not quite that bad. But it certainly doesn't make me happy. I try to come up with a witty reply but my brain lets me down, and all I can think of to say is: "Whatever, Bob," with as stuck-up and superior a face as I can manage before I continue on my way to the bathroom. Bob just laughs and starts humming again. This is definitely not the best way to start the day.

***

I really wish Beth was home, instead of up in Vermont skiing with her sister. I want to tell her what happened with my Dad, tell her everything he said. I want to know what she thinks about it all. But maybe it'll be better when I tell her in person. I can't even imagine what she'll say. I'm sure her initial reaction will be absolutely priceless.

But she is in Vermont, so I turn my attention to more pressing matters. Christmas presents, for one thing. I spend a good hour inexpertly wrapping all my gifts. I admit that I'm a little frustrated with my lack of skill at it – I'm planning to be a doctor, after all. I may end up doing surgery on actual live human beings, for God's sake. You'd think I wouldn't have so much difficulty applying wrapping paper to small square boxes, but I do.

I do finally get it all done, however badly, and after that I'm sitting in the kitchen and eating lunch. Mom walks in carrying the mail, and calls out to Bob that he's got a letter. I see it in her hand, and my heart skips a beat. It looks like my school's crest is in the spot where the return address should be.

"Mom, is that..." is all I get out before Bob comes running in. He takes the letter from her hand, and as he does I see clearly that it is from Crewe University. It has to be some kind of joke.

It's not. Bob tears open the envelope – a very thick envelope, by the way – and begins to read the letter out loud: We are pleased...early admission...class of 1994...

Dear God. He's going to be at college with me. He'll be in my dorm.

I take a deep breath. Then another. He's the biggest pain in the neck I know. But it would be totally crappy to spoil this for him, wouldn't it? It's a big deal, and he's got every right to be happy and proud. If I'm any kind of decent human being at all I'll respect that and be glad for him.

I am and I do. I get up and hug him – awkwardly, but it still counts. I tell him I'm thrilled and impressed and a lot of other things that, as I say them, I realize I do actually mean. He's my brother, after all. I may not be able to stand him most of the time, but that doesn't mean I don't love him.

***

At eight o'clock, Dad calls everyone into the living room. He's got the fire going nicely. The pizza he ordered got here a couple of minutes ago. And the VCR is warmed up with the annual triple-feature: Charlie Brown, the Grinch and then Year Without a Santa Claus. This is one thing Bob and I do agree 100% on – it wouldn't be Christmas without them.

It's a perfect evening. We watch Charlie Brown pick out his sad, scrawny little tree and learn the true meaning of Christmas; we watch the Grinch plot and scheme and then have his epiphany; we watch Heat Miser and Snow Miser do their big musical numbers, which is my favorite part from any of the shows.

Afterwards, we all drink hot chocolate and, following longstanding family tradition, we each open one small present. Dad makes out the best; his gift is from Mom, and it's a book-on-tape for the car. It's one of those Robert Ludlum spy novels he likes so much. Bob's is the most oddly appropriate, from me: a Crewe University t-shirt. Mom's isn't too bad, a woolen hat that Bob picked out for her. And I think mine is the most sentimental: Mom had a great picture of Beth and me at the beach last summer that she put into a cute little frame for me.

We won't open the rest of the gifts until Christmas morning, but it's nice to get just the one early. And now that we've done everything according to tradition, it's time for bed. It's going to be a big day tomorrow.

***

Sara is in a window seat, looking out over the wing of the plane. She's barely awake, watching the clouds fly by, looking forward to seeing her family, but missing Brian and wondering if she'll be able to see him over Christmas.

There's a sudden jolt; it must be turbulence, she thinks. Perfectly normal. Then another, and another and then the "Fasten Seatbelt" sign comes on. Sara wonders why there's no murmuring from any of the other passengers, until she looks around and sees that there aren't any. No flight attendants, either. The plane bucks up and down, and there are no announcements, no anything.

She unbuckles her seatbelt, and, hanging on to seats for balance as she goes, she makes her way up the aisle towards the cockpit. She can see all the way up there; the curtain that separates First Class from Coach is drawn aside, and the door to the cockpit is wide open.

As far as she can tell from her vantage point, there's nobody up there, either. She continues on, barely keeping her feet, until she's at the door and she can see there is no pilot, no co-pilot, no anybody. Apparently she's all alone on the plane, all by herself at 35,000 feet.

It makes perfect sense to Sara that she should sit herself down in the pilot's seat and put on the headset. It doesn't seem odd to her that when the radio crackles to life, it's Beth's voice she hears. Sara asks for instructions, advice, directions, but over the radio Beth has nothing helpful to tell her. "You've got to land that plane on your own!" is Beth's last word before her voice dissolves into static...

...she's still sitting, still looking out a window, but now Sara is in the back seat of a car. She runs her hands over the leather seats; she feels the warm air blowing from the heater. The car is very familiar, as though she's been in it before, and the driver is familiar as well – even only seeing the back of his head, she knows she's encountered him before. Outside the window, she recognizes the athletic complex on the South side of campus, and now the car's turning and then at the next block turning again. She follows the driver's head, knowing somehow that his attention is focused completely on the bus stop on East 107th street. Sara sees two people there, and she knows that the driver only expects, or wants, to see one.

She knows which of the two it is. She's a pretty girl with black hair, about Sara's own height or maybe an inch shorter, slim, no coat despite the cold outside, just a school sweatshirt. She's jogging in place to keep warm, and then she's past. Sara thinks she knows the girl, but she's not sure. The car makes the block again, and again the girl isn't alone, and the driver speeds past. Sara still can't be sure about the girl. The third time past, finally, she's alone, and the driver slows. Sara stares hard, not believing what she's seeing, not wanting to believe it...

***

I can't breathe. My eyes are open, but I can't see through my tears and I can't breathe. I'm coughing, my throat is all scratchy, I'm trying to get something up. I spit out – I don't even know what, something disgusting. I keep coughing, and finally with one very painful effort, the rest of it, whatever it is, comes up.

I can't see what it is, I can't really see anything. I try to wipe the tears out of my eyes, try to breathe deeply, try to block out the pain in my head. I get my feet under me, and I can barely stand. I don't feel steady at all; I hang onto the bed for support. I take one step and trip on something soft, and I'm just able to grab the bedpost and keep my balance. I look down, and through barely-open eyes, I see Mister Pennington on the floor.

His right arm has been nearly ripped off.

Bitten off, I realize suddenly, and not by Lumpy. By me. While I was sleeping. Because I must have stuffed Mister Pennington's arm into my mouth to hold back a scream.

No. God, no. Please. Please let it not be.

I don't know who I'm begging to, and they're not answering me anyway. I know exactly what I saw. Who I saw. It was Jackie, from the dorm. The guy is after her. He's picked her out for his next...

No. I have to do something. If it isn't already too late.

It can't be too late. I have to talk to her. I have to warn her. But how? My head is throbbing, and it's hard to think. I've got a phone in my room. I can call her. But I don't know her number. I don't even know how she spells her last name.

I need a moment. I open my bedroom door and walk out, right past Lumpy. He's staring up at me with what I think is worry. He rubs his nose up against the back of my leg, and the cold, wet feeling is a tiny bit of comfort.

I walk to the bathroom, drink a cup of water in one gulp, and with a painful retch I cough it back up, splattering all over the mirror. I try again, one sip at a time, and this time I keep it down. I don't think I can keep aspirin down, though, so I'll just have to live with the pain in my head for a little while.

Back to my room. The phone is right there. But how do I get her number? Who would know it? Would Mona? She's the RD. She has emergency contact numbers for everyone in the dorm. Will she be there? I hope so.

The phone rings ten times, and I'm just about to hang up when it's answered by a groggy voice. "Hello?"

"Mona?" I try to force my voice down, but I don't really manage it. I can hear how hysterical I sound.

"Who is this?" Her voice sounds a bit more alert.

"It's Sara. Sara Barnes. I need you to give me Jackie's phone number. Jackie, freshman Jackie, in room 201"

"Sara? What's going on?" I hear concern there now. I've got her worried. Good.

No. Not good! What am I going to tell her? "I – I only just realized this morning," I start, trying to think of something that will sound reasonable. "I'm – I'm missing a pair of jeans. I had my credit card in the front pocket, and I don't have them now. I think I was packing, and I left them in the laundry room and she was the next one there. I think she just took them and packed them by mistake. I wanted to ask her, before I go and cancel the card."

Now she's annoyed. "And you need to know right now, at seven-thirty in the morning on Christmas Eve?"

Yes! "I'm sorry about that. I just – I had a dream," well, that much is true, anyway. "I dreamed that somebody stole my card and ran up ten million dollars in charges and then the Visa people came and kicked us out of our house and repossessed my dog. I was pretty freaked out, and then when I couldn't find my card, well..." And Beth said that I wasn't imaginative. If only she could have heard that.

Mona sighs, and almost laughs. "You still could have waited an hour. But I understand. Let me go and get her number," she says, and a minute later she's back on the line. I make her repeat it twice, just to be safe, and I thank her. We wish each other a merry Christmas, and she hangs up.

There's a knock at the bedroom door, and then a moment later it opens. Mom and Dad are both standing there. Mom says, "We heard your voice. Are you OK?" From their expressions, somewhere between worried and annoyed, they heard most of what I said. Great.

"If you lost your credit card, it's not that big a deal. We'll just cancel it. You don't need to track down the girl from your dorm," Dad says. "Unless you think she stole it on purpose?"

"Oh, God, no! It isn't even about the credit card at all, I just didn't want Mona to think I was crazy," I tell them, my voice shaking. I'm not sure why I don't just keep on with the lie. "I've got the card, look," I say as I go over to my purse, on the floor next to my desk. I pull out my wallet, show them the card there all safe and accounted for. "See?"

"So what is it about?" Mom asks, looking much more worried now. Actually, I do know why I didn't let them think it was the card. Because they're not idiots, and they'd realize that there's no way I would be this upset, this much of a mess, over a stupid credit card. And then I'd have to tell them it was a lie anyway.

"I – I didn't want to say anything, but since you know – look, there was a girl who got abducted, it was in the paper and everything, it happened right near campus. This was a couple of weeks ago. And Jackie, the girl from my dorm..."

It comes back to me in a rush. I know she'll be on campus over the holiday. I overheard her talking about it. She wanted to keep up with her swimming, and her family lives nearby, only twenty minutes away from school, so she was going to take the bus over to campus during the break.

My parents are looking at me like they think I'm crazy. "Anyway, Jackie's going to be on campus, all by herself, right near where the girl got abducted. And last night, I dreamed – I dreamed that it was her."

Dad looks almost relieved at those words. I can tell what he's thinking: the dream upset me, but that's all it is, and now that I've talked about it I'll see how silly I was to get all worked up and I'll calm right down. "It was only a dream, honey," he says in what would normally be a soothing voice. Not now, though.

"No!" I shout it with so much force that even I'm freaked out. Mom and Dad look at me in shock. They've never heard that in my voice before. Neither have I. "It's not just a dream! I have to tell her, she can't go around by herself where somebody could hurt her, don't you understand?"

I should probably tell them the whole truth now, all of it. But I don't. What I did say is enough, though. They can see that I'm deadly serious about this. "Go ahead, call your friend," Mom says, avoiding my eyes. "I'll get breakfast going in the meantime."

They leave me to it. I close the door, and sit on the bed, staring at the phone. What do I tell Jackie? I think that what I told my parents is probably best. I stare at the phone some more. What if she's not there? What if...

Enough of this. I pick it up and start dialing. Four rings before a man's voice answers. "Merry Christmas!" is how he greets me. There's no grogginess in his voice; clearly Jackie's family are early risers.

"Hi. Is this – are you Jackie's father?"

"I certainly am," he answers. She's alive! She's OK! Thank God! He wouldn't answer like that if anything had happened to her.

"I'm Sara. I'm a friend of hers from school, I live right down the hall from her in the dorm. Is she around?" Please be there. Please.

I hear him calling out, "Jackie, pick up the phone. There's a Sara from school for you!" Yes. I breathe a huge sigh of relief. Maybe it's my imagination but the headache seems to have disappeared, just like that.

A few seconds later, another phone clicks on the line. "Sara?" Jackie says, and there's a second click as her father hangs up. "What's – why are you calling?"

It is pretty out of the blue for me to be calling, as far as she knows. "This is going to sound strange," and she's getting the heavily edited version, "but, did you see in the paper about the two girls who they found?" It'll be so much easier if she has.

"Ugh. That was horrible," she says. Yes it was. Yes it is.

"Well, it's been on my mind, I guess, and I remembered that you said how you're going to take the bus over to campus to do your swimming over the break," I tell her.

"Yeah," she answers, very hesitantly.

"I had – a nightmare, I guess you could say. I saw you, waiting at the bus stop there on 107th street, and a car came by and a guy just opened up the door and grabbed you right off the street." Please just buy that, don't question me about it.

"Seriously?" I can picture her rolling her eyes as she says it. I don't blame her.

"I know how it sounds." Believe me, I know. "But there is a guy who took those two girls, and they haven't caught him, and you probably will be all alone waiting for the bus. I just – I know what you're probably thinking, but I had to warn you before – if anything bad happened."

"You said it was just a nightmare." She doesn't sound quite as sure about it as she could be. That's something. But I haven't got her totally convinced yet.

She has to believe me. I don't know what else to say – and then it comes to me, out of nowhere. "Look. I never remember my dreams. I know this sounds like superstitious crap, but one of the only ones I do remember is, a couple of years ago I had a dream about my brother breaking his arm, and the very next day he got in a fight and, I'm not making this up, he got his arm broken." Not true, not one word of it. But I'm emotional enough, worried enough that she's got to believe it anyway. "Maybe it's nothing, but you read about those girls in the paper just like I did. There really is somebody bad out there." Bad isn't the word, but it'll do for now. "Please. Just promise me you won't go alone. Get somebody to go with you, borrow somebody's car and park right by the pool instead of waiting for the bus. Please?" Come on, Jackie. You have to listen to me!

"You're really worried I'm going to get hurt if I go by myself?" I've got her. I'm sure of it now. I did it!

"I am. Swear to God."

"OK. I promise. Tell you the truth, my mother wasn't thrilled about it either, but I blew her off. I thought she was just being silly."

"Maybe it is silly, I don't know." Even though I do know. "But better safe than sorry, right?"

She agrees. "Right. You know, it is nice that you were worried about me. Not everybody would have taken it so seriously." Yes they would, if they saw what I've been seeing. "Hey, Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you, too. See you in a couple of weeks." She hangs up, and I just sit there holding the phone for probably five or ten minutes, trying to wrap my mind around what just happened.

I saved her. I saved Jackie's life! I made something good come from these hateful goddamned nightmares!

What could be merrier than that? Now I'm ready for Christmas.

***

Despite my relief, I'm still shaky when I go downstairs for breakfast. I lost control in front of my parents, even if it was only for a minute, and that scares me – both because it's frightening on its own and also because of what they might think. I don't want them to spend all of Christmas wondering what's wrong with me.

I walk towards the wonderful smell of bacon and pancake syrup. Mom's got everything all ready and dished up. Bob, barbarian that he is, is already eating. I sit down across from him, but like a civilized person I wait for Mom to join us at the table before I pick up my fork.

"Mom, Dad, I'm really sorry," I say when she does. The pre-emptive approach seems like a good idea. "I – I know I kind of freaked out. But that nightmare, it was so real. I saw – Jackie's my friend, you know?" They're listening intently. "She lives twenty feet down the hall from me, I see her every day, and seeing – I don't even want to say it out loud. I've never been that frightened, I don't think."

Dad pats my hand. "I know. I saw on your bed, it wasn't Lumpy who bit your rabbit's arm off, was it? Did you even know you did that?"

"I did it in my sleep. That's how horrible it was. And it's been in the news, there really is somebody out there who kidnapped a girl, not too far from school. I felt like I had to warn her. And anyway, she told me her mother didn't want her going alone during the break, she was worried too."

Mom and Dad both nod at that. They wouldn't want me waiting alone at a bus stop in – well, definitely not the best part of town. Our campus itself is safe, but you only have to go a couple of blocks off in the wrong direction and it gets a little bit sketchy. And that's pretty much where I saw Jackie in the nightmare.

I wish I could tell them the rest of it. All of it. But what could they say? What could they do? Kat didn't really have anything helpful to say, and I've been wondering if I should have even told her.

If I were in Mom and Dad's place, what would I do? I'm not sure, but based just on this morning I think I might take me out of school and send me to as many doctors as it took to get some kind of answer.

I don't need that.

"I won't deny you gave us a good scare, honey, but I'm glad you warned your friend. It sounds like you did exactly the right thing."

"Thanks, Mom." I'm a lot less shaky now. I – finally – settle into breakfast, and with a stomach full of good food, I feel almost 100%. Which is good, because I want to be better than 100% when we go over to Brian's house later today.

***

We're in the car, on the way over to Brian's house. I've only talked to him once since the airport, and that was for maybe five minutes Friday night. I wish he'd been there for me this morning. I wanted him there, wanted him next to me, holding me. I wanted him to listen to me about the nightmare, to believe me, to know what I saw and how much worse it was than my parents or anybody else can imagine.

I have to tell him about it today. I don't want to spoil Christmas, but I need him to know. I need to not be the only one going through this. And I know exactly how selfish and childish that sounds, but I can't get through this by myself.

Something pops into my head; I had another dream last night. My own dream. I don't remember what happened, just the feeling. I was all alone, and I had to do something. I don't remember what it was, but it was something difficult, something I didn't know at all how to do, and there was nobody around except me to do it.

I know what my subconscious was trying to tell me, the same thing Kat told me. I believed it then, but it isn't true. I can't do it alone.

I need someone beside me – someone like – I don't know, maybe a co-pilot, I guess. And Brian is mine.

***

Brian's house is in a quiet neighborhood, maybe five minutes from the ridiculously huge Galleria at Forest Glen. We drive past the mall, and at one in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, the parking lot is full. Are there really that many people who wait until the absolute last minute to buy their gifts? Apparently so.

Brian's house, on Maplewood Street, is maybe a little bit bigger and, from the outside at least, maybe a tiny bit nicer than ours. It's two stories, brick, with a neatly-kept front lawn. At first glance, it looks like a good place to live. Dad heads up their driveway and parks next to a blue station wagon; I see two more cars parked in the open garage.

Just as I open the door and step out of the car, lights flicker on. They've got the whole front of the house decorated with tiny white lights. It's really pretty, but I can't help think that something's wrong, something's missing. I've never been here before, so I don't have any idea why I feel that way.

But then the front door opens, and I couldn't care less about what's wrong with the decorations. Brian's there. God, he's so beautiful! If his smile were any bigger, the top of his head might fall off. It's only with great self-control that I hold myself back from running over to him. I wait for my parents and Bob to get out of the car and we all walk up to the door together.

I can't believe what I see, as I walk up to him. He's wearing the loudest, most awful Christmas sweater I've ever seen. It's green with a big brown reindeer pattern. I can only hope that it was a handmade gift from an elderly relative and he's wearing it out of obligation. His eyes follow mine, and when I look back up his expression says very clearly: "I've already heard everything you could possibly say about this hideous sweater!" Which is probably true.

We're all dressed – at Mom's insistence – like we were going to a fancy, formal dinner. I'm wearing a long, dark green skirt that goes down nearly to my ankles, and a (surprisingly stylish) sweater Mom dug out of her closet because nothing else I own went with the skirt to her satisfaction. The only sign of the season is my earrings, tiny crystal Christmas trees, handmade by Mom's mother – my grandmother Lucy.

I throw my arms around Brian, but with my parents right behind me all I do is kiss his cheek and let him go much too quickly. My father extends a hand and Brian shakes it. "You must be Brian. Sara's told us – well, almost nothing about you," Dad says, but he's grinning as he says it.

"Yes, sir," Brian answers, keeping his calm. I feel Dad's hand squeeze my shoulder, and when I look up at him he looks back from Brian to me and quickly nods his approval.

A man and a woman who have to be Brian's parents welcome us into the house. Mom shakes Brian's hand. Bob shakes Brian's hand. Dad shakes Brian's father's hand ("Ben Alderson, good to meet you."), Brian's mother hugs but barely touches Mom ("Helen Alderson, we spoke on the phone?").

Brian's looks come mostly from his father; same nose, same brown eyes, same build. His father's wearing, if you can believe it, an even worse sweater – maroon, with a red-and-white Santa knitted on the front. He sees me staring in morbid fascination and shrugs.

"My eldest sister has far too much time on her hands since she's retired. But you have to admit they are festive." That's not the first word that comes to mind, but I smile and he shakes my hand. "Sara, I presume?" I nod. "Thank you for joining us. We're so glad you could make it" he says.

Brian's parents ask if we want anything to eat or drink. Bob, on his version of "best behavior," says, "Yes, please, thank you," and follows Brian's mother into the kitchen. His father ushers the rest of us into the living room, but Brian takes my hand and holds me back.

"I'll give Sara a quick tour of the house," he says.

"A quick tour. Your aunt and uncle will be back soon," his father tells him.

Brian mumbles something that might have been "Yes, Dad," and leads me up the stairs.

***

It's all I can do to peel myself away from him. Even with the mood-killing presence of his parents, not to mention mine and my little brother right downstairs, I've missed him so much, needed him so much. But I do, somehow, manage it.

I look around at his bedroom. It's about what I imagined. Very neat, no dirty clothes on the floor or empty soda cans in odd corners. There's a Phillies pennant on one wall, and a movie poster for "Star Wars" on another. He's got a little desk with one of those big "portable" computers with the tiny four-inch screen on it. It must weigh thirty pounds.

"It's from my father's office," he says when he sees me looking at it. "You can't do that much with it, but it was kind of useful in high school."

"And you can use it for weightlifting practice, too." He gets a good laugh out of that. "You have no idea how much I missed you." That's not true; I think I made it pretty clear just a minute ago.

"As much as I missed you. Have you been OK? Have you..."

My face falls; he doesn't need me to answer. "It was bad. The worst." He pulls me back to him, and just holds me. This is what I needed when I woke up today. I say, right into his ear, "It's OK. There's a lot I have to tell you. But this isn't the time." I was all ready to tell him, but suddenly it doesn't seem as urgent. "We can talk about it after. Let's enjoy Christmas. It's our first one together, we deserve it. Both of us." My heart skips a beat when I realize what I said, without even meaning to, but he doesn't seem to catch it.

I kiss him, and it's almost enough to make me forget about who's downstairs. Almost. I very reluctantly let him go. He straightens his horrible sweater, leads me out into the hallway. I stop in my tracks, pull him back into his room. I've just remembered what was bothering me about the house. "Where's all the decorations outside? The reindeer and all of that?" It was in his dream. I saw it all.

He knows instantly what I'm talking about. It's not a happy subject; I hear the dejection in his voice. "Dad used to put it all out before my brother went into the army. We haven't decorated like that since then. I guess I was just picturing it how I wanted it to be, instead of how it really is."

That's so sad! "I'm sorry," I say. "I really am." I grab his hand and squeeze it, and he seems to take heart from that. After a minute, we head back downstairs, still hand-in-hand.

His aunt and uncle have returned, and I'm introduced to them. There's Ken, the uncle, and Tamara, the aunt, and Bianca, their daughter, who looks to be about Brian's age.

I notice that my brother has noticed her. It quickly comes out that she's also a high school senior; she's only a month younger than Brian, but he started school a year ahead of her. Bob's attention perks up even more at that; it immediately gives him something in common with her. It doesn't hurt that she's very pretty; nearly as tall as Brian, long brown hair tied in a ponytail, cute figure. Luckily for her, she was spared a dreadful handmade sweater; her father was not so fortunate.

Brian's mother is thanking Mom for the gifts she brought. There's a good bottle of wine – or at least an expensive one. I don't really know much about wine, and I don't think Mom does either. And then she also brought a three layer chocolate cake, from the fancy bakery that she only goes to for special occasions.

All of his family seems very friendly, and genuinely glad to meet me. They ask me lots of questions, but politely, and they seem to actually be interested in my answers. All except his mother. She keeps looking over to me, but never quite meeting my eyes.

Dinner is served. It's fish, fish, fish and more fish. Calamari, shrimp, crab legs, salmon, even lobster. It's kind of overwhelming. And Brian's mother still keeps looking at me. I don't think I'm doing anything wrong. I haven't spilled on myself. I'm not talking with my mouth full or chewing with my mouth open. I'm being polite and friendly to everyone. I don't know what's bothering her.

Bianca asks me about being in pre-med, and I tell her a little about my classes and how I'm getting ready to begin the application process for medical school. "So you'll be in school another four years, and a resident for four years after that, before you'll have any time for a social life," Brian's mother says, with a definite edge to her voice. I'm not sure what she's trying to say.

"I hadn't thought of it exactly like that," I answer. "It'll be hard work, but I'll keep up with everything. And I've been talking with the Resident Director in my dorm all about it. She's in medical school now, and she's able to balance all the work with the rest of her life. I'm not worried."

She seems very unsatisfied with that. She makes another comment a little later about how people go to college and all the parties and activities distract from schoolwork and their grades suffer, and how it's easy to get "led astray." This, I only now realize, is what she thinks I'm doing to Brian. "Leading him astray." My Dad really was right about me being slow sometimes, wasn't he?

Brian's on a partial scholarship; he told me all about that. He needs to maintain a 3.0 grade point average to keep it. I've got exactly the same scholarship, so I understand why his mother is concerned about his study habits. "I don't think you need to worry, Mrs. Alderson. Brian's working as hard as anybody I know." I say it as respectfully and calmly as I possibly can.

"Well, he needs to keep that up, and not let himself get off track," she says, and now, finally, she does stare directly at me. I stare back, with what I hope is a polite face.

"My grades are fine," Brian speaks up. "They're better, actually, since – since I met Sara. She helped me get ready for finals. I would have been a lot more nervous without her," he says. Both his mother and I turn to look at him, and I see shock on her face. As mild as that was, I would bet real money that's the first time he's ever talked back in any way to his mother.

She looks like she wants to say something more – probably a lot more – but then she gazes around the table, and she goes a little bit red. I think she tuned out the fact that there was anyone at the table but her son and his distracting temptress of a girlfriend, and she's just now remembered she's hosting a tableful of guests. "I'm sure you're right," she says, standing up and picking up a couple of plates to take away. "Let's just clear the table. It's about time for dessert," she says, on her way to the kitchen.

***

Brian's mother doesn't really warm up to me during dessert. The wine – which I don't try even though it's offered to me repeatedly and I am really curious to know what a $120 bottle of wine tastes like, in the hope that not drinking will help to show what a sober, responsible young lady I am – doesn't do anything to relax her. I don't think anything will at this point.

It probably should have occurred to me much earlier that Brian almost certainly didn't have much of a social life in high school. I think it's safe to assume he never got into trouble, never stayed out too late, never did anything to alarm his parents. That party he dreamed about, he didn't tell me but I'm absolutely sure that he was "studying for the SATs with a friend" that night. I'm also sure that the party was a very rare event for him; it might have been the only one. It wouldn't surprise me at all.

Knowing all that doesn't really help much, unfortunately. I don't want to come between him and his parents, and if I'm thinking rationally about it, no matter how I feel about him we have only known each other for a few weeks. I can't expect him to turn his whole life upside down just for me.

We get through dessert, and coffee, and another hour of getting to know Brian's family. My brother has made a surprisingly good impression on Brian's cousin; he's managed to keep his weird side almost completely under control. I'm impressed. My Dad and his father seem to be getting along famously. They're ignoring everyone else and watching the Eagles game, talking back to the players on TV as though they were coaching the game. It's funny and sort of pathetic at the same time. Whatever makes them happy, I guess.

Brian and I sit next to each other in the living room, holding hands, trying not to draw his mother's attention to us more than it already is. We end up staying until the game is over; his father insists that my Dad can't miss a play. "They're trying to clinch a playoff spot!" he says, as though that explains anything.

The game finally ends. The Dads are thrilled that the Eagles won, and even Brian's mother has calmed down a little bit. We all get up to make our goodbyes, and I excuse myself – I have to run out to the car, I left Brian's gift in there. When I get back, he's got a gift for me, too. It's a very small box.

For just a moment, and I know how utterly crazy it sounds, my father's words – the ones I overheard through the heating vent – go through my mind. I wonder if – no. That is crazy. Beyond crazy.

We hand each other our gifts. I let him open his first. I put the Mike Schmidt photo in a frame, and he's speechless when he rips the wrapping paper open. He embraces me, but holds back from kissing me with his parents watching.

His father is in awe. He takes the picture from Brian, very gently, holding it the way you would hold a priceless relic. "Is that real? He really signed – you met him?"

My Dad gets that faraway look in his eyes. "We were two feet away from him. He's such a great man." The two of them are quite the pair. They're both staring lovingly at the photo; I think you could drop a bomb outside and they wouldn't notice it right now.

Brian takes a deep breath, and then looks down at the box in my hands. I tear off the paper, and it's a jewelry box. I slowly, carefully pull it open, and inside it – oh, my God.

It must have cost a thousand dollars. It's a necklace, with a very fine gold chain and – at one glance I know it's real, not just costume jewelry – a small, beautiful emerald. I don't believe he – I can't – it's the most amazing thing. My legs are shaking; I don't know how they're holding me up. My heart is racing, and I feel short of breath. I have no idea what anyone else is doing. His mother is saying something, and so is mine, but that's just noise.

"I thought it would set off your eyes," Brian says, and his is the only voice I can hear. He takes the necklace out of the box and I don't even realize I'm turning my head so he can put it on me until I've already done it. He drapes it around my neck, and I shudder at his touch. He closes the clasp, and the emerald hangs down, and I look at it.

It's perfect. He's perfect.

I turn back to him, look up into his brown, brown eyes, and I throw my arms around him. I feel the tears start to flow for the second time today and I bury my head in his neck. I'm not sure how long we're there like that. It could be forever. There's nowhere else I want to be.

My brother's voice brings me back to Earth. "Let us get a look at it," he says, and I very reluctantly let Brian go and turn to give everyone a better look at his gift. There's much ooh-ing and aah-ing, which is only right.

I turn back to Brian, and I whisper so only he can hear, "I love you!" Holding myself back right now, not kissing him for all I'm worth in front of God and his family and everybody, is the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life, and that's not an exaggeration.

***

I'm in my own little world for most of the ride home. It's only when we're back in our neighborhood, maybe five minutes from the house, that I check back in. I catch myself playing with my necklace; I've probably been doing it the whole time.

"Glad you decided to join us," Dad says when he notices me finally sitting up and looking somewhat alert. "That was some gift he gave you."

Then I'm lost again, back at Brian's house, opening the box, seeing it for the first time. "It was," I sigh. "I guess I'm in his heart, too. I mean – I knew how he felt, but..."

"He certainly made sure there was no doubt, didn't he?" Mom says. There's something in her voice. She's never seen me how I was today, and it's got her worried. I doubt it would be any comfort to her that I'm pretty rattled too.

"His mother didn't look too thrilled," Bob pipes up. She really didn't like me at all. I don't know what's going to happen with that. I feel so bad that I've made things difficult for him with his parents, or at least one of them.

"She was probably just surprised," Dad says, trying to be charitable. "His father liked you fine, honey," he tells me.

"Dad, I could have had three eyes and broccoli growing out of my ears for all he noticed, once you started talking about the Eagles with him!" He doesn't answer because he knows I'm right.

Mom laughs. "Well, I was impressed with your Brian. He was very polite, well mannered, and he obviously knows how to treat our only daughter. I don't think we could ask more than that." I couldn't ask for more, I know that.

***

If I dreamed last night, they were pleasant dreams. I wake up smiling, and when's the last time that happened? I wore my necklace to bed, and I don't envision myself taking it off for the foreseeable future.

I'm still so lost in memories of yesterday that it takes me fifteen minutes to remember it's Christmas day. Before I go downstairs – I'm sure Bob and my parents are already up and around – I pick up the phone and call Brian.

He must have been thinking of me, because he answers it on the first ring. "Sara!" It's not a question.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you, too!" Then I hear him talking to someone else, saying, "It's for me."

"That's the most beautiful thing I've ever gotten. And the most special," I blurt out. "And you were right. It does set off my eyes." I take a deep breath. "I hope – your Mom didn't give you too much grief about it, did she?"

He laughs. "Yeah, she did. But it's my money, and I wanted you to have something – like you said, special." More special than you could possibly know. "I'm glad you called – I mean, I'm always glad, but we're visiting my aunt and uncle for a few days, we'll be back Friday night, and Saturday – you know – it's..."

I hadn't even thought that far ahead. But he's right. And I can't imagine a better way to ring in the new year than with him. "New Year's Eve. It's a date. Let me make the plans. I'll take care of everything."

"That's great – anything you want to do, it's fine with me. Just – my parents are going to want me home right after midnight, so whatever we do..."

I figured that. Home by twelve-thirty or one o'clock, no doubt. "No problem. I'll work it all out. You go open your presents, have a great Christmas – you deserve it. You already made mine the best one ever."

"I love you, Sara Barnes," is all he says to that, and it's all I need to hear.

"I love you too, Brian Alderson," and it's all I need to say.

***

I'm sitting in the living room looking over the carnage. There's wrapping paper and ribbons and bows all over the floor. Lumpy is on the couch next to me, happily chewing on a brand new plastic bone. Everything is right with the world.

Everyone was very satisfied with their gifts. Bob got the single biggest item, a new computer which he'll be taking to school with him next fall – and which I may try to pull rank and steal from him once he's there, since it's better than mine. Mom got a gift certificate for a day of pampering at the ritzy day spa at the Galleria. She was pretty thrilled with that. The best thing Dad got was a new golf bag, which Bob and I picked out and we split the cost on (with a little help from Mom).

As for me, I didn't get any one really big thing but I had a very nice haul of presents. There were books, as usual. There was a portable CD player, which was the real treat, and to go with it, a $50 gift certificate to Sam Goody. I guess Dad didn't trust himself to guess my musical tastes of the moment, which was probably the right decision.

I thought the gifts were done, but as we're all just sitting quietly, digesting our dinner and watching the fire dancing in the fireplace, Dad delves into the drawer of the side table. He pulls out an envelope, hands it to me. There's – wow – I have to count it three times to make sure I'm not seeing things$500 in it! What was I saying about not having a really big gift?

There's a note as well. A slip of paper, anyway. It's got an address, and a date and time on it – December 31st, eight o'clock in the evening. "I don't suppose you recognize the address?" Dad asks me.

No, I don't.

"You've been there before. I guess you didn't remember the address, you had a lot going on that night."

What night? From the house number, the address looks like it's pretty far out. Where would I have gone that I ought to remember? Then it hits me. "You're kidding, right? You don't mean the Blue Duck Inn?"

The Blue Duck Inn is a very fancy, very expensive restaurant about a half-hour drive from us. They have a full seven course meal; you're there for probably three hours eating all of it. It's – "extravagant" is probably the best word to describe it. Mom and Dad took me there for my high school graduation. I still think about that meal sometimes.

"Your reservation is at eight o'clock, for two." I'm speechless. But they're not done. Mom pulls a box out from under the side table that I somehow failed to see earlier.

"One last gift for you," she says. I open it up and – my God.

It's a dress. But not just any dress – it's absolutely gorgeous. I can't believe my mother picked this out for me. It's silvery-gray, shimmery, and I can tell at first glance that it'll fit me perfectly. As I stand and hold it up I can see it'll look – well, I'm too modest to say how I think it'll look on me.

"I guess this means you really do approve of Brian," I say, my voice cracking.

"Yes," Dad says. "But it's more that we approve of you." I can't think of the right words to properly express my feelings. I'm not sure there are any. I hug them both, and I don't let go for a very long time. Maybe I don't need words after all.

Chapter Eleven

(December 26, 1989 – January 10, 1990)

The morning after Christmas I wake up refreshed. I didn't have the nightmare; I didn't have any dreams at all as far as I can remember. Just peaceful sleep. But there is something nagging at me, and when I go down to breakfast I have to ask.

"I love it – don't get me wrong. But that's a big deal, the Blue Duck Inn." $500 is a ridiculous amount of money to give me to spend on a date. And also, in the back of my mind, I wonder how jealous Bob is about it. Not that I'd ever tell him that.

"To tell you the truth, honey," Dad says, "The reservation was for four originally. I made it months ago. But after our little talk on Friday, well, I discussed it with your mother and we agreed..."

Mom picks up where he left off. "We wanted to take you back there for your twenty-first birthday, but you were away at school. And I don't know what got me thinking about it, but you never got to go to your prom, remember?" Do I remember? I give her a disbelieving look as I rub my belly. Dad grimaces just a bit – he remembers as well as I do – but then he presses on.

"So we thought you ought to have the chance to dress up, have a classy night out with your boyfriend," he says. I'm pretty lucky, aren't I? How many other parents would do that?

"Thank you," is all I can think to say, and it seems very inadequate but it's the best I can do. "What are you guys going to do?"

"The McGuires are having a party," Mom says, "and they've invited us," That sounds pretty good. Mom is friends with Mrs. McGuire so she'll be happy. They've got a big-screen TV in their basement rec room where Dad and Mr. McGuire can watch whatever game is on and yell back at it, so he's set. And they've got three teenage daughters still living at home, so Bob should have someone to talk to. It seems like everyone will be having a good time New Year's Eve.

***

The rest of the week seems to pass by incredibly quickly. I don't really do much. I sleep late every day. I spend hours by the fireplace reading. On Thursday at the supermarket I run into a high school friend, Belinda Montgomery. We spend an hour catching up, which is very pleasant. It's the most restful, relaxing week I've had in a long while.

The very best thing of all is, I don't dream.

And now it's Saturday night. Mom took me out to get my hair done and for a manicure. I feel a little ridiculous being fussed over all day, but I have to admit that the end result is worth it. At six-thirty I'm finally dressed and all made up. Obviously I'm wearing the emerald necklace; I haven't taken it off except in the shower since Brian gave it to me. I've put on the diamond earrings that Mom forced me to borrow from her, there's nothing else left to do.

I take one final look in the mirror. I don't recognize the person looking back at me. "Who are you?" I ask her, but she doesn't answer. She looks like the older, prettier, more sophisticated sister that I don't have. I turn my back on her and go downstairs. I wonder if I'll see her again.

Mom and Dad are waiting for me, and they're both speechless. Mom looks like she's about to cry. I see that they've got the camera out; I should have expected that. Bob comes down the stairs, and he looks at me. He seems confused. "Who's she?" he asks Mom and Dad. Then he looks back at me again, really stares. "Holy crap."

"Thank you, Bob," I answer. I take it as a compliment, even if it really wasn't. After that, nobody says anything for a couple of minutes, until the sound of a car rumbling up the driveway breaks the silence. Headlights shine in the window. Then the car goes quiet and the lights go out, and a moment later the doorbell rings. Dad opens the door, and Brian's there, flowers in hand.

Roses, of course. Red, of course.

He sets eyes on me and his jaw drops. He keeps opening his mouth to try and say something, but nothing comes out. It's all I can do to keep from running over to him. This moment is what I've been thinking about all week long.

I'm not sure how long we all stand there with nobody speaking or moving. Finally, Mom breaks the spell. "Brian, come over here, I want to get a picture of you two looking so nice."

Brian comes over to me, and I put my arm around him as Mom fiddles with the camera. I realize this is the first time I've seen him properly dressed up. He's very handsome in his dark blue suit and his yellow tie. I wouldn't be surprised if that's the only tie he owns.

Mom ends up taking what seems like a whole roll of pictures before Dad mercifully steps in front of the camera. "Betty, they probably want to go already."

I hug Dad, kiss him on the cheek. "Thanks, Dad. For everything."

Brian shakes Dad's hand. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Barnes. Sara told me..."

Dad scoffs. "It's our pleasure. "You just go out and have a wonderful time tonight," he says.

"We will, Dad," I assure him. "And don't worry, I'll be home by one at the latest." That isn't my choice; Brian has to be home by one-thirty. If it was up to me – well, I don't know when or even if we'd get back tonight.

"We probably won't be," Mom says with a laugh. "Not if tonight is anything like Juliet McGuire's parties usually are." I wonder if Mom would be telling me that if I hadn't told her that Brian absolutely had to be home by one-thirty? On second thought, I'm not sure I want to know!

***

Brian walks me out to the car – a dark blue or possibly black Volvo – it's hard to tell in the dim moonlight. He opens the passenger door for me, and as soon as he's in the driver's seat and his door is closed, I lean over and kiss him.

It doesn't go on nearly long enough; I very reluctantly pull back, and we drive off. He's still unable to find words to tell me how he thinks I look tonight. In the end the best he can do is "I thought you looked beautiful the night we met. But right now, you..." before he trails off.

"You don't look so bad yourself," I tell him, and then we chat about what we've been up to the last few days. It's not until we're nearly to the Inn that I broach an unpleasant subject. "Your Mom still doesn't like me, does she?"

He sighs. "It's not you. She wouldn't like anybody, I don't think. I mean, you could be..." He lapses into thought. I can almost hear the wheels spin as he tries to think of someone his mother would consider an acceptable girlfriend. "You could be," he finally says, after much consideration, "I don't know, Princess Diana, and your Dad could own ten castles, she'd still find something wrong with you."

I burst out into giggles. Princess Diana? How on Earth did he come up with that? I can't stop laughing. "My Mom has a videotape of her wedding," he says defensively.

"Well," I say when I finally settle down. "She's married and she's got two kids. And she's ten years older than you. Of course your Mom would have a problem if you brought her home." That sets Brian off, which gets me giggling again, and neither of us can stop until we've gotten to the Inn and parked the car.

The Blue Duck Inn used to be a farmhouse, years ago, but it's been a restaurant since at least before I was born. Dad's been taking Mom here for their anniversary every other year or so. From the outside, it doesn't look like the fanciest restaurant for a hundred miles. The moment we walk in the front door, though, it's like stepping into another world.

The lighting is dim, but somehow warm at the same time. The waiters are all in tuxedos, the waitresses in long black dresses. There are paintings along the walls – landscapes, mostly, in muted colors. And the smells – there are a dozen aromas that seem like they shouldn't go together, but they somehow do. I realize that I'm salivating.

We step up to the Maitre'd. He takes one look at us. "Miss Barnes?" I nod. "Please give my regards to your father," he says as he leads to our table.

"You remember him?"

The Maitre'd looks scandalized that I asked. "I remember every patron who honors us with his custom. Especially those who do us the honor of doing so regularly" he says. I guess for a place like this, a visit every two years or so probably does count as "regular."

He pulls out my chair, and I sit. Brian waits until I do to sit down, and the Maitre'd hands him the wine list. There are no menus at the Blue Duck Inn – I'm glad I told Brian what to expect on the way here. It's very simple – you eat whatever the chef has decided to serve.

Brian hands the wine list over to me, but I don't need it; I wouldn't know the first thing to look for anyway. Dad told me what wine to order. I assume that when he called to change the reservation, he must have spoken to the – whatever they call the wine expert. I know there's a fancy word for it, but I don't have any idea what it is.

I look around, but it's difficult to really see any of the other tables very clearly. I don't know how, but they've done some real tricks with the lighting and the acoustics. You can see and hear everyone at your own table perfectly, but you can barely see or hear anything else. It's easy to imagine that Brian and I are the only ones in the whole place.

For a while we just stare at each other. He's overwhelmed, and I can't really blame him. After a while, I order the wine, exactly what Dad told me, and then the first course arrives: vanilla sorbet with mint. "To properly clear the palate," the waiter explains as he sets it down.

We clear our palates and then the wine comes, brought not by the waiter but by – if I remember right – the wine steward. He opens it very efficiently, and sets the cork down atop a napkin on the table. Brian and I both look at it and then at each other – neither of us know if we're supposed to do anything with it, so we just sit there and wait for the steward to do something. He comes over to my side of the table. "Would the lady prefer to sample the bottle?"

Yes, the lady would.

He holds the bottle to me so I can see the label. It looks like what I ordered, and I nod. He pours just a swallow into my glass, and – even though I feel ridiculous – I do what I've seen a hundred times in movies and on TV. I swirl the wine around in the glass, sniff it, and only then take a tiny sip.

And now I know what a $120 bottle of wine tastes like. It's very good. I don't have the vocabulary to describe it any better than that. The steward asks, "Shall I?"

I answer, "Yes, please," and he fills my glass and then Brian's. He then pours the remainder of the bottle into a crystal decanter and leaves it for us.

I raise my glass. "Here's to dreams coming true," and in the instant before he clinks his glass to mine, I add, "the good ones, anyway."

We both sip our wine. I don't have too much to compare it to, but it really is excellent. Brian's smiling at me. "If you're going to be making the big doctor money, you'll have to get used to this," he says.

"It's like your mother said on Christmas Eve," I say. "It'll be nine or ten years before I'm making any kind of doctor money at all, and that's if everything goes perfectly from now until then," I answer. He gives me a blank look; he doesn't recall that part of the conversation. I can't blame him; there was a lot going on that day!

"It's not just med school. That's four years, is that what you're thinking?" He nods. "There's residency after that. Usually it's in a hospital. You get to work eighty hours a week, maybe more, for not much money. That's three more years, maybe four depending on if I want to go into a specialty. It's a long road."

Wow. I didn't really give it much thought when Brian's mother talked about it, but it feels so much more real hearing the words come out of my own mouth.

The last few weeks I've been thinking one night at a time, just trying to get through finals and cope with the nightmares. But even before that I've always thought one step at a time: finish this paper, meet that deadline. I haven't been looking at the big picture. "It's kind of a lot to think about, when I put it that way, isn't it?"

Brian agrees. "I guess we better enjoy tonight, then." Fair enough. I'm all for that!

Our first course arrives. It's caviar, which I've never had before. I have to admit that I close my eyes as I take the first bite, but it's – well, surprisingly good.

That's followed by a whole succession of things I never imagined I'd eat, or never heard of before, period. There are oysters, there are truffles, there are more kinds of mushrooms than I knew existed, and that's the less exotic portion of the meal.

Brian is very game; he follows my lead and eats everything put in front of him. He honestly seems to be enjoying it, too. As the escargot is cleared away, I finally tell him what happened the morning of Christmas Eve. "You saved her life," he says in an awed voice. "You really did." And he takes my hand and stares at me with wonder in his eyes for the longest time. A girl could get used to that.

Dessert comes and goes so quickly I almost don't notice it. The waiter is still clearing it away – a honey and apple tart with handmade cinnamon-ginger ice cream – when the lights brighten, and suddenly we're surrounded by twenty other tables.

The Maitre'd wheels out a cart with a small TV set on it, turns it on, and the voice of Dick Clark counting down the final minutes of 1989 fills the room. I had no idea it was almost midnight. Another waiter deposits two tall, fluted glasses on our table, and whispers, "The Governor's wife was very insistent," nodding towards the TV. Over across the room, I can see – it definitely is the Governor!

At two minutes to midnight, our glasses are filled with champagne, and I get up, walk over to Brian's side of the table. He stands as well. Dick Clark counts the seconds, and we join the toast with everyone in the room as the New Year arrives. And then, finally, I do what I've wanted to do, needed to do, since Christmas Eve. I throw my arms around Brian's neck, and in front of God and the Governor and everyone, I kiss him for all I'm worth.

***

Brian has to be home on time, under pain of – he's not sure exactly what, but he doesn't want to find out. So, very reluctantly, we request the check and we're back in the car by twenty minutes after midnight. As we drive away from the Inn, I have a brilliant idea. The McGuires live about halfway between my house and Brian's. My parents and Bob will almost certainly still be there, so I can go home with them. And Brian and I get an extra half hour together.

We enjoy our extra half hour, although not as much as we might have done if the car's windows were tinted. At just after one o'clock, we very reluctantly make our goodbyes. Brian walks me to the door, which is unlocked, and sees me inside. I kiss him one more time, and then I stand in the doorway and watch him back to the car and until he's driven out of sight.

I stand there a few minutes more, completely lost in thought. "Hello in there!" my Dad's voice says from behind me. "I wondered if you might have him drop you here. Come on, I want to show my beautiful daughter off," he says, and he leads me into the still-hopping party.

"Juliet, look who decided to join us!" Dad says to Mrs. McGuire, a very tall, dark-haired woman whose actual age I can't begin to guess. Considering her oldest daughter is thirty, she's got to be at least fifty herself, but she definitely doesn't look it. She gives me a good once-over.

"I don't think I've met her before. I thought you only had the one daughter, Howard?" Well, I didn't really recognize myself in the mirror earlier tonight, did I? And to be fair, she's had more than a few drinks. Dad, though, doesn't want to play fair. He catches my eye, and he's got a playful look in his.

"Oh, no. But we don't usually like to talk about Gretchen," he says, giving me a quick wink. I almost lose it on the spot. Gretchen? If he's going to pass me off as my nonexistent older sister, at least Dad could have come up with a better name than Gretchen! But I play along for a few minutes until Dad finally takes pity on Mrs. McGuire and tells her the truth.

It is a compliment, I guess, to be mistaken for someone older and more mature than I really am. Right?

***

It's noon on New Year's Day, and I'm the only one in the house who's awake. Bob was just tired out, but both Mom and Dad are suffering the effects of the McGuire family's liquor cabinet. I don't expect to see them until dinnertime.

I call Brian and we talk for half an hour about nothing in particular; just hearing his voice makes me happy. Then I call Beth, in hopes that she's home from her ski trip. She isn't. Her mother tells me that she won't be back until Friday. I tell her mother to tell her that I'll try to call back over the weekend, and that I've got plenty of news for her.

I'm bursting to tell her about last night, about my necklace, about what happened with Jackie. There are moments when I want to just start shouting about everything that's going on, everything I'm feeling, to whoever will listen. I can honestly say that's something I've never felt before.

I'm right; it's dinnertime when Mom and Dad make their first appearance of the day. I took the initiative and ordered pizza, and they're very grateful. Dad thanks me for the brilliant idea of going over to the McGuires last night, and for driving everyone home safely. Mom thanks me for the foresight to order food. Bob doesn't thank me for anything, but he gives me a quick look that I interpret as thanks, whether or not it really is.

I go to bed early, around ten o'clock. I'm out almost the instant my head hits the pillow...

***

...Sara is standing in a dining room; she recognizes it immediately. She was here only a few days ago. Christmas Eve.

She recognizes the three people at the table: Brian, and his parents. Their faces are all red; they've been arguing for a while already. Sara needs no special knowledge to guess what the argument is about. "You were going to buy a car this summer!" his mother shouts, pounding the table with her fist.

"I'd rather see her face like it was on Christmas Eve than have some stupid used car!" Brian shouts right back, and Sara feels her heart skip several beats...

...she's no longer in the dining room, but in the back seat of a very familiar car. The driver, too, is familiar. Sara recognizes the neighborhood outside the windows; it's on the edge of campus, near the swimming pool. The bus stop on East 107th street looms up and then is past in a moment, and there's no one waiting there. Again and again the car makes the block, and again and again the bus stop is deserted...

***

I wake up with a feeling of – is it relief? Definitely. Jackie really did listen to me, didn't she? She hasn't been at the bus stop. She's safe. I got it right, I did exactly what I was – supposed to do? Meant to do, maybe?

I float through the day, and the next. I have another dream, just sitting in the car circling endlessly, on Thursday night, and the feeling of relief from that takes me straight through the weekend. The only complaint I have is that I haven't been able to talk to Beth yet. It turns out that she was only home for an hour on Friday before she left again. She went to visit her sister Maggie, who just had a baby in October. I give up on the prospect of talking to her before we get back to campus next week.

On Sunday, Brian comes over for a couple of hours. We take Lumpy out for what's probably the longest walk of his life. Of course Lumpy loves Brian; he jumps on him the minute he steps out of the car. I knew he would.

We walk all around the neighborhood, neither of us feeling the cold. I tell him about my dreams. I ask him if what I saw was true, that he took the money he was saving up for a car of his own to buy my necklace.

"Yes," he answers simply. I kiss him in the middle of the street and I don't let him go until Lumpy nearly pulls me off my feet chasing after something that almost certainly isn't a squirrel.

"You know you're going to have to top that for Valentine's Day," I say with a laugh when he catches up with me and Lumpy. I can see from his expression he knows I'm joking, but I don't want to just leave it at that.

What he did was extravagant, and I love it, but I don't want him feeling like he has to do that at every occasion. "Seriously," I say, "I don't expect anything for Valentine's, or my birthday, or next Christmas either. You're set until 1991, OK?"

The look he's giving me right now – he's stunned. I don't know why – oh.

Oh.

I realize what I said, and how I said it. So casually. I said it without thinking, like I just assumed we'll be together not just a month from now, but a year from now. Which – well, I do. I did the same thing Christmas Eve; he didn't hear it then, but he certainly did now. I'm glad he did, too

***

Sunday is the last time I see Brian over break; I've got to spend Monday and Tuesday getting ready to fly back to Cleveland, back to school. Wednesday morning isn't very far away. And anyway, according to Brian, he pushed his luck about as far as it would go just borrowing the car to come see me for part of the afternoon.

I have another one of the car dreams Sunday night, but nothing else remarkable happens over break. I fight with Bob most of the day on Monday. My grades arrive in the mail Tuesday morning, and they're pretty much what I expect – straight A's, except for a B in Physics, which I'm thrilled about. I get overly emotional with Mom and Dad at dinner that night when it hits me that it'll be the last dinner I'll have with them until May. Wednesday morning Mom drives me to the airport and sees me off.

As I settle into my window seat on the plane, I think it's been, hands down, the best Christmas and the best New Year's I've ever had. I can't wait to see what comes next...

Chapter Twelve

(January 10-13, 1990)

It's two o'clock when I walk into my dorm room. I think I might be the only person on the whole floor right now. Beth is coming back tonight, though, and I recall a few of my floormates talking about coming back from break today as well, so I won't be alone for long.

I leave the door open so I can hear any signs of life down the hall, and I unpack my suitcase and shove it in the back of the closet. Then I lie down on the bed and stare at my necklace. The whole flight back I was thinking about it, and I came to the conclusion that I needed to do something more to properly thank Brian for it. He comes back Friday, and I've got a little plan to surprise him when he does.

It's going to involve a quick shopping trip downtown tomorrow, and it's also going to require some help. And down the hall I can hear the voices of the two people who can provide it.

I walk all the way around the floor, over to room 220, and I poke my head in to see Jane and Jessica unpacking. It really is uncanny. Except for their hair – Jessica is very, very blonde, while Jane's hair is maybe a shade darker brown than mine – they look so much alike that they could be sisters. I ask them about their holidays, they ask me about mine, and then I get down to business. There's something they know how to do that I need to learn for my little plan to work. I put my hand on their doorknob, and with my most innocent smile I ask, "Can you show me how to pick these locks?"

***

After a surprisingly small amount of teasing Jessica teaches me how to do it, using only a credit card. She watches me practice a couple times until I've got it down. It's disturbingly easy. She wishes me luck using my newfound skill. Jane warns me that if I ever decide to use it to play a joke on them, I can expect "massive retaliation."

They don't need to worry. I'm not the practical joking type. Besides, I've seen their idea of retaliation – they were responsible for all of Mark Bainbridge's possessions ending up on the roof of the dorm last spring. I'm not messing with them.

I take a walk over to the bookstore and pick up some of the textbooks for this semester, but other than that it's a very quiet afternoon. I'm just sitting on my bed, flipping through the text for Vertebrate Biology when Beth arrives. She drops her luggage on the floor and announces to me that she's starving, she's buying me dinner at Brandywine's and we're leaving right now.

It takes Beth barely ten minutes to hit all the highlights of her holiday; she's done by the time we sit down to eat. She leaves a lot out; she's clearly burning to hear my news, almost as much as I'm burning to tell it.

It takes me the entire meal and two bottles of wine to get through everything. She's blown away by my necklace. "I have to admit it, that first night after you two met, I was dead wrong," she tells me. When I mention what my Dad said about saving up for my wedding, she nearly spits out a mouthful of wine. She laughs at Brian's mother hating me and she demands to see photos of me from New Year's Eve.

"Don't worry," I assure her. "My Mom took plenty. She said she'd make copies for me and send them as soon as she gets them developed."

After all that I tell her about Jackie, and I'm glad I waited until the end for it. Between the wine and all the good news, she doesn't freak out nearly as much as she would have if I'd told her that part first. She's still rattled by it, though, and the fact that I was able to warn Jackie doesn't seem to ease her mind nearly as much as it did mine.

"It's too close. That means he's here, he could be outside right now, driving past us." I feel like the room just got about twenty degrees colder. "Doesn't that bother you? Doesn't it scare the hell out of you?" Well, it didn't until just now.

I take a big sip of water to give myself a moment to think. Then I tell her the truth. "I was so focused on Jackie herself, I didn't think about it past that." What she said should have been obvious all along, but until she said it, I honestly didn't give it a thought.

"Yeah, I can understand that. You must have been going out of your mind when you woke up." She's looking at me a little warily now, as though she expects me to have a meltdown right in the middle of the restaurant. I can't really blame her.

And she's right – "going out of my mind" is a pretty accurate description of how I felt. "I bit the arm off of my stuffed rabbit in my sleep, that's how freaked out I was." She doesn't seem surprised. She looks like she's got something more to say, but she catches herself. "What? What are you thinking?"

She won't say. "It was a stupid thought, it's not worth mentioning."

"I thought we didn't keep secrets?" As soon as I say that, I wish I hadn't; I'm not at all sure I do want to hear what she doesn't want to say.

She drains the last of her wine in one swallow. Now I know I don't want to hear it. "I don't want to spoil our evening, but – have you thought – if he gives up on Jackie – what's he going to do then?"

Oh, my God. There's something else I haven't given a thought to. "I should have, but – no, I haven't." I realize that I'm holding very tightly onto the edge of the table and I'm not meeting her eyes. I take a deep breath, and then another, and I drink more of my water. I feel slightly calmer and I tell her about the dreams I've had since Christmas Eve, the car driving around endlessly, round and round the bus stop.

"Maybe," Beth says in a very careful tone, and now she's the one not meeting my eyes. "Maybe he can't give up on her. Maybe he'll just keep driving by that bus stop every day because he can't bring himself to change his pattern. Maybe he's stuck."

I'd love for that to be true, and I'm trying to put it out of my mind that if she really believed it she'd have looked me in the eye while she said it. I just nod along with her. I take a long time to answer, and there's no confidence at all in my voice when I finally do. "Yeah, that could be. That could definitely be."

Thankfully, neither of us says another word on the subject after that. In an effort to put it out of my mind – and hers – I tell Beth about my plan for surprising Brian on Friday when he comes back. It seems to work.

"That's something I would do. I'm glad I'm finally rubbing off on you," she tells me, and she sounds genuinely impressed. "I'm so proud of you!" I thought she might be.

***

...Sara is standing in a dorm room, which she instantly recognizes as her own. She sees herself standing in front of the closet, looking at herself in a mirror. Dream-Sara is wearing a skirt several inches shorter than anything the real Sara owns or has ever contemplated owning, and a sweater at least two sizes too tight. "Come out with me, you need to get out more," dream-Sara says, and the real Sara sees she's speaking to Beth. Who's sitting at the desk, hair unwashed, wearing a shapeless sweatshirt and banging away on an old manual typewriter.

"I can't. I've got to finish this paper. It's supposed to be five to ten pages, and I've only written twenty so far," Beth says, turning her attention back to the typewriter...

...and then Sara finds herself in the back seat of a car, driving up to the bus stop on East 107th street. The driver parks just beyond the stop and gets out. Sara watches as the man, so very familiar to her, examines the area around the stop. He peers into trash cans, carefully studies the bus schedule on the pole mounted by the curb. He looks in all directions, searching for something that isn't here. Something Sara knows isn't going to be here. Something that, Sara knows, he knows isn't going to be here...

***

"He knows. He knows," someone is muttering. It's me. The words are coming out of my mouth. But who knows? What do they know?

It comes to me all at once. It's exactly what Beth said at dinner last night. What happens when it gets through to this guy that Jackie's never going to be at that bus stop? I'm afraid to find out, but I'm much more afraid that I'm going to.

I don't have the heart to tell Beth about what I saw – and if I'm being honest I don't want to think about it myself. I don't know what I can do about it right now anyway, so my plan is to keep my mind on things I can control. And at the moment that's a short list: breakfast, shopping and seeing Brian tomorrow.

***

Against my better judgment I do tell Beth about last night's dream, finally. We're back in our room and it's nearly eleven o'clock at night. She's angry that I waited until we're getting ready for bed to drop it on her and I have to admit she's right to be. "I've been pushing it out of my mind all day long," I say. "And I didn't want to upset you." I know that sounds like an excuse, and I guess it is. But it's also true. It's not like there's anything she can do about what I'm seeing any more than I can.

"I'm probably going to have nightmares about it too, now," she says.

"I'll be the first one to know if you do," I tell her. It's a bad joke at an inappropriate time, but sometimes that's the best way to break the tension. Sure enough she laughs, a lot harder than the joke deserved. That only lasts for a minute, though, then she's serious again. Something else has occurred to her.

"You saw what I dreamed last night too, didn't you?" She's not going to let me weasel out of it, either. "Sara Barnes, you tell me!"

I can't even lie and tell her I don't remember, because she knows I remember all these dreams I'm seeing. It's only my own I forget in the morning. "I don't want to see it," I tell her, just like I told her before Christmas. "What's going on inside your head ought to be private. I hate that I'm seeing it."

She softens a bit; she can see that I mean it. "I know you do. But," and now there's just a hint of a smile there, "you're dodging the question. I don't even know what I dreamed about, and you do. How fair is that? All I remember is clothes that didn't fit right, and when I woke up my fingers hurt."

I have to tell her, don't I? So I do.

"I guess I really am jealous of you," she says after I finish. "What else can it mean?" That's extremely high praise, coming from Beth.

***

I don't dream, as far as I can remember, and I don't see anyone else's dreams. I wake up well-rested and ready to face the day. I'm especially glad about that, since this is the day my boyfriend will be back. His flight is supposed to arrive at one-thirty in the afternoon, and I call the airline at noon to confirm it's on schedule, which it is. I go back to the card I've been trying to finish writing all morning. I have to get it exactly right. I pick up where I left off.

"Your Christmas gift is the best and the most special one I've ever received. I've thought and thought about what I can give you in return, and I know now what it will be. I want to be your best, most special Christmas present. This year, and every year..."

I read it back over, several times. I underline the "I want." I think that says it perfectly. When I'm finished, I put the card in the envelope and seal it. I get everything else I need and head down to the lobby.

I stand right by the door and look over towards Allen House. I'm waiting until I see someone heading over there so I can follow them into the building. It takes ten minutes, but finally I see three people, all bundled up, walking that way and I make my move. They're all too preoccupied with getting out of the cold to notice me sneaking in right behind them – it's even worse now than it was in December, which doesn't seem like it should be possible.

I go around to the back stairs and head up to Brian's room. The credit card trick works just as easily as it did the other day and I go inside. I take the Christmas card with the note I wrote and tape it to the outside of the door. Then I go inside and I lock the door behind me.

I take off my coat and all the rest of my winter gear, and I don't even realize I'm folding everything and hanging it up neatly until I've done it. Some habits run really deep, I guess. When that's finished, I take off everything else I'm wearing – of course I fold all that up, too – and I get properly dressed for the surprise. I lie down on his bed to wait.

It's almost three o'clock when I hear footsteps right outside the door. I hear Brian's voice muttering "what the heck?" I hear the card being taken off the door and opened. There's nothing for probably a minute, which feels to me like an hour, then there's the key in the lock, the doorknob turning, and there he is. There's my boyfriend, who I love, looking at me with a mix of confusion, amazement and desire on his face.

What he sees is me in nothing but the black lacy underwear from the Victoria's Secret "naughty nighttime" collection I bought yesterday, and a Christmas bow tied around my neck. I'm lying in what I hope is a very seductive pose. The sight has him speechless, which is exactly how this was supposed to go.

"Did you read the card?" All he's capable of is a barely perceptible nod of the head. "Good," I tell him. "I meant every word." The confusion slowly disappears from his face, and I repeat, just to make sure he's got the point: "Every single word."

He belatedly realizes that he's still standing in the doorway; without taking his eyes off me, he reaches back, pulls the door closed and locks it. And then I show him just how much I meant everything I wrote.

***

It's nearly eight o'clock. Brian's just now nodded off, and I'm completely – not just exhausted, but drained. In the very best possible way.

Our first time, that first night in my room, my bed, it was something like this. But this was – more. So much more. I don't know any better way to say it. That first night, we had a connection, and I needed him and I lost myself in the moment.

Today, now – it's not just "a connection" anymore. I love him, but it's not even just that. I trust him, more than I've ever trusted another person, more than I ever thought I could trust another person.

And I gave myself to him. Not just my body – that was the easy part – but everything else as well. I gave him my heart and my soul. And he gave me his heart and his soul in return. There were no fears, no worries, no questions. We could just feel. Just love and be loved. Just be, together.

I never imagined I could have something like this.

I'm lying next to him, halfway under the covers, just watching him sleep. I'll let him sleep for a while, but not too long. I can feel my stomach starting to growl – we both need to eat something and get our strength back up.

As I just watch his chest move gently up and down, I hear a sound outside the door. Footsteps. Something heavy hitting the floor. Jangling keys. Then a knock. It brings me straight down to earth. So much for no fears, no worries, no questions.

Brian stirs, but doesn't wake. Maybe they'll go away, whoever they are.

Another knock – they're not going away. More jangling keys. Then – oh, crap! – the key going in the lock, the doorknob turning. I pull the covers up to my neck as the door opens. Standing there in the doorway is someone I've never seen before. He doesn't look much taller than me. He's got light brown hair, and he's looking at me wide-eyed from behind a pair of glasses too big for his face.

"Oh!" he says, going as red as I imagine I just have. "I didn't know – I'll come back!"

Brian's still not quite awake. I try to put as much of a smile as I can on my face; I don't want to make this any more awkward than it already is. "Hang on. Room 411? Allen House?"

The stranger nods. "I just got in. The RD gave me the keys, he didn't think my roommate was back yet." So much for Brian's single room.

"Just give us five minutes," I say, and I don't really keep the disappointment out of my voice. "Go ahead and leave your stuff inside the door if you want." He obediently shoves his bags inside and closes the door. "You might as well go downstairs, it's more comfortable than standing in the hall. I promise, five minutes and I'll be down, and you can come back up here and get moved in."

He doesn't answer; I hear receding footsteps and he's gone. That's when Brian finally stirs awake.

"What?" he mutters. "Thought I heard talking."

I sit up. "You did. It's bad news," I tell him. "Apparently you've got a roommate. He just showed up." Brian looks around the room, thoroughly confused. "I sent him downstairs. But we have to get dressed." He watches me dress first, then pulls sweatpants and a t-shirt out of the closet and throws them on.

"I'm sorry," he says, and then, very suddenly, he grabs me, and I feel myself melting into his arms as he kisses me. It takes all my willpower to pull away from him.

"I'm sorry, too." It occurs to me that we could barricade the door and we'd have more time to ourselves. It would be so good, but – no.

I have to go. Now.

Brian wants to walk me downstairs, but I hold my hand up. "You might as well wait here. I'll call you in the morning," I say, and I kiss him quickly. "And I hope you liked your belated Christmas present!" His expression at that is just priceless. If I absolutely have to leave, this is as good a moment as any.

"I love you!" he calls out to me as I head down the stairs, and before we're out of earshot I say it back. I come down into the lounge, and the roommate is sitting on the horrible orange couch.

"I'm really sorry," he says, and he should be. Of course, I don't say that.

Instead, I shake my head. "You couldn't know. Don't sweat it." I'm just grateful he didn't show up an hour earlier. The way things were going, neither Brian nor I would have heard him, and wouldn't that have been some introduction?

He extends a hand. "Jason," he says.

I shake it. "Sara." I try to make myself believe my next words, or at least make them sound believable. "Pleased to meet you."

***

Beth is laughing her head off. If this had happened to anyone else and I was just hearing the story rather than participating in it, I'd probably think it was funny, too. That isn't any consolation at the moment, though.

"At least he didn't interrupt..."

I go very red. "I thought about that already. I think I would have had to kill myself," I say. "Or maybe him. Or him, and then myself."

I see there's an envelope on my desk; I'm happy for any distraction right now. "Yeah," Beth says as I pick it up. "Looks like your mother got the pictures back." I tear it open, and she's right. There's our Christmas tree, there's Dad and Bob wearing their matching Santa hats, and there are several photos of Brian and me, all dressed up. I pass them over to Beth, who's already holding her hand out for them.

She whistles. "Wow. You weren't kidding. You really do look like a different person," she says. "I thought I did a good job on you that night we went downtown, but – God, that was nothing."

"I didn't recognize myself when I looked in the mirror," I say, and then I tell her about Mrs. McGuire not recognizing me, and my Dad's little joke. "Gretchen, that was the name he made up."

Beth gives me what I can only call an "evil grin" and it occurs to me I probably shouldn't have mentioned that. "I love it! It's taken two and a half years, but I've finally got the perfect nickname for you. Gretchen!" I definitely shouldn't have mentioned it.

***

Sara is in her dorm room, looking in the full-length mirror that Beth has hanging from the back of the closet door. She's dressed for bed but the girl who stares back at her isn't; she's ready for a night out on the town. Sara's hair is all over the place, and her eyes are barely open; the girl in the mirror has her hair styled perfectly, and her eyes are wide open and bright.

Sara looks down at herself; she's still in her night shirt and pajama bottoms. She looks back up, and the girl in the mirror steps forward, out of the mirror and into the room. She says to Sara, "You can go to bed if you want, I've got better things to do." The girl walks over to Beth's bed, where Beth is asleep under the covers. She pulls the blankets up, and Beth is fully dressed, fully made up, and she snaps awake in an instant. The girl extends a hand and pulls her up.

"I was waiting for you, Gretchen," Beth says while Sara watches, saddened but not at all surprised that her nonexistent older sister is stealing her best friend away. "Let's go," Beth says to her, and then, to Sara, "Sorry, you've been replaced." Beth and Gretchen walk out, leaving Sara behind...

***

I open my eyes, and I can't see anything – it's pitch dark. No, there's a little light, coming from under the door, and also from the glow of my alarm clock. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust. It's three-thirty in the morning.

I wonder why I woke up? I don't have to go to the bathroom. I'm not thirsty. It doesn't make any sense. I look over at Beth's bed, of course it's empty –

No, it isn't. She's there, sleeping very peacefully, it looks like. Why did I think she wouldn't be there?

I don't know. I must have had some reason, but I can't remember now. I'm just being stupid, I guess. I lie back down, pull the covers over me. Maybe I can get back to sleep. Maybe...

***

... Sara is in an unfamiliar room. No, she realizes, not unfamiliar. It's a bedroom, one she remembers very well even though she can't remember why she does. She looks around, and recognizes everything she sees – a Rolex watch on the dresser, a beautiful painting of a ship at sea with the sky orange and red as though it were on fire in the background. And now, coming in the door, a large, powerful man, dragging a girl, a teenager, in behind him. Sara stands only a couple of feet from the bed, but she can move no closer, and neither the man nor the girl take any notice of her. On closer inspection, Sara can see that the girl is barely a teenager, probably twelve or thirteen at a guess.

The man raises his fist, and Sara screams. She tries to turn away, but she can't. She can't even close her eyes; all she can do is watch, and scream...

***

I – someone's shaking me. My throat's burning. I can't – I don't want to open my eyes. I sit myself up, very quickly and I vomit, all over the floor, all over myself. Someone makes a disgusted sound, and I try to stand but my legs won't hold me up. I go down on my knees, and I vomit again.

I hear someone running, and the door opening and my own ragged breathing. I finally open my eyes. I'm in my room. I'm kneeling on the floor of my dorm room in a pool of my own vomit. The remains of my lunch and dinner are all over my clothes and my sheets and the floor.

And now I remember why. It's coming again, I retch, but there's nothing left in my stomach to come up.

"Oh, God! Sara! What's going on?" It's Beth. She's coming in the door. She's got a big wad of paper towels and a trash bag. She wipes my face with a wet towel.

"It happened again," I force myself to say. I can barely hear my own voice. "And she was – she was a little girl. Like junior high school. And – it was worse," I tell her, dry-heaving again while she tries to clean me up. "There was – there was so much blood. She was – you can't imagine."

She looks at me with a mixture of pity and horror, but she somehow keeps herself focused. "Get those clothes off," she orders, and when I do she drops them into the trash bag. I hold my hand out for some paper towels and keep cleaning myself off. "Get your bathrobe, go take a shower," she tells me, and I do as I'm told. As I very slowly walk to the bathroom, I see that she's taking the sheets off my bed and putting them in the trash bag as well.

I want to thank her or at least say something, but I can't make any words come out. I just do what I'm supposed to do, hang my bathrobe on the hook, get in the shower and turn on the water.

***

I don't have any idea how long I've been here in the shower. From the way my skin is pruning up I think it's been a while. I've just been standing here under the water, barely awake.

How did that – down at my feet, there's my little plastic basket with my soap and shampoo and everything. How'd it get there? I don't remember carrying it in. Beth must have brought it in for me. I didn't even notice her doing it. I reach down for my soap and start washing myself.

I'm just about done rinsing my hair when Beth's voice echoes in the bathroom. "Sara?"

"I'm here. I'm almost done," I say over the sound of the water. I guess she's satisfied with that, because I don't hear anything more. I finish up, dry my hair, brush my teeth, and I feel something close to human when I come back to my room.

"I knew you needed time, but I was starting to worry. You were in there for almost two hours," Beth says. I see that my sheets are back on the bed. She follows my glance. "Yeah. When I got back upstairs with the laundry and you were still in the shower, I figured that was long enough."

I go to her and hug her tightly. The tears start flooding without any warning. "You – I – thank you!"

She lets me cry as she maneuvers me over to my bed and sits me down. "You're my best friend. What was I going to do?" That just sets me off blubbering all the more. On top of everything I saw, I feel awful for what I did to her. I woke her up in the middle of the night, threw up all over her stuff as well as mine, she had to clean it all up and she isn't complaining at all. I don't know what I ever did to deserve a friend like her.

***

I don't have any idea what time it is. All I know is, Brian has his arm around me, trying to comfort me. It's not really helping all that much. I keep flashing back to the nightmare, and how young she was, younger than the other girls, and how much blood there was. I'm barely holding on right now, and I feel like I'm two seconds away from bursting into tears again, or bringing up my lunch, or both. But we have to talk about it. Don't we?

Beth is here, too, sitting over on her bed. "I don't want to ask – I know how hard it is – but do you think it's happened, or is he just anticipating it?"

"I don't think he's done it yet," I say in a weak voice. "It wasn't until I dreamed about the car, both of the other times, that's when he actually did it. So she's still – I hope she's still alive." It's a pretty thin hope.

Brian gets up from next to me, and goes to my desk to grab a blank notebook. "Maybe we need to be more logical," he says, sitting back down. "You said the very first time you had the nightmare was – what, right after Thanksgiving?"

I can't forget it, however much I'd like to. "The Saturday after, that Saturday night."

Beth takes her calendar down from the wall – it's last year's, she hasn't changed it yet. "So that would be, what?" She flips back to November. "The 25th. Saturday the 25th."

Brian writes that down. I want to crawl under the covers and shut out the world but I have to do this. I have to remember everything they're asking me. "I kept having that nightmare the next few nights. The one with the car was, it was a Sunday," I'm sure of that. How do I know? It has to do with Beth – I remember now. "You had me go see Dr. Ritter the next morning and I remember that was a Monday."

"So that's, what, December 3rd?" Beth asks, looking at the calendar. "Eight days between the first dream and – and when it happened." Brian writes that, too.

"OK. So the next nightmare was when I was in Dr. Ritter's lab. That was a couple of days later, Tuesday night, I think."

Brian pipes up. "Right. I remember that. So that's December 5th." He jots it down.

"And the next time with the car – the next time it..." I can't continue. I can't bring myself to say it.

"The night of the Secret Santa party," Beth answers for me. "That was a Wednesday," she examines the calendar again. "The 13th."

I don't want to be doing this. I want to forget all about it. But the images keep coming into my head, and if there's anything I can do to save that little girl, I have to. Right?

And then it hits me: this is my fault. It's all my fault.

Beth and Brian notice that I'm no longer listening to them, I'm just sitting here looking down at my feet and trying not to do – I don't even know what. Brian wraps his arms around me. "What is it? What just happened?"

I don't recognize my own voice; it's completely lifeless. "If – if she dies, it's because of me."

Brian holds me tighter, and Beth is staring at me with more worry than I've ever seen on her face. "What are you talking about?" she asks. I honestly believe that it hasn't occurred to her, and I love her for that. But she'll figure it out soon enough on her own; I might as well be the one to say it.

"It's my fault. Because I warned Jackie. So he picked this other girl. She's going to die because Jackie had the dumb luck to live down the hall from me, and she didn't." Because when it was somebody I knew, I found a way to do something. But when it's some random girl, too bad, she's on her own. Just like poor Amelia, and poor Katie.

I don't know how I'm keeping any control at all; I want to scream, or beat my head against the wall until it's bloody, or – something. Anything. I don't want to think about this anymore. I don't want to be responsible for picking who lives and who dies.

"Sara, don't be ridiculous! You can't blame yourself!" Beth is looking at me now like I've completely lost my mind. She's not far off.

"What if it was Chrissy?" She winces as though I just slapped her. "What if it was? How would you feel, if you knew I saved Jackie, but it meant that Chrissy..." I can't – I won't say it out loud.

Beth gets it now. She looks close to tears herself. Brian is holding me even closer, but he's also looking at the notebook. "We just have to do something to save her, that's all there is to it," he says.

I don't know how I keep myself from shouting at him, shoving him off me and down to the floor. I guess I have that much self-control left. "How the hell do you expect us to do that?" is what comes out, but I somehow keep at least part of the anger and the pain out of my voice.

He's still holding me. "I don't know," he says, and then he takes a deep breath, and lets me go. He beckons Beth over to my bed, so he can show us both what he's written in the notebook. "But I think we've got eight days to figure it out."

It's right there. The time between the first nightmare and the car, eight days. It's the same for the second one. If that stays the same – if that's the pattern every time – we have a chance – I have a chance. Maybe she doesn't have to die after all.

My head feels clearer, my stomach settles down. The sky outside seems suddenly lighter. There's still a chance. "I could kiss you!" I say to Brian. Then I remember that he is my boyfriend and I can kiss him whenever I want, and I do.

Chapter Thirteen

(January 13-15, 1990)

My relief at Brian's revelation doesn't last long. There's the little problem that we don't know who the killer is or where he lives. And then a much worse thought occurs to me – even assuming Brian's right about the timing. While the girl is hopefully alive, for all we know he could already have her. She might be locked up in his basement right now.

God, I can't think about that. I don't dare mention it to Brian or Beth. I wonder if they've already thought of it and they're afraid to bring it up to me?

We keep talking but none of us has any brilliant brainstorms. By six o'clock, having spent all day hashing and rehashing this, we walk over to Lardner to dinner – it's just opened for the new semester today, now that enough students are back from break. I go through the hot food line and give everything there a pass; I can't help but laugh when I finally sit down at a table, a bowl of cold cereal on my tray. "What's so funny?" Brian asks.

"With everything going on, it's kind of comforting to know that there's always something you can count on."

Beth knows exactly where I'm going and she finishes for me. "Good old Lardner Commons. Guaranteed to be inedible, seven days a week." We all laugh, and for the first time all day, it's with genuine humor.

We're almost finished when Melanie Vondreau sits down next to me. "Hey, Sara. I just wanted to thank you." I have no idea for what, which she can tell from my blank stare. "Biochemistry. I ended up with a B-plus. You saved my ass," she says. "I couldn't have a C on my application for the Livingston scholarship."

That snaps my mind back to the subject of school for the first time since Wednesday afternoon. Melanie's looking at me, expecting some sort of response. "Well – good. I'm glad," I say and it almost sounds like I mean it.

I don't, though, because if she's applying for the Livingston scholarship, she's competing against me. It's a partial scholarship to medical school, and it's awarded by the Biology department. There's only one recipient each year. You have to be in pre-med, obviously, and you have to have at least a 3.5 grade point average to even apply.

A C in an important class like Biochemistry would have really hurt her chances – and boosted mine. And I went and helped her anyway. I really hope whatever karma I'm due for that particular good deed comes to me soon. God knows I could use it.

***

...Sara doesn't know where she is at first; it's the strangest place she's ever seen. It looks like a ruin of some kind, maybe an ancient temple? Vines and weeds poke up through the stone floor and out of the cracked walls. The air is hazy with dust. Sara has no idea what's going on, until Melanie Vondreau runs past her, breathing hard. Melanie's dirty blonde curls spill out from under a fedora and past the collar of a battered brown leather jacket. To top the outfit off she's got a bullwhip hanging off her belt. It's clear to Sara now – she remembers that Melanie was among the people watching "Raiders of the Lost Ark" on the communal VCR last night.

Sara watches Melanie run until she suddenly pulls up short, two steps away from a yawning chasm. Behind Melanie, off in the distance but growing steadily louder, Sara can hear indistinct shouts and the sound of many running feet. Melanie backs up a few steps and jumps the chasm at a run. She doesn't quite make it; she barely manages to catch one hand on the lip of the chasm, her legs kicking uselessly over what seems like a bottomless pit. And standing over her on the safe ground of the other side, Sara sees herself. The dream-Sara is wearing a crisp white linen suit and an extremely smug expression as she looks down at Melanie. Melanie struggles futilely to climb up, and dream-Sara watches for a while before sighing heavily. "Oh, very well," dream-Sara says in a dreadful French accent, reaching down, grabbing Melanie and pulling her up to safety...

... without transition, Sara is in a bedroom, one she's been in many times before. She knows everything in the room even before she sets eyes on any of it. She looks towards the door, knowing what's about to come through it, and sure enough, it opens...

***

I'm waiting for the door to – no, I hear something. Not footsteps, but ringing. A loud, insistent ringing. It's not stopping. The fire alarm.

"Wha – hey, turn that off!" Beth stirs awake, looking accusingly at me. "Why'd you set the alarm?" Then she's sitting up, and she has the good grace to look embarrassed. "Right. The fire alarm. I wonder who did it this time?"

I put on my slippers and open the door. Melody Katz is just coming down the hall towards me. "Bad news," she says. "Rita's not back yet." Which means we all have to go downstairs and then outside into the freezing cold until Security gets here. "Come on, everybody," she yells, knocking on doors as she continues down the hall.

I switch my slippers out for my snow boots, wrap my scarf around my neck and put on my coat. Beth's doing the same thing, and we trudge downstairs. It looks like about half the dorm is here; there are still a lot of people who haven't come back from break yet.

The last two people to exit the building are Kate Billings and her roommate Terrie, and the guilty looks on their faces answer the question of who was responsible for the fire alarm. I'm probably the only person here who isn't angry with them – they spared me seeing the nightmare again, after all.

We all shiver together for twenty minutes before Security shows up, and it's another ten before the alarm finally goes silent and we're allowed back inside.

***

Sunday morning. Beth's over at breakfast and I'm lying in bed, thinking unpleasant thoughts. If Brian's right, I've only got seven days left now. There were no more dreams – or nightmares – when I got back to sleep, but I can't put it out of my mind now that I'm awake.

There isn't much time. Seven days is nothing. And I'm no closer to knowing one single concrete thing about the killer or where he lives or anything else than I was yesterday.

I need something. I've got a nagging feeling that there's something familiar about him, that I have seen him somewhere before. I told Beth I hadn't, and I've been telling myself I haven't, but the more I think about it, the more I think that isn't actually true.

Maybe – if I had a picture of him, one I could look at while I'm awake, in the bright light of day, maybe that would help. But how? How could I get – oh!

I've been stupid. There is a way. I don't know why it hasn't occurred to me before. I just need a little help, and there's someone a couple of doors down the hall who can provide it.

***

I knock on the door of room 206, and a tired voice answers, "Come in."

Terrie MacKenzie looks up at me from her bed. She couldn't possibly be more of a contrast to her roommate Kate, sitting at her desk. Terrie's really tall, maybe even six foot, and rail-thin with long, bright red hair. Kate's a full foot shorter, with dark brown hair. Terrie frowns at me. "Look, we're sorry about the fire alarm last night. What more do you want from us, blood?"

I shake my head. "No, Terrie, I don't care about the fire alarm. Actually, I'm glad you set it off." They both look at me suspiciously, but I just press on.

There's another very important difference between Kate and Terrie. Kate goes to the music school, but Terrie's a student at the Ohio Institute of Art. "I was just hoping to borrow your drawing skills for half an hour or so, if you're free."

She gives me a blank look. It is kind of a strange request. "I guess so," she says finally. "What for?"
I tell her basically the truth, which still somehow feels like a complete lie. "Don't laugh, but I've been having this dream, the same dream, for a month now. It's driving me crazy. I know I've seen the guy in it before, but I can't figure out who it is. I thought, maybe, if I had a picture of him to look at, it might jog my memory."

She's very skeptical. "You want me to draw somebody you're dreaming about?" When she says it out loud, it does sound absurd, doesn't it?

It probably is, but it's also the only thing I can think of. "Well, yeah. If I describe him, can you draw that?"

"Like a police artist," Kate chimes in. That's it! That's exactly it!

Terrie still seems doubtful, but she sits up and moves to get her sketchpad and a box of colored pencils anyway. "OK. If you want me to, I'll try. Let's go to the study room, there's better light in there."

I'm not sure how much better the light there can be; the sky outside is gray just like it's been every day for the past several months. But she's the artist; she must see something I don't. She sits down across the little table from me.

"I'm not sure how to start," I admit. It looks so easy on those TV cop shows when they do this.

"Me neither," Terrie answers, screwing up her face in thought. "How about – OK, basically what's the shape of his face? Round, or more of a long face?"

I concentrate; I don't know why it's so hard to summon up the memory of him when I want to see it. It comes often enough on its own when I don't. I can almost see, though – there! There it is!

"Kind of a long face. More oval than round." She starts drawing, and she goes on for a while. She got a heck of a lot from that one answer. She puts down her pencil, shows me the sketchpad.

"You already put the eyes and nose and everything in!"

She shrugs. "The basic proportions are pretty much the same for everyone. This way we've got something to work from."

I guess that makes sense. "The eyes are a little farther apart. Maybe a half inch? No, less than that. And the nose is a little more pointed." She erases and then draws again. I'm doing my best to focus just on his face, and not anything else about the nightmare. It's very hard.

"What about this?"

Much closer already. Too close. I have to focus. I have to keep it together. Just remember his face, and nothing else. "You've got it. The lips are a little thinner, and he shouldn't be smiling." More erasing, more drawing. "You're really good," I say, with more surprise in my voice than there probably should be. She's so caught up in what she's doing that she doesn't notice it, thankfully. She doesn't notice either that I'm sweating, or that my hands are shaking.

"What about his hair?"

"Parted on the left. Not very thick." The hair is adjusted. Then the ears. Then back to the eyes. "Blue. Kind of a dull blue, though. And maybe they're a tiny bit more round." Terrie draws some more. "The forehead's wrinkled. Not a lot, though. Just barely."

Finally she sets down her pencils and holds up the finished picture. "It's him! You really did it." I must have more willpower than I thought; what I want to do is tear the picture into a hundred pieces so I don't have to look at that face and be reminded of what it means. Instead, I sit there quietly and smile. She smiles too, gives me a little bow. "Thank you so much," I hear myself say. "I definitely owe you for this."

She waves my thanks away. "No problem. It was really interesting, actually. I hope it helps you." I hope so too.

I take the sketch and go back to my room. Now I'm sure I've seen him somewhere besides the dreams. I just can't remember where. I don't know how long I sit there staring at him before I hear the key in the door and Beth walks in. She throws off her coat and looks questioningly at me. "What's so fascinating?"

I show her the picture. She's got an even more curious expression now. "Where'd you get a drawing of Dr. Walters, and why are you staring at it like that?"

***

Beth is sitting on her bed, and I'm sitting on mine. We've been sitting this way for at least ten minutes now. We're just looking blankly at each other. I think both our brains may have short-circuited.

I've been asking myself, over and over, how did I not see it? How did I not make the connection? The picture is obviously Dr. Walters. There's no scar on his cheek, but besides that it's him exactly. How did I not realize it all along?

Beth is the first to recover her voice. "How'd you get – did you have Terrie draw it?" I nod. "You described the guy you've been seeing, and she drew – she drew that picture?" Another nod. "That's the face you've been seeing since Thanksgiving?" And another. "Him. That face. The one that looks exactly like my advisor." Still another nod.

"Former advisor," I remind her. I go on, and I'm not really sure where the words come from, "who quit for no good reason, and who's probably been lying about where he's been since September."

Oh, God. It all fits. It really is him.

But how could it be? He's a professor! Wouldn't someone else in the department have seen something wrong?

Beth is thinking exactly the same thing. "I had two classes with him. I've been in his office I don't know how many times. I've been to his house," she takes a deep breath, and her expression is pained. "You're saying that's who's been – that's who you're – he's the one who..." She's begging me to stop right now, to say that I've made a crazy mistake, that it obviously isn't him. She drops her eyes, she won't look at me.

I want to be wrong as much as she wants me to. But I'm not. "Yes," I say, and Beth won't look back up. "Beth, please. Look at me." She still won't.

I take a deep breath. "Damnit, Beth! You're my best friend," I say, my voice breaking. "You think this is easy? You think I want it to be true?" She starts to very slowly raise her head. "You know I would never lie to you. I would never hurt you. You know that. I couldn't love you more if you really were my sister."

She's not quite looking me in the eye yet. "But you've been having the dreams for a month! Why didn't you realize right away?" She's looking for any way for me to be wrong. I am, too, but there isn't.

"I think it's been there all along. I just couldn't – I couldn't accept it. I guess I couldn't believe one of our teachers could do – what he's doing." Now she is meeting my eyes. She knows I'm right. She knows it's true, but she doesn't say anything. I keep talking. "If I didn't know it in my heart, if I didn't know for sure, I wouldn't say it. It's true, Beth. I wish it wasn't. But it is. I know it's him."

I see a tear leaking from her eye. I don't know how she's held it back this long. It's just the one at first and then, suddenly, they start to flood down her cheeks. "No!" she yells, but I know it's not me she's yelling at. "I trusted him! I've been alone with him! And you're telling me he's a – a murderer!"

"I've been alone with him too," I say, barely louder than a whisper, "I've had to watch him – over and over. All these nights." And my tears start to flow too.

I go to her. We collapse into each other's arms, and all either of us can do is cry until there aren't any more tears left.

***

"So what the hell do we do about it?" We're still sitting on her bed. We haven't moved in what seems like forever.

I've been asking myself the same thing. As my father would put it, that's the $64,000 question. "There's no proof," I say. "None. We can't go to the police without something concrete."

"We could just go to his house," Beth points out. I've thought of that already.

"And do what? Break in and look for evidence?" Aside from the practical difficulties, breaking into someone's house is a crime and it's hard to see the police taking our word for why we did it. I guess we could stake out the house, and call the police when he shows up with his victim. Unless he's already got her there. And what if he's got a gun? It doesn't seem like a good option.

Beth can see exactly what I'm thinking and from her expression she's come to the same conclusions I have. "We'll have to get evidence some other way, then," she says, and there's a hardness in her voice that I've only heard a handful of times in all the time I've known her. I understand it. She feels utterly betrayed. Which she has been. I hate that I'm the one who delivered the news.

"What are you thinking?" I'm a little bit afraid of the answer.

She gets up from the bed, paces a bit as she thinks. "People are going to be talking in the department now that he's completely gone, right? Ray will hear everything. There's got to be something that'll help us. I'll get him to tell me. I'll get him drunk if I have to." She laughs, but there's no humor at all in it. "Hell, I'll sleep with him if I have to."

"Beth!" I've heard her say something like that a thousand times, but always in jest. She means it now.

"What's the problem? We need to find out. And anyway, he's cuter than Ron," she says with a weak smile. I laugh, much more than her joke deserves, just to break the tension. She joins in and just like that we're both hysterical. Neither of us can stop until I start hiccupping, and that just sets her off again. It's a good five or ten minutes before we're both finally calm.

A few minutes later, Beth stands up, a glint in her eye. "You know what? We should go by his house. Right now."

"Why?" I can't even guess what she's thinking.

"I don't want to do anything – really – but we have to at least be sure he's still there. Better we do it now." She's going through her dresser, looking for something – one of her notebooks from last spring. "I've got his address. I knew I had it there."

***

We're in Joe Karver's car, which Beth harassed him into letting us borrow. I'm driving, which he insisted on as a condition of letting us have it. Brian's next to me in the passenger seat – I insisted on him coming – and Beth is in back.

She's giving me directions and trying to control her impulse to be a backseat driver. I'm following her directions as best I can and trying to control my impulse to steer us straight into oncoming traffic just to shut her up.

We make a couple of wrong turns but, finally, we somehow end up in the right neighborhood with car and friendship still intact. It looks quiet, with tree-lined streets and nicely-kept houses. The cars in the driveways are mostly newer and in good shape. I can definitely imagine a professor living around here.

I see the sign for the street we're looking for, and I start to tense up as I turn onto Songbird Lane. We're looking for number 3911. "There's 3605," Brian says, so we've got three blocks to go.

I drive slowly, and we're all silent as we go by one block, two blocks, and then we're on his street. I'm sure it's just my imagination, but I swear I can hear all of our hearts beating; I feel like mine is ready to jump straight out of my chest. "I'll go by as slowly as I can, take a good look," I whisper, and both Brian and Beth have their eyes peeled out the windows.

"That's not right!" Beth shouts, and I'm so startled I slam on the brakes – not that we were going fast enough for it to make that much difference.

I whip around to face her. "What? What happened?"

"Look for yourself," she says, pointing to the mailbox at the end of 3911's driveway. I can see from here – in big letters, "The Kelleys" is written on the side.

"Maybe you had the address wrong?" Brian suggests, but, already halfway out the door, Beth shakes her head.

"No. That's the house. I remember it." She's walking up the driveway now, and I don't think this is a good idea at all but I can't let her go alone. Brian's out of the car as well. "That's definitely the house. Except..."

She points to the car in the driveway. It's not a Cadillac. It's a four-door BMW, with a "Proud Parent of an Honor Student" bumper sticker. And on the lawn, just a few feet from the front door, is a skateboard.

"You said Dr. Walters lived alone."

Beth nods. "Yeah, that's my point. And look at the window up there – up on the second floor." I can barely make out what I think are several stuffed animals sitting just inside on the windowsill.

Beth takes matters further into her hands; she marches right up to the front door, rings the bell. Even though it seems pretty clear that Dr. Walters doesn't live here anymore, I'm still terrified. I won't abandon her, though; I walk up behind her, Brian at my side. He takes my hand, and I feel him shaking just as much as I am.

The door opens, and a man and a woman stand there looking at us. He looks nothing like the man in the nightmares, nothing like Dr. Walters. They're holding hands, and I see the wedding rings they both wear. I feel some of the fear drain right out of me; there's no question now he doesn't live here.

"Hi," Beth says brightly. "Is Dr. Walters here? Thomas Walters?"

They both look at us blankly. "You've got the wrong house – oh," the woman says. "Walters! He was the previous owner, isn't that right?"

The man – her husband – agrees. "Yeah. We bought the house in July, he's been gone six months now." The fear comes right back. Six months? How are we going to find him now?

Beth keeps her composure. "Oh! I'm sorry we bothered you. Just – do you know anything about where he moved to?" Please. Please! Give us something. Anything.

They both shake their heads. Of course they don't know. They retreat back behind their front door. We go back to the car, tails between our legs, and it's Brian who voices what we're all thinking. "What the hell do we do now?"

***

The day is almost gone now, and we're no better off than we were this morning. The three of us return the car and I can't keep myself from giving Joe Karver a withering glare and a "For God's sake!" when he feels the need to go outside and check for himself that it's in one piece.

I know it's going to be pointless, but I borrow a phone book from Mona, and of course it is pointless. The listing for Dr. Walters has the address we were at today. The phone number, when I call it, is disconnected. I call information, and there's no listing at all for Dr. Walters. So that's a total dead end.

Once that's done, the three of us go over to Lardner for a thoroughly depressing dinner. Nearly everyone is back from break now. Under other circumstances, I'd be glad to see friends; happy to hear them talk about their holiday and brag about mine. But right now I'm feeling miserable and defeated and hopeless and it obviously shows. It seems like every time I look up from my plate someone is asking me if I'm OK, and did something awful happen to me over Christmas? Beth is getting a similar treatment, and Brian's only spared because nobody in Carson House knows him all that well.

Every time I'm asked, I mumble something about how I'm fine, really, and I guess it's just the cold and the gray that's got me feeling down. That's Beth's cue to explain her emotional state: "It's Miss Mopey over there, her bad mood is dragging me down."

We head back to the dorm – Brian's coming as well so we can all continue to go around and around and keep not coming up with any good answers. As we walk through the lobby, I see Melanie there on the couch watching the news.

It's no excuse, but I guess my crabby, crappy mood makes me do what I do. "Hey, Melanie," I say, getting her attention. "You know it's not going to be easy for you like in the movie, right? I'm not going to do something stupid and get my face melted off like what's-his-name did at the end, just so you've got a clear shot at the Livingston scholarship."

Her reaction is even better than I hoped; her face goes whiter than I would have thought possible and there's panic in her eyes. "How did you – how could you possibly..."

I'm grinning, for the first time in several hours. I brazenly lie. "Your door was open when you were talking about it. I was walking by, and I wouldn't have eavesdropped but I heard my name and I guess I just couldn't help it." I realize I'm being petty and mean and throwing away whatever progress I made building a better relationship with her during finals. I know I'll feel guilty about it later. Right at this moment, though, being able to laugh feels more important.

Melanie looks utterly scandalized; she can't think of anything to say in response. I say, very sweetly, "Goodnight, Mel," and head upstairs.

***

By the time I'm back in my room, my amusement has evaporated. It took maybe thirty whole seconds for the guilt to set in.

Beth is still chuckling, and Brian's not sure what to think. I don't give either of them the chance to say anything. As soon as the door's shut, I say: "I shouldn't have done that. It was a shitty thing to do. And I swore I wouldn't tell anything I saw."

Beth is trying to calm herself, and Brian looks at me with something like pity. "You're under a lot of stress, I mean, you're going to have moments..." he says in what I'm sure is meant as a soothing voice.

I'm not soothed. I snap at him. "I'm going to be a doctor! You think that's not going to be stressful? You think it's OK for me to treat whoever I see like garbage if I have a bad day?"

He doesn't flinch at all; he stands his ground. "No," he says, very calmly. He takes my hand, leads me to sit on my bed. I let him. "But it was one moment, and you already feel bad about it. It's not like you're wandering around looking for – I don't know – looking for puppies to kick or something."

That's true. When he puts it that way, I guess I can give myself a little break. "Besides," Beth chimes in, "I know you said you wouldn't tell anyone's secrets, but it sounds like she was dreaming about you. That makes it a little less bad, doesn't it?"

I'm not so sure about that, but I'll take it. I don't really have the energy to be angry at myself anyway. I might as well tell them the rest of the dream now, since they know the general idea already. I don't get two words out before Brian says, "So she had herself as Indiana Jones and you as Belloq?"

I can't help but laugh. "Exactly. I recognized the scene right away, I just didn't remember the name. Belloq, he's the French guy, right?"

Beth is staring at Brian. "How did you get all that just from 'his face melted off at the end?'"

He looks shocked that she's asking. "Everybody knows that. He opens the Ark and looks inside and him and all the Nazis get their faces melted off and die." Beth rolls her eyes; apparently everyone doesn't know that.

We remain distracted a few minutes more, but before too long we're back on the question of Dr. Walters and what, exactly we do next. It's Brian who comes up with an answer. He's looking at the drawing, and he asks me, "So this girl down the hall, she drew that just from your description?" I nod. "You remembered a lot of detail, to come up with that." Yes, I did. "How?"

"I – I just – I concentrated really hard. I don't think I did anything special. She kept asking me specific questions, and I answered them."

"I bet you remember a lot more," he says, not quite looking me in the eye as he does. "Probably more than you think you do."

***

"Could you see the dial on the watch?"

I don't want to do this anymore! I don't want to keep bringing it back, looking at every detail. I feel nauseous. My head hurts. But the image is there in my mind. The watch is up on the dresser. It's far away. Hard to see it. But I can just...

"Maybe – big hand on the twelve, little hand – at a right angle?" That would be, what? "Three o'clock."

"Three or nine?" Beth asks, in the quiet, calming voice she's been using the last hour, or maybe day, I've completely lost track.

"Definitely three. It's to the right of the big hand, not the left." I feel like my brain is about to start leaking out of my ears. I try to lift my head, sit up from my position lying flat on the bed, and I can't muster the energy to do it.

"I think that's enough," Brian says. Even if my eyes were open I couldn't see him from here, but I'm guessing he's horrified at how awful I look.

"I agree," Beth says, and I can feel her looming over me. "Brian, help me.

I feel her hand under me, and then Brian's. The two of them together slowly, gently lift me up to a sitting position. Beth opens the door and leaves, to return a moment later with a glass of water, which she hands to me along with two aspirin.

It hurts to swallow. I try to open my eyes, and that lasts about half a second; it's so bright! I hear a pathetic mewling sound, like a sick cat. I think it came from me.

"Turn off the lamp," Beth says, and I hear a switch being turned. I very slowly open my eyes again. It's still bright, even though the only light now is coming in from the hallway through the gap under the door. "How long – how long have we been at this?"

"Two hours," Brian says, still holding me up. He sits next to me now, and my whole body sags against him. Two hours? It feels like two days.

"Can I go to sleep now? I need to go to sleep now," I think I say. I feel Brian's arms around me, laying me down. I feel the covers being pulled over me. I feel his lips touch mine, but I can't even summon the energy to return his kiss. I'm so tired – so sleepy...

***

Sara is lying in her bed, in her room. Her eyes are closed, but she hears voices nearby, whispering, just loud enough for her to make out most of what they're saying.

A male voice that she thinks could be Brian's says, "What we did was really dangerous!"

A female voice, maybe Beth's, replies, "I know. But what were we supposed to do?"

The male again, "I don't know. But this isn't like Scooby Doo or something. We're not going to have some funny little adventure and pull a mask off somebody's head and drive off in our van when it's over. Two people are dead! Really actually dead! Do you want to be next? Do you want her to be?"

Sara can't hear what the female voice has to say to this. She sits up, opens her eyes...

...and she's in the back seat of a car, a VW Beetle. She realizes immediately whose dream this is when she turns and sees a white-faced Joe Karver next to her. In the driver's seat is Beth, who's cackling like a madwoman and who occasional turns back to grin manically at Joe. The car is going much too fast, on potholed streets through what looks like the bombed-out ruins of a city. Beth seems to be deliberately hitting every pothole and heading straight towards a massive conflagration off in the distance. In the passenger seat Sara sees herself, sitting there calmly and every so often saying, "Isn't this a pleasant drive?" while Joe looks on in speechless horror...

...Sara is in a bedroom suddenly, a bedroom she remembers. One she knows. She knows what she'll see on the dresser, on the walls, but now she looks more carefully around. There's a datebook on the side table, and a prescription bottle. Without knowing why, she feels an overwhelming urge to look out the window; there's something she wants to see – needs to see – outside. She only has a moment to look before the door opens, and she's watching a scene that's familiar and terrible. A man and a young girl, and she begins shrieking even before the girl does...

***

I hear someone – it's me. I'm screaming – I've been screaming. How did I not wake Beth up?

She's not here. What time is it? Eight-thirty. How long did I sleep? I don't even remember going to bed. I've still got my clothes on from yesterday.

It comes back to me slowly. I was trying to remember all the details from the nightmares, Beth was asking me, Brian was writing it all down. And then I fell asleep, and I didn't get up again until just now.

I try to stand up, but my legs don't want to support me. My back is sore – everything is sore. My head is killing me. Why was I screaming?

I see it – it was the nightmare again, the little girl again. I feel my legs go completely and I grab onto the bed to keep from hitting the floor. I manage to lower myself down slowly, so I'm kneeling on the floor up against the bed.

The door opens, but I'm not even capable of turning my head to look. "God, you look terrible," Beth says. I know I do, but however bad I look it's nothing compared to how I feel.

It takes a while, but she gets me back up, forces me to shower and dress and go to breakfast. I briefly panic over missing my first day of classes, but she reminds me that they don't start until tomorrow. I completely forgot that today's a holiday, Martin Luther King's birthday, so I haven't missed anything.

Beth gets me back to our room, and makes sure I'm doing OK – as OK as possible, anyway – and then she leaves. She's got business at the Psychology department. Even though it's an official holiday, she's got a hunch Ray the grad student will be there.

***

I'm still in my room. I haven't been able to work up the nerve to look at everything Brian wrote down last night. Obviously I'll have to – otherwise what was the point? But I don't want to do it without him and Beth here.

Instead, I'm trying to take my mind off of the nightmares by looking at the syllabus for CHEM329, Chemical Aspects of Living Systems. It works; I don't even notice an hour's passed and I've read through the first two chapters of the text. It should be a fun class; I'm really looking forward to it.

I can only imagine what Beth would say about that. She'd probably pick the nightmares over CHEM329 if she had to choose. I guess a lot of people might, but I'm excited about it.

Beth picks this moment to come in the door. She stalks in like a woman on a mission. She sees me all caught up in my textbook and the sight snaps her out of it; she laughs despite herself. "That's the Sara I know and love. You must be feeling better if you're back to your old habits."

She's right. I can't keep the enthusiasm out of my voice. "It's really interesting! I can't wait to..." Just like that the laughter's done. She's frowning now, sitting at her desk. "What?"

Her voice is sad, almost pitying. "You really were excited. I bet you completely put everything else out of your mind, didn't you?" Yes. She doesn't need me to answer. "I wish I didn't have anything to tell you. You look a million times better than this morning. But I found out – you won't believe it."

"What?"

"You need to sit down for this," she says.

"I already am," I remind her.

"Right," she goes on, completely ignoring what I said. "Well, first of all, Dr. Walters was married."

***

Beth tells me everything she learned. She was absolutely right – all the dirt came out over break and Ray heard every bit of it. He was alone in the department office and bursting to tell someone. Beth didn't even need to buy him a drink. "Well, just a Coke, when his throat got dry from talking," she corrects herself. "It was the best fifty cents I ever spent."

So Dr. Walters was married, and apparently most of his colleagues didn't even know. He had a teenaged stepdaughter. Nobody had ever met or even seen her or the wife. Obviously that's strange – what sort of person works somewhere for five years and never once mentions that he's married and has a child?

There's more. Last winter – December of 1988 – there was some sort of nasty incident between him and the stepdaughter. The wife filed for divorce shortly afterwards. Then, to top it all off, that was right around that same time Dr. Walters was coming up for tenure. The other professors took an unofficial vote and it went against him.

The way it was always explained to me is that, if you go for tenure and get denied, that's almost as bad as being fired. Most professors, when that happens, resign right afterwards, and it ends up haunting them in their next job as well. The story with Dr. Walters was a little different. Ray's theory was that Dr. Korben, the department chair, went out of her way to ease the blow. She kept everything unofficial and let him know privately, so he could have plenty of time to try and find another job without a big black mark on his record.

All of this fits. Beth and I recap everything she learned:

He's obviously a secretive and dishonest man – keeping his marriage from everyone he knew.

He's got to be tremendously angry – losing his wife, stepchild and job all within a few weeks would upset anybody.

He must have had to sell his house as part of the divorce – that explains why he lived alone when Beth went to his house last spring, and why he moved out in July.

And the "nasty incident" with the stepdaughter – that fits right in with what he's been doing recently. But she couldn't have died or – or – well, anyway, if she had, there's no way that would have stayed quiet for a whole year. The police would've gotten involved; he probably would have lost his job then and there.

"You're the Psych major," I say after we've been through it all several times. "Is losing his job and his wife and his house enough to push him to – to what he's – to killing those girls?"

"I don't know," she answers. "It could be he was already most of the way there. Maybe the daughter suspected. Maybe he was acting weird around her friends. Or more than weird."

She looks nauseous as she says it, and that's how I feel now too. "If we weren't already sure it was him, I think this would settle it."

Beth agrees. "I don't want to believe it. I keep thinking about all those times I was alone with him in his office. God, I just want to go in the shower right now and wash it all away, you know?" Oh, yes. I know exactly.

I hug her, very tightly. "Thank you. I know how hard that was. I don't know if I could have done it."

She hugs me back, and neither of us let go. "You realize we're nowhere close to done yet. We still don't know where he even lives now."

No, we don't. We also don't know what exactly happened with the stepdaughter, and as much as I don't want to know, I feel like it's a piece of the puzzle we'll need to put everything together. I wish I knew how we could find out.

Chapter Fourteen

(January 15-18, 1990)

Beth and I go over to dinner early. Brian's going to come over afterwards and we've got a thrilling evening planned: discussing what we know about the homicidal ex-professor who's going to kill another teenaged girl on Sunday if I can't do something to prevent it.

In the interest of getting some protein into my system, I've braved the chicken soup tonight. In between forcing spoonfuls of it down my throat, I overhear John, a little way down the table, say something that catches my interest.

"What's that about a law student?" I ask him.

He turns to me, surprised at my interruption. "Oh. Nothing. I'm just helping her with resumes, while I'm doing my shift over at the computer lab." I'd forgotten that he works in the library computer lab. There's always a work-study student on duty, to help anybody who's having a problem, to unjam the printers and all that. And apparently to help people design and format resumes as well.

I wonder if a law student would know how to get hold of whatever legal documents there might be from Dr. Walters' divorce? It's got to be worth a shot. And it'll also postpone going over all my recollections from the nightmares for a little while longer. I know how that sounds, and I agree, but I – I don't know how I'm going to face it when we do all sit down and go through it.

"You're meeting her tonight?"

"Yeah," he says, clearly confused as to why I care.

"Good. You owe me a favor, and I'm calling it in. You're going to introduce me to her and ask her to help me." I didn't mean for it to come out quite so much like an order, even though it is one.

He's completely lost now. "What favor do I owe you?"

I try to keep the impatience out of my voice. I don't do a very good job. "Diana Filardi."

Comprehension dawns, followed almost immediately by more confusion. "That was Beth. She told me about Diana."

I sigh. "Well, I was the one who found out and I told Beth, so she could tell you."

Beth backs me up. "She did. I had no idea until Sara mentioned it to me." Well, it is true. I don't need to mention that if it had been left up to me, he probably wouldn't ever have found out about it.

"OK? We're all on the same page now? So what time are you meeting her?"

***

I walk over to the library with John. I wish I was with Brian so we could walk huddled together, because it's bitterly cold. The wind is slicing right through all the layers I'm wearing. John doesn't seem any more comfortable than I do.

When we get there, his law student is waiting for him in the computer lab. She's the only patron there. I'm not sure exactly what I expected, but she looks just like any other student. She's wearing a school sweatshirt and jeans; she's got light brown hair tied up in a ponytail. When she sees John, she absolutely beams, and she asks him about his holidays with what looks like genuine enthusiasm.

I guess, now I think about it, I did have a picture in my mind: someone in a sharp suit, a cold, steely glint in her eye and maybe one of those ridiculous aluminum briefcases on the table next to her. That's what I get for watching "L.A. Law," I suppose. It's pretty stupid of me, especially since I'm asking for her help.

They chat for a couple of minutes before John gets around to mentioning me and my reason for coming. She shakes my hand and introduces herself as Natalie. "I'm Sara. Nice to meet you!" She smiles, she makes eye contact, just like a regular person. She really does come across as a legitimately nice human being. I smile back at her.

"John says you need some legal advice? I don't know what he told you, but I'm only in my second year, so I don't know how much I can help you. But I'll give it a try. What's going on?"

I sit down across from her. "It's not really advice exactly," I say. "I just need to know if there's any way to look at someone's divorce papers." John stares at me, and it doesn't take a mind reader to guess what he's thinking: something along the lines of "her boyfriend's a freshman, how could he possibly be divorced already!" On the other hand Natalie doesn't seem surprised – and why should she? She doesn't know me at all; I might have a perfectly good reason to want to know.

I didn't think it was possible, but her smile actually gets brighter. "That's easy! I can definitely help you with that. Divorces are in the public record. You can request the papers yourself. All you have to do is go down to the county courthouse. You fill out a form – very straightforward, it should take five minutes. Then you just pay the fee – if I remember right, for Cuyahoga County it's fifteen dollars and then a dollar a page." She pauses. "Unless they're sealed. In that case..."

"They wouldn't be," I say quickly. I hope they're not.

"Well, then it's like I said. Just go to the courthouse, pay the fee, you're all set."

That does sound easy. "Great!" I say. But I can see a potential snag. "How do I know which courthouse to go to?"

Her smile fades a bit. "Most likely it should be the county they lived in. But if you don't know where that is – that would be a problem." She thinks for a minute. "Maybe – no, I'm not sure where you'd go from there."

That doesn't sound quite as promising. Still, at least she gave me a place to start. The house where Dr. Walters lived is definitely in Cuyahoga County – you have to go way out past the suburbs to be in the next county. And there's no reason to think he would have gotten divorced somewhere else. I guess we'll find out tomorrow.

I thank her. "It's no problem," she says. John asks me if I want to wait for him to take care of his business with Natalie so we can walk home together. That's very gentlemanly of him.

"Sure," I say. There's no reason to tempt fate by walking back alone in the dark and the cold. It's not like I expect Dr. Walters to be prowling the streets right outside waiting to snatch me, but you never know what else could happen.

I leave them to their work. I go hunt down a phone book, find the address of the county courthouse and write it down. Brian or Beth or I will have to find the time to go tomorrow, I guess.

Once that's done I don't have to wait too much longer; I guess whatever John's helping Natalie with isn't that difficult. I watch them as they finish up; she makes a point of sitting a little closer to him than she absolutely has to, and she keeps touching his arm while they work. He doesn't seem to notice.

I wonder if it's because now he's seeing Diana and not paying attention to what any other woman does, or if it just doesn't occur to him that a woman three years older than him might be interested in him? Why wouldn't it occur to him? Why would he think a woman couldn't be interested in someone younger than her? Look at Brian and me!

I take a deep breath. I'm getting offended at a thought that I'm imagining John might possibly be thinking, even though I don't have the slightest reason to think he is. That doesn't seem rational, does it?

I guess I'm just looking for anything to think about other than Dr. Walters. I keep doing that all the way home. We don't talk much, mainly because it's too cold to do anything besides just walk as quickly as we can manage. But I'm thinking about him and Natalie, debating whether I should just ask him whether he knows that she's obviously interested in him. In the end, I decide not to; he seems happy enough with Diana, and I don't need to go stirring up trouble where there isn't any.

***

It's eight-thirty when I get back to my room. Brian and Beth are both there, going over the notes he took down last night. He comes over to the door when I walk in, and he kisses me before I can even take my coat off. That's just fine with me.

After – well, I'm not sure how long, honestly – Beth clears her throat and he lets me go. "Did you find anything out?" she asks.

"I hope so. If he got divorced here, we can get the records from the courthouse downtown." If. And if not – better to not think about that unless we have to.

"I'll go tomorrow," Brian volunteers. "I've only got one class, in the morning." That's settled, then. My Tuesdays are pretty filled; I've got a class at nine-thirty, twelve-thirty and then three-thirty. There's not enough time in between any of them to make it downtown and back.

"Perfect," I say with more enthusiasm than I feel. I hate him having to go by himself, and I'm worried both that he won't find anything when he gets there, and that he will. "So," I say, hanging up my coat, "were you guys talking about me the whole time?"

It's such a bad joke that neither of them respond.

***

We go over and over the notes. There are no big revelations, unfortunately. There's nothing in the bedroom to indicate where the house it's in might be located. We all assume that the watch reading three o'clock must mean that's when he's going to – to – I can't even bring myself to think it.

"You know what," I say, as the thought just now comes to me. "When I had the nightmare this morning, I had this feeling, this urge. I had to go to the window and look out. I don't know why I felt that."

Beth looks – I'm not sure why – impressed. "You were trying – it's called lucid dreaming. You can learn to shape your dreams, have some conscious control over them. You were trying to see a street sign or maybe the address from the house across the street!"

It seems so obvious when she says it. That has to be what I was thinking. "But I didn't – I got to the window," I say, and I try to concentrate. Did I see anything? Trees. "There's a big branch, it looks like it could support me. I think it's just about out of reach if I opened the window and leaned out. The house across the way," I can almost see it. "Red brick. There's a big window down on the first floor looking into the living room." I try to focus on the front door. The house number is right there, next to it. I close my eyes. "I think the first number of the address – I think it's a seven," I say, and out of nowhere I've got a blinding headache. I feel Brian's arms around me, he's supporting me, otherwise I'd just keel over.

***

It's nearly midnight. Brian just left and I'm more than ready for bed. I've still got the headache, but it's finally starting to hurt a little less. That's not much comfort though – I'm sure it will come back full force when I have another nightmare tonight.

Beth is giving me my instructions. "You tell yourself, 'I will look out the window,' and you keep saying it to yourself until you fall asleep. OK? Over and over."

I manage a weak smile and a thumbs-up, but I can't quite produce any words. Beth pronounces that "good, great," and she turns off the light, climbs into her bed. "'night, Sara."

I don't answer her. I'm trying to do what she says. Look out the window. Out the window. Out the window...

***

...Sara's in a room, a bedroom. She's been here before, and she knows there's something she's got to do. Something important. There's somewhere she needs to look, somewhere specific. She racks her brain, knowing that she doesn't have much time, not knowing why that is or how she knows it.

She sees the window, and she remembers – that's where she has to look. She goes over, peers outside, not sure exactly what she's supposed to be looking for. She tries to commit every detail she sees to memory, but the sound of footsteps, and then the door being thrown open, cut her short. She turns to see who's coming in, and she screams...

***

A tree stump. A big tree stump. Four numbers, a seven and a two and I couldn't make out the rest. A sign, but it was too far away to read the words.

What is all that? Why is it in my head? Why is it important? I have to write it down. I stumble out of bed, over to the desk, and there's a notebook, it's already open. I jot down everything that I'm thinking of, even though I don't know what it means.

And then I do.

I catch myself from shouting – I did it! I made myself look out the window, and I saw, and I remembered – not everything, but a lot more than the last time. Then the rest of it comes back, all in a rush of images. My legs give out, and it's only dumb luck that I fall right into my desk chair.

The sound doesn't rouse Beth. I've never been as jealous of her the whole time we've known each other as I am right this minute. I would give absolutely anything for these nightmares to be over, to be able to sleep as peacefully as she is right now.

***

My first class today is at nine-thirty, and it turns out that Brian's one class today is as well. It's even in the same building as mine, so we're walking over together. The sky is a dark, foreboding gray – darker and more foreboding than usual – and we need a new word past "bitterly" to describe how cold it is. My eyes are the only parts of my body that are exposed, and it feels like they're going to freeze solid.

We walk pressed up against each other, and it's very slow going. His presence does warm my heart somewhat, but the warmth doesn't make it as far as my hands or feet.

We finally arrive, and when I pull off my gloves, I expect my fingers to be blue or maybe even purple. But they're not; it only feels like frostbite was setting in. Once our faces are uncovered, we share a quick kiss and then Brian goes upstairs to his Materials Science class and I go downstairs to the big lecture hall for Physics.

I've got a second semester of it – electricity and magnetism this term. I have to have it for the pre-med program, and I've been telling myself that it can't possibly be as bad as last semester. I hope.

After the first hour and fifteen minutes, I'm undecided. Nearly everything made sense to me immediately. The few things that didn't became clear after rereading the text a couple of times. But I felt that way last semester, too, until a week or so after the first exam. So we'll see.

When Brian comes out of his class, he looks shell-shocked. "My advisor said it was a little advanced for freshman year, but he thought I could handle it," he says. "I'm not sure about that – it's going to be rough."

I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. "Does that help at all?"

"I'm not sure," he says with a straight face. "Give it another try?"

I do, and he can't keep a smile off his face this time. "Much better, right?"

We get all our winter gear back on and head out into the Arctic. We talked about the plan over breakfast. I walk him to the bus stop on Euclid Avenue – that will take him downtown, and it's closer than the train. He's got the address for the courthouse, he's got enough cash, he knows exactly what to do. I wait with him for the bus, even though every nerve in my body is crying out for me to get somewhere warm.

I guess it's just one of those things you have to do for love

***

I don't get back to the dorm until after five o'clock. I have no idea if Brian was successful or not. Right now my body is recovering from the walk back, and my brain is still going over everything I learned in Chemical Aspects of Living Systems. It's going to be even better than I thought.

I lie down on my bed and it occurs to me that in some ways everything that's happening now is sort of like how things will be in medical school and residency. Long hours and sleepless nights. Trying to solve difficult problems that don't make any sense, without nearly enough information.

Facing death.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

I didn't even hear Beth come in. "I'm not sure they're worth that much right now," I answer.

"No word yet?"

"Nope," and just as I say that the phone rings. I pick it up. "Brian?"

It's him. He can barely speak, though. I wonder if it's possible for your vocal cords to freeze solid? If I understand him, he's saying that he got the records. I'm going to just assume I'm right about that. "You're fantastic!" I say, which would be true even if I'm wrong about what he said. "Why don't we all go over to dinner, and we can look at everything afterwards?"

He makes a sound that I take as agreement, and I'm right about that at least because he's looking out the window in the lobby of Allen House waiting for us when we head over to Lardner five minutes later.

***

"There's no address! I can't believe there's no address!"

Beth actually punches the desk as she says it, and she's not the only one who's frustrated. We've been looking at Dr. Walters' divorce papers, and there's a lot there. But on the very front page, where the names and addresses of both parties ought to be, there's only a post office box listed for him.

And for his ex-wife as well. So much for trying to find her and see what we could learn.

We do know quite a bit more about Dr. Walters now, though. He was married for four years, to a woman named Donna Francis. Donna had a daughter, Stephanie, who was born in November of 1971, which makes her eighteen now.

The cause listed for the divorce was "irreconcilable differences," but there's also a list of specific incidents, several of which involve the stepdaughter. In December of 1987, there was an altercation – it doesn't say who started it or what it was about – that ended up with Dr. Walters requiring twenty stitches for a wound on his face. And that explains how he got his scar.

There was another "altercation" a year later, December 3rd, 1988 to be exact. It looks like that was the final straw for the wife. Again there's no explanation of exactly what happened or whose fault it was, but it does mention that the stepdaughter got her arm broken. Donna filed for divorce ten days later, December 13th.

"Those are the dates of the murders," Brian whispers, holding up the notebook where he'd written all the dates down with a shaking hand.

There's more. The divorce was final in June of 1989. There was no alimony, but part of the settlement was that the house had to be sold, and Donna got two thirds of the proceeds. She also got a car – specifically a tan 1985 Cadillac Seville.

I don't remember the exact model of the car in my nightmares, but it was a Cadillac, and it was tan.

"He wants things back the way they were," Beth says, eyes wide. "He wants his house back, he wants his car back, he wants his face without a scar on it."

Brian looks disgusted. "He thinks he can get it back by killing girls who..."

I cut him off. "Girls who are the same age as the one who he probably blames for everything. I bet if we knew what Stephanie looked like, she'd look like the two girls he's – well, those two girls."

We know a lot more, and we have an explanation – at least, a theory – for why he's doing it. But we still don't have any idea where he lives, and without that, I don't know how we can stop him before Sunday.

"Jackie!" Beth says out of nowhere.

"What about her?" I don't – oh! I dreamed about – he dreamed about her.

"He was going to go after her. Why?"

Jackie's from around here. "You think she went to school with the stepdaughter?" It makes sense. She would have been in high school this time last year. That's exactly what Beth thinks.

Five minutes later, I know she's right. "Yeah, Stephanie Francis. I remember her," Jackie says. "Last I saw her was right before Christmas last year. She came to school, I guess a day or two before Christmas vacation, had a broken arm."

"What do you mean that was the last you saw her?" I ask, trying to keep very nasty thoughts out of my mind.

"I guess her and her Mom moved over Christmas. My father told me about it."

I give her a blank look. "He's a policeman. Somebody else in his office investigated – you know, a kid gets hurt like that, they always question the parents. Her Mom didn't press charges, I guess, but she was splitting up with her husband. That's the last I heard of it, and I never saw Stephanie again."

I'm standing in her doorway, holding on to the door frame and hoping I don't look as freaked out as I feel. But I guess I do, because Jackie calls me on it. "Are you OK? How do you even know Stephanie – wait! This has something to do with Christmas Eve, doesn't it?"

I tell her no, of course not, but she doesn't believe me.

"All right. I'll tell you," I say, hoping I can make this sound believable. "It really doesn't have to do with Christmas. But we're pretty sure that the guy who hurt Stephanie – he was a professor here. He was Beth's advisor, actually. He just quit at the end of last semester, he's gone now, and there's all kinds of gossip, and it came out he had a stepdaughter." That's not even a lie, though it feels like one. "We were talking about it, and we guessed you might have gone to high school with her. That's it, honestly."

I can absolutely read her mind right now. She doesn't really buy it, but she can't think of any other reason I'd care about some girl she went to high school with, so she'll accept it. "I guess that makes sense," she says.

I thank her and report everything to Beth and Brian.

"If Jackie was in the same year as Stephanie, Dr. Walters could have seen them together. Then he saw her last semester on campus," Brian says.

"And he lumped her in with Stephanie, being responsible for him losing everything that was important to him," Beth picks it up.

I finish the thought. "So he dreamed about abducting her, kill – no, I won't say it. But that's got to be it, doesn't it?"

We all agree. But we still don't know where we go from here.

***

Brian goes back to his dorm at eleven. I don't want him to go, and he doesn't want to leave. But it's too late to ask Beth to see if she can go over to her boyfriend's for the night.

Just that thought is amazing to me. Until I met Brian, I never once asked Beth if she could go somewhere so I could have the room to myself, so I could be with someone. Now here I am, seriously contemplating it. If only Brian hadn't gotten stuck with a roommate – but he did.

So I have to go to my cold, empty bed all alone and try to get some rest with all this horrible new information bouncing around inside my head.

God, if I told Beth what I'm thinking right now, I would never, ever hear the end of it. Maybe tomorrow I can hint around that she hasn't spent much time with Ron, and he probably misses her. Maybe she'll just take the hint and not tease me endlessly about it. It's worth a shot.

In the meantime I walk Brian downstairs. I don't want to let him go, and it's only after a good ten or fifteen minutes that I allow him to pull away from me and head home. Then, it's back upstairs to my cold, empty bed.

***

...Sara is outside, on the main quad. By the lighter gray shade of the sky, she guesses it's midmorning. When she spots Jackie walking past, with a tall, dark-haired man in full police uniform, she knows whose dream she's watching. The man's radio crackles to life. "Go ahead!" he says into it.

"Watson Hall is secure!" comes a voice over the radio.

"Roger that," says the man. Clipping the radio back to his belt, he turns to Jackie. "You can go in to your class now, honey."

Sara watches Jackie glare at him. "Dad, you don't need to guard me all day long, and you can call off the SWAT team, too!"

...the scene changes, and Sara is in a bedroom. She realizes what's happened, where she is. She goes immediately to the window, not sure exactly what she's looking for, but sure she'll know it when she sees it. She wishes she could lean out the window, to get a better view, but it feels as though it's painted shut. It resists all her efforts to open it. As she struggles with it, the bedroom door opens...

***

I'm shaking. I don't want to open my eyes, I don't want to see – what?

It was the nightmare. Again. I tried to open the window so I could lean out and see the street sign, but it wouldn't budge. Then he came in, with the girl, and – no! No more! I can't think about it.

I look at the clock – it's just after four in the morning. Maybe I can get a little more sleep. Maybe there won't be any more dreams...

***

I open my eyes. The sky is lighter; the sun must be up, somewhere beyond the endless clouds. I roll over and look up at my clock. The big green numbers say: 9:59 AM.

Crap!

My class is at ten-thirty, and it's on the other side of campus. I jump out of bed, pull out a pair of sweatpants from the closet, grab the socks I wore yesterday, take a sweatshirt off the top of my laundry pile, and put it all on. I throw my coat on over all that, get my shoes on, and head out the door. I don't even bother to run a comb through my hair – there's no point. I don't dare look in the mirror.

I'm halfway downstairs before I realize I forgot my backpack with my notebook, my textbook, and everything else I need. It's back upstairs to get it, then downstairs again and out.

I get to my class at 10:28 AM exactly, just enough time to run down to the soda machine in the basement. With the caffeine and sugar from two cans of Coke, I'm able to stay awake and even pay a little attention for the entire class.

I go straight back to the dorm when it's done, and after I take a nice hot shower and put on clean clothes I look – and feel – nearly human again. I even have time for a quick lunch before I have to get to my one-thirty class.

I go to class, I come home, and then I spend the rest of the afternoon beating my head against the wall trying to think of some way to figure out where Dr. Walters lives. When Beth gets back from class at four o'clock, she sees me lying on my bed, staring at nothing.

"No brainstorms?" She knows exactly what I've been thinking about.

"None," I tell her.

She sits down on my bed, puts her arm around me. "Me neither. Well, I did have one, but it doesn't have to do with Dr. Walters. I just thought – you know, I haven't had any time with Ron since we got back from Christmas. I think I'll go over and see him tonight."

I can feel myself tearing up. "Thank you!"

"For what?" she asks with a completely straight face.

"For not making me ask," I say, and then I hug her very, very tightly. "And for putting up with me since this all started."

***

As soon as we're back from dinner, Beth clears out and Brian comes over.

"I know the days are running out, but I can't talk about it tonight. I can't think about it. Can I just have tonight? Will you help me?"

I can. He does.

I don't know how much time passes, but there's a moment when we're just holding each other, under the blankets, wrapped so closely together that I'm not sure where I stop and he begins. Right at that moment I feel like I'm having an out-of-body experience. It's like I'm floating, looking down at myself. And all I can think is, "how did I ever become so frightened and desperate and needy?"

"You're not," Brian says, and I come back to myself. Did I actually speak out loud? I must have. "I take that back. I guess you are," he says, but before I can even get angry about that, he kisses me, and all conscious thought disappears.

Sometime later, he's talking again. "I should have said, you wouldn't be human if you weren't all those things. Desperate and afraid. If you weren't afraid of what you've been seeing, you'd be – you'd be a cold, unfeeling – you'd be some kind of a monster, I guess."

"But you don't think I'm a monster, right?"

No, he doesn't; I can see that's clearly not the word that comes to his mind as he holds me close. He shakes his head and this time I kiss him, and that's the last word either of us says about the nightmares tonight.

***

I don't have any nightmares, or any dreams at all. I wake up and I feel completely refreshed, better than I have all week. I don't want to get out of bed, and Brian doesn't want me to either, but we both have an early class.

He very reluctantly heads back to his dorm for a shower and a change of clothes, and then we have breakfast and walk together to class. Afterwards, we agree to meet up when I'm done with classes this afternoon,

It turns out that both he and Beth came up with the same idea. They want to have me try and remember the other nightmares – the ones in the car – to see if we can figure out where Dr. Walters is living now from them. It makes sense. I don't know why it didn't occur to me sooner. It's not as though we have any other ideas to fall back on.

Beth gets back half an hour after me, and we meet up with Brian at Lardner, have a quick meal and then get to it.

***

"You said he opened the trunk. Were you watching from behind him?" I try to picture it. I feel pounding, as though my brain is beating itself against the inside of my skull. I was in the back seat, but then – I guess – yes. I was outside.

"Yeah. I see what he's doing. I can see the trunk."

"Can you see the license plate?" God! It's really hard to focus. It hurts. I just want it to stop hurting. I can see – it's an Ohio plate. I can read – I think I can read it.

"LXG. L like in large, X like in x-ray, G like in good. And then three numbers. One, four, seven." I feel a tear fall from my eye. I want to stop. I can't – can't keep doing this.

"Are you sure? L, X, G, one, four, seven?" Beth's voice is so calm, so peaceful. How can it be so calm? I hate her for that. What right does she have to be so calm?

Am I sure? I don't – I have to focus. Focus. Focus. "Yes. Definitely. I'm sure."

There's a hand on my head, pushing my hair off my forehead. Something cold – a washcloth? That's nice. That feels a little better. "You were amazing," Beth whispers into my ear. "Really amazing. I'm proud of you,"

I can't make any words come out; none of my muscles want to work. I think I might have managed a very weak smile, but I'm not even sure about that.

I feel a hand on my back, and another on my forehead, I'm being pushed up. Someone grabs my left hand and puts a cup into it, and some – pills? aspirin, maybe? – into my right hand. "There you go. Swallow those, have a little water," Beth says. I follow her orders, and I'm lowered back down.

"Good. Now go to sleep." I feel lips pressing against mine. I assume they're Brian's. I hope so...

Chapter Fifteen

(January 19-20, 1990)

I wake up to my alarm buzzing. Eight o'clock. I don't think I had any dreams, but I've still got a headache. It must be left over from last night. Beth is already up and showered. I remember that she's got a nine-thirty class. "Did I tell you anything useful last night? I can't remember a thing I said."

"We couldn't believe how much you remembered from the nightmares. You even saw the license plate on the car." She looks more sad than impressed. "But it was rough. We really put you through the wringer."

I do remember that. I don't ever want to go through it again. Maybe if I said enough I won't have to. I get up, and I see the notebook Brian was writing everything down in, still open on the desk. His handwriting is almost as neat as mine; I never really noticed that before.

I read through it – I can't believe all this detail came out of me. I remembered every turn, every stoplight, it looks like. I wonder if there's enough there to actually pin the location down. We'll need...

"I've seen those big local map books, with all the streets detailed. They sell them in the bookstore," Beth says, beating me to it.

"I'll go by after Vertebrate Biology. You know what, I won't even go to my one-thirty class, I'll just come straight here and start working on this."

Beth is stunned. "I don't think you've ever voluntarily blown off a class your whole time here."

No, I don't think I have, either. "I'm going to call over and let the professor know, though. I'll tell him I'm sick – that's kind of true anyway."

"And lying to a professor? I don't think I know you anymore." Any other time, it would be funny.

***

I'm as good as my word; I go to my class, then to the bookstore, have a quick bite to eat and then I'm back in my room.

I spend a good two hours trying to trace the route that I described last night. I'm able to find the end point – Old Tree Road – and I can work back part of the way. I get as far as Persimmon Drive but from there it's all guesswork. That's the last street sign Brian wrote down, and then he's got down things like "one or two blocks and then a left" and "two or three blocks, a right, then another right at the next stop sign."

This is a problem.

We've got part of the house number across the street. It starts with seven two. That narrows things down a lot – it'll be the 7200 block of whichever street it is. But which street? It could be any one of several of them. Are we supposed to just go out driving tomorrow, cruising up and down through the suburbs looking for a big tree stump, praying both that I've remembered correctly and that he dreamed it accurately?

Beth comes in at three o'clock. "I did a little more digging," she says by way of greeting. She doesn't sound enthusiastic enough that I think she learned anything earthshaking, but she isn't completely despondent either.

"What did you do?"

She throws her coat on the floor, kicks off her shoes and lies down on her bed. "I went over to the department office. I got Ray to pull the faculty address file for me, and while he was looking for that, I poked around and I found the list of parking stickers and cars."

I'm impressed, more than she seems to be. "And?"

She sighs. "They've only got the post office box for his address. But at least we know what kind of car he's got now. A white 1986 Toyota Corolla. License plate LXG-147."

So that much was right. "He's imagining he's got his old car back, but he put his new license plate on it."

Beth nods. "That's it. In his mind, everything's how it was. He's in the nice house, driving his Cadillac, he never got the scar."

It's just like Gretchen. Except I only see myself as a different person when I get all dressed up and do something fun; he sees himself as a different person when he – when he does what he does. I don't think I'm going to mention that to Beth.

Instead, I show her what I've been up to all afternoon. "I can get to here," I point out the spot on the map, "but it gets fuzzy from there. If I was right about the house number, that narrows down the block, but it could be any one of these streets," I run my hand several inches across the map.

Beth gives me a grim smile. "I guess we're borrowing Joe's car again tomorrow. We're going to need as much daylight as we can get if we're going to search street by street."

Yes, we will.

***

After dinner Brian suggests, repeatedly, that we just go to the police with what we have. "Your friend Jackie, you said her father's a cop. Ask her to call him. Tell him everything."

I don't think we can. I don't think he'd believe me. If I wasn't going through this, and someone else brought it all to me, would I believe it?

The biggest hurdle, to me, would be explaining how we figured out it was Dr. Walters in the first place. Everything we've learned since then fits; it explains why he's doing it, the dates fit a pattern, the incidents with the stepdaughter add weight to everything. But that first step is just impossible to get past, as far as I can tell. What could we possibly say to Jackie's father – or anybody else – that would sound reasonable?

I can't come up with anything. Neither can Beth, or Brian. We're going to have to go out tomorrow and just hope to God we find what we're looking for.

***

We're in the right neighborhood. The streets look like what I saw in the nightmare. We're seeing house numbers starting with seven two. But we haven't had any luck with the details we need. Beth is driving this time – despite my solemn promise to Joe that I would be behind the wheel at all times – so I can focus all my attention on looking at the houses. I'm looking out the driver's side, and Brian's in the passenger seat looking out the other side.

"Remember, there's a big tree stump in the front yard, and the house is red brick. There's a big window, really big, you can see everything in the living room." Another detail pops into my mind. "Their Christmas tree was still up! Look for a Christmas tree in the window."

There's nothing on Oakwood Lane, or on Green Ivy Drive. Brian sees a big stump on Cedarwood Place, but the house behind it has aluminum siding. As we go down street after street, it starts to snow. Only flurries at first, but it just takes a couple of minutes to become heavy. Big, wet flakes plop onto the windshield. If we don't see it soon, I don't know what we'll do – but just then I do see something.

There's a man, carrying something big, with a smaller figure trailing behind him. It's a Christmas tree. They're trudging up Magnolia Lane, and Beth drives past them. "I'll make the block," she whispers. Up ahead, there are several Christmas trees in a big pile on the lawn of the house on the corner.

We come around again, and we pass them walking back the way they came; they've obviously dropped their tree off and they're heading home. Beth goes around a third time, and we spot them turning down Red Oak Drive. She parks a block back, and we watch from afar as they go into a house halfway down the block. Beth starts the car back up, and she drives, very slowly, down the street, through the intersection, past one, two, three houses. The fourth house, the one they went into – that's it. We found it!

Stump in the front yard. Red brick. Huge living room window. And out the other side, Brian's pointing at the big tree in the front, with a large branch that's tantalizingly close to the upstairs bedroom window. "Number 7209," he breathes. "That's it!"

Beth keeps going, as slowly as she dares, and Brian and I try to pick out details. The house definitely needs painting, compared to the others on the block. The snow hasn't quite covered the ground yet; I can see that the paving stones making up the front walkway are all cracked. "Look at the driveway," Brian adds. "It's a mess." There's also no car there, white Toyota Corolla or otherwise.

"What do we do now?" I whisper, not sure why I am – it's not as though anyone can hear us inside the car. I'm torn. Part of me wants to just get out of the car right now, break into the house and see if the girl is there, try to find some other evidence and then call the police.

But if he's home now – even though there's no car in the driveway, he could be – who knows what would happen? And if the girl isn't there, and we don't find any evidence, what do we do then? He'd know someone had been there, maybe he'd go to a motel, and just go get the girl tomorrow anyway and kill – no, I refuse to even think that.

Beth drives a few blocks away and parks in front of a big three-story house on the corner. "It's your decision, Sara. I think it has to be."

I don't know what to do!

Think it through. I can do this. "We only get one chance, whatever we do. If we try to get in now, he'll know when he gets home. No matter how careful we are, we'll disturb something. If we do it and she's not there, then it's all for nothing."

I think that's it. We know – as much as we can be sure of any of this – he'll be here tomorrow at three o'clock, that's when he'll – anyway, it'll be three o'clock. I believe that.

"We come back tomorrow. It's the best chance. Agreed?" I don't like it, but if I have to decide, that's my choice. Neither of them look any happier about it than I do, but Brian nods, and Beth's answer is to start the car and begin heading back.

***

When we get back, the first thing I do is return Joe's car keys, and tell him I'll need them again tomorrow. He balks at first, but I wear him down. "Look, I swear, I won't ever ask you again. But it has to be tomorrow. I have to," I came up with the excuse on the way home, "go and pick up a whole box of MCAT review books from Anne Salinger." She graduated last year, we both knew her. "They're at her parents' house, and I guess they're going on vacation Monday, so tomorrow's the only day I can get them."

Joe accepts that, finally, and hands the keys back to me. "I plan on sleeping in tomorrow. This way you won't bother me in the morning."

I kiss him on the cheek. "You're a lifesaver, you know that?" I hope to God he actually will turn out to be one.

We go to dinner, trudging through the deepening snow. I can't bring myself to eat anything, and tonight it's got nothing at all to do with the quality of the food. Beth and Brian apparently feel the same. He takes maybe three bites of spaghetti and meatballs, and Beth just pushes her fried chicken around her plate for half an hour.

We go back to Carson House, sit in my room and stare at each other for most of the night. Every so often one of us speaks, and nobody answers, and then there's more silence. Around eleven o'clock, Beth decides it's time to go to bed. "We all need to sleep tonight. We have to be at our best tomorrow," she says. I can't argue with that.

"We never decided on the plan for tomorrow," Brian points out. No, we didn't.

"Noon." High noon. That's appropriate, isn't it? "We'll leave at noon. We'll have plenty of time to get there, even if the roads are bad. And then – then..." I don't know about "then." None of us do. "Anyway. You go home," I tell Brian. "Like Beth said, get some sleep." We kiss, and he squeezes me tight.

When he lets go, before he can open the door, Beth jumps up and hugs him. Then I hug the both of them.

None of us say anything, but this time it's because there's nothing left to say.

***

...Sara is in the bedroom, and this time she knows exactly whose bedroom it is and precisely why she's here. She stares at the door, and tonight when it opens and the man and the girl come in, she doesn't cry or scream or try to look away.

She looks the man straight in the eye, speaks calmly to him. "You're not going to hurt her, Dr. Walters. I won't let you."

And he looks at Sara, right at her, and for the first time he sees her, registers her presence. He's confused, surprised, angry. "Who the hell are you?" he says.

"I'm the one who's going to put an end to this," Sara says...

Chapter Sixteen

(January 21-23, 1990)

I'm talking to someone. Who? The only one here is Beth, and she's just now stirring awake.

Oh, my God.

I was talking to him. He saw me. He knew I was there. He knew I was watching.

But he won't understand what it means. I didn't know any of it was real until I saw Brian at the club that night. I'd been having the dreams for a week before I knew it. There's no way he'll realize what's going on.

There better not be.

***

I don't tell Beth; I don't want to say it aloud. We've got more than enough to be worried about today without me adding to it.

She puts on a brave face as she goes about her morning activities. If she weren't my best friend I might be fooled. Nobody else might notice that her smile is forced or that her voice is just a little bit too even and controlled, but it's clear as day to me.

I look at the clock. 9:55 AM. Two hours before we go. I don't want to go to breakfast; I'm sure I won't be able to keep anything down. But I have to do something, distract myself somehow.

I call Brian. He answers on the first ring; he sounds as tense as I am. By way of greeting I ask him, "Has your roommate gone over to breakfast?"

"Not yet," he answers.

"Call me the second he does," I tell him, and he says he will.

Beth looks – I'm not sure whether it's horrified or impressed. Maybe both. "You're not?" is all she can say.

Oh yes, I am. "You of all people should understand," I say, and I can't say anything else because the phone rings. I don't think it's been even thirty seconds since I hung up.

I don't even give him a chance to speak. "Stay right where you are. I'll be over in a minute," I tell him, and I hang up without waiting for a response. I'm out of the room, down the stairs, outside and over to him in record time; it might not even have been a minute.

When he opens the door, I don't say a word. I just go straight in and lock it behind me.

***

An hour later, we're back in my room again. I send Brian down to the vending machine in the lobby to get some sodas and whatever snack looks good. At least we'll have something in our stomachs. And it gives me a moment to talk to Beth alone.

"Even I wouldn't have done that," she says, looking at me nervously.

"I just – I'm afraid. After today – who knows? That could have been the last time..."

She doesn't let me finish. "Don't. Don't you dare say that." She's been thinking it too. I know she has. And Brian felt it just the same as I did. Neither of us said it, but we didn't have to. There were no words at all.

He comes back up a minute later with three Cokes, two Twinkies and a Snickers bar. He starts to apologize, but I shake my head. Really, that's about the best we could hope for.

We eat our snacks in silence. At one point, out of nowhere, Beth takes my hand and Brian's. "We're all going to take care of each other, right? We're all going to be OK, we're all going to come home in one piece. Right?"

"Right," Brian and I say together. Beth squeezes our hands hard.

"Right. That's just all there is to it," she says.

Exactly.

***

It's a quarter after one. We go past the house, and there's still no car in the driveway. I don't know what that means.

We park a couple of streets away and start walking. Beth nearly falls on a patch of ice, and it's very lucky that Brian catches her. That would be all we need – one of us breaking our leg or something.

We're on the block now. Red Oak Drive. About halfway down, there it is, number 7209. Still no white car. Also no lights on. We can't hear a TV or radio or anything else. I don't think he's here. What do we do now?

I know what the answer is, but – once we do it, there's no going back.

"Let's go around the back." I'm in front, tiptoeing around the side of the house. I can hear Brian and Beth crunching through the snow behind me. It's impossible to be quiet.

There's a tiny yard in back and – thank God – a door that probably opens into the kitchen. He can't be home – if he was anywhere on the ground floor, he'd have heard us by now. Still, we whisper.

"What now?" Beth asks.

The lock on the back door looks pretty flimsy. I wonder...

"What are you doing?" Brian asks, as I pull my driver's license out of my pocket and insert it between the door and the doorframe, just like Jessica showed me. It only takes a second – I feel the catch, I push, and I turn the doorknob. We're inside.

"There's no alarm," Beth breathes. Hopefully. Or, there is and it's a silent alarm. But we can't worry about that now.

The kitchen is very dirty; the floor needs a good mopping, and there are probably a week's worth of dishes in the sink. Several days' worth of newspapers sit on the kitchen table.

He's definitely not here. We'd know. I think.

There's a small dining room, a round table and four chairs. There's a living room, curtains drawn. We see a decent-sized TV and a flowery-print sofa with a plastic cover over it. There's a bathroom, the door ajar. Nothing in there. There's another door. It's closed. It must lead to the basement.

And then there are stairs going up. That's where the bedroom is. Brian takes the lead. "Beth, wait at the bottom of the stairs. Let us know if you hear anything," I whisper. I follow Brian. There are three doors, all open. One is another bathroom; the second is filled with boxes, but no furniture or anything else. Nobody in either of them.

The third is the bedroom. Everything is exactly how I saw it. It's as though I've stepped straight into the nightmare. The dresser, the painting with the ship and the orange-red sky, even the wristwatch. All here.

Images come into my mind, and I can see right there on the bed – no! I won't. He's not here. It's not real. It's not going to be real.

"Come down here!" Beth hisses, breaking me out of my spell.

Slowly we step out of the bedroom and back down the stairs. Beth is waiting there; she looks nervous enough for the three of us. "Behind that door," she points to the closed door, the one I assumed leads down to the basement.

After a moment, I can hear what she heard; metal rattling against metal, and something else. Something like an animal whimpering. I try to turn the doorknob; it's locked.

I try my trick again, and I can't get it to open that way. Brian grabs my hand, pulls it away from the doorknob. "Give me one minute," he whispers. Beth and I both cringe at the noise he makes, looking for God knows what in the kitchen.

He returns a couple of minutes later with a hammer. "Under the sink. My Dad keeps a toolkit there, too," he says.

"Go for it," I tell him. There's no point worrying about being quiet now. He takes one, two, three whacks at the doorknob, and on the fourth, he smashes it right off of the door. I look up into his face, and if this were any other time or place, I would kiss him and never let go.

Instead, I turn away from him and pull open the door. There's a raspy shout from below us: "Help me!"

I feel around on the wall, and sure enough there's a light switch. I take two steps down the stairs, and I can see everything. It's an unfinished basement, there are boxes, some lawn furniture folded up against one wall, and, there, by the boiler – there she is.

It's her, the girl I saw. She's sitting on the floor, with one arm up in the air – she's chained to one of the pipes coming out of the boiler.

"Beth, go look for a phone! Call the police!" Brian shouts. I hear her running, I hear Brian coming down the stairs behind me. I continue down, over to the girl.

"We're going to help you. You're going to be all right," I say, forcing calm into my voice. She focuses her eyes on me. She's dressed, thank God. I assume these are the clothes she had on when he took her. Jeans, a Cleveland Browns t-shirt over a long-sleeved white shirt. She's barefoot.

"I'm Sara. What's your name?" She's in shock, I think. I just want to get her talking, get her attention on me and off of whatever's already happened to her. She's got the beginnings of a black eye, and there's a bloodstain all down her left sleeve.

"Rebecca," she mutters. "Help me!"

I put a hand on her shoulder, very gently. "We will, Rebecca. I promise. We're going to get you out of here, you're going to be just fine." I hope. God only knows what she's been through already.

From above, Beth calls out, "There's no phone anywhere!"

I look at Brian; he nods. "Go next door. We'll be OK here."

"I can't leave you here!"

Yes, you can! "Beth, just go! Get the police here! And an ambulance, too!"

I hear her footsteps above me. "I'm going now!" she shouts, and I can hear her muttering in a much lower voice something that sounds like "Oh God, oh God, oh fuck, oh God!" Then there's a sound that has to be the front door slamming shut.

"Please help me!" Rebecca wails again.

"We will, honey. The police are on their way. We'll have you home in no time." Her right wrist is handcuffed to the pipe. I don't know how to get her free. Someone gave Beth a pair of those furry handcuffs last year as a joke, and I remember thinking that they looked pretty flimsy. Not these-they look serious, like what the police use. "You didn't see any nice big, sharp pliers in that toolbox, did you?"

Brian shakes his head. Just then, there's a loud click, and a whistle from the boiler and Rebecca screams. The pipe! "I know it's hard, but you have to keep your arm away from the heating pipe, honey. We're doing everything we can. I promise."

There's a loud thump, and the whistling stops; the heat's off again. Then-oh, fuck. Oh, God. No! I didn't just hear...

I did. Brian heard it too. Rebecca starts wailing at the top of her lungs. "Please don't," I beg her. "Please." I step away from her. She's still yelling. Of course she won't stop. She can't.

I wouldn't.

Brian takes my hand and heads for the stairs. We go up slowly, one at a time. We get to the top...

And there's someone there, looming in the doorway. He shoves Brian with both hands; Brian's too surprised to act. For one instant, he stands on the top step, frozen in place, and then...

***

Everything happens in slow motion. Brian loses his balance. His feet go out from under him. He lets go of my hand as he falls, and for a moment I'm still standing. My left hand goes to the railing, and as Brian goes down headfirst, I grab his ankle with my right.

Then I lose my balance, too. I hear a sharp crack – it seems like the loudest sound I've ever heard-and my right foot is on fire. I scream. Brian slips out of my grip and slides down the stairs. There's a hollow thud as, I think, his head hits the wall. Brian!

I go down right after him, still hanging on to the railing for a moment. My body twists around and I slide down feet first, on my stomach. My right foot hits the floor – I'm screaming again, it's worse than anything – God, it hurts! It's broken. Has to be.

I try to get up anyway, and I make it almost to my knees before the pain is just too much, and I think I black out for a few seconds.

I'm on my back as my eyes open again. There's a sharp pain in my rear, to go along with the stabbing, burning pain in my right foot. I must have fallen on top of something sharp.

I look up to see the man stepping over me. He looks down, and I see him clearly now.

It's him. Dr. Walters. "You!" he spits. His eyes go wide as, I assume, he remembers his own dream. "I saw you last night," he says uncertainly.

"Yes!" I say, forcing the word out. Everything hurts now. My head is pounding. I feel so light-headed. I have to stay conscious. I have to keep talking. Keep him talking. "I saw you, too. I know – I know everything. Everything you did."

Brian's near me, just a couple of feet away. He's lying on the floor, not moving at all. I have to see – he can't be – please, don't be – thank God! There! I can see his chest rising and falling. He's breathing. He's alive.

"I know you," Dr. Walters says, looking from me over to Rebecca and back again. "You're a student at the university."

My attention returns to him; I have to fight to stay awake, to focus on his words. I have to keep him talking. That's how it works in all those movies, doesn't it? As long as he's talking, he isn't doing. And Beth must have called the police by now. They're on their way. They have to be.

"Yeah," I say. I don't know how I'm managing to speak. It's so hard. I just want to pass out. I won't. I can't. "You – my roommate really liked you. You were her advisor. Beth? Beth Rosewell?"

That gets through to him. He's interested in spite of himself. "Elizabeth? Very bright girl. She always impressed me."

Hell of a way you have of showing it, don't you? But it matters to him. It's important that I'm a student there. Maybe – I wonder if – I hope I'm right about this. "The other girl, the one with dark hair, the one at the bus stop. She's a student there, too. But you knew that." That's why his dream about Jackie was different. He dreamed about looking for her, instead of dreaming about already having her. Somewhere inside, maybe he's got just enough of a conscience left that he knew how wrong it was. "You didn't want to hurt her. You didn't want to hurt someone from the school."

He kicks my side, hard. My vision goes dark, just for an instant. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. "You don't know that."

I have to keep going. Keep him talking. Help will be here soon. I know it. Beth wouldn't let me down. "I do know. So do you. You knew it was wrong to hurt her." He's actually listening. I'm getting through. I can't stop now. God, I want to, I want to let go, I want to pass out and not hurt anymore. But I can't do that. "She has a name. Jackie. She's my friend, and Beth's friend. You knew it was wrong. You know it's wrong to hurt me. Or Rebecca over there. She's got a name, too."

I wish Brian would wake up. I need him. I can't do this by myself much longer.

Dr. Walters looks away from me towards Rebecca. "She doesn't matter." It was a mistake to talk about her. Oh, God. I screwed up. I have to get him to hear me again.

"She does so matter! We all matter!" He's just standing there, looking back and forth from me to Rebecca. I'm losing him. I'm losing him, and he's going to – no. I can't let him. "Hurting her isn't going to fix anything!" I don't know where that came from, it just popped into my head. He stomps on my foot, my already injured foot, and I shriek. I retch and my stomach empties onto the floor.

I'm coughing and shaking. I have to get control of myself. Keep talking, keep him talking. "You can't bring your wife back this way," I manage to get out. "You can't get your job back. It won't work."

He kicks me in my side, again. I definitely pass out for a moment there. When I come to, he's still standing over me. Rebecca's still crying. Keep his attention on me. Beth will come through. The police will be here. I know it. "You can't fix everything that went wrong this way."

He snorts. "Next you'll tell me that if I just say I'm sorry and let you go, that'll make everything right again."

"No," I whisper. My voice is going. My throat is so sore. It hurts to breathe. It's a struggle to say anything, but I have to. "You can't make it right. But you can make it not any more wrong than it already is. You've still got the chance for that."

"No. It's gone too far. Too far," he says, and he looks ready to kick me again – and that's when it happens. He freezes.

We all hear it, Dr. Walters and Rebecca and I, at the same time. The sirens. He looks down at his hands, as though he's surprised to find them empty. His eyes dart around the basement in a panic. There's no exit down here, no way for him to escape. No weapons. He steps over me, and as he's running up the stairs I can hear footsteps above me, more than one set of them – lots of them.

It has to be the police. Beth came through for me. I knew she would.

There's a thump, then another one. I hear breaking glass, shouting, more shouting, and finally a thud that shakes the ceiling. And then I pass out for good...

***

I don't know where I am. It's white. Bright. It smells like – cleaner. Not bleach, but something like that. There's someone standing over me, looking down at me.

"Dad?"

I think it's him. He's talking to someone behind him. "She's awake," he says to them.

"Dad?"

"I'm here, Sara. You're fine. You're in the hospital." He looks really tired. I can just see, there's Mom standing right behind him. And Beth is next to her, I think.

I must have laughed. "What's so funny?" Beth asks. It's definitely probably her.

"Mom's the same height as me, did you know that? She looks just like me, and you look just like you, so you look like you and me standing next to each other."

Dad whispers something to them. I think I hear the words "pain medication" but I'm not sure.

"Why am I in the hospital?" Did something happen to me? Why does my right leg look so much bigger than my left? I'm really confused...

***

I remember everything, right up to the moment when the police came. Beth is sitting next to me, and she's just now filling me in on what happened after that. She doesn't wait for me to ask about Brian; that's the first thing she tells me.

"He's fine. He had a concussion, but that was all. They kept him overnight, but they made him go home yesterday." She squeezes my hand. "He wanted to stay, but you were still in Intensive Care and they wouldn't let him, and then his father showed up and took him back to campus."

"Where is he now?"

"Downstairs in the gift shop. Buying you flowers, I think." Of course he is.

I love him.

"What about – what about Rebecca?" I want to ask if she talked about what happened before we found her but I don't think I want to know.

"She's going to be fine, too." Beth knows what I'm not asking. "He didn't – didn't do anything. I mean, besides what we saw." I sigh. That's something, anyway. Actually, it's a lot.

"And Dr. Walters is in jail," she continues. I don't really want to know any more than that. I don't ever want to think about him ever again, if I can help it.

"And – this is important," she says, whispering now. "I told the police what happened. I told them I wanted to visit him, because he was my favorite professor. You and Brian came with me and when we got to the front door we heard Rebecca, and the door was open so we went inside."

What a load of crap. Not that I would have done any better. "They believed that?"

She grins. "Under the circumstances, I don't think they really cared why we were there. But it's better if you tell them the same thing. I already told Brian."

I just now notice her left hand is bandaged. "What happened to you?"

"Oh," she shrugs. "Nobody was home in either house next door, or across the street. Then he drove up, and I kind of freaked out. I picked up a garden gnome and smashed the living room window of that house across the street, and I called 911 from there. I cut myself climbing in through the broken window."

That actually is kind of funny, but I don't have the energy to laugh. "So what happened to me?"

That's less funny. "Your right ankle is broken, you're probably going to have that cast for six weeks or so. And you've got some bruised ribs. And," she's fighting to suppress a giggle. "A laceration of your left buttock. You landed on a nail when you went down the stairs."

"I don't understand. That's not funny." I don't think I appreciate her laughing at my injuries.

"No, it's not." Except obviously it somehow is. "Just – I guess you better not ever break up with Brian, otherwise you'll have to explain to your next boyfriend why you've got a scar on your butt." If I had enough energy, I'd try to sit up and smack her.

Brian picks that moment to walk in the door, bouquet in hand. "Those are so pretty," I say. "So nice. Come here."

Beth takes the flowers out of his hand as he leans over me. I can't pull myself up, but – I don't have to. Brian's found the lever to raise me up, and now my head is level with his, and he kisses me.

"I was so scared, when you fell. I saw you were breathing, but – God, I don't ever want to lose you." That was the worst moment out of all of it, that first instant when I didn't know if he was – if he was alive.

"I don't want to lose you, either. Why don't we just never lose each other, how about that?"

I kiss him; it seems like a good answer.

It's all the answer either of us needs.

Epilogue

(May 31-June 1, 1990)

I'm sitting on my bed, looking at my cast. I don't know why I kept it, but there it is on the floor, over in the corner.

I remember Beth telling me I'd have it for six weeks. I actually had it for nine, and I think I reminded her about that every single day past six weeks until it came off. She laughed, I think, every single time I did, too.

I don't know how I'll ever pay her back for everything she did – for helping me around for nine weeks. For all of it. It's funny, but I think the responsibility she took on in taking care of me really agrees with her. She must have thought so too, because she applied to be an RA next year.

She wasn't the only one who helped me, either. There was poor George, although that wasn't really by choice. A week after – well, after "it" happened, he slipped on an icy patch of sidewalk and broke his leg in two places. Somehow hobbling around with a cast felt just a little bit easier knowing someone else in the dorm was going through it with me. And we became physical therapy buddies – three times a week right up until the semester ended.

Then there was Mona, who took time out of her insanely busy schedule to help me study for the MCATs when it was – quite literally – painfully obvious that I wasn't going to be able to make it to the official review sessions. Melanie and Janet joined me, in a very touching show of solidarity. Melanie and I buried the hatchet, too.

Even so, I guess I should be honest and admit that I took great pleasure in scoring higher than Melanie. For the record, I did really well – a 73, which put me in the 96th percentile. Which means I'll probably have my choice of where to go for medical school, and I've got a great shot at the Livingston scholarship, too.

Jackie and her father helped by not pushing me about exactly what happened or how I knew what I knew. I think, after Dr. Walters was caught, she finally understood how lucky she was just to be alive, and she took that to heart. Her father did, too; he also did everything in his power to get the police to accept the story Beth cooked up at face value.

That was much easier after Dr. Walters pled guilty. According to the newspaper, he did it as part of a deal so that he would "only" get life plus fifty years in prison rather than the electric chair, or however they execute people these days. He'll never, ever get out of prison, and that's good enough for me.

Beth and Brian and I all got harassed quite a bit by reporters, for a little while at least. Until another friend came to our aid. John convinced his friend Natalie the law student to try and get the reporters off our backs. I don't know what she did or said – I think she might have gotten one of her professors to help, too – but it worked.

It turns out I was right about the two of them, as well. Diana broke up with John, and he finally noticed that Natalie liked him. I'm glad, for her even more than for him – us older women with an eye for younger men have to stick together!

Over and above everyone else, every single day, there was Brian. He was so patient, so kind. He was everything I needed – everything I still need.

Life is pretty much back to normal. I'm just barely limping now; on good days you can't even tell. On really good days, sometimes even I forget that I've got two metal screws in my foot and another one in my ankle.

I still haven't seen the other physical reminder of what happened – my new scar. Beth offered, repeatedly, to take a picture of it for me. Brian says it's hardly noticeable at all; if you didn't know it was there you wouldn't even see it. I'm not really worried about that; nobody besides him is going to be seeing it anyway!

I still think about it all, obviously. But it's just memories now. They don't have any power anymore. I don't wake up screaming, I don't walk around in terror. And most importantly, my nights belong to me again. I haven't had a dream that's not my own since that last night before we saved Rebecca...

***

...Sara is in a backyard. The sun is shining, the grass is green. There's a grill, with smoke issuing from it; there's a little fountain gurgling away. There's a big round metal table with an umbrella over it.

She knows this place – it's Brian's backyard. And there he is, with his father, and Sara's father.

"I know how old I am!" Brian says. "And I know how old she is, too. She's almost twenty two, and that's the same age her Mom was when..." he says to Sara's father.

Sara's father holds up a hand, interrupting him. "We're not going to talk you out of it, I know better than that," he says.

"There's no point," he then says to Brian's father. "Even if we did, she'd probably just go ahead and ask him." Sara's father produces a small box from his pocket. "As long as you're going to do it, you may as well do it properly. This was my mother's – her grandmother's."

He hands the box to Brian...

***

I wake up completely refreshed, completely relaxed. I shower and dress and the smell of bacon leads me down to the kitchen. Mom is just sitting down to her breakfast; Dad and Bob must have eaten already.

I go to her and give her a hug. "What's that for?" she asks, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"Nothing," I say. "Just – could you take me over to the salon this morning? If you ask them, they'll fit me in today, right?"

She's very suspicious now. "The salon? Why?"

"No reason," I answer. "Brian's just coming over later, and – well, I want to look my best, that's all." It's very important that I do. It's time to let Gretchen out for a little while. "Oh, and can I borrow your diamond earrings again?"

"Sara Katarina Barnes, you tell me what's going on!" She already knows, I think. She just can't quite wrap her mind around it. I don't blame her. It is kind of a big deal. It's six months to the day that we met, and what more appropriate time is there than that?

"There's nothing going on, Mom. I want to look nice for my boyfriend, that's all. And I guess I'm just in a good mood today. You know, I had the most wonderful dream last night..."

The End

To continue the series with Dream Doctor now, follow this link: click here to visit the author's website: writingdreams.net.

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##    
Deception  
The Transformed  
Book One  
By Stacy Claflin

##

##

Chapter One

My little sister screamed. She threw open the driver's side door of the shiny, red BMW. Natalie moved aside the red ribbon from the giant bow to get inside the car. The new-car scent wafted over to where I stood with my parents.

I looked over at my used, hard-earned Ford. It languished next to the glistening BMW.

POP!

POP!

POP!

Three of the six driveway lights exploded into tiny pieces and fell onto the cement not far from us. The shock form the lights didn't last long. My oblivious sprinted back to our parents as her blonde ponytail swayed back and forth. She gave them each a big hug and a perfect smile.

"Daddy, can I take it to practice and show my friends?" Natalie pleaded with her big doe eyes. "Please?"

"Sure, sweetheart. Let's get a picture first." My dad turned to me. "Alexis, will you take a picture of us in front of Natalie's new car?"

I narrowed my eyes and then counted backwards from ten.

POP!

POP!

POP!

The other three driveway lights exploded into a glassy mess.

"What's going on?" my mom exclaimed.

I grabbed the camera from my dad's hand. "Just pose already."

They stood in front of the car. My parents and sister looked like a picture-perfect family straight from a magazine. Without me.

I handed the camera back to my dad and stormed into my room. Soon there was a knock on my door. I ignored it.

The door opened anyway. My mom walked in. "We're leaving to watch Natalie's practice."

"Have fun." I didn't hide my disdain.

She glared at me. "Stop being selfish for one day and do something nice. Did you even get her a present?"

I took several deep breaths. "What do you think? All my money goes toward car insurance."

POP!

POP!

A light on my desk and one on the ceiling shattered. Broken glass showered onto my bed and desk.

My mom didn't even bat an eye. "Be ready to leave in 15 minutes." She left the room.

I glanced at the calendar. College never looked so far away. One day I would attend an Ivy League school, as far away as possible.

Soon I was in my dad's Escalade with my parents on our way to the high school.

"Jack, two bulbs in Lexi's room exploded before we left," my mom complained.

I could almost hear him raise an eyebrow. "Those ones too? I'll have to give Roger a call. Maybe he can help us figure it out."

"Don't you think it's odd that the lights keep bursting?" It was more of a demand than a question.

"Yes of course, beautiful. But there's not much we can do now, so we may as well just enjoy Natalie's game."

"Practice," I muttered.

"Why can't you ever be happy for your sister?" asked Mom.

"Oh look, we're here." I opened the door before the car came to a full stop and ran for the gym. Things went by in a blur as I ran. It was strange, but I was too anxious to get away from my parents to question it. When I stopped at the doors, a group of kids stared at me. I was used to being the butt of jokes, so I opened the gym door to get away.

The stands were nearly full. At least half of our small town was there for nearly every game and practice. The girls' varsity team was Delphic Cove's pride and joy. They'd been the undefeated Washington state champions for years.

This year appeared to be no exception, and my sister was one of the team all-stars. She was not only the favorite of our family, but of the school too—and she was only a sophomore.

My two best friends sat in the bleachers near the middle. I joined them.

Emma looked up from texting and smiled. "You avoid Natalie's games like the plague. What gives?"

"It's Natalie's birthday and our family's here to give her a special birthday cheer."

Emma laughed.

Amanda rolled her eyes at Emma, and then turned to me. "So what did they get her this year, another Louis Vuitton purse?"

"No. A thousand dollar purse is nothing. They got her a new BMW."

Emma and Amanda stared at me.

"They got her a beamer?" Emma shouted. "No way. I chose the wrong sister."

Amanda shoved her and Emma nearly fell off the bleacher, which was pretty impressive since Emma wasn't small.

Emma and Amanda stared at me. It reminded me of the kids outside the gym.

"What?" I felt my nose to make sure nothing was hanging down.

"There's something different about you," Amanda said.

Emma nodded her head. "Sure is."

"Like what?" I asked.

"I don't know exactly," Amanda said.

Emma shrugged her shoulders.

My parents sat down next to us and I groaned.

"Hello girls," my mom said to Emma and Amanda. "We're here to watch Natalie's practice. Did you know that it's her birthday today? Her sweet sixteen." My mom beamed.

"Is she having a big party?" Emma asked. "I didn't get an invite!" She was always obnoxious, but I enjoyed it when she aimed it at my parents.

My mom scowled. "No party this year. We got her a large present instead."

"Yeah, I saw that shiny, new BMW in the parking lot," Emma lied. "What'd you get Alexis for her sweet sixteen last year? Wasn't it an iPod?"

My mom's face turned red and she turned away from us. We scooted away and whispered.

At the half time break, my mom turned to me. "Since you didn't buy your sister anything for her birthday, get her a watermelon smoothie. That's her favorite."

"I'll go with you," said Amanda. She grabbed my arm and dragged me to the concession stand.

"Can you believe them?" I exclaimed.

"Just think about it this way," Amanda said, "after next year we graduate. Then you can go to any college as far away as you want: Princeton, Harvard, Stanford, Yale, or whatever. You'll get a full ride scholarship anywhere. You know I'm right."

"Don't try to talk me down. I just want to pour the watermelon smoothie all over them—inside that stupid BMW."

"I'd love to see that." Amanda giggled.

I ordered the watermelon smoothie using the last $5 from my clearance-rack purse. Then I walked toward the player's bench in the sight of everyone in the stands.

My rage had a companion for the moment: humiliation.

I walked to my sister and faked a sweet smile. "Happy birthday." I handed her the smoothie. "It's watermelon, your favorite."

She gave me a sweet smile in return. "You didn't have to. Thanks, Lexi." She gave me a hug and we both looked up at our parents and waved to them. Our dad took a picture.

I headed back to my seat with Amanda.

Before I even sat down, my mom said, "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

As I watched Natalie sip the smoothie, I felt the rage tear at me like a wild, cornered animal.

I was only half-listening to my parents talk about how great Natalie was. As I watched her drink the smoothie and laugh with her friends, I imagined pouring it on her head. I grabbed the bench, afraid I might jump up and actually do it.

Suddenly, the bright red smoothie burst straight up out of the cup onto Natalie's face, hair, and jersey. It was as if someone had hit the cup from the bottom to make the smoothie leap up against the forces of gravity—exactly when I thought of throwing it on her.

POP! POP! POP!

POP! POP! POP!

POP! POP! POP!

Rows of fluorescent lights burst all over the gym. People screamed and shrieked, while others ran for cover.

The drive home was a blur as my mom yelled and whined. Too bad I didn't have my iPod so I could've tuned her out.

When we finally got home, I ran to my room and found my light bulb mess to clean up. It was dark by then and I couldn't ignore it.

I used a flashlight to make sure I got all of the pieces picked up before heading for the garage to get new bulbs. I groaned when I saw my parents and sister sitting at the kitchen table. I managed to cover a smile when I saw the red covering Natalie's bleached blonde hair and jersey.

"Are the light bulbs still in the garage?" I asked.

"On the third shelf," my dad said, not even looking up.

I went to the garage. I squeezed between my dad's Escalade and my mom's Mercedes to get to the shelf. It was an ordeal to get the stool so I could reach the shelf. I finally got the bulbs and marched inside, trying to ignore everyone as I went through the kitchen.

Natalie asked where the batteries were for her foot spa.

Dad said, "They're on the top shelf in the garage. I'll get them for you. I don't want you to have to deal with that."

As I had earlier.

POP!

POP!

Two more shattered light bulbs.

"You'd better get some lights while you're at it." I stormed to my bedroom.

Later, Natalie came into my room.

"What do you want?"

"You know, it wasn't my idea for them to get me the car. I know they always buy me nice stuff, but it's not my fault. Maybe they're trying to help me not feel bad about never being able to live up to you."

I laughed. "You, not living up to me? You're the volleyball star, you're on the sophomore homecoming court, and you're the stylish, popular one. How exactly do you not live up to boring, plain me?"

"You're smart and confident, Alexis. You've got the best grades in the whole school. You're the first junior to be president of the Honor's Club. Don't forget about your trip to the White House after you won that national science contest. Can we at least have a truce? I don't like all of the competition. Sisters are supposed to have a special bond. It's not supposed to be like this."

"I don't want something fake," I said. "I'm not going to pretend that everything is fine when it's not. You're the favorite, and they always throw it in my face. You don't do anything to discourage it."

"Discourage it? What am I supposed to do to?" she asked. "They're our parents. It's not my job to tell them what to do."

"You could tell them to not act like I'm a peasant."

"You're crazy. No wonder they like me better."

I jumped off the bed. "Excuse me?"

She looked at me with innocent eyes. "What?"

"I said, 'excuse me?'"

"What? That it's not my job to tell our parents what to do?"

"No. What you said after that." I glared at her.

"I didn't say anything after that, Alexis." She narrowed her eyes.

"You didn't call me crazy and say it was no wonder they like you better?"

Her face went white. "I never said that."

"I heard you loud and clear. You can't deny it."

She stood up too. "I don't know what's going on here, but I didn't say that."

"Are you kidding me?"

"What a freak," she said—but her mouth didn't move.

"Did you just call me a freak?" I asked, before I could stop myself.

"What? You were looking right at me. If you don't want to be friends that's fine. Just leave me alone." She stormed out of the room.

POP!

POP!

Chapter Two

I woke up to the sun shining on my face. I couldn't remember falling asleep or having had any dreams. At least it was still early, not even 9:00 yet. Perhaps I could sneak out of the house unnoticed.

I wanted to enjoy the sunny morning before I had to work the lunch shift, so I got ready as fast as I could and jumped in my rusty Ford. With weather like this, I headed straight for the lake. It wasn't huge, but it was peaceful. I sat on a bench, soaking in the warm sun and enjoying the sights and sounds. It was so relaxing, and it never lasted long enough.

This was no exception.

"Alexis! What are you doing here?"

I turned around to see Brooke, my childhood friend who had moved to the other side of town. Since we didn't go to the same schools, we had drifted apart. Had we been old enough to drive when she moved, we might have remained close.

"Brooke! I haven't seen you in so long."

She sat next to me. "It's great to see you. How's everything?"

"I'm not doing much. I work and study most of the time."

Brooke sat. "That's how I feel too. I'm taking fashion courses outside of school."

I looked her up and down. She was dressed as if she'd just stepped out of the pages of a magazine. For the first time in my life, I felt self-conscious about my boring clothes and no makeup. "You'll do great. Just look at you."

She leaned back. "Thanks. I'll never be as pretty as you, though."

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. "Yeah, right."

"No joke. You're gorgeous, but you've never seen it," she said.

I couldn't hold in the laughter. "I don't know what you're on, but I appreciate it. Especially after yesterday."

"What happened then?" she asked.

"The short story is that it was Natalie's birthday and once again my parents threw their favoritism in my face."

Brooke frowned. "That's not surprising."

"They completely outdid themselves this time."

"Why don't you spend the night tonight? You can get away from them and we can catch up. It'll be fun. We could bake cookies, like we used to."

The corners of my lips curved upward. "That does sound like fun. My shift at the deli is over at four, so that gives me plenty of time."

"Perfect." She gave me her new address. "I'll see you then."

As she walked away, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the warm sun and the sounds of the lake lapping up on the shore. I wasn't sure how much time had passed when I heard a strange whirring noise. I tried to ignore it, hoping that it would go away.

It only got louder and chills ran through me, so I opened my eyes.

Over a hundred crows flew in a massive circle directly above. I jumped off the bench, gasping for air.

As soon as one crow made eye contact with me, it cawed. The rest followed suit and dozens of crows orbited around over me, and all of them shrieked at me.

I grabbed my purse and inched away from the bench without breathing. I couldn't take my eyes off of them, and I noticed that as I inched along, the whole circle inched right along with me in the air above me. I stopped for a moment and finally took a breath.

As soon as I breathed again, every single creepy bird in the circling, cawing flock turned its eyes toward me. Each one looked down at me while whirling above my head.

I tip-toed a couple feet. Each one kept its eyes fixed on me. They circled, cawing, and stayed directly above me. Exactly as I moved, the circle moved.

I made a split second decision and ran to my car as fast as I could without looking up or back. Once I was safely locked in my car, I looked outside to see if they had followed me. I didn't see them, so I inched myself forward so that I could see above the car without getting out.

There they were, flying right above in their massive whirl.

I started the car and floored it out of the parking lot. I looked at the clock and decided to go to work early. The deli would still have the last of the breakfast crowd and the late risers grabbing some coffee. It would be crowded, and best of all, indoors away from creepy birds.

When I arrived at the strip mall, I ran inside, noticing again that everything went by in a blur as I ran.

After my shift, I went straight to my room and packed for the sleepover. Just as I put the last item in my bag, there was a knock at my door.

"Come in," I said, sighing.

My dad walked in. He pointed to the bag. "Moving out?"

"I ran into Brooke and we're going to have a sleepover at her house."

"Next time you should probably ask first," he said, "but I'll overlook it this once. Since it's Brooke."

"So do you need something? I'm in kind of a hurry."

"I have good news. Your mom and I decided to take over your car insurance payments. We'll cover your gas too."

"What?" I pinched myself.

"Of course. We know how hard you work. I'd also like to get you something nice for your birthday coming up. Is there anything that you want?"

I shrugged. "I'll have to think about it."

"Honey, I hope you know how proud I am of you. You want something and go after it until you get it," he said. "You'd already worked for and bought your car before you turned sixteen. You didn't even give us a chance to give you a car."

"Thanks," I said, squirming. I wasn't used to this type of conversation. I grabbed my bag. "I have to go. I don't want to keep Brooke waiting."

He gave me an awkward hug before I walked out of my room.

As I walked through the kitchen, my mom stepped in front of me. "Where do you think you are going?"

"I'm going to spend the night at Brooke's house. Dad said I could."

"You don't deserve it after the way that you behaved yesterday. What are you wearing, anyway?"

"Clothes."

"I don't get you," she said. "You don't care about what's stylish. That's why I never buy you nice things. You wouldn't appreciate them. You're happy with plain things." She looked disgusted.

I shook my head and then ran to my car. Everything passed in a blur again.

When I got to Brooke's house, her mom, Rachel, gave me a big hug. Her dad, Charles, and brother, Stephen, remarked on how good it was to see me again. It felt like they'd never moved away and they still felt more like family than my own. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed all of them until then.

After dinner, Brooke dragged me to her room. We sat on her huge, king-sized bed and talked about our lives.

"I'm glad you're still planning on going to an Ivy League school." she said. "You've been working hard on your grades for so long."

"And I can't believe that you went from wanting to be a teacher to a fashion designer."

She leaned back. "Are you going to your homecoming dance? It's only a couple of weeks away. Mine's on that Friday night and yours is the next night."

I groaned. "I'm trying to ignore it. Natalie will probably be crowned and I don't want to deal with that. I have to endure her being a princess at home as it is."

"You know why you really aren't looking forward to it?" she asked.

I raised my eyebrows.

"Because you've never gotten dressed up. You don't even know your potential."

"Well, I don't have a date and no one's interested in me, so I guess I we'll never know."

Her face lit up. "My cousin's coming into town in a week. You can go to your homecoming with him. You'll be so stunning that everyone will forget all about Natalie. Also, he's super good looking—all the girls will be jealous."

"You've got it all planned, don't you?" I asked. "How long did it take you to cook this up?"

"Come on. What do you say?" Her eyes were begging me to say yes.

I sighed loudly. "Okay, fine. But you're going to have to do all of the work."

"That's the fun part," she squealed. "Let me measure you and I'll create a dress just for you. I've been dying to work on a project like."

"What? Isn't that going to be expensive? Or time consuming?"

"Nope. It'll be cheaper, and besides, I need to design a gown for one of my classes. You're helping me out."

"I guess if it'll help you." I stood up to get measured.

The rest of the evening was fun, girly time and I actually enjoyed myself. I didn't think that I would like being measured or looking at fabrics and colors.

The next morning, I woke up before Brooke and peeked through the blinds. It was fall and the weather was sure to turn cold soon. I wanted to enjoy each warm sunny day that we had left.

Before I could even tell what the weather was, a crow flew past the window and cawed loudly in front of the window.

I yelled out, my heart pounding. I jumped away from the window, covering my chest.

Brooke blinked her eyes. "What's going on?"

I tried to force my breathing back to normal. "I was looking out the window and a crow flew by and scared me."

"A crow?"

"Yeah, they've really been freaking me out. Yesterday, a bunch of them were flying around me and it was really creepy. Now this."

"Is anything else weird going on?" she asked.

"Now that you mention it, lights have been exploding around me," I said. "On Natalie's birthday, a bunch of light bulbs shattered at home. Then some exploded at Natalie's practice in the gym, which was right after her smoothie erupted all over her face." I couldn't help giggling at that last part.

"That's odd. What was going on when the lights exploded?"

I thought for a moment. "The first lights blew up when my parents gave Natalie the new BMW. Then some exploded in my room after they told me that I had to go to her practice to cheer her on. Why? What does that have to do with anything?"

"You know me. I have to know all the details about everything. So you were pretty mad about the BMW?"

"Mad? I'm furious! What's worse is that they can't even see the blatant favoritism. There's nothing that's more special about her. I don't get it. They buy her the nicest of everything and make me work for everything. My mom even blames me for that, saying that I wouldn't appreciate nice things if I had them."

"Obviously not much has changed," she said. "Except that they're buying her even more expensive things now."

"It'll never change. That's why I'm going to college far, far away from Delphic Cove." I could feel the rage trying to surface again.

"I can only imagine how awful it is to live with that and to have her be so popular at school too." Brooke looked at me as though she expected something.

"It's worse than awful. Everywhere I go, I hear about how great and wonderful Natalie is. She can hit a ball over a net but does that mean that she needs to have everything handed to her?"

"It's not right at all. You get better grades, you work hard, you should have nicer things than she does," Brooke said.

"You're right."

POP!

A light bulb in Brooke's room shattered.

"Why does this keep happening?"

"It seems like every time you get mad something explodes," Brooke said, not moving to clean the mess.

"Are you actually suggesting that I'm at fault?"

"It makes sense if you think about it," she said.

"It makes no sense. Light bulbs and smoothies don't explode because someone's mad."

"Then why is everything blowing up when you're angry?" she asked.

"You're really going to blame this on me? You sound like my mother." I folded my arms.

Brooke laughed. "I'm not blaming you. You didn't plant explosives. I just said that things are exploding when you're mad. It's a simple correlation. I'd think that the girl everyone used to call 'the scientist' could see that much."

I narrowed my eyes. "The crows showed up when I felt relaxed and happy."

"What do you make of it?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"Well, let's forget about it. Why don't you get in the shower and I'll make my special omelets? You'll love them."

"Okay," I said, sighing.

"See you downstairs." She jumped up and ran out of the room.

As I was getting my stuff out of my bag, I heard Brooke talking to her brother.

"We were right, Steve. The lights bursting at the gym were because of Alexis."

"So it's starting," he said.

What was starting? I opened the bedroom door, expecting them to be right outside, but they weren't. I tip-toed around the entire floor, but didn't see them.

I went down the stairs quietly and crept around until I spied them in the office at the far end of the house. There was no way that I could have heard them from Brooke's bedroom. That would've been impossible.

I snuck back up to Brooke's bedroom and looked for a vent or some other way I could have heard them. There was nothing that would have allowed me to hear them. She had an old-style heater without vents.

Maybe I had imagined the conversation. It was probably stress causing me to hear voices. I was upset when I heard Natalie speaking without moving her mouth. My emotional state had to be triggering this. Whatever this was.

Chapter Three

On Monday at lunch, I sat next to Amanda at our regular table with Emma, her boyfriend, and some of his friends. Amanda looked lost in her thoughts and everyone else was talking with each other.

"Is everything okay?" I asked Amanda.

She looked up. "I'm just going over my history facts for my test next period."

"Want some help?" I offered.

"Nah," she said. "I'd rather hear what you've been up to. I didn't hear from you all weekend. Some best friend. Last I saw you, everyone was running from those freakish lights."

"Don't remind me," I mumbled. I changed the subject. "On Saturday, I ran into Brooke and spent the night at her house."

"I forgot about her," Amanda said. "They up and moved pretty suddenly, didn't they?"

"I guess it was sudden," I said, shrugging my shoulders.

"They did move unexpectedly, I remember. I've never seen anyone move so fast. It was weird."

"They're fine now. She's taking classes on fashion design and she wants to create a homecoming dress for me."

"What? Does this mean that you're going to a dance?" Amanda smiled and adjusted her glasses.

"Yeah. She talked me into it. I'm probably going to make a complete fool of myself."

"This is going to be so much fun. Do you have any ideas on who to go with?"

"I'm going with her cousin. He's going to be in town then. No one else would be interested in me anyway."

"Oh...is he cute?" Amanda smiled wide.

"She says he is. It doesn't matter, because he won't want to see me again after the dance. Guys never give me a second glance."

"Oh, this is so exciting. You're finally going to a dance." Amanda danced in her seat.

"Who are you going with?" I asked, trying to get into the excitement. I couldn't understand spending hours in the bathroom just to get attention from boys. I was much more interested in preparing myself for a solid career. I wanted to have a job in a field that would allow me to take part in putting the bad guys away. It would be fun to use my science knowledge to uncover evidence at crime scenes. Or even to be a lawyer or judge would be exciting.

The entire process of fighting for justice was alluring. I was even a member of the CSI Club after school, which met once a week. Much to the disappointment of my hormone-driven friends, I wasn't even interested in any of the smart, geeky guys in the club. Amanda and Emma seemed to think that I was missing out on something special.

No thank you. I would much rather have spent my time pushing through classes so I could get those A's and eventually get into a prestigious school which could earn me the career of my dreams.

Everyone saw me as boring, myself included if I was honest.

I realized that Amanda was still talking about the dance while I was daydreaming about my future career. I tried to focus on what she was saying, because it was obviously important to her.

"We're going to talk our dates into renting a limo and going to dinner before the dance. Want to go with us?" She nodded her head, clearly trying to get me to agree.

"That could be fun," I said. "I need to talk with Brooke first and see what's going on with her cousin. I don't want to set any plans just yet."

"Okay, just make sure that you talk to her soon."

The bell rang and we all went our separate ways.

The afternoon breezed by as I went through my afternoon classes and to my CSI club. Once the meeting was over, the halls were mostly empty since everyone else had already gone home or was practicing their sports.

As I walked to my car in the parking lot, I heard the familiar whirring noise overhead and my heart sank.

I looked up. Sure enough, there was a flock (I didn't even want to think of the other name for a group of crows—a murder!) flying in the air. This time there were even more than before.

They were between my car and me. I would have to risk running directly underneath them to get to my car.

I had to decide what to do – -and fast. I ran towards the school and away from my car as fast as I could. I had a bad feeling about going back into the school, so at the last second, I darted away from the doors and ran around the school to the back side where the sport fields were.

Once I got near the football field, I dared to look behind me to see if the crows were still chasing me. I couldn't see any. They must not have wanted the attention from all the people around.

I leaned against a pole to catch my breath and calm my nerves.

"Where's the fire?" came a voice.

I looked up and saw a senior named Tanner Monroe standing near me. He was popular, and I braced myself for what he might say next. I was sure that he was going to make fun of me because he was known for being a jerk.

"There's no fire." I didn't owe him an explanation.

"I can't believe how fast you were running," he said, actually sounding impressed.

"Yeah, that's why they call it running, because it's fast."

"No, seriously," he said. "Our girls' track team could use you this year. All of our fastest runners graduated last year. You're faster than the ones that are left, by a long shot."

"I don't have much of an interest in sports," I told him.

"You're Natalie's sister, aren't you?" he asked.

"I have a name. It's Alexis."

"You should think about the track team, Alexis. You might even be the fastest in the school."

"I'm more of a brain than a jock," I said. "I wouldn't want my grades to suffer."

"If you're so smart, you should know that exercise is good for the mind." He grinned.

"Of course I know that. I also know that being involved in a sport takes a lot of time. I see how much time Natalie spends with volleyball."

"She does a lot more than just practice volleyball."

I raised an eyebrow. "What are you saying?"

"Obviously you and your sister aren't that close."

"You must be a brain surgeon to figure out that one."

He gave me a funny look. "I have to get back to football. Let me know if you want to try out for the track team. I'm one of the team managers."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said.

He turned around and jogged to the football field. I walked past the building and peeked around the corner to see if the nasty crows were waiting for me.

They were.

I walked the whole way around to the other side of the school, and saw the crows were still waiting for me on the other side of the building. I got my car key ready and ran as fast as I could to my car. By the time they saw me and had made their way toward me, I was already locked inside my car. I peeled out of the parking lot.

I had time before my shift at the deli, so I decided to go to the library. When I had settled into a chair, someone sat down in the chair next to me. "Hi Lexi."

It was Stephen, Brooke's brother. "Stephen, what are you doing here? All the way across town, I mean. I wasn't trying to imply that you shouldn't be at the library."

He laughed. "It's great to see you too." He fake-punched my arm. "I was at the sports store down the road and decided to get some homework done and wait out the traffic."

"Makes sense."

"What are you studying?" He peeked over my shoulder at the book.

"Honors Lit. We have to read a book a week. It can be a bit much, but it's good prep for college," I said.

"What are you going to major in? I bet you already have it figured out."

I smiled. "I want to do something to do with justice."

"The justice field, huh?" he asked. "That's amazing."

"Why?" I asked.

"Oh. I...uh, it just seems...uh... Hey, your school has that CSI Club, right? Are you part of that?"

"Yeah. I love it. The science behind solving the crimes is phenomenal. I think I'd really love being a part of that. Last year we got to go on a walk through with some real CSI's and it was even better than I'd thought," I said, practically gushing.

"Is it like the TV show?" Stephen asked.

"That's what everyone asks. It's not full of such melodrama, but it's exciting because of how they are able take seemingly insignificant clues to prove someone's innocence or guilt."

"That's interesting. Not that I could do it, but I'm glad that there are people like you who want to."

"So you said you need to study?" I asked. "I really need to read this book."

"Right. Sorry." He pulled a book out of his backpack. "Don't let me disturb you."

We read in silence for a while and then he said, "Brooke told me about the crows the other day. Are they really following you around?"

I sighed. "I really don't want to talk about the crows, Stephen."

"You can call me Steve."

"Okay, Steve, I really don't want to talk about the crows."

"I'm sure you don't, but I want to hear about them. It's not every day someone is being chased by ugly birds, you know."

"You're definitely Brooke's brother," I said.

"Yes, we are. So tell me about the crows."

I sighed so that he would know what a pain he was being, and then I told him every detail about the crows, from their first visit at the lake to their show at the school earlier.

Just like Brooke, he didn't seem weirded out by the whole thing. They both just seemed strangely concerned.

"You must've been running pretty fast for the track manager to take notice," he said.

I shrugged. "I was running for my life. I doubt that I could run like that for a competition."

"You never know," he said.

It was my turn to change the subject. "So what's your cousin like? Brooke has set us up for my homecoming dance, but I know nothing about him."

"My cousin?" he asked, looking confused. "Oh. You mean Clifford. Right. Yeah. I almost forgot he was coming to visit."

"His name is Clifford? I didn't even know that much."

"He usually goes by Cliff. What do you want to know about him?" Steve asked.

"I'd like to know anything at all. It'd be nice to know at least something about the guy, since I'm going to be spending an entire evening with him."

"I wouldn't worry about it. You two will get along great."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I, uh...I just know. Well, I better get going."

"Okay," I said. "I need to get some more homework done before work anyway."

The rest of the week was blissfully boring, and on Friday evening I was back in Brooke's bedroom. She was fitting the dress but had me blindfolded, because she didn't want me to see it until the day of the dance.

"This is going to be perfect," she squeaked. "It already looks stunning, but when I add the finishing touches, no one will even compare."

"Now I have to see it."

"Don't even try. You get to see it next Saturday as a complete picture, after I've done your hair and makeup."

"Didn't your parents give you dolls when you were little?" I asked.

"That was the beginning of my love for dressing people up." she said. "Now that I'm designing clothes, I get to dress up real people and that's so much more fun."

"At least I can provide you with entertainment," I said. "Can you get this dress off me? I want to take off the blindfold."

"Sure, I have all that I need. Give me a minute."

I gladly threw the blindfold on the floor when I was finally given permission. "When does your cousin come into town? Do I have to wait for the dance to see him too?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Yes. This is going to be truly magical."

My heart jumped when she said that and I started to get excited. "Will you tell me something about him?"

"He looks like a movie star," she said. "He's smart like you, and you two will steal the show. Everyone will forget about the homecoming royalty."

"Sounds like my mom will be proud to call me her daughter for once," I said. "She thinks my brains are wasted on a girl."

"Don't worry about her," Brooke said.

"Even if I were the top judge or attorney in the nation, she wouldn't care unless I was well dressed and in the spotlight," I said, getting upset. "She doesn't care about anything I do now. Even self-obsessed Natalie is impressed with my accomplishments. She told me as much the other day. My mom will never see it. I'm such a disappointment to her."

"Hey, calm down, chica," she said. "I don't want any more broken light bulbs."

I stopped myself. "You're probably right."

"Probably? I've seen it myself," she said. "If you keep going, I'm going to have another mess to clean."

"How can someone treat their own child like that?" I asked, unable to think about anything else. "If I took care of someone as a baby, I would never be able to treat them like this. Something is seriously wrong with her."

"Not really. She didn't have that time to bond with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, confused.

"What does what mean?" she asked, looking equally confused.

"Oh crap." I said. Brooke's mouth hadn't moved when she 'said' that. I'd heard her voice clearly, but her lips hadn't budged.

"What does what mean?" she insisted.

"Nothing," I said, too quickly.

"It's definitely something."

"Obviously it's nothing, because you didn't say anything," I said. "I thought that you said something, but I'm just hearing things."

"What did you hear exactly?" Brooke asked. I thought I saw her eyes flicker to a different color.

I shook my head to clear it. "I thought you said something about my mom, but it doesn't matter because you obviously didn't."

She jumped up. "I'll be right back." She ran out of the bedroom.

I sighed. I had finally scared her off with my weirdness. Crows and exploding light bulbs were one thing, but hearing voices was too much.

"Steve, it's happening faster than I thought," Brooke said.

"What's going on now?" Steve asked.

"She heard my thoughts. It's progressing even faster than we thought."

"Do you think that we'll be able to wait until the dance?"

"I hope so, though Cliff will be here in a couple of days. We'll ask him what he thinks. He'll know what to do," Brooke said.

"It wouldn't be the end of the world if we have to tell her before the dance, Brooke."

I put my hands over my ears—as if that would silence voices coming from my head—and tried not to listen to the craziness. Either something very strange was going on, or I was losing my mind.

I didn't like either option.

***

At home the next morning, I was searching for answers. I started with old family picture albums. I couldn't recall having seen any pictures of myself before I was around three years old. I spent a couple of hours going through every photo in the albums, and didn't find a single baby picture of me.

There were plenty of Natalie as a baby, but none of me with her during that time. Natalie was born when I was about 11 months old so it didn't make sense that there would be no pictures of me until I was three years old.

I found my mom on her laptop. "Why are there no pictures of me as a baby?"

"What? Not this again. Alexis, we've been over this. There was a flood in the house that we were living in before we moved here. We lost a lot of things, including your baby album."

"That still doesn't explain why I'm not in any of Natalie's baby pictures. When people have two kids they usually get lots of pictures of the kids together."

She sighed. "We've gone over this too. You were scared to death of the camera flash, and any time that we brought out it out you burst into tears. I didn't want a bunch of pictures of you crying."

"I don't buy it anymore," I retorted. "Just tell me the truth: was I adopted? Or am I your stepchild?"

She laughed. "Where do you get this stuff? Of course you're not adopted or my stepchild."

"Could've fooled me." I walked out, determined to find out what was really going on.

I sat at the table in the back yard to do some homework, but I had a difficult time concentrating. When I had finally settled in and started to focus on my book, I heard footsteps behind me.

"Do you think that you were really adopted?" Natalie sat across from me.

"I don't know," I said. "Nothing adds up."

"Why wouldn't they tell you?"

"Who knows? Maybe they're afraid I'll want to find my real parents, or it could've been an illegal adoption."

"Or maybe your real parents are secret agents so our parents can't tell you." Her eyes were wide.

"Maybe they just found me on the side of the road and didn't want to turn me in," I said. I tried to hide a smile.

"You could be an alien in disguise."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"It would explain a lot," she said. Like how you read my mind last weekend.

I tried to hide my surprise and disappointment. I couldn't ask her if she had just thought that, because either way she answered, I would look like a freak.

Chapter Four

"I can't wait to see you all dressed up," Amanda said. We were eating pizza in a booth in the back of the restaurant. "It will be like the before and after of one of those makeover shows."

"Where are we going to eat before the dance?" I was trying to change the subject.

"We're going to that new, fancy French place. So make sure he's not poor." Amanda winked.

"I'll be sure to mention that to Brooke."

"Isn't it driving you nuts that you can't even talk to him first? He's not my date and I'm going crazy with curiosity."

I shrugged. "I'll find out soon enough. Besides, isn't that the point of a blind date?"

She sighed. "You're so not normal."

"You like a good mystery, right?" I asked, changing the subject again.

"You know I do. Why?"

"I have a real life mystery, but it needs to be kept between us."

"If anyone can keep a secret, it's me," she said. "What's your mystery?"

"I think I was adopted."

Her eyes widened. "Are you serious? Because of the favoritism?"

"That's part of it," I said. "But that's not the strange part."

After I had finished explaining the stories of the supposed flood and my camera fear, she said, "My aunt works at the court house and has access to all of Delphic Cove's old records. If I tell her that I have a school project, she'll let me look! They have all kinds of stuff down there that isn't online. I took a class last year and was able to get all kinds of access. Anything over twelve years old is down in that basement."

"You can't get in there, Amanda. Have you heard of privacy laws protecting that stuff?"

"You mean like the HIPPA thing?"

"That's for medical records," I said. "But other records have privacy laws too."

"You know how it is. Typical small town—big city rules don't apply. Someday they might. You know, like, if the state or feds ever come in and find out how things are run. That's not too likely. Nothing exciting ever happens here."

***

When I got home, Natalie grabbed me. "We've got to talk."

We went to her room and she closed the door.

"What's going on?" I demanded

She spoke fast and I struggled to keep up. "Mom's sticking to the flood story, which I don't buy either 'cause there's like no way you'd not be in any of my baby pictures. For real, what siblings aren't in each other's pictures?"

"That can't be all that you have," I said. "Why bring me in here to tell me that?"

"I got her to dig out the birth certificates. I think yours is fake."

"What?" I asked. "How would you know that?"

"It was different from mine. Also, yours was made here in Washington and we didn't move to Delphic Cove until after the flood—if there really was one."

"Did you ask Mom about that?"

"She says your original one was lost in the flood too."

"That's convenient. Why would they have brought all of your stuff and none of mine? It just doesn't add up. Unless of course they hated me even then and were glad to let it all drown."

***

Tanner came up to me at my locker. "Have you thought about joining the team?"

"Not really."

"Think about it, okay?" he asked. "You could probably get a college scholarship if you run like that all season."

"I don't think that Harvard offers track scholarships," I told him. "They're going to be far more interested in my perfect GPA."

"I don't know much about Harvard, but I do know schools like people to be well rounded," he said. "If you're only about grades and test scores, they'll be more interested in someone who has the grades and the extracurriculars too."

That stopped me in my tracks. "You know, Tanner. You're right."

"So you'll try out for the track team?"

"I'll think about it. I need to get through this weekend before I start thinking about sports though."

"You're going to the dance?" he asked, looking surprised.

"Yes. I'm sure I'll see you there."

"Who's your date?"

"He's from out of town."

"I'll look out for you then," he said. "You'll think about the track team, right?"

I wanted to throw a book at him. "I told you I would."

"Okay, okay. I still can't get over how fast you are. You've been hiding some mad skills."

Emma walked in between the two of us. "Alexis, is Tanner bothering you?"

"No, he was just leaving."

"Just think about it." He walked off.

"What was that all about?" she asked. "Why was Tanner talking to you?"

"He wants me to join the track team."

"Have you been holding out on us, Lexi? I never knew you could run."

"I decided that I need to be more well-rounded," I told her, pretending that it was my idea. "I can't just be all about brains and grades. I need to outshine my sister, right?"

"Oh, I get it now," she winked. "At least it sounds like you have some serious running skills if Tanner wants you on the team. He's picky about who he accepts."

***

That afternoon, the crows were waiting for me again. They were flying in a large circle over the parking lot. I wasn't sure if they had noticed me or not, and I decided to look for someone to walk to my car with me. It was worth a try.

I walked back into the school, looking for someone who might be about to walk out there or who might need a ride home. I knew that several other clubs would be letting out soon too.

Some guy was heading toward the main doors. I walked a little behind him, happy to see the crows fly off and scatter. I knew that they weren't gone for good, but at least they were gone for the moment.

I drove to Amanda's place to talk about what she'd discovered at the court house. I knew there had to be at least something good, because otherwise she could have told me at school.

"Luckily, my aunt didn't question what I was looking for," Amanda said. "She just let me in and let me get to work. At first I didn't find anything on your family. There's nothing on any of you before you were three."

"That backs up their story about our moving here after the old house flooded," I said.

"Yeah, but then it gets weird," she said. "Right after you guys showed up, your dad put in a hospital request for your birth certificate and then a social security number request for you. It was like you had no identity before coming to Delphic Cove."

Chills ran down my spine. "Did you find anything else?"

She was quiet for a moment. "I did find more. But first I have to ask if you really want to know what I found."

"How could I not? I'm on a mission to find out about my past."

She sighed. "Okay. Well, some relative of yours that wasn't named needed bone marrow. Your parents, sister, and you were all tested to see if any of you were matches. None of you were, but you know that I took that genetics class—I saw right away that you are not related to your family."

"I knew it."

"But that's not all. All the documentation shows they've been claiming you to be a fully natural child. Most adopted kids do have birth certificates with their adopted parents' names on it, but there's always documentation of the adoption."

"They obviously want everyone to believe I'm not adopted." I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.

I quit playing detective for the rest of the week and allowed the information to sink in. I hadn't said a word to Natalie, even though I'd promised to tell her as soon as I found anything out. In a way, it seemed as if saying it out loud would make everything feel more real.

In order to get my mind off of my questions, I began researching crows.

After reading past the information about their high intelligence and other normal facts, I learned that for centuries, it was believed that crows are associated with death. People used to believe that if crows followed someone, it was an omen of impending death. These things could be indicating my impending death? My heart sank. Why had I gone in search of this to begin with?

I decided then and there to stop playing detective. On top of everything else, now the crows could be a sign that I was about to die. It was time to focus on the dance and my handsome date.

I was thrilled when Saturday arrived and it was time for Brooke to get me ready for the dance. She wanted me to come over a full five hours before it was time to leave for dinner.

When I arrived, Brooke said, "Steve and Cliff are out for a while, so you won't see Cliff before you're beautified."

"Oh. That's why you need five hours," I said, finally understanding.

She laughed. "There's a lot to do—and I spent hours yesterday getting ready for my dance last night."

When we got to her room, all the mirrors and windows were covered with dark paper. "You really don't want me to see myself before you're finished, do you?" I asked.

"That's right," she said. "You won't be able to capture a reflection of yourself until I show you what you look like in a full length mirror."

She started by taking me into the bathroom (the mirrors were covered there too, of course) and she washed my hair in the sink.

"You know, I did take a shower this morning."

"Trust me, my shampoo and conditioner will make your hair gorgeous. You're going to beg me to take it home."

While my hair was still damp, she put in a wide array of different sized curlers all over my head. It felt strange, tugging and pulling in all directions. I probably looked like an alien, not that I would know with the mirrors covered. Then she sprayed something all over my hair that smelled like honey and flowers, and then covered it with some kind of bag.

We moved back to her bedroom, where she put some funny smelling liquid on a cotton ball and rubbed it all over my face. Once that dried, she applied layer after layer of lotions on my face and neck. It seemed that she used every color in the rainbow.

Once that was done, we went to the kitchen and had some lunch. I was glad that Steve and Cliff weren't there. I was sure they'd be laughing at me if they could've seen me.

Back in her room, she gave me a manicure and pedicure. Brooke started by cleaning and massaging my fingers and toes. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensations.

"Is this why so many people get manicures and pedicures?" I asked.

"It's heavenly, isn't it?" she asked.

Brooke continued with my royal treatment. When she was finished, I stared at my nails. Each was a work of art. They were all similar, but also slightly different.

I was beginning to feel like a work of art myself...and I was starting to like it.

After my nails had set, Brooke started on my hair. She removed the bag and tested the level of my hair's dryness, which met her approval, so she slowly removed the mass of curlers. She bustled around pulling this curl, pinning that one, spraying another.

It took about an hour, and it was a challenge keeping my head still. Brooke kept tilting it back to the correct angle.

Once she was done, she used nearly an entire bottle of hair spray and I was sure that it would take several washings to get it out.

After that, she allowed me to stretch and walk around before she started on my makeup.

"With all of this work, I'm sure that I'll look better than normal," I admitted. "But I still doubt I'm going to be beautiful."

"Alexis, even without the makeup or the dress you look stunning. I can't wait to see the finished product."

"I am curious." I couldn't help smiling.

"We're almost done. Can you believe it?"

"No. It's been a marathon." I sighed, feeling exhausted. How would I make it through a dance if I was already tired?

Just as she was finishing up my makeup, there was a knock on her door.

"Stay out," Brooke shouted.

"Just seeing if you guys are ready," Steve's voice came from the other side of the door. "Cliff's ready."

"We're not," Brooke hollered. "Just wait downstairs."

"Okay," Steve called back.

"Almost done," she told me. She stepped back, looked over my makeup and smiled. "Perfect. Now it's time to get you into the dress."

"I haven't even seen it. Bring it out."

She pulled a dress bag out of her closet and laid it on her bed in slow motion.

"I can't take it anymore. Take it out of the bag."

She slowly unzipped the bag. "Close your eyes."

"What? Are you crazy?"

"Nope. Close those eyes—and no peeking." She looked giddy.

I vowed to get her back. I closed my eyes.

"Grab my hand and step into the dress," she said putting her hand on mine. I stepped into the dress and she pulled it up. "Okay, now hold still as I zip it up."

Brooke zipped it and then pulled at it here and there. She stepped away, I assumed to give me a full look over.

She helped me slip on uncomfortable heels. Then she placed a necklace on my neck, a bracelet on my left wrist, and finally some earrings on my ears. She stepped back again.

"Amazing, simply amazing." Brooke sounded in awe. Then her tone changed to bossy. "Listen closely. I want you to look up to the ceiling and walk over to my full length mirror. Don't look down to see the dress or anything else. Just look at the paint on the ceiling and walk to the mirror. I'm going to remove the paper and then you can see how you look."

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes, looking up. I walked carefully and stood in front of her full length mirror. I looked in anticipation at the large sheet of paper, which she couldn't have removed any slower.

When I saw the unbelievably beautiful person staring at me from the mirror, my breathing stopped. I thought I was looking at the cover of a magazine. I couldn't be looking at myself. I didn't even recognize myself.

"What did I tell you?" Brooke asked. Her eyes were wide, obviously full of excitement.

I was speechless. The dress was gorgeous and elegant, fitting me perfectly. It was multi-colored with silver sparkles. My hair cascaded perfectly around my face and down my back.

I didn't even recognize my own face. It wasn't as if she'd applied so much make up that my face was hidden. It looked natural, but yet brought out my features in a way that I never imagined possible.

The jewelry, hair clips and nails were the perfect finishing touches to complete the picture that was me.

"You're breathtaking," she whispered. "You really look like royalty."

"I can't believe it's me," I said, finally able to speak. I couldn't take my eyes off my reflection, unable to believe what I was seeing. I'd never seen anyone more beautiful. I truly couldn't believe that it was me. It just couldn't be plain, boring me.

"It's you, Alexis. Now you see why I've always been jealous of your beauty."

"I just can't believe it."

"Time to meet your date." Brooke winked. "Everyone's waiting."

My heart plummeted to my feet.

Chapter Five

"We're ready," Brooke called out at the top of the stairs. "Is everyone ready for my latest creation?"

My heart sped up even faster. I drew a deep breath and then took the first step with care, since I was not used to wearing heels. That was the one thing that Brooke hadn't thought of, teaching me to walking in them.

Everyone was downstairs: Emma, Amanda, Natalie, and even my parents. All waiting to see me.

I was assaulted with flashing lights. They all had to have had cameras.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, everyone started talking at once.

"You look beautiful, honey," my dad said.

"I can't believe it. Stunning." That was my mom.

Natalie grinned. "Alexis, you're gorgeous."

"Where have you been hiding yourself?" asked Emma. "Holy cow."

"Smart and beautiful," said Amanda.

"You look fantastic," Steve said.

Once the room stopped spinning, I told Amanda, Emma, and Natalie how great they looked.

"Alexis," Brooke said, pulling my attention away from my friends and family. "There is someone that I'd like you to meet."

I'd almost forgotten about my date after the shock of seeing everyone else.

Brooke grabbed my hand and walked me to the other side of the living room. The most handsome guy I'd ever seen stood, looking as nervous as I felt.

As our eyes met, everything else disappeared. I became lost in his chocolate eyes. It felt as though I'd entered a new world. Strange, new feelings washed over me. I was not a romantic. This was something that I thought was reserved only for movies.

Stars danced in front of me and I looked around for the nearest chair. My heart raced and my skin was afire. My mind swam. The room spun out of control.

How could a stranger bring such a reaction? I had just seen him and neither of us had even spoken.

He took a step forward. He hadn't stopped looking at me. I had found my home. I felt safe and secure, everything I lacked with my family.

I shook my head. I needed to get a grip.

"Alexis, this is Cliff," Brooke said. She sounded miles away.

I blinked and then breathed. I hadn't realized that I was holding my breath—that he'd taken my breath away.

He smiled. "It's wonderful to meet you, Alexis."

His voice was the most amazing sound that I had ever heard. It was familiar, but how? Tears of happiness threatened to escape. I nodded.

I needed to regain control. There was no logical reason for the feelings. I took another deep breath. It was just a regular day, only with fancy clothes. I needed to keep a level head about this. If anyone could stay rational over a storm of feelings, it was me.

As I looked at his perfect features. It felt like I knew that face a lifetime ago. He was the answer that I had been seeking. I knew that I didn't belong with my family but somehow I belonged with this breathtaking stranger.

So much for a level head.

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came. Instead, to my horror, I threw my arms around him and whispered, "I've missed you so much."

He wrapped his arms around me, leaning close to my ear. "Not as much as I've missed you." I felt like I was in the arms of someone who loved me and would go to the ends of the earth to protect me. His breath tickled my skin. "Do you actually remember me, my beautiful?"

Before I could answer, I heard my parents and friends gasping in surprise.

My face warmed and I let go of Cliff and then turned around. I couldn't explain why I'd leapt into a stranger's arms. I only knew it was the right response.

Amanda saved me. "Let's get into the limo. We still need to pick up the others and get to the restaurant."

"A few more pictures first," my dad said. We all posed for the camera. I felt like a princess standing next to my prince.

Before I knew it, we were all in the limo and everyone was talking excitedly. I sat next to Cliff and tried not to look into his eyes because I knew I would get lost in them again. I needed to stay focused on my friends.

At the restaurant, I sat across Cliff. I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

"Alexis," Amanda whispered, jabbing me in the side.

I looked up. Everyone at the table and the waiter was staring at me. I blushed again, though I doubted anyone could tell through all of the makeup. "Yes?"

Cliff covered his mouth, obviously to suppress a smile. He must have thought I was a total fool, and for good reason.

"What would you like to drink?" the waiter asked.

"I...uh...I'll have what he's having." I looked at Cliff.

I wanted to bang my head against the table. And to think that Brooke had been so sure that we would hit it off.

Cliff smiled at me. "Brooke told me how beautiful you are, but you're more stunning than I imagined."

"Well, I don't usually look like this. In fact, I usually blend in so much that people don't take note." I restrained myself from smacking myself.

"I would've taken note of you, even dressed plainly," he said. "You're beautiful. It's something mort...most people can't see. They can't see beyond what the fashion designers tell them is attractive."

"That's true," I said.

"It's admirable that you haven't gotten sucked into that. It's a trait to be truly treasured."

"Admirable? I haven't heard that one before. Well, your cousin is into fashion and you trusted her opinion of me."

"My cousin? Oh, Brooke. She loves making people beautiful, but she isn't shallow. She knows how to bring out people's best. Even when they don't see it for themselves."

The waiter was back with the drinks and took orders. I hadn't even looked at the menu.

Cliff leaned toward me. "Don't worry. I know a dish you'll love."

"Have you been here before?" I asked.

"I'm familiar with French food," he said. "Will you let me order for you?"

"Sure." I was probably better off letting him choose than taking my chances with the unfamiliar names on the menu.

As everyone was ordering their food, I looked at Cliff's majestic features again and my heart sped up again. I'd never met a guy who held any visual interest for me, and yet I couldn't deny the pull that I felt toward Cliff.

After the food had been ordered, Cliff said, "Maybe we should talk to the others. We don't want them to think that we're snobs."

I laughed. "Okay."

He winked at me and then turned to talk to two of the guys sitting next to him. I turned toward the girls, who didn't notice.

"I had no idea she was so beautiful," Emma whispered.

"I knew she was pretty beneath the boring clothes," Amanda said, "but I didn't know she's freaking gorgeous."

"You think she'll stay our friend?" Emma asked.

"Yeah. She's not going to start hanging out with Natalie's friends," Amanda said. "Just because she's hot now, she isn't going to drop her brains."

"Or she could."

"Why are you so insecure?" Amanda asked.

I cleared my throat.

"Did you know that everyone at the table has been talking about you two?" Amanda asked.

Emma nodded. "Everyone's in total shock at how you look. Not to mention how hot Cliff is." She fanned herself.

"Alexis, do you realize how sexy he is?" Amanda asked.

"I'm not blind."

"And you're every bit his equal," Emma added. Jealousy was in her tone.

I was relieved when the meal arrived. When I took the first bite, I thought I was in heaven. Not only did it taste phenomenal, but for some reason it too was familiar.

As we left the restaurant, my heart felt like a cluster of butterflies. Cliff took my hand to help me into the limo. I kept my attention on him for the entire ride to the dance.

We let the other couples get out of the limo before us. They had all run through the gym doors before we were even outside.

"What a nice night," I said.

"It's nice, but you are much lovelier," he said. His eyes twinkled in the moonlight. "What was that?" He looked concerned.

"What?" I asked, but before I could say another word I heard it too. "Oh no."

"You know what it is?" he asked.

"Yes. Let's head inside," I replied. I knew that whirring sound anywhere.

"I see them," he said. "Brooke told me that you were having issues with crows."

"I hoped they would stay away tonight," I said. "Let's just go in before we have to worry about them."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to watch them," he said.

"They're just ugly loud crows." I tugged on his arm.

He wrapped it around my shoulder. "It'll only take a minute."

We watched the sky for a moment until the nasty crows were overhead. Other kids around us complained and went inside. They were smart.

The flock was now circling overhead, and the wind from their flapping caused Cliff's hair to move around. My hair wouldn't have budged in a hurricane.

One by one, the crows looked down and screeched. I knew they were cawing at me and not Cliff.

Cliff took his arm from my shoulder and raised both hands high. "Go. Be gone!"

All of the birds stopped shrieking and in flew away.

I stepped back and stared at him. "Why did they obey you?"

"I have a way with animals," he said. "Let's go in and dance the night away." Cliff took my hand and we walked into the gym. I couldn't believe my eyes.

It was no longer the ultra-bright gym where Natalie played volleyball. It was an undersea wonderland. The walls were decorated to look like water, bubbles and sea life. All kinds of glittery decorations hung from above. It was magical and I felt as if I had indeed entered a new world.

"Alexis Ferguson," came a voice from my right. "Is that you?"

I turned to see Sydney, Natalie's loud and annoying best friend. I faked a smile and said, "Sydney, how nice to see you. Meet my date, Cliff."

"Now I believe that you're Natalie's sister," Sydney shrieked. "You look gorgeous. Why have you dressed so horribly all these years? Nice job with your date—what a hottie." She winked at Cliff.

I repressed my urge to slap her.

Something shattered behind us.

"What was that?" Sydney exclaimed. "Dude, I think a light bulb just burst. I hope we don't have a replay of the volleyball practice. We don't need all the lights breaking in here again."

"I see my friends over by the food table," I lied. "See you around." I grabbed Cliff's hand and dragged him away. "Sorry about that. She's my sister's annoying and low-IQ friend."

Cliff laughed. "Don't worry. I didn't think she was associated with you."

As we made our way to the food table, which was only half way across the gym, we were stopped by three separate couples who couldn't believe how I looked.

"Maybe people will leave us alone if we just start dancing," he suggested.

I gulped. I knew that we were going to a dance, but I hadn't thought about the actual dancing. "I should warn you that I don't know how to dance."

"I have no doubt that once you warm up, you'll be a fine dancer."

"Don't hold your breath."

"You've been surprising yourself all evening," he said.

We walked to the dance floor, and at first I was as stiff as a board. I started focusing on the music and then I got lost in Cliff's eyes. Everything else melted away, and before I knew it, I was dancing and having fun.

"What did I tell you?" he asked, smiling. "You're a natural."

"It's easy to dance with you."

After a while, I started to get tired. I had no idea that dancing was so much work. I was having a great time, but I was also getting a workout. "Let's get something to drink."

"That's a great idea," he said. As soon as we stopped dancing, I noticed a lot of people watching us. Again, it took a long time to reach our destination.

At the drink table, Amanda and Emma ambushed me.

"Everyone is talking about you," Emma exclaimed. "Everyone."

"Seriously," Amanda said, "they're talking about you more than the royalty court."

"I wonder what this will do for our social status," Emma said, laughing. "Best friends of the newest popular girl."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Emma, really."

"I heard people say that they were going to vote for you and Cliff for homecoming court," Emma said.

"As interesting as all of this is," I said, "we won't make king and queen because I'm not a senior and Cliff doesn't even go here."

"You could be junior class princess." Emma smirked.

"You do realize that Hailey Adams would hate us forever," Amanda pointed out. "She's only been princess of everything since the beginning of time."

"I hadn't thought of that," Emma said. "We'll have to come up with a plan before we end up in a dumpster—or worse."

"Emma, could you be any more dramatic?" I asked.

"Didn't you hear what she did to that freshman who took her parking spot?" Emma shivered.

Cliff put his arm around me. "I have no doubt that Alexis can handle anything that comes her way." He turned to me. "Would you like to dance again?"

"I'd love to," I said, taking his hand. "Talk to you guys later."

We danced the night away and just when I thought that I couldn't dance another moment longer, the music stopped and someone announced that the tickets had been counted for the royalty court.

"My sister will be sophomore class princess," I told Cliff.

"From the sounds of it you could be crowned for the junior class." His mouth curved upward.

"Doubtful." I shrugged.

"I'm glad you don't concern yourself with what others think," he said. "That's an important trait for a leader."

"Leader?" I asked. "I'm not looking to be a leader, unless I become a judge. I'm more interested in being a CSI or maybe an attorney."

They were about to make the royalty announcements, so we turned our attention to the stage. First, they announced the freshman royalty.

When they announced the sophomore royalty, I wasn't surprised to hear my sister's name, but I clapped really loud for her anyway. She'd worked hard for the votes.

"We have an interesting turn of events for the junior class royalty," the announcer said. "There's a tie. I'm told that this has never happened before. There's only one tiara so we'll have to figure out a way to break the tie, what do you say?"

The crowd yelled and cheered. I laughed, unable to believe anyone could get worked up over something so trivial.

He called Hailey Adams, which came as no surprise.

"Now for the other winner. Alexis Ferguson, come on up!" The crowd went wild again.

"Go on up," Cliff whispered. It wasn't until that moment that I realized the announcer had said my name. I didn't want to go on stage and my feet were glued to the floor.

"Come on up, Alexis!" shouted the announcer again.

Cliff linked his arm through mine and walked me to the stage. He helped me up the first step and then I was on my own. I walked up the stairs and to the middle of the stage, next to the announcer and a very irritated Hailey. The lights were insanely bright and everyone was screaming like crazy.

The announcer did a double take when he saw me. "I think we have a winner here! But it's not up to me. It's up to you guys. Applaud and scream to choose the winner."

"I don't know who you think you are, Alexis," Hailey hissed. "I've worked my whole life for this. You're not going to steal it from me."

"Believe me, none of this was my idea."

"You'd better hope that you don't win." Hailey scowled.

"Yell and clap as loud as you can for the nominee of your choice," the announcer told the crowd.

"You're nothing." Hailey glared at me.

"You definitely live up to your reputation," I muttered, loud enough for her to hear.

"Watch your back, biotch."

A single light above the stage shattered. I knew then and there, with full certainty, that I was caused the exploding light bulbs. She needed to watch her back. I would learn to control this strange superpower.

"What was that all about?" the announcer asked, laughing. "Get your clappers and screamers ready, kids. Let's hear it for Hailey Adams!"

The room exploded with noise of clapping and cheering. She smirked at me and then turned to the crowd and waved, encouraging them to bring up the volume.

When the noise died down, the announcer told the crowd to cheer for me and the noise level was noticeably louder than it had been for Hailey. I couldn't help but return her smirk.

She said something I couldn't hear over the noise. I laughed.

The crowd continued. The announcer tried to get them to calm down, but even with the microphone, he couldn't be heard. He backed away from the mic until the noise finally died down.

"We have a clear winner here. The beautiful Alexis Ferguson is your new junior class princess!" He walked to the table of tiaras and crowns and picked up mine.

"You're going to pay." Hailey looked ready to throw a fit.

The announcer placed the tiara on my head and handed me a bouquet of flowers. I stood next to Natalie, who congratulated me. Hailey stormed off the stage.

"This is so exciting," Natalie squealed. "Both of us are winners."

"Who would've guessed?"

She giggled. "Nobody before tonight. You guys were awesome on the dance floor too. Oh, and you're going to have to tell me why threw yourself into his arms."

Before I could answer, the announcer called up the next winners. After they had received their crowns and flowers, we all went up to have pictures taken, followed by an exclusive royalty-only dance. I made small talk with my dance partner.

When the dance was over, I made a beeline for Cliff and my friends. They congratulated me, speaking at once.

Hailey showed up with a scowl. "Since you stole my tiara and dance, I'm stealing a dance with your date."

"She didn't steal anything, Hailey," Emma said. "The crowd picked."

Hailey's face turned red. "Emma, you'll never be popular—or skinny."

"At least she's smart and she'll make something of herself beyond high school," I said, glaring at Hailey.

People around us laughed. I hadn't even noticed anyone paying attention to us.

"Look," I said to Hailey, "if you want to dance with my date, that's fine. But you'll have to ask him if he's willing to dance with you. Otherwise, you need to leave my friends and me alone."

"I'll leave you alone when I'm good and ready."

A couple light bulbs exploded nearby. I could feel a connection between myself and the lights.

"Would you like to dance?" Cliff asked Hailey. "Perhaps I can convince you that Alexis meant no harm."

She glared at me and then barked at Cliff, "Let's go."

As they danced, Emma asked, "How can you let her dance with Cliff?"

"He's smart enough to see that she's shallow and evil."

Emma laughed. "True."

"Let's dance, the three of us," I said. "We'll show her that we can have fun despite her."

We made our way to the dance floor and danced together. We had fun, and it was obvious that it irritated Hailey.

Cliff and I danced together again when a new song played. Cliff raised an eyebrow. "She's very, uh, interesting."

"What did she say?" I asked.

"She was trying to convince me that you're a beast," he said. "Though all she did was convince me of what a horrible person she is."

We danced for a while longer until people began leaving. Our group made its way to the limo—without any winged visitors. Once inside, everyone decided to go for coffee since nobody wanted to go home just yet.

Once inside the coffee shop, we all sat together at the tables that we pulled together. We laughed about Hailey and talked about all the events of the night.

When Cliff and I were dropped off at Brooke's house, he walked me to my car. He stared into my eyes. "I had a wonderful time, Alexis. I would really like to get to know you better. Will you allow me the pleasure of taking you out for dinner tomorrow?"

My heart sped up. "I'd love that."

"Perfect," he said. "I'll call you tomorrow to work out the details." He opened my door, and I climbed in for the short drive home.

Chapter Six

My dreams were of being a princess in a faraway castle. It felt like I was experiencing them as a small child, but at the same time as if I was observing the scenes as my current self.

I found myself in the middle of a flower garden, on one side of an immense castle. I ran through the dirt, chasing a boy who was about nine or ten. He was significantly taller than me, so I must have been pretty young.

His clothes were fairly modern, given that we were at a castle. I would've expected different attire. I was wearing a dress that was also more current than I would have expected.

The boy turned around and looked at me...with the same eyes that I'd been staring at all evening at the dance.

He grinned wide. "Marguerite, now it's my turn to chase you."

Marguerite?

I giggled, sounding like a toddler, and turned around. I ran in the other direction taking paths along the enormous garden. I looked back to see that he was close behind. Those were eyes that loved me deeply.

As I tired of running, I dove onto a pile of leaves and he jumped in next to me. He piled them over me. I shrieked and threw some at him.

I heard adult voices not too far away.

"He would go to the ends of the earth for her."

"She's devoted to him. Already, everything she does is for him."

"They're going to lead with a strength that hasn't been seen in thousands of years."

"They are exactly what our kingdom needs."

"I hope that they're able to bring peace."

"According to the prophecies, that's exactly what will happen. It looks like Clifford and Marguerite will be the ones."

I turned to the boy. "What are the grownups talking about?"

He jumped up and held an invisible sword. "Someday we're going to fight battles and beat all the bad guys. Pow!"

"Really? How are we going to do that?"

"We'll spend years training and we'll develop our special powers." He swung his invisible sword at imaginary people all around him.

"What are our special powers?"

"Nobody knows yet," he told me. "The powers will start coming out when—"

"Children! Time to come inside."

"Oh," I complained. I got up from the pile of leaves anyway. The beautiful, brown eyed boy and I walked out of the garden to where the adults were. They were beyond gorgeous.

"Alexis. Alexis!" My sister's voice pulled me from the beautiful castle scene.

"Go away." I pulled the covers over my head.

"Alexis. You have to wake up—I think Hailey did something to your car."

I forced myself out of bed and looked out the window. Something was all over my car, but I couldn't tell from so far away. "What's that?"

"Let's go down so you can see for yourself," Natalie said.

As we were about to leave my room, I stopped in my tracks. My homecoming dress had the exact pattern as the dress in the dream. The dress itself was completely different, but the pattern was identical.

"What's wrong?" Natalie asked.

I shook my head. "Nothing. Let's see the damage to my car."

Dried raw eggs and shaving cream covered my car. It would take several washings to get it clean.

"Can you believe her?" Natalie exclaimed. "She has some nerve. We've got to get back at her. Maybe we could TP her house or stuff something gross in her locker."

"I have something better in mind."

Her eyes lit up. "What?"

"It'll be good. But first I need to figure out how I'm going to clean this car."

"I'm sure Dad has some good cleaners in the garage."

"Right," I said. "Hey Natalie, can I borrow an outfit tonight? Cliff's taking me out for dinner."

"He is?" she squealed. "I have the perfect outfit. I can help you with your makeup and hair if you want."

"That would be perfect." I headed for the garage to get supplies to clean my car.

After I finally finished, I was sore from the combination of dancing the night before and washing the gunk off my car. I decided to go lay down for a while before studying.

I fell back to sleep and found myself back at the castle. This time it was night and I was lying in a luxurious bed. I'd been awakened by some noise followed by hushed conversation. I pretended to be asleep.

"We've got to be extremely careful. No mistakes."

"I won't make any mistakes. Are you sure the people will be where you say?"

"It's all set. Don't worry about my end of things."

"What if she wakes up?"

"She trusts me, it'll be flawless."

There were some shuffling noises and then someone picked me up out of the bed. I didn't know what was going on, but I did know one of the people and I trusted her. I was scared, but didn't say anything.

Before I knew it, we were outside and I could hear the sounds of the leaves rustling below and twigs snapping. I heard some animals in the distance and birds nearby.

They sounded like crows.

"How much longer?"

"It won't be long. We're nearing the edge of the woods at this speed."

"Shouldn't we change her memories?"

"Have you forgotten? She's a descendant of the Fyrsturae."

"Right. It's impossible to tamper with her mind."

"She also has the mark of the Sonnast. Who knows what could happen if we tried to control her mind. It could backfire on us."

"Let's hurry. We only have a short time to drop her off and to change the memories of her new family."

I woke up in a cold sweat. The dreams were so real. It was as if I had actually been there as a little girl. I got into the shower to get my mind off the dreams.

After getting dressed and having a late breakfast, I got into my sparkly clean car and drove to an abandoned field. I had a box of burned out light bulbs.

Once in the field, I laid out several light bulbs in a row. I hoped they didn't have to be plugged in to explode.

I looked at one and willed it to explode. Nothing happened. I narrowed my eyes, focusing on the light bulb.

Nothing.

"What am I doing wrong?"

I stared at it with such a concentration that I felt my face turn red.

Nothing.

Every time I made a light bulb shatter, it was when I was raging mad. I wasn't mad—that was why it wasn't working.

I thought about times my parents had favored Natalie. Images passed through one by one. Soon I was ready to punch someone. I focused all of my energy on the middle light bulb. I took all of my anger and tried to use my eyes as a laser to make it explode.

It didn't even budge.

"Dang it." Then I heard two explosions from the box of light bulbs. "Are you mocking me?"

I turned my attention back to that middle light bulb. "Explode. Explode!"

Nothing happened. "This is ridiculous. Why can't I control it? It's obvious that I'm causing it."

I tried again, and this time a different light bulb in the row shattered. I wasn't happy, but at least it was progress.

***

I looked at the red sports car. I couldn't believe that it was Cliff's. I was even more embarrassed by my ugly, old car.

He looked at me and smiled. "Do you think it's a bit much?"

"No, not at all. Was it imported? I've never seen anything like it."

"Yes, I had it imported. Would you like to drive?"

The blood drained from my face. "Are you kidding? I'd be afraid to."

He looked into my eyes. "I trust you. Besides, you strike me as a safe driver."

"I am. I've never even been pulled over. But I don't want to drive it." I couldn't make a fool of myself in front of him.

Cliff held up a key chain. "I want you to drive it. You'll love it."

My heart raced. He threw the keys at me, and I nearly missed them. He opened driver's side door, and then waited for me to sit down behind the wheel. I shook my head and sat down. He closed the door and I looked around the inside of the car and adjusted the seat.

"How do you like it?" he asked, already sitting next to me. I jumped in surprise. I hadn't even heard him sit down.

"It's extraordinary." I cringed at my choice of words. My level of nerdiness knew no bounds.

"Start it." He actually looked excited.

I put the key in and turned it. The car came to life without a sound. "Whoa." I pushed the gas pedal and nearly gave us both a case of whiplash. "Sorry."

He laughed. "Take it easy. It doesn't take much."

"Are you sure you want me to drive?"

"It just takes a minute to get used to. I did the same thing when I first got it."

"Really? Where to?"

"Anywhere you want. Show me some of your favorite places in Delphic Cove."

"There's not a whole lot."

"Then take me to the park where you met up with Brooke. That sounds nice."

"You mean the lake. That's one of my favorite places to go." I managed to drive to the lake without killing anyone. We got out of the car and walked toward the lake in a comfortable silence.

"You look like you're in your element here," he said, breaking the silence.

"I am. I love how peaceful it is. It really helps me to relax, and forget about everything."

He reached toward me, pulled a strand of hair from my face and placed it gently behind my ear. His hand lingered there and my heart nearly stopped. I looked into his eyes and my pulse raced.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. "You smell amazing."

"I'm wearing new perfume." I squirmed, not knowing how else to respond.

He looked deep into my eyes. He shook his head. "No, it's you that smells incredible."

I tilted my head looking deeper into his eyes, trying to figure out what he meant by that.

He cupped my chin with his hand. "Do you realize how stunning you are?"

I opened my mouth but couldn't find any words. I put my hand on his arm and noticed how unbelievably smooth his skin was. "You're many times more remarkable than I am."

He took my hand and kissed it. There was a tear in his eye. "I've dreamed of this for so many years. You've been gone too long." He pulled me close and held me in a strong embrace.

I knew that what he spoke of was as real as the lake next to us, but I didn't know where or when we had known each other. Unless my dreams were real. Was it even possible that he was the boy from my dreams? Had we grown up in that castle together before I was adopted?

It couldn't be...or could it?

***

We were in the back corner of a fancy restaurant that I'd never been to before, and again I'd had Cliff order for me.

"How did you get the crows to obey?"

"You probably won't believe that I'm the crow whisperer?"

I nearly choked on my iced tea. "The crow whisperer? No way. Who would want to get inside the mind of those gross birds?"

His face showed hurt and disappointment.

"Oh please don't tell me that you're serious."

"I was just teasing. Do you have any idea why they're stalking you?"

I sighed. "I don't know if I want to know. I did some digging and when I saw that crows represent death, I stopped."

"Representing death?" he asked. "I haven't heard that before, that's very interesting."

"You think the possibility of my death is interesting?" I gave him a fake scowl.

He smiled. "That's not it. You're going to live a very long time." He had the same grin as the boy in my dreams.

"Now you know my future? You're a man of many talents."

He laughed and nearly choked.

After the food arrived, he looked at me. "When did the crows first show up?"

"It was the same day that I ran into Brooke. They showed up right after she left."

"Did anything else that was strange happen around that time?"

"What is this, twenty questions?" I asked.

"I'm only trying to help."

I took a deep breath and then explained the shattering light bulbs to him.

He didn't act as though it was weird. "Has there been anything else?"

I debated whether or not to admit hearing my sister's thoughts or Brooke and Steve's conversation from all the way across from the house.

He was looking at me intently while I had my internal debate. I looked deep into his eyes and heard his voice say, You can tell me, Alexis. His lips hadn't moved.

The blood drained from my head and my mouth dropped open.

It's okay Alexis. I've been through this too.

"So, how's your dinner?" I asked, purposefully ignoring the voices in my head. "Mine dinner is divine. It's at least as good as the meal that you suggested last night, and that was outstanding. Did you know that—?"

"I'm not trying to upset you. I know it must be extremely confusing. I can't imagine going through it without knowing anything about it."

"What is going on, Cliff?"

"That is a long story," he said, "and you deserve to know everything."

"So, tell me," I said.

"First, I need you to tell me everything," he said. "You've got the crows after you, some mind reading powers and object manipulation. Anything else?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You haven't seen my new temper."

"You'll learn to control that in time," he said. "It's part of the process. What else have you experienced out of the ordinary?"

I thought for a moment. "I run so fast that they want me on the track team. I heard Brooke and Steve having a conversation all the way across the house, when it should have been impossible for me to hear them."

"Any dreams?" he asked.

"How did you know that?"

"Brooke purposefully chose the same pattern from your favorite childhood dress," he said. "She was hopeful that it would trigger your memories. What did you dream about?"

"I was in a big, beautiful castle nestled between some mountains and forests," I said. "A boy about ten years old named Clifford and I were running through a flower garden. He told me we would use our powers to fight bad guys when we got older."

"You remember?" he asked excitedly. "That's one of my fondest memories. It was no dream—it was real," he said. His face saddened. "That was the last day that I saw you before yesterday. You were taken from us that night."

"I dreamed about that too," I whispered. "I was so scared."

He reached across the table and placed his hand on mine. "I'm just glad that you were kept safe in a loving family."

I snorted. "I wouldn't exactly call them loving, but yeah, they've kept me safe."

"I have much to tell you," he said cupping my chin in his hand. "I would love to blurt it all out here, but I think that it would be best to go back to the house where we can explain it to you with the others."

"You're going to make me wait until after dinner?" I asked, dejected.

"Let's enjoy the rest of the meal, and then we'll go there."

"This is going to be the longest meal of my life."

Chapter Seven

I sat in a recliner, looking across at Cliff, Brooke, and Steve. They kept looking back and forth at each other with varying expressions. It was as if they were talking to each other with their minds.

"Will someone say something?" I asked, doing my best to keep my voice even.

"Do you have any particular questions?" asked Cliff.

"My birth parents," I said. "It must be quite a story, since my adoptive parents refuse to admit that I was adopted."

"You're right," Brooke agreed. "When you were three, you were taken from your birth family and given to your current parents by someone who was saving your life. Your mom's and dad's minds were controlled to believe that you were their natural child. After that, they moved here to get a fresh start where no one knew you were a new addition to the family."

I stared at her. "Their minds were controlled to believe that I was their daughter?"

"Maybe this isn't the best place to start," Cliff said.

"I agree," Steve said. "Without knowing what we are nothing else will make sense."

"What are you?" I asked.

Cliff took a deep breath. "First, you need an open mind."

"After everything I've seen, I'd say that should be easy enough."

"You're in the beginning stages of a transition."

"Into what?"

"You're transforming into a beautiful and powerful vampire."

"A what?" I exclaimed. "Are you kidding? You want me to believe that I'm turning into a vampire—a vampire? Vampires aren't real. Have you lost your mind?"

"You said you would keep an open mind," Steve said. He furrowed his eyebrows and I thought his eyes turned red for a moment.

"Is there a hidden camera somewhere?" I looked around the room.

"I know this is difficult for you to grasp," Cliff said. "You've been raised to believe that our kind is mythical, and most of what you have learned about us is false."

"Seriously, where's the camera?"

"There's no camera," Brooke said. "Deep down you know the truth."

I narrowed my eyes. "I'm going home."

Steve stood up, fists clenched. "Do you have a better explanation? Why you cause light bulbs to explode or why crows follow you? Why your parents are so insistent about the flood when you know it's a lie? Or how you can read minds? If you have a better explanation, I would love to hear it." He blocked me so I couldn't leave.

"I don't have an explanation." I stared him down. "That's why I came here. And you give me vampires. Vampires!"

"It's the truth," Cliff said, looking directly at me with kind eyes.

"Okay then," I said, "if I'm a vampire, how did I begin this transition? I would remember being bitten."

"You weren't bit." Steve rolled his eyes. "You were born into a vampire family."

"If I was born a vampire, why haven't I been biting people my whole life?" I demanded. "Move aside, so I can leave."

Steve laughed bitterly. "You weren't born a vampire."

"You were born into a vampire family, but you're only now becoming one," Brooke said, looking disappointed.

"I'm not a monster."

"None of us are," Brooke said. "Our families are about preserving good in the world. That was actually why vampires were originally created."

"As you know from modern mythology," Cliff said. "There are a lot of vampires who want nothing to do with keeping goodness in the world. Those are the same ones who want our families out of power. They want to destroy not only our families, but mankind too."

"They give our kind a bad reputation amongst the mortals," Steve said. "The same ones who ordered your death."

My blood ran cold. "My death? Is that what the crows are all about? Why would anyone want me dead?"

Brooke looked at me. "You had a watcher, who is like a nanny and a body guard rolled into one. A group of vampires called the Moretti's ordered her to kill you. They threatened her family, but she loved you and your parents too much to kill you. She was scared for her family, so she snuck you out and gave you to your human parents. That way it would look like she had killed you, without actually harming you."

"Do they still want me dead?" I whispered.

"Yes, they do—assuming they've figured out that you're alive. Your parents are the vampire King and Queen," Cliff told me. "You're going to be the most powerful vampire in the world."

"The most powerful vampire in world?" I shook my head.

"You were born with a special mark that was prophesied about three thousand years ago. The mark means you're the Sonnast, the most powerful vampire since the Fyrsturae."

"So where's this special mark? Why haven't I seen it?"

"It's a silvery blue, swirly-shaped star on your neck. There are images of it in the scrolls from three thousand years ago," Steve said.

"There's no star shaped mark on my neck. Now I know you're lying."

"Your parents had it hidden with a spell when you were a baby," Cliff said. "They were afraid someone would hurt you. It was like a neon sign announcing that you're the Sonnast."

I stared at Cliff. "It's hidden? That's convenient."

"The Moretti's are determined to take over the throne, and they see you as the only thing standing in their way. Never mind the fact that they aren't even descendants of the Fyrsturae."

"What is the Fyrsturae?" I was unsure if I even wanted to know.

Cliff said, "They're the group of original vampires. They were born three thousand years ago, and only their descendants can be on the throne. In fact, only the descendants of the first vampire, Alrekur Vidarsson, have ever been on the throne. You're his direct descendant with both of your parents from his line. I'm a descent of the second vampire, Halldor Falkursson. My family is royalty also. My parents are second in command, after your parents."

My head hurt. "You're telling me that I'm not just a vampire, but vampire royalty, and some long-awaited Sonnast."

"It's a lot to take in," Brooke said. "You'll make history when Cliff becomes the first King from Halldor's line. His mother is beside herself with excitement."

"Do my parents care? Why haven't they tried to get me after I was taken away?"

Cliff held my hand. "For three years, everyone thought that you were dead. The entire kingdom mourned. Your birth gave everyone hope. When you were thought to be dead, it led to a sort of species-wide depression. After those three years, your watcher confessed everything."

"She thought that she was doing something noble," Steve said. "But when your parents found out what happened, they were furious. Your father wanted to kill her on the spot, but your mother was so grateful you were still alive that she wanted to spare your watcher."

"They threw her into the dungeon and argued about it for weeks," Cliff said. "She told them everything, including where you were and who had you. She's in the dungeon to this day."

"Your parents have been on a mission to find the vampires that ordered your death," Brooke said. "Your parents knew that you were at least safe with your human family. They wanted the Moretti's to keep believing that you were dead, so that's why you remained in Delphic Cove."

"They gave up having you with them to keep you safe," Cliff said.

"After your parents found out that you were still alive, they sent our family to keep an eye on you," Steve said. "That's why we lived so close to you all of those years, and why you and Brooke were so close."

"Then why did you move across town a couple of years ago?" I asked. "You've been completely out of my life."

"I started my transformation," Brooke said. "I couldn't hide it from you and you were actually starting to remember some things. It was dangerous for us to be so close, so we moved here. One of my talents is that I have visions, and I always get visions about you, so it worked out that we were still able to keep a close eye on your safety."

"Is that why you showed up at the lake the day after all of those light bulbs had exploded?"

"Yes," she said. "I knew your transformation started and that we needed to get involved. Do you believe us?"

"I don't know what to think," I admitted.

"So you're not going to drive a stake into our hearts?" Steve laughed.

"No. Does that really work?"

"Unfortunately, that's one of the stories mortals have correct," Cliff said. "Although not just any kind of wood will work with us royalty."

"That's one of the only things humans have correct," Brooke said. "We don't sleep in coffins, and garlic does nothing to us."

"She should know that already," Steve said. "She's seen the food that I eat—it's all garlic."

"What about sunlight?" I asked.

"Being royalty, we have had a blessing placed on us at birth that protects us from the sun," Steve said. "But common vampires can't be in the sun. I've seen it kill many of them."

"Common vampires?"

"Non-royalty," Brooke said. "Humans turned after being bitten."

"I need to go home and let this all sink in."

"I'm sure you do," Brooke said. "We've barely scratched the surface."

When I got home, I was exhausted. Did they really expect me to believe that I was turning into a vampire? Strange things were obviously going happening, but I couldn't be turning into a vampire. It wasn't possible. It was too ridiculous.

I knew they said most of what I "knew" about vampires was false, but I couldn't get the images from movies out of my mind. I wasn't a monster, and I didn't want to become one. I didn't want to be driven by a desire for blood. I didn't want to kill anyone, I wanted to help people. I wanted to put away the monsters.

Tears poured down my face and I didn't bother to wipe them away. I didn't ask for this. I was just trying to live my life and stay out of everyone's way. I just wanted to get my grades and get into a good school.

Would I even be able to pursue my dreams as a vampire? Could I still go to college or would I be tempted to kill everyone in sight?

The tears were now pooling next to my ears on the pillow. I rolled over and screamed into it. I could feel the rage surfacing again and I didn't want to deal with anymore broken lights. I got up and washed my face before going downstairs.

"Where are you going?" my mom asked. "You just got back and it's getting late. You have school tomorrow. You're not going anywhere."

"I know I have school tomorrow," I snapped. I looked directly into her eyes. "I need to get some air before I do my homework."

She looked dazed. "Go get some air so that you'll be refreshed for doing your homework."

I was in no mood to question why she didn't put up a fight. I grabbed my keys and went outside. I got in my car, which felt like such a clunker after driving Cliff's smooth foreign car. Maybe if I became a vampire, I could get something like that. At least that would be a perk to becoming a parasitic creature of the night.

By the time I got to the lake, it was already dark, but I could see surprisingly well. I hoped that the lake could calm my nerves. I went quickly to the lake and walked along the path around it. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked in the distance. The noises calmed my nerves.

The waves lightly splashed around, making soft noises. I closed my eyes, taking in the sounds. My shoulders relaxed and I let out a sigh.

Would I still appreciate this as a vampire, or would I be so obsessed with blood that I wouldn't care anymore? Tears came again. I thought I could hear them splash on the ground, but I shook my head to get back to reality.

I opened my eyes and jumped when I saw someone standing next to me. I hadn't heard anyone approach.

"I'm sorry to startle you," Cliff said. "Brooke had a vision of you leaving the house upset. I thought you might come here." He wiped the tears from my face and pulled hair off my cheeks that had stuck from the tears. He took my hand and led me to a bench. We sat and he put an arm around me, pulling me close. We watched ducks go up and down in the waves.

"I know it's a lot to take in," he said. "I'm sorry that we couldn't tell you in a way that would've been less upsetting. It's always hard to get news that you're not expecting."

"Not expecting and not wanting. I didn't ask for any of this." My voice began to crack as tears stung at my eyes again.

He wiped my tears again and took my hand. A calm spread through me at his touch. "When you get to the castle and meet the royalty, you'll likely be overwhelmed with all of the goodness. It's not like being around the mortals. A lot of us feel that way after spending time with the humans. The castle is a wonderful place to get refreshed."

As we stared at each other, I was more drawn to him than before. I felt like I was being wrapped in a blanket of trust and security.

"You would do anything for me," I said.

He brushed his hands through my hair. "I really would, my darling princess."

His eyes were so full of love that I felt overwhelmed. My heart sped up as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I assumed he was taking in my scent.

"Does my blood smell good to you?"

He smiled. "It's intoxicating. It makes me want to love and protect you, I have no desire to drink of it. You're in no danger."

"How can that be? I thought that vampires had to have blood."

"We do but it's not like you think. We royals are trained to handle our desires appropriately. Let's talk about this later, I want to enjoy the moment with you."

I leaned into him and he tightened his arm around me. If this was what being a vampire was going to be like, I might be able to get used to it.

***

My dreams took me to the castle again. I was wearing another dress that had the pattern from my homecoming dress. I was in my bedroom with the same lady, my watcher, who had taken me from my vampire family.

She was fixing my hair. "We're going to an important ceremony, so you must use your best manners. This is most important to your parents."

"I'm always good," I told her.

She smiled. "Yes, most of the time, Marguerite. But today is extra special, so be extra good today."

"What will you give me to be extra good?" I asked, giggling.

"You want me to bribe you again? You know me too well, darling. You've got me wrapped around your finger. I'll sneak you some extra dessert. Does that sound good?"

I jumped up and down. "I'll be extra, extra good."

"Glad to hear it," she said, and took my hand in hers. "Let's get going."

We walked through the enormous castle, passing countless doors and hallways. It seemed that there were people—vampires?—everywhere.

We arrived at a huge room that appeared to be for ceremonies. The four adult vampires from my other dream were in the front. There were chairs set up in the rest of the room, most of which were occupied.

Mattie, my watcher, whispered for me to join my mother and I walked over to one of those beautiful people at the front of the room. Young Clifford was there and my mother instructed me to stand by him.

I stood by him, looked up to him and smiled as big as I could. I adored him, and in my young eyes he was perfect.

He smiled back at me and I could tell that he adored me too.

An unfamiliar adult called everyone's attention. "As you all know, today is a very special day for our kingdom. Today is the blessing ceremony that will seal the arrangement of marriage between Clifford Montgomery and Marguerite Westerfield."

I looked up at Clifford and we exchanged a mutually excited look. All was perfect and right in the world.

"Clifford and Marguerite, step forward," the man said, and we complied. "Your future marriage is about to be sealed. The entire kingdom is thrilled that you two already love each other dearly. This only goes to show how true the prophecy is. Once this blessing has been placed, only the unfortunate incidence of one of your deaths will break the blessing."

He raised his hands above his head, and then slowly moved them down to his chest and we kneeled down. He pulled a jar out of his cloak, speaking in a foreign language, and then sprinkled the contents of the jar onto our heads.

"Clifford Montgomery and Marguerite Westerfield, you are now engaged to be married once you have both completed your transformations. You will rule our great kingdom with wisdom and love. It is your gift to be able to bring peace to our kingdom after many centuries of grief."

Everyone in the room clapped and we stood up. Our parents came up to us, placing a simple crown on each of our heads.

"You two are truly blessed, and you shall be a blessing to our entire kingdom."

Clifford hugged me and then whispered in my ear, "I have a present for you. I wanted to give you something special because this is such a special day." He pulled a necklace from his shirt pocket and when I saw it, I was so surprised that I woke up.

I sat up, my heart racing. The necklace from my dream was one that I actually had in my jewelry box. I jumped out of bed and dug through it until I found the necklace that I'd always thought was costume jewelry.

I walked to my window where the sun was shining and looked at the necklace closely. Could the jewels be real? If they were from a prince in a real castle, they had to be.

I grabbed another necklace that was made of real gold and had a real sapphire in it. I compared the two necklaces and saw that the gold and the sapphire of the two necklaces were a match. Not only were the gold and sapphires real but so were the other gems.

There was a half an hour before I needed to get ready for school so I got my jewelry cleaner and cleaned up the necklace. It sparkled liked I never imagined.

I showered quickly, put on the clothes that Natalie had picked out for me to impress Cliff, and then I put on my necklace. It was a bit much for a day at school but I didn't care. It was a gift from my vampire prince fiancé.

Suddenly, I understood why looking into Cliff's eyes had felt like I was finally home. I had adored and loved him with all of my heart as a child, and we'd been blessed with an unbreakable bond.

I put on my makeup the way that Natalie had showed me. It wasn't perfect, but it still looked good. Besides, I was sure that everyone would be looking at the necklace anyway. I had no idea that it could look so good, since I'd thought that it was costume jewelry and had never cleaned it, thinking that I'd ruin it.

When I got downstairs, my parents both gave me a double take.

"You look beautiful, honey." Dad said. "Brooke must have really inspired you when she dressed you up for the prom."

"Homecoming, Dad," I said, trying not to laugh. Dads.

"I love what you've done with that old necklace," said my mom. "Is that Natalie's dress? I need to take you shopping so that you can get your own clothes."

"You want to take me shopping?"

"I'd love to," she said, "now that I know you'll appreciate nice clothes."

I sighed. "Of course."

At school, I was late to several classes because people kept stopping me to talk.

My grades were going to take a hit if I wasn't careful. I'd have to decide how much of a setback I'd allow, or if it even mattered. It wasn't like I need a Harvard degree to be a vampire princess.

I'd need to start learning a whole new set of skills and knowledge.

After school, I decided to go to my CSI club before going to meet Cliff at Brooke's house. For now, I would keep up with all of my goals: perfect GPA, CSI club, and so on. After I had more information about my future royal life I'd decide what, if anything, that I would change.

As I was leaving, Hailey appeared out of nowhere and asked me how I liked my car.

"I love my car. It's extra shiny today," I said, smiling.

She frowned. "Whatever. How's Cliff? Did he love dancing with me?"

"He's doing fabulous. We had such a great date last night too. And you know what? He didn't even mention you."

"You still better watch your back," she said. "Your car was nothing."

"I can't wait," I said.

She gave me a smug look. I watched her walk away from me down the hall. When she was about thirty feet away I ran right up to her in less than a blink of an eye.

"What?" she exclaimed in shock and horror. "How did you...?"

I grabbed her shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. "You might want to think twice before threatening me."

Her eyes became as big as volleyballs. "I—I...uh...I...."

"Got it?" I asked.

She nodded her head.

"Okay. I'm glad that we've reached an understanding."

My heart was pounding as I walked away, I had only thought about confronting her and without warning, I'd moved about thirty feet in a split second.

What was next?

Chapter Eight

When I arrived at Brooke's house, I found everyone in the back yard. She had laid out a cute tablecloth and a big spread of delicious looking food. The three of them were standing near the table with their backs to me.

"This looks delicious," I said, announcing my presence.

They all turned around and before I knew it, Cliff was by my side. "You're wearing the necklace," he whispered in my ear, causing goose bumps to run down my neck.

"I remember the whole thing. The engagement blessing ceremony and you giving it to me right after."

He looked at me with a tear in his eye. "I'm so glad that you remember. It used to belong to Ida Freysdottir, the eighth Fyrsturae."

I touched the necklace. "It used to belong to one of the first vampires?" I whispered.

He nodded. "It's three thousand years old."

My heart plummeted to my stomach. "I had no idea that it was a relic," I said, holding it.

He wrapped his arms around me. "It's special, but it doesn't compare to you."

Chills ran through me. "I must've been waiting for you without knowing it," I told him.

"Did you know that the only reason our kingdom knew that you were alive was because my longing for you wouldn't diminish. Our strong connection was the only thing that gave your parents hope that you were still alive the three years that no one knew where you were."

"Where are my parents now?" I asked. "Do they want to meet me?"

"More than anything," Cliff assured me. "Like I told you yesterday, they've been on a mission to find the vampires who put out the order on your death. Now that you're beginning to transform, they've sent me to help train you. Once you're ready for battle, I'll bring you back to the castle. That'll be the proper time for your reunion."

"If I went to the castle before it would've endangered my life?" I asked.

"Precisely," he said. "They believed it to be in your best interest to stay where you were, with the Moretti's believing you to be dead. We all desperately wanted you back, but we knew we needed to wait. There would be many years to spend with you once you're transformed and properly trained."

"What are you two talking about over there?" Brooke called to us. "Let's eat."

"Yeah, some of us are hungry," Steve said. "This food looks too good to not eat."

Cliff smiled. "Let's eat." He grabbed my hand and we walked to the table.

When we were finished eating, Brooke said, "I have a surprise for you."

"For me?" I asked. "What else could you possibly do for me?"

"I'm working on a whole new wardrobe for you," she said, smiling. "It'll be stylish but also completely unique. Nobody will have anything that you will."

"Why would you do that for me?"

"Because you're our princess, and it's an honor to use my gifts to serve you," she replied.

"Your wardrobe is a definite need." Steve said, laughing.

I laughed too. "That's true. I've always prided myself on not following the crowd. I never felt the need to impress anyone...until now." I looked at Cliff and felt myself blush.

Cliff smiled at me with a twinkle in his eyes. "I would've never guessed."

"Trust me," Brooke said. "There's a reason that I intercepted before you two met. I'm glad that Natalie has been helping too."

"Speaking of Natalie," I said. "Will I ever be able to tell my family and friends about this whole vampire thing?"

Steve laughed. "'This whole vampire thing.' That's an interesting way to put it."

"What else am I supposed to call it?" I asked, getting defensive. "It's not like I knew anything about it before. I've been kept in the dark and it's not my fault that all of this is so new and strange to me."

"Calm down," Steve said.

"Don't tell me to calm down." I glared at Steve. I could feel my temper rising quickly which was odd, because I had been unbelievably happy just moments before.

"Nobody thinks badly of you," Cliff told me, putting his hand on mine. Instantly, I felt calm again.

"I don't know why I've been getting angry so easily lately," I said. "I've always been so calm and even-tempered. Lately I've been feeling bipolar, going from one extreme emotion to another."

"It's just part of the transformation process," Cliff said. "Newly turned and transforming vampires all go through it. I was a nightmare to deal with when I went through mine. I'm glad you weren't there to see that."

"I can't imagine that," I said. "You're so calm and proper."

"He's not kidding," Steve said. "People would ask what kind of a mood he was in before entering the room."

"Oh come on. I wasn't that bad," Cliff said, laughing.

"Yes, you were," Brooke said. "I was glad to be living over here. Visiting you those couple of times was more than enough."

Cliff made a face at them and then turned to me. "Not only do you have to deal with crazy emotions, but also with others making fun of you."

"One thing you should know," Brooke said, "is that because you two are royalty and have more powers and gifts than normal vampires, your transformation is more intense and lasts longer than a typical transformation."

"Why didn't I know about this?" Cliff asked. "It felt worse than other transformations I've seen, but nobody told me that it actually was."

"I'm sure it was because everyone was too busy avoiding you," Steve said, punching Cliff in the arm.

"Clearly, I am on your side," Cliff said to me. "I know what you're going through."

"I hope you guys aren't telling me that this is going to get worse," I said.

"None of us have the gift of predicting the future," Brooke said, "but it will probably will."

It was my turn to make a face. "So back to my question. Will I ever be able to tell my friends or family about any of this?"

"We try to blend in with society," Brooke said. "That means that we don't discuss that aspect of our lives with mortals."

"Not at all?" I asked. "It's going to be challenging to live with mortals and not be able to talk about this."

"Obviously, none of us are in your shoes," Cliff said. "There have been other vampires raised by mortals, but when this information gets into the wrong hands, it can get ugly."

"Ugly?" I asked.

"Vampires have been locked away in prison and mental facilities," Cliff said. "Others have been hunted and killed. Different people react differently and society responds differently in different times. It can get really bad."

"Think of how you would've reacted if someone told you that they were a vampire a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh," I said, feeling let down. "So how long will this transformation take? When can I meet my real parents?"

"It could take more than a year to complete," Cliff said. "Typically, it takes a few months, but it took me over a year. You'll have even more gifts and powers than I do since you're the Sonnast, so it could be even longer."

"I might have to deal with this for more than a year?" I exclaimed.

"We're all here for you," Brooke said. "Cliff's going to live here as long as he needs to. Steve and my parents and I are here too."

"Did you two have a long transformation too?" I asked Brooke and Steve. "Since you're Cliff's cousin, aren't you royalty too?"

Brooke and Steve looked at each before Brooke spoke. "Cliff isn't really our cousin. That's a story for the humans."

I looked at them in confusion.

"Our family is actually a very trusted servant family to the royals, going back many generations," Steve said.

"They have high ranking and their family has been around for a very long time, which is why they are trusted and why they were sent to watch over you," Cliff said. "Your parents would only send a family that they trusted completely."

"Also, servants in the vampire world are not like servants in the mortal world," Steve said defensively. "Servants are high ranking. We're not lowly or anything like that. Just so you know."

"Got it," I said.

"Let's go see your new clothes," Brooke said, obviously changing the subject. "I can't wait to see your reaction."

"That sounds like fun," I said, glad for a new topic.

"We'll clean up this food," Cliff said. "Right, Steve?"

Brooke grabbed my hand and nearly dragged me into the house.

"Did you make all of these?" I asked, breathless. The room was literally covered in clothes.

She smiled proudly. "Of course. Do you like them? They're all Alexis Ferguson Originals."

"Don't you mean Marguerite?" I asked.

She looked at me surprised. "You remember your birth name?"

"I'm remembering a lot. It's actually strange how much I'm able to remember, especially since I was so young when I was taken."

"We vampires have exceptionally good memories. It doesn't surprise me much," she said.

I giggled. "A vampire never forgets."

She laughed. "We're not elephants. Let me show you the clothes." She walked to one outfit and picked it up for me to look at more closely.

I couldn't believe that she had found the time to make all of those clothes. They were all exceptional in their own way. She seemed very pleased by my reaction to each one.

"This is enough to get you through the week and the weekend," she said. "Be sure to wear the gold one when you go on a date with Cliff," she said and winked at me. "By the weekend I'll have more clothes ready for you for next week."

"More?" I asked in disbelief. "You really are going to give me a new wardrobe."

***

The next day at lunch, I ducked into a small study room to get away from all of the attention. I was worn out from all of the interaction, and I actually missed being invisible.

Tanner was sitting at one of the two tables studying.

"Alexis," he said, surprised. "I didn't think that you were into studying anymore."

I almost smiled. "Believe me, Tanner. I have no intention of letting my grades drop. It wasn't my idea to have all of this attention thrown upon me."

He looked me up and down, and with half of his mouth in a smile. "You don't seem to be resisting it much."

"The clothes were a gift."

"I bet they were. You're going to pass your sister on the popularity ladder soon," he said. "How do you think that she's going to like that?"

"I'm not competing with Natalie," I told him. "What's it to you, anyway?"

"I pay close attention to things, that's all," he said.

I raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He looked me directly in the eyes. "I know what you are, Alexis."

The blood drained from my face. "What is it that you think that I am?"

"You're a vampire," he said. "You can and probably will keep that hidden from everyone else, but not me. I know things that most people don't."

I started laughing. "You're kidding, right? It's time to stop watching those movies. Are you Team Edward?"

He laughed. "I don't watch those. I know a real vampire. She's let me in on a lot of secrets, so I can spot one pretty easily."

I looked into his eyes. "Well your senses are off this time, because I assure you that I am no vampire." I wasn't lying because I had barely begun the transformation process. I wouldn't be a vampire for at least a year.

"Look Alexis," he said. "I saw the way that you were running the other day. I barely even saw you until you had stopped. No human can run like that."

"Tanner, I don't know what kind of drugs you're taking, but you should quit." I opened the door to leave.

"Go for now, but soon you'll be coming to me," he said.

I stopped. "For what, exactly?"

"I can tell you things about vampire life that your friends never will," he said.

I went through the doorway and slammed it. How did he know? What vampire did he know? Would my friends really keep information from me? Was Tanner a vampire?

"Alexis, there you are."

I looked up and saw Amanda and Emma. "Oh, hi guys," I said, still deep in thought.

"You okay?" asked Amanda. "You look like you saw a ghost."

I shook my head to clear it. "No, I'm fine. I'm just exhausted from all of the attention. It's a shock to go from being invisible to being the center of attention."

"Has Hailey done anything else to you besides egging your car?" Emma asked.

I didn't realize that they knew about that. "Sorry that I didn't tell you guys. I've been so busy."

Emma scowled. "We've noticed. We haven't even seen you since the dance. Are you too popular for us now?"

"No," I said. "I've been so distracted with Cliff and with figuring out if I'm adopted and everything. You two are still my best friends." I burst into tears. Dang those transition emotions.

"Oh," Emma and Amanda said in unison and they wrapped me in a group hug.

"I told you not to be hard on her," Amanda hissed.

"We just miss you," Emma said.

"You guys should come over after school so I can show you my new clothes. And we can catch up."

"Don't you have to work?" Amanda asked.

"I dropped my hours after my parents took over my insurance and gas payments," I said.

Emma pouted. "You never told us that."

"Emma." Amanda glared at her.

"It's okay," I said with quivering lips. "I know I haven't been a very good friend since the dance."

"I've never seen you so teary," Amanda said. "Sure you're okay? Is something else bothering you, besides snubbing us?"

I burst into tears again and buried my face in my hands. Brooke and those guys weren't kidding about the emotions.

"Sorry," Amanda said sheepishly. "Bad choice of words."

I took a deep breath, trying to regain control. "I think the bell is about to ring. Why don't we meet at my house after school?"

Emma grinned. "That's the spirit. I can't wait to hear all about Cliff. I heard a rumor that you two went out to another fancy restaurant the night after the dance."

My cheeks burned.

Emma clapped her hands together. "Look at you blush. This is going to be good."

After school, we were all in my room. "It's so good to hang out again," I told them. "I've really missed you. I know it's been less than a week but it feels much longer."

"We haven't even seen you at lunch," Amanda said.

"Watch out or I'll start crying again," I said, feeling it coming on again.

"I can't believe that Brooke made all of these clothes for you," Emma said, browsing through my closet. She hadn't stopped looking at my clothes since I showed them fifteen minutes earlier.

"I know. I was so shocked," I replied.

"Is it like an early birthday present or something?" Amanda asked.

I'd forgotten that my birthday was almost there. "Yeah that's it," I lied, not wanting to explain that I was going to be a vampire princess.

"Why's she doing all of this?" Emma asked suspiciously. "It's been like two years since you two even saw each other. She shows up and suddenly gives you all of this nice stuff."

"She didn't just give them to me," I said. "She made them. It costs a lot less to make things than to pay for the labels. Besides, she gets credit for a design class that she's in."

"It just doesn't make any sense," Emma said. "She could make clothes for anybody. Why all of these for you?"

"She said that she'd always seen my beauty and she wanted to help me see it too," I said defensively.

Emma folded her arms. "Something's up. Either she's hiding something from you or you're hiding something from us."

"Oh stop being jealous," I exclaimed. "If you only want friends who have less than you, go and replace me. Otherwise, try to be happy for someone else for a change."

She stared at me. "Is that really how you feel?"

"Of course it is," I snapped. "Amanda's the shy one and I'm the invisible brain. Compared to the two of us, you're a shining ray of popularity."

"I can't believe this. After what a great friend I've been to you."

"What have you done for me?" I demanded. "Graced me with your presence?"

"You better watch yourself Alexis," she warned me. "You can end up with two enemies. You think that Hailey can do damage, but I've been listening to your secrets for years."

I stood up. "Are you threatening me?"

"What if I am?" She glared at me.

"Stop it, you two," Amanda begged. "Would you listen to yourselves? We're friends."

"She's jealous because suddenly I'm popular," I told Amanda.

"I can't believe you," Emma shrieked. "I know that popularity changes people, but this is totally ridiculous."

"Maybe it's not me that has changed. You're just seething with jealousy."

"Unbelievable." she stomped her foot. "I'm outta here. You with me, Amanda, or is she going to give you a ride home?"

"Guys, please don't do this," Amanda pleaded.

"Face it Amanda," Emma said, "you're going to end up having to choose between us and you know she's going to leave you in the dust. This is the first time that she's even bothered to talk to us since she was crowned Princess. That's only because we ran into her at lunch."

"I'm not going to make you choose," I told Amanda. "You can be friends with us both, even if Emma chooses not to be my friend."

Amanda looked like she was going to cry.

I can't wait to tell Hailey about this, Emma thought.

I did my best not to respond to that, and thought of a way to use it to find out what was going on. "Emma, let's just get along okay? I don't want to make Amanda cry."

"You think we can just kiss and make up?" Emma exclaimed. "You've really changed, and not for the better."

"The only thing that's changed is that Hailey now hates me," I said, trying to provoke a response.

"What does Hailey have to do with any of this?" Emma asked.

I glared at her. "You tell me."

"What?" she asked. "I...I.... How would Hailey have anything to do with this?"

"I saw you talking with Hailey, Emma," I lied. I intended to find out what she was hiding.

"What?" Amanda asked. "You were talking to Hailey?"

How is it possible that she saw us? Emma thought. She wasn't at that party. Maybe I was too drunk to notice. "It's not like I'm dating her." Emma exclaimed. "I was just talking to her."

"I thought she was your sworn enemy," Amanda said. "What's going on?"

"So you didn't tell Amanda about the party that you went to?" I asked, continuing to provoke her.

"Party? What party?" Amanda asked, looking confused.

Natalie. She must have told Alexis. What a snitch. Emma thought. "Forget it, Amanda. It's nothing."

"Going to your enemy's party is nothing?" I asked with fake innocence.

"Emma, what's going on," Amanda demanded.

"I said it's nothing." Emma shot her a nasty look.

"It doesn't sound like nothing," Amanda said, getting in Emma's face. "Alexis and I are supposed to be your best friends. What is going on?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I asked. "She wants to be popular at any expense. She's trying to cover her bases. If I'm not her ticket, then Hailey will be."

Amanda turned to Emma. "Is that true?"

She stared at Amanda without saying anything. I can't believe she figured it out.

"Maybe you shouldn't have underestimated the smart one," I told her.

She looked confused and then I realized that I'd just answered her thoughts. I'd need to be more careful.

"It looks like you're speechless," I said. "I didn't even think that was possible."

"I can't believe you, Emma," Amanda said, looking disgusted. "We've been through thick and thin. You'd turn on us just to be popular?"

"We only go to high school once," Emma said. "I'm tired of being a nobody. I want people to like me and to want to be me."

"I don't care about popularity," Amanda said. "Want to know why? People don't really care about the popular people. They only like them because they are popular. The friends that I have are true friends. At least that's what I thought. Popularity only counts in school. Statistically, popular people don't do as well in the real world. I'd rather have my success where it counts."

"I don't care about life after high school," Emma exclaimed. "That's like a year and a half away. That's practically forever. I want to be popular and I want it bad enough to do whatever it takes to get there. There, I said it."

"Make your choice, Emma," Amanda said. "You do realize that you could become popular with Alexis. She's the most popular person right now because she won Hailey's crown. Everyone's talking about her and to her. That's why she hasn't spent any time with us. I've seen her trying to, but people won't let her. They're practically begging for her autograph."

"Alexis is popular for the moment," Emma told Amanda. "People might get tired of her and she could go back to being invisible. Hailey, on the other hand, has been popular for a long time and isn't going down." Without a fight.

I clenched my fists but kept my mouth shut.

"So who is it, Emma?" Amanda asked. "Us or Hailey? You can't have it both ways."

"Amanda, don't do this," Emma said. "I'll be your friend no matter what."

"Us or her," Amanda said glaring at Emma.

"I'm sorry, Amanda," Emma said and stormed out of my room.

Chapter Nine

It was dark and I was back in the field where I'd been trying to explode light bulbs. I didn't have any light bulbs with me this time, and I wasn't entirely sure what I was going to do. I just felt the need to get out of the house and I figured that I would know what to do when I got there.

I stood in the middle of the field ready to train for something, but I didn't know what. All that I knew was that I was ready.

Running sounded good, and as soon as I had decided it, I was all the way across the field and back. I loved the adrenaline rush so I ran again, this time around the edge of the field. I went around the entire field three times in less than five seconds.

I went back and stood in the middle of the field, and this time I felt amazing. I felt strong and confident. I could handle whatever Hailey, Emma, Tanner or anyone else dished out. I could handle it, and them too.

A tree at the edge of the field caught my eye. It was tall and sturdy. I got the idea of climbing to the top to see if I could hide, and before I had even decided to try it I had already run to the base of the tree. I looked up at it, jumped ten feet to the first branch, and quickly made my way to the top. I nestled into the branches and looked at everything from a whole new angle.

It was exhilarating and I was thrilled with the accomplishment. I was in awe that I could learn so quickly and without anyone helping me. At first, things were happening on their own, but now I was starting to learn things at the mere thought of them. What could be next?

I started to climb down the tree branches, but when I was about halfway down, I heard footsteps and voices in the field. I moved a branch out of my way to see who was in the field. It was Natalie and a senior boy. What were they doing there?

They sat down at the bottom of the tree. I decided to try to control my supersonic hearing and just like with the running all I had to do was think about using the power and it began working. That exact moment, I was able to hear Natalie and the boy as if I were sitting with them.

"When can we tell people that we're boyfriend and girlfriend?" Natalie asked.

He sighed. "Not yet. You know that I like keeping it secret. It's more special that way."

"Why does it have to be a secret?" she asked. "I want to shout it out for everyone to hear. Don't you?"

"It's more exciting this way. Let's not ruin this with a fight."

My nose tickled as some smoke rose to me. It didn't smell like tobacco smoke. I wanted to see what else was going on 20 feet below me and hoped that I had heightened sight too.

"As long as we can tell people soon," Natalie said, sighing.

"Here have some of this," he said. I wanted to climb down to get a look at what he was giving her but I didn't dare. This was my first time climbing like this. I didn't want to slip or make noise.

As they focused on whatever it was that he gave her, I became antsy to get out of the tree. If I couldn't practice my new skills, then I'd rather go home and study. My grades were going to suffer if I didn't focus on them again.

I looked around for a way to could sneak away unnoticed, but the only thing that I saw was a cluster of trees behind the field. They were at least 30 feet away, so I couldn't get to them. I could run and climb but I didn't dare try to jump that far.

I could hear smacking noises and I groaned. They were making out, and that meant that they would be there for a while. I was determined to find a way out, and fast. Would they be so into making out that they wouldn't notice me climbing down the tree?

The noises were getting more intense and I was more anxious to leave with every passing second. I even tried turning off my supersonic hearing, but that didn't work. For some reason I could turn it on, but not off.

"Hey, Braydon. Don't do that," Natalie said.

"Don't be a baby, Natalie," Braydon said.

"I'm not a baby," she exclaimed. "You need to respect me."

"If you want to keep going out with me, you need to stop this virgin act. Stop talking and let's have some fun."

"It's not an act."

"Oh come on. You can't tell me you're a virgin."

"It's true, Braydon. Slow down."

"Look, I know you're only a sophomore, but I'm a senior and I don't expect to have to wait."

"It's my body and if I don't want to right now I don't have to."

"Dude, if you want me as your boyfriend, you need to have some fun," he said.

"I'm not a dude. And you won't even let me tell anyone that we're going out."

"You're ruining the fun," he said, and I heard the slurping noises.
I heard a smack. "I said stop."

"How dare you? You little whore."

"Whore?" Natalie exclaimed. "I won't let you past second base."

I heard another smack and Natalie hollered in pain. My anger had been rising through the entire argument. I wouldn't be able to contain it much longer.

"It's your word against mine at school," Braydon said.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Not unless you stop being a baby and start acting like a woman."

"Unbelievable. I'm leaving. I've had enough."

"I'll tell everyone how easy you are," he threatened.

"Then I guess you'll have to live with yourself knowing that you're both a jerk and a liar."

I heard what sounded like a punch and a thud. She must have fallen on the ground.

Without thinking, I raced down the branches and grabbed Braydon by the neck and shoved him into the tree trunk. "You will apologize to her and say only nice things about her at school, do you understand?"

"What the—?" he asked.

I squeezed his neck. "I said do you understand me?"

He gagged a little. "Yes, yes, okay. Let go!"

"If you treat her badly ever again, I'll see to it that you regret it for the rest of your life, got it?"

He nodded.

"Now take her home safely or I'll follow you home and kill you." I shoved his head into the tree to show him that I meant business. I raced back up the tree where I came from so that he knew I would still be watching him.

My heart was racing and I hoped that Natalie hadn't recognized me. I didn't want to explain it to her. Let her think that I was some sort of pot hallucination or something. I listened to them pack up their stuff and walk back to his car in silence.

Once the car had started up, I got down from the tree and raced around the field again to get rid of my excess energy.

I stopped to catch my breath before heading back to my car. I heard something in the sky to the north. I looked towards it, trying to decipher the sound.

Crows.

By the time I realized I was hearing hundreds of wings flapping, it was already too late to run away. They were overhead and starting to circle over me. I was frozen with fear, even though I had just scared a guy twice my size.

The birds flew over my head in their typical circle. I could barely the moonlight off in the distance through them. I always ran away but this time I wanted to see what they would do. I was gaining confidence with each moment.

One cawed, followed by another and then another, until they were all cawing at me. It was even creepier in the dark.

"Is that all you have?" I asked.

One crow broke from the crowd and flew right at me. I ducked away and it came after me again. Another crow came down and started after me.

My heart raced as I moved to avoid each one. Their beady little eyes were glowing in the moonlight and their cawing was close to deafening so close to me.

One by one, they were coming down from the group to chase me. It was becoming harder to avoid them. One bit me on the arm and another got me on the leg.

I started hitting at them but it did no good. I decided to make a run for it. They bit at me as I ran through the crowd. Thankfully, I could run so fast because I was back to my car in just a couple of seconds.

I had left the door unlocked, so I jumped in the car and closed the door as fast as I could. My heart was nearly pounding out of my chest.

What was their deal? What did they want from me? I drove home as fast as I could and managed to calm down by the time I walked through the door.

"Where have you been?" my mom asked, sitting in the kitchen. I was surprised that there was no rudeness in her tone.

"I just needed some air," I said. "Is Natalie home?"

"Yeah, she just got home and went to take a shower," she answered. "I really like that outfit, Alexis. Where did you get it?"

"Brooke made it," I said.

"I could always buy you some, you know," she said.

"I think she's having fun and getting credit for a class."

"I'm glad you two are becoming friends again. She's always been so good to you. I remember how crushed you were when she moved."

"It's good to spend time with her again."

"You and her cousin have hit it off also," my mom said with a smile.

I had to smile too. "He's amazing," I said, unable to believe I had admitted that to my mom.

"He seems nice," she said. "That family seems to take very good care of you. When they lived here, it was almost like they were as much your family as we were."

I was surprised to hear my mom talking so kindly about both myself and my friends. Who was she and what had she done with my disapproving, snooty mom? I didn't know how to respond.

"Make sure that you're here for your birthday," she told me. "Your dad and I have a surprise for you."

"Please don't let it be a party," I said. "I can't handle any more attention."

"We're not planning a party."

"Good. Well, I can't wait to see the surprise. I better get some studying done before my grades suffer."

"What do you consider suffering? Getting an A-?" She was smiling.

"Goodnight, Mom."

***

I had been studying for about an hour when Natalie came into my room. She had her arms full of salty snack foods.

"Hungry much?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

"I'm starving," she exclaimed. "Want to eat a snack with me?"

"Sure, but I don't think I can eat all of that."

"Good. I don't want you to," she said. "I just want some company." She sat down, opened a bag of chips and practically inhaled the entire bag.

"Don't eat the bag," I exclaimed, half afraid that she might.

She ignored me.

"Where were you tonight?" I asked, curious to hear what she would tell me.

"I went out with some friends after practice," she said in between gulps.

"Maybe you should have had some dinner," I told her.

"I did. I'm just starving that's all. Maybe I'm having a growth spurt. That's what dad always says when I eat a lot, I'm growing."

"Right. What friends did you go out with tonight? You look a little freaked out," I said. "Are you okay?" She didn't actually look freaked out, but I wanted to find out what I could about what she saw in the field. She might have thought that was me, and if she did I would have to do damage control.

"Why are you so nosy?" she asked me. "You're never nosy like this. Is it because you're popular?"

"I don't care. Don't tell me who you were with," I said. "Just tell me why you look so freaked out."

She sighed and opened a bag of flavored popcorn. "Well, we were outside and something strange did happen. One of the guys that was there was being rude to one of the girls. Then out of nowhere, some girl roughed him up, threatened him and just disappeared. It was really strange."

"Do you know who it was?" I asked.

"No. If I did, I would have said."

"She didn't sound like anyone that you knew?" I asked.

"No, she didn't really sound like a person," Natalie said. "I know that sounds crazy, but it was like she was some kind of...oh I don't know. Not a person, like something on movie."

"That is strange," I said, relieved that she didn't think it had been me.

I was trying to read her mind, but was unable to. I wasn't sure if it was what she had been smoking or because I needed to work on that skill some more. These powers all seemed different in the ways that they worked.

She started chatting about unimportant things as she finished off the bag of popcorn, so I tuned her out and went back to my homework. She noticed, but didn't seem to care.

***

Later that night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I suddenly had the very strong sensation that I was not alone in my room. I was suddenly wide awake but frozen in place, afraid that if I moved I would somehow be more vulnerable to who or what was in my room with me.

Wishing for stronger night vision, I looked around my room as best as I could in the dark, lying down without moving my head. I couldn't see anything unusual.

I tried to breathe normally once I noticed that I had been holding my breath. The creepy feeling would not go away and continued to become stronger as I laid there.

I debated with myself about what I should do. I could sit up quickly and turn on my light, using the element of surprise to my advantage, or I could announce that I know that they were there.

I decided that I would get up and turn the light on so that the intruder wouldn't have the advantage. Before I budged, I thought I saw a movement on my left. I tried to focus on that spot, but I couldn't see anything at all. I knew that I needed to do something fast before they were able to act and harm me.

I tried to move but was frozen in fear. Some fearless leader of a vampire princess I was. If all of vampiredom was going to rely on me, I might be the downfall of an entire species.

Suddenly, I jumped up, turned on the light next to my bed and grabbed my Aboriginal rain stick, ready to hit someone with it. I looked around my room and felt silly since I didn't see anyone.

I turned around and saw him behind me. He was right next to me before I could blink.

"What are you doing in my room?" I exclaimed. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," Cliff said. He reached for my hand.

"What exactly were you trying to do?" I asked him, as my heart rate returned to normal.

He looked into my eyes with his chocolate eyes and I started to melt. "I didn't get to see you today and I just wanted to get a glimpse of you. I just thought I would see you sleep for a few minutes."

If anyone else had said that, it would have been completely creepy, but coming from him it was so sweet. I couldn't get over how mushy I was toward him. This was still such a new side of me. I wasn't sure that I would ever get used to it.

Finding out that I was turning into a vampire princess was even stranger, and I was getting used to that, so surely I could get used to having a romantic side. That should be less strange than becoming what I had always believed to be a mythical creature.

"That's okay," I finally said, still lost in his eyes.

"I couldn't go a full day without seeing you," he said, stroking my hair. "I don't know how I managed all of those years. Now that I have seen you again, I can't stay away."

"You don't have to," I told him. "I don't want you to stay away. I would be happy if we could spend all of our time together and forget about everything else."

He smiled and the way that the skin around his eyes crinkled nearly turned me into a puddle. More than anything, I wanted to kiss him, but I suspected that he was raised to be the perfect gentleman. That only made me want to kiss him more. I feared that I would give into my craving, so I leaned against him so that I wasn't looking into his face. He wrapped his arms around me.

"I missed you so much all of these years. It feels unreal to actually be near you. Like I'm living in a dream and I don't want to wake up."

"I don't know how I managed to forget. Obviously, the memories are still there since I've been having such clear, realistic dreams. I'm sorry, Cliff."

"You have nothing to be sorry about. Nothing at all. You were little and the people who were supposed to protect you failed. Your mind wasn't controlled, but when Mattie told you that you had a new family, you were susceptible to believing her because of your age. Then when your new family told you that your memories of being a princess in a castle were only fantasies, you were still so young and came to believe them. You had to deal with the reality that was in front of you. I think that you've handled everything with such ease."

"I don't feel that way, but thank you. I wasn't able to keep my...uniqueness a secret. I have always been freakishly smart and learning has been too easy. When I read something once, I can't forget it."

"That's because you're a vampire. We rarely forget anything."

"Brooke told me that. Among people, it's freaky."

He hugged me tightly. "There's nothing freaky about you. You knew you were different, and now you know why."

A tear rolled down my face. "Why did this happen to me, Cliff?"

He reached for my hand and I felt calm. "It was meant to be for some reason. Everything that we've been through will make us stronger."

"Why does your touch always make me feel calm?"

"I have the ability to calm emotions with my touch. I can't control the emotions of others, but I can feel them. I don't know if this will be something that I'll be able to develop further or not. Don't worry. I wouldn't use this against you. Only to help you."

"I wonder if I'll have any gifts like that," I said and yawned.

"I know you need your sleep," he told me. "But you don't need beauty sleep, because you couldn't get any more beautiful. I'll get going so that you can rest, but promise me you'll come over after school tomorrow."

"Of course. I have a lot to share with you, because so much happened today. But I would be up all night telling you about it."

"I can't wait to hear about it," he said. He lifted up my hand, which he was still holding, and kissed it. My heart raced and my face flushed red.

"For someone who can calm my emotions you sure have a way of exciting them."

He smiled.

Chapter Ten

The next afternoon, I had managed to avoid all of the people who wanted to talk to me at school.

I was sitting outside in the cold with Amanda while she poured her heart and soul out to me. She was heartbroken over Emma deciding not to be our friend anymore. She was worried that I wouldn't want to be her friend either because I was becoming so popular. She was also afraid that her parents were going to get a divorce.

She started crying and told me that her whole world was falling apart.

I quickly tried to think of something I could say to make her feel better, but I couldn't think of anything at all. I gave her a hug and asked what I could do.

"Maybe we could just get out and do something after school," she suggested, sniffling.

I had promised Cliff that I would get together with him, but I couldn't tell Amanda no while she was sitting there crying. "What do you have in mind?"

"The volleyball team has a game here after school," she said. "Let's go watch it. I know that you don't like going to the games, but I would like to go, and not alone."

"I hate to ask this, but could I invite Cliff and Brooke to join us?" I asked. "I already promised Cliff that I would hang out with him after school, but I want to hang out with you too."

She gulped for air, still crying. "That's fine. Emma always brought Chase with her when he wasn't wrestling."

I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Cliff asking him if he wanted to join us. He said he would meet me at the gym after school. I told him he could bring Brooke and Steve if he wanted too.

"Okay," I told Amanda. "It's set. We'll all meet at the gym after school to watch the game."

She smiled. "This time it's not just a practice."

I laughed. "Hopefully there won't be any exploding lights this time."

She laughed. "Or exploding smoothies."

***

That afternoon, I exercised all of my restraint not to run at lightning speed to the gym to see Cliff. I wanted to look deep into his eyes again, even if I only had a few minutes alone with him.

When I saw him from a distance, I couldn't help myself and I did run at him at full speed.

"Alexis," he exclaimed. "You look so pretty. But try not to run so fast around people. We want to blend in, remember?"

I smiled at him. "Then you're going to have to stop looking so alluring. I can't help myself."

He smiled back and wrapped his arms around me. I closed my eyes and enjoyed being in his embrace, knowing that it wouldn't last long enough. Forever wouldn't even be long enough.

"Aw, look at the lovebirds," I heard Steve's voice behind me.

"The perfect couple," Brooke chimed in.

Cliff let go of me and I turned around and I said, "Hi guys. It's great that you could make it too. So much has happened that I need to fill you in on."

"More than just the birds attacking you?" Brooke asked me.

"Huh? How did you—? Oh, right. Your visions," I said. "Yeah, that's only part of it."

"Can you give us the short version real quick before your friend shows up?" Steve asked.

"Well, I can try," I said. "I'll have to fill in the details later though."

"That's fine," Cliff said. "Just give us the headlines for now."

"I hope I can remember everything," I admitted. "It seems like so much happened yesterday."

"Just spill it," Steve demanded.

I sighed. "For starters, a football player named Tanner Monroe told me that he knows what I am because he knew a vampire who had taught him how to recognize one. I denied it of course, but he's not going to let up."

"Wait," Brooke exclaimed. "Did he say who the vampire was? Is she still in town?"

"I don't know who it was but it sounds like she's been gone a while."

"We haven't known of any in town for a long time," Steve said. "This could be bad. Hopefully, it was just one passing through. But she could have been working for the Moretti's. If that's the case, they could be on to you or even know that you're here."

"Which could explain the crows," Cliff said gravely.

"How?" I asked.

"We'll explain later," Brooke said. "Did he say anything about the vampire?"

"He said that he could teach me more about vampires than you guys ever would," I said.

"That means that he's trying to get you to doubt us." Cliff furrowed his eyebrows. "He's definitely been in contact with the Moretti's or one of their minions." His eyes became red momentarily before returning to brown.

"Don't doubt us," Brooke said quickly. "We're your true family and you know looking into Cliff's eyes that you're destined to be with him for centuries to come."

I blushed. "I can't deny that."

"Okay, what else do you have for us?" Steve asked.

"One of my best friends, Emma, has ditched Amanda and I. Emma joined up with Hailey, the girl who thinks I stole her crown at homecoming," I said. "I don't think that they have any supernatural plans against me, but Hailey does have it out for me. I shoved her against a wall and told her to leave me alone, but I doubt that will last long."

Brooke nodded, "Anything else?"

"There was the...."

"Alexis. There you are." Amanda ran up to me. "For some reason, I thought you were on the other side of the gym. Hi Brooke, Steve, Cliff." She sounded shy when she saw the others.

"Hi Amanda," Brooke said. "I haven't seen you in so long. We'll have to catch up during the game. Does that sound good?"

Amanda smiled. "I'd like that."

"Great," Brooke said. "Let me treat you to some nachos."

We all started walking into the gym and Cliff whispered to me, "Brooke is going to work on being Amanda's friend too. She can see the pain that Emma caused her by siding with Hailey."

I whispered back, "How on earth do you know all of that?"

"I read her mind," he said, as if that were the most obvious thing on the planet.

"Oh, right," I said, as if it were that obvious. "So do you read my mind too?"

"No," he said. "Nobody can read our minds. Not even other members of royalty, unless the royal vampire wants their mind to be read. We can speak to each other through our thoughts."

"There sure are a lot of perks with being royalty."

"There's also a whole lot of responsibility," he told me. "There is a lot that you need to learn and a lot of training to go along with your emerging talents, which is one reason that it's best to bring me when you feel like training."

I looked down. "Oh, sorry."

He put his arm around my shoulders. "Don't feel bad, princess," he said. I didn't know if he was calling me by my title, a pet name or both. "I'm glad that you're taking initiative and that you want to learn. I'm proud of you for that. But it really is best if I'm with you, especially since we don't know what's going on with the crows. The fact that they attacked you last night worries me."

"Okay," I said.

We chose an area on the bleachers to sit, and Brooke asked, "Does anyone want something to eat?"

We each took turns telling her what we wanted and she asked Amanda to go with her to the concession stand to get the snacks. Amanda looked really pleased, and I was so glad to see her looking happier after moping around all day.

Steve turned to me and said, "While we have a minute, why don't you fill Cliff and me in on the rest of what you know?"

I told them the rest of what had happened over the last couple of days and was finishing up just as Brooke and Amanda were returning.

"I'm going to need to give my parents a call," Cliff told me. "I need to get their opinion on the crows. It just sounds too fishy to me, but I don't know the answer."

"You can just give them a call?" I whispered. "Do they use phones in a castle?"

"This is the twenty-first century," he said with a smile.

Amanda and Brooke handed all of us our snacks, and Brooke kept Amanda occupied chatting about the players and the game.

I turned back to Cliff. "If you can call your parents, can we call mine? I know that I can't meet them but I would love to at least talk to them."

He gave me a sad look. "I wish that were possible. They are off somewhere in Europe right now, looking for the Moretti's and taking care of some issues with a vampire settlement that is having some major problems. They are off the radar because they don't want anyone to be able to track them down. If nobody knows where they are, then nobody could be forced or tricked into telling."

I sighed. "I hope that I can see them soon."

"I'm sure that you will be able to," he said. "When you do see them, you'll have centuries to spend with them. This time of waiting will be a distant memory."

"I hope so," I said, wishing that I had never been separated from my parents or Cliff for even a moment, much less the majority of my life.

He put his arm back around my shoulder. "Besides, we have each other. I feel that everything is as it should be now."

I looked into his eyes and knew that he was right. I really couldn't have asked for anything other than to be sitting there with his arm around my shoulder right then.

We watched the game and mostly just enjoyed being in each other's presence. At half time, we got up to walk around and stretch our legs. Those bleachers were definitely not comfortable.

As soon as we stood up, people flocked to us. Everyone remembered him vividly from the dance. He was hard to forget.

When the game was about to start again, everyone gave us some space and headed back to their seats. Everyone that is, except for Tanner, who made a beeline for us as soon as everyone else had left us alone.

I whispered a warning to Cliff, letting him know that Tanner was headed our way. He had a couple of the other football players with him.

The other two stood back and Tanner came up to us with an arrogant look on his face. "If it isn't the special couple."

"Go away, Tanner," I told him.

"It's a free country," he said with a snarl. He turned to Cliff. "So how long have you known this lovely...lady?"

"We knew each other as children," he said. "We were reunited the night of the dance."

"Isn't that sweet?" Tanner asked sarcastically. "So you know about her little secret?"

My face became red with anger and I knew that light bulbs would be exploding very soon.

"What little secret would that be?" Cliff asked, daring him to say it out loud in the gym in front of all of our classmates.

He grinned and rolled his eyes. "Whether you do or you don't doesn't make much difference to me."

"I told you that he's crazy," I said to Cliff, trying to calm myself down.

"I'm flattered that you would tell your boyfriend about me," he said. "To think that I didn't think you thought very highly of me."

I glared at him. "Go to—"

"Alexis," Cliff interrupted me. "Let's go sit down. It looks like the game is about to start."

"I can walk with you back to the bleachers," Tanner said as if he was doing us a favor.

"Super," I muttered.

As we were walking back to the bleachers, we had to pass by the volleyball court, and as we did, I saw Tanner push a boy walking near us into one of the football players.

"Hey—watch it." The football player glared at the boy, even though he had seen Tanner push him.

"He pushed me," the guy said in his own defense.

I gasped as the football player punched the guy in the nose. It began bleeding profusely.

"What was that for?" the boy yelled, and punched the football player in his nose. The football player's nose started bleeding just as bad as the other guy's.

I stared as the blood poured from their noses down toward the ground. I had zoned in on the blood, aware of it and nothing else. Everything else disappeared from my sight.

I was fascinated by the dark red color and the smooth texture. I could even see it pulsate as it gushed out.

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

My heart began beating rapidly, as if I were about to step onto the most exciting ride at the carnival. My nose came alive with the most sweet and tantalizing scent I had ever had the pleasure to smell.

I wanted to reach out and touch it, to experience it through all of my five senses. I wanted to roll around in it so that I could feel it all over. I want to eat its glorious goodness and see if it tasted as magical as it smelled.

I wanted nothing else, except the blood.

Suddenly, I had the sensation of flying, but I was not going in the direction of the blood. Instead, I was heading away from the blood and began losing sight of it. The smell was barely clinging to my nostrils.

I reached for it in vain as I flew further and further away from it.

Once the blood was completely out of my sight and the scent of it out of my nostrils, I realized that there were arms around my stomach and that I was being carried. We went through the gym doors and we were outside.

I blinked a few times and looked around. Cliff was the one carrying me and Steve was next to him. They were both staring at me.

I fought my way out of Cliff's grasp. "What are you two doing to me?" I demanded. "Take me back there."

"Not a chance," Steve told me. "We're going to take you home with us."

I scowled at them. "I want you to take me back there now. I've never seen anything like that and I want some."

"No," they both said in unison.

I pointed to the sky. "What's that?"

They turned around to look in the direction that I pointed. I ran for the gym door to get back to blood. I was at the door before I blinked and had it opened before they noticed I had bolted.

Unfortunately, the sound of the door opening alerted them to what I had done and they were at the door grabbing me before I could enter.

"Let me go." I hollered, squirming to get away from them.

"We need to get you home NOW," Cliff told me.

"No." I yelled at the top of my lungs, and started hitting and kicking at them.

"You've got to help me out here," Cliff told Steve. "She's surprisingly strong."

Steve grabbed me around my arms. I wasn't able to kick or hit with the two of them holding me.

"I said to let me go."

They dragged me into Steve's car and somehow got me buckled in even though I was kicking, hitting and yelling at them. I looked right at Cliff and bit into his neck.

"What are you doing?" he exclaimed. He pushed me away. "I can't believe you just bit me."

I jumped for his neck again but was held back by the seat belt. I saw that the bite had already healed.

"It's not her, Cliff. It's the blood," Steve said.

The ride home was a blur as I fixated my mind on reliving the experience of seeing and smelling the liquid perfection.

When we got to their house, they dragged me inside and set me on the couch.

"I need to get some of that," I told them.

Cliff ignored me, turned to Steve and said, "Tanner did that on purpose. I saw him shove that guy into the football player."

"No doubt he wanted to see Alexis' reaction," Steve said. "He got his answer."

"Did you see her eyes?" Cliff asked. "I've never seen anything like that."

"Me neither. I don't think there's ever been a vampire before with a blood lust like that. I've never seen a reaction that intense."

"I am sitting right here, you know," I said and scowled at them. "You don't have to talk about me like I'm somewhere else."

"What should we do?" Steve asked, ignoring me. "We were not prepared for her to be exposed to blood yet. Especially with the way that she's reacting."

"It's going to accelerate her transition," Cliff said. "I don't know what that's going to mean for her process now."

"Should we call my parents and have them come home?" Steve asked. "Or do you want to call your parents a little early?"

"I'm not sure," Cliff said, irritated. "Let me think."

"How do I get some blood?" I asked. "You said that you would train me and now I'm asking nicely for some training."

"You're not ready for this," Cliff said without looking at me. "We haven't even had the blood talk with you yet."

"The blood talk?" I asked. If my body hadn't been screaming for blood, I would have probably found that funny. "Is that like the sex talk that mortals have with their kids?"

"Pretty much," Cliff said, not laughing either. "In the blood talk, you learn about how our minds and bodies react to the sight, smell and taste of blood. You also learn how to handle them before you're ever exposed to blood."

"Now would be a good time for that, don't you think?" I asked.

"No, actually it isn't a good time," Steve said. "Not while you're in the heat of the moment. We need to get you calmed down."

"I'm pretty calm," I pointed out. "I'm just sitting here on the couch and I've stopped trying to inflict bodily harm on you two for taking me away from the blood."

"We can see it in your eyes," Steve said. "You're completely blood crazy right now. It may be getting better, but you could turn on us at any moment."

I pouted. "Well how do you two deal with blood then? If you were able to react well enough to pull me away, obviously it doesn't have the same effect on you as it does me."

"That's because we've been trained and we don't react to human blood the same way that you do," Steve told me. "You'll get to this point, but it will take a lot of work now that you've been exposed like this. Once in the transformation process, you are extremely susceptible to human blood. Before you started the transformation, you reacted to blood like a human. You didn't desire it."

My mind started wandering back to the images of the blood, and I was reminded of the delectable scent and the strong desire for it. I've never desired anything in my entire life the way that I had desired the blood in the gym. The pull was nearly as strong nearly an hour later.

It wasn't simply a desire like wanting a dessert or a meal, my body hurt for it. My body was screaming at me from everywhere. I thought I might even die if I didn't get to touch or taste it. How would I live without it?

I was vaguely aware of Cliff and Steve talking to each other. I thought about pretending to go to the bathroom so that I could sneak out of the house. Surely I could find some blood somewhere. I would do anything to get it.

I stood up slowly and started inching my way toward the bathroom.

"Where do you think you're going?" Cliff demanded.

"I'm going to the bathroom, if you don't mind." I glared at him.

"Oh, no you don't."

"I have to pee," I lied. "Let me go to the bathroom. I'm fine."

Steve laughed. "You are certainly not fine. Your eyes give you away."

"Let me go to the bathroom," I demanded. "I'm royalty, aren't I?"

"Fine, but one of us is going in there with you," he said.

"No way. That is so not happening."

"Then you'll have to hold it."

"Maybe I'll just leave a puddle on your couch." I glared at him.

"You know what? I'm going to take you to the bathroom where you can look at your eyes in the mirror. Then you can decide if you want to pee in front of me or not," Steve said. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

He grabbed my arm, pulled me to the bathroom, and shoved me in front of the mirror. I was about to object to his rough treatment until I saw my eyes. I forgot all about him.

My eyes were a glowing red color, not unlike the glorious blood that had been pulsating from the two noses.

"Why are my eyes so red?"

"Because you are overwhelmed with the desire for blood," Steve said. "You care about nothing else. It's a vampire's downfall—we can't hide our desire for blood. The more red our eyes are, the more we are overwhelmed with desire."

"Mine are really red," I said.

"We've never seen eyes anywhere near as red as that," Steve said. "Not even close. I'm curious to see what my parents will have to say when they get home. They've been around for centuries, so maybe they've seen this before."

I stared at my eyes. I had never seen that shade of red before, it was almost unreal.

"Do you know that Cliff can't even look at you?" Steve asked me.

My face fell. "I'm acting like a lunatic."

"That's putting it lightly," he said. "But we've all gone crazy when first exposed to blood, so I'm sure he understands. Though not even he went this crazy. You royals really do go through everything to the extreme."

"I hope this doesn't make him think less of me."

"Me too," Steve said. "It would be detrimental to our entire kingdom if the two of you weren't in love and ruling together for the sake of vampires everywhere."

"I'd better pull myself together," I said.

"That's right," he said. "You can't afford to wallow in your emotions and desires. You are the princess and you need to learn to put your own needs aside for the betterment of the entire kingdom."

"Okay, let's go back out there," I said and walked to the couch and sat down.

"I'm sorry, Cliff," I said. "I'm sorry that I acted like that. I'm sorry that you had to see me like that. I've never acted like that before in my life, and I don't intend to again."

He looked me in the eyes and they were full of kindness. "I don't blame you, princess. You were not prepared for your first encounter with blood. I'm just so glad that we were there to help you out. I can't imagine what would have happened if you had been exposed to blood by yourself."

"Yeah," Steve said, "you could have killed everyone there."

My heart sunk. "Is it always like that?" I asked.

"Usually, we're exposed to only one drop at first. Then two the next time, and then three, and so forth," Cliff said.

"I've seen royals exposed to large amounts of blood before," Steve said. "It's always a strong reaction. Nothing like yours though. It must have something to do with you being the Sonnast."

"That has to be the reason," Cliff agreed. "You're going to be the most powerful vampire alive, so your transition and blood lust are going to be magnified, even beyond that of the royals."

"Can I have just a drop?" I begged. "We can just start over and do it right."

"There's no starting over now," Steve snapped.

"I want to discuss this with some more experienced vampires," Cliff told me. "I'm not sure how to handle this."

I sighed.

"One thing that I am going to do is to have Steve's parents enroll me into your school," he said. "I need to keep a close eye on you and I need to find out what Tanner knows. Nobody had any idea that another vampire was anywhere near Delphic Cove, and therefore near you."

"I like the idea of you being at school with me," I said, momentarily distracted from my body's screaming desire for blood.

The front door opened and Steve and Brooke's parents rushed through the door. "Oh good, you're still here," Mrs. Flemings said to me.

"We're going to have you spend the night here with us," said Mr. Flemings. "We've already called your parents and told them that you'll be spending the night with Brooke."

"I need for you two to enroll me in her school tomorrow," Cliff told them.

"I'll whip up some guardianship papers tonight," Mr. Flemings said.

"How are you feeling?" Mrs. Flemings asked me.

"It's excruciating. My body is screaming for that blood, Mrs. Flemings."

"Alexis, please call us Charles and Rachel," she said. "You are going through the transformation, which means you are soon to be our princess."

"That seems so weird," I told her.

"I'm sure it does," Rachel said. "I can't imagine what you've been going through. I am glad, however, that we have been able to keep an eye on you for most of these years."

"We need to figure out a plan of action," Charles said. "This event is going to speed up the transformation process in ways that we weren't planning on. I do think that it's a good idea that you enroll in her school, Clifford."

"Someone also needs to move into one of our homes near her house to keep an eye on her over there," Rachel said.

"Yes, that must happen," Charles said. "One of our homes, which is a block away from her house, is vacant right now."

"How many homes do you own?" I asked.

"Quite a few," Rachel said. "We've been buying a lot of foreclosures in this market."

"I'll move into that home," Cliff said. "She's my fiancée. I would feel a lot better keeping an eye on her house myself."

"Should we try to get a vampire to stay in her home?" Rachel asked. "I remember her parents talking about wanting a foreign exchange student several years ago. That would provide a good opening."

"Wait just a minute," I exclaimed. "I don't need a babysitter."

"It's not a babysitter," Rachel told me. "We don't know how long it's going to take to get you acclimated to blood. When something like this happens, the result is usually as bad as a turned human. Those are the vampires that have given our kind a bad reputation among humans for so many centuries."

"A vampire who thinks he's killed his victim but has actually turned them and then leaves has essentially created a monster," Steve said.

"Vampires going through the transformation process need constant guiding and training," Cliff said. "Someone who has the new desire for blood can do some serious damage without a mentor or two."

"I've seen entire villages destroyed by one new vampire," Charles said. "It's a horrible sight. You're the Sonnast. Your desires are going to be stronger, your gifts more powerful and you are going to need all of us to help you through the process."

"Especially now," Cliff said, his voice sounding far away.

The most terrifying noise I'd ever heard enveloped me. It sounded like hundreds of trucks and trains were all crashing through the house. My head started pounding and it hurt worse than anything I had ever felt.

I grasped my head with my hands and screamed in pain as loud as my voice would go. Then everything went black.

Chapter Eleven

I woke up in a bed in complete darkness. I had no idea where I was or how long I had been asleep. I remembered the massive headache and blacking out after screaming.

I felt around me to try to figure out where I was. I thought that I might be in Brooke's room, since I had been at her house. I was in a small twin sized bed, so I knew it wasn't Brooke's room.

I felt around for a lamp but didn't find anything except an empty nightstand next to the bed. I carefully climbed out of the bed to look for a light switch on the wall. I bumped into a few things before finally finding a light switch.

It took my eyes a minute to adjust after being in the pitch black. I looked around and didn't recognize the room that I was in. It appeared to be a guest room because it lacked any personality.

I reached for the door and found it to be locked from the outside. I twisted and turned the knob with all my might. I tried pushing the door open and pulling it.

Leaning against the door, I tried to figure out my next move. They had locked me in for a reason, so if I started pounding and screaming, which was what I felt like doing, they would probably tie me down or something.

Desperate to find a way out, I looked through the room for an idea. No ideas came...until I saw the window. Surely they hadn't locked me in from the outside of the window.

As soon as I thought about the window, I was standing right there. I pulled the lock from the position that it was in and pulled the window to open it. It was as if it was nailed into place. I pushed the lock back into its original position and pulled on the window again and it still wouldn't budge.

I sat on the windowsill leaning against the window and wished that I had a way out of this tiny room that was imprisoning me. I knew that they were probably trying to protect me, but I wished they would have just had me sleep in a room with one of them. Any of them would have been better than waking to this.

I turned around and looked out the window. There was a tree right in front of the window that blocked any view of the outside. I sighed, imagined myself in the tree so that I could climb down. I imagined what the branches felt like and the smell of the leaves that would soon be falling off.

My eyes closed as I was imagining the scene so vividly. Before I knew it, I thought that I could actually feel the branches and leaves. I thought that I could actually smell the tree and little critters chattering nearby.

I opened my eyes and I was actually sitting in the tree. Was I really sitting in the tree or was I hallucinating? I blinked my eyes several times and I was still sitting in the tree. I started to question my sanity, but decided that I should take advantage of being outside before they came to release me from my prison.

I climbed down the tree easily, as this small tree was much easier to navigate than that huge tree in the field. I walked across the front yard and saw that my car was parked in the driveway. Brooke must have driven it back, because I left the car at school and the keys in my backpack on the bleachers.

Who really needed a car anyway when I could run as fast as I could? I started running and decided that I would run until I figured out where I wanted to stop.

It felt great to be running and before I knew it, I was in an area that I wasn't familiar with at all. I slowed down and stood at the base of a tree and looked around.

The area looked run down. The buildings under the street lamps were in bad shape, all needed paint jobs and all of the store signs looked homemade. I saw cars that had been parked and looked abandoned.

"Hello there," said a male voice next to me. "What brings someone like you to this part of town?"

I swung my head around to see the man who was talking to me. He looked like he'd been left out in the middle of a farm for a week.

"Just going for a run," I told him, trying not to stare at his yellow teeth.

"It's not safe for pretty little things to be out here this late at night," he informed.

"I can take care of myself."

"You never know who you might run into. Someone like me could do a lot of damage to someone like you," he said and started laughing.

My focus zoned in on him and the vein on his neck. I watched it pulse with blood and I detected the wonderful smell of blood. It didn't smell as good as the blood from the boys at the gym. But it was intoxicating nevertheless, and I wanted it more than anything. My body began to scream for it.

"You make a habit of destroying the lives of innocent girls?" I asked him, just waiting for him to give me a reason to taste his blood.

He laughed again. "I wouldn't say that I make a habit of it."

Suddenly, I had visions of him harming girls and young women. I saw him burying some, throwing some into bodies of water, burning others. The visions were vivid and realistic, as if he had committed those acts right in front of me.

I was seeing his thoughts and memories. I felt like throwing up, but knew that my time would be better spent removing the scum sucker from the planet.

"Does it bring you some kind of sick pleasure to harm girls?" I asked, ready to pounce.

He licked his teeth and said, "It sure does, and I have a feeling that I'm going to enjoy this one more than any of the others."

It was my turn to laugh. "Not a chance, bottom feeder." I could feel four of my teeth growing and becoming sharp.

He reached for me and in that exact moment, I lunged for that vein in his neck and bit it with everything in me. His skin and hair smelled like a mixture of manure and grass, and as gross as it was, it didn't stop me from going for the blood that I needed to have.

I heard the beginnings of a scream from him, which was all he got out before collapsing.

The taste in my mouth was unlike anything that I had ever tasted. I felt like I was soaring through the air and that music was playing. It wasn't just the taste, which was better than anything that ever touched my taste buds. It was an entire body and mind experience.

I never wanted the feast to end, but much to my disappointment it did. I felt full when his blood was completely drained. My four teeth returned to normal.

The sun was starting to rise, so I knew I needed to get back to the house soon and I also needed to figure out what to do with the guy. I looked around and decided to put him in front of a feed store nearby, figuring that someone would find him before too long.

It was my hope that the local cops would be able to pin him to his murders and give the families some closure. I wasn't counting on it, because I doubted the cops in a town like this did much more than eat donuts and drink coffee all day.

The blood from my feast must have given me some super strength, because I picked him up and threw him over my shoulder. I looked around to make sure that nobody was watching, crossed the street and threw him on the pavement in front of the store.

It was more dignity than he'd given his victims.

I saw in his memories that he had collected personal items from each victim, so if the police weren't able to figure out that he was a murderer, I had more than enough information to call in with an anonymous tip.

I started running so that I could get back to the house before anyone knew that I was gone. But I wanted to stop in a bathroom first to make sure that I didn't have blood all over my face.

I was pleased to see that I was a lot neater than vampires usually are in the movies. I quickly washed my face and was on my way again.

By the time I had started running again, it took me almost no time at all to get back to the house. I climbed up that tree and sat on a sturdy branch and visualized myself back in that prison of a bedroom. I saw the room with my mind's eye, and felt myself sitting on a bed rather than a branch.

I opened my eyes and the first thing that I saw was Brooke and Cliff standing in front of me. Brooke had her arms crossed and Cliff looked disappointed.

My heart dropped and I felt bad for sneaking out. "Oh. Hi guys."

"Did you have fun?" Brooke asked, glaring at me.

I sighed. "I wasn't looking to have fun. I woke up in a strange room and I was locked inside. I felt like a caged animal and I had to get out. I didn't even know that I could go through walls, so you can't blame me for that. I mostly only discover new talents when I feel some extreme emotion—like desperation."

"Don't you trust us?" Brooke asked, looking hurt. "Look at everything that I've done for you. Cliff has waited all of these years for you without ever even glancing at another girl. My parents have spent years watching over you while you grew up in a family of humans. You should trust us."

"Don't be so hard on her," Cliff said. "She's been through a lot more than we have in a much shorter period of time."

"It's no excuse, Cliff," she told him.

"Brooke, you grew up knowing that you were a vampire," he said. "She just found out a couple of days ago. She's going through a more difficult transition that even I went through because she's the Sonnast. She wasn't exposed to blood one drop at a time like we were, she was exposed to a huge mess of it without any warning."

Her face softened. "It's not like we're strangers, Alexis. You've known my family since you were little. We used to be like sisters and my parents were like second parents to you. You may not know it yet, but Cliff has nothing but the best of intentions for you. He would give his life for you in a second."

Suddenly, I felt like crying. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say."

"Say that you'll trust us from here on out," she said.

"Don't lock me up again like a common criminal."

She sighed. "The future of our kingdom is beginning to look bleak."

My lips quivered. "I'm sorry."

"Brooke, you can't judge her future reign based on how she acts during her transition," Cliff said. "You know how crazy I went during mine and I am doing very well now."

She tightened her already crossed arms. "You have a point, Cliff. I do remember what I went through too. It was bad enough that we had to move because she started to remember things. I couldn't control myself very well during my transition either."

"She didn't go out there because she's ungrateful for anything that you've done," Cliff said. "Just remember that."

"I'm going to go make some breakfast," Brooke said. "I'm sure I'll feel better after some cooking."

I jumped as she slammed the door.

"I really am sorry," I told Cliff.

He walked over and put his hand on mine. "I know you are."

"I really didn't know that I was going to go through that wall until after I did it," I said. "I had all kinds of pent up energy so I went for a run."

He looked at my face and said, "A run? Is that all?"

I looked down and didn't want to answer him.

"You seem extremely calm, especially given all your exposure to all of that blood," he said. "I would think that you would still be going insane for blood."

I couldn't look at him and I didn't want to tell him what I'd done, even though I had ridden the world of a murderous pig, who preyed upon defenseless girls and young women.

He wiped underneath my chin with his hand and said, "It looks like you missed a spot." He showed me a little red spot on his finger.

Without thinking, I licked the blood off his finger. "I ran into a man in some run down area who wanted to hurt me. I saw his thoughts, and he had murdered at least six or seven other girls. I rid the world of a piece of garbage."

"At least you didn't go after an innocent person," he said. "We are here to help humanity, after all."

"I didn't go after that man. He was going to kill me just like the other girls. I just gave him what he deserved. Actually, I gave him better than what he deserved because I didn't make him suffer. It was quick and nearly painless for him."

"Are you sure it was just one person?" he asked.

"Of course I am. Why don't you believe me?"

"It's just that with all of the blood that you were exposed to your first time, it would take a lot to fill your craving," he said. "I've never seen anyone's eyes get that red before. It seems like it would take several villages to satisfy that kind of craving."

"He was fat," I retorted. "I'm sure that he had a lot of blood going through that body of his."

"We're going to have to work hard to make sure that you lose this craving," he said. "One of the benefits to slow exposure to blood is that the cravings are minimized greatly. You're going to end up craving that much blood again before too long. It would have been a lot easier to expose you drop by drop rather than to have you exposed like this. Now that you have actually fulfilled the desire, we're going to have to wean you, which is always harder than exposing."

"Why do we need to minimize my cravings?" I asked. "Maybe I don't want them reduced. I'm a vampire; it's natural to crave blood."

"We can't have you going on any killing sprees to get your fix," he told me. "Blood lust is a downfall, not a gift."

"Give me some credit," I said. "I'm not going to go on a killing spree. I wouldn't mind ridding the world of more people like that guy."

"It really is best that we don't go around killing people to get our blood fix," he said. "Those who do are the vampires who have given us a bad reputation."

"Well then where exactly do you get your blood fix?"

"Sometimes from blood banks," he said. "We also use human volunteers or even wildlife in a pinch."

"Human volunteers?"

"I'm sure that it sounds strange, but it does happen," he said. "Usually when a human discovers our secret and threatens to expose us, we give them two options, and volunteering blood is the more appealing choice. There are volunteers for a great many reasons, but that's the most common."

"How often do you need the blood?" I asked.

"For those of us who have our desire under control, it's not needed very often at all," he said.

"Isn't it needed to survive?" I asked in shock.

He shook his head. "No, it's not something that we need daily to survive. We use it for various functions and obviously it is enjoyable but it doesn't replace our blood or anything like that. Vampires who allow themselves to be consumed with it feel the need for it. It's like a drug."

"I always thought that vampires needed it to survive."

"You also thought that vampires were mythical," he pointed out. "There are a lot of misconceptions out there about us. It's similar to the mosquito. People think that they take human blood to survive, but it's used for reproductive purposes."

"So we're basically mosquitoes?" I asked. "Do we need blood to reproduce too?"

"No, we're not mosquitoes, and yes, reproduction is one of the purposes that we use blood for," he said. "We also use it for healing, some blessings, and obviously for enjoyment value. There are many uses and needs."

***

The day at school went by in blur and I didn't care as much about my classes or grades. I was on some kind of high after my first feed.

People were talking about my rush to leave the game, but it didn't sound like anyone had noticed my eyes or anything else unusual. They too were focused on the sight of the blood, but for entirely different reasons.

Everyone was under the impression that I had become sick at the sight of the blood and had to leave.

Except one person.

As I was heading to my locker after eating a quick lunch, Tanner stopped in front of me. "Rumor has it that you were really grossed out by the sight of that blood," he said with a smirk on his face. "Apparently you ran out so fast to puke."

"You did that on purpose. You're cruel. Those guys could have really gotten hurt."

He laughed. "Those two are fine. Now I want to see you deny what you are."

"What is it that you're trying to prove?" I asked.

"We both know what you are," he said. "I can help you in ways that your friends won't...and can't."

"What do you know about what my friends can and can't help me with?" I asked, glaring at him.

He curled his lip. "Probably more than you do."

"Where did you get this information that you think you have?" I asked.

"I told you. I had a friend not too long ago who told me all that I needed to know about the topic."

"Does your friend have a name?"

"She does, but I'm not going to give you any information if you don't give me any," he said.

"I think I gave you plenty of information yesterday at the game." I stared him down.

"Your eyes are a lot less red than yesterday," he said. "I'm surprised that nobody else noticed, actually. But it was a lot of blood, so everyone had to look at that. Just like when you're driving down the road and there's a wreck."

"If you aren't going to give me any names, then I am going to get going, Tanner. I don't have time for this. I don't feel like being late for my next class."

"Let's meet up tonight so we can talk," he whispered, leaning close to me. "I know that your boyfriend is keeping tabs on you here at school. Why don't you sneak out around 11:30 tonight so we can meet on the football field?"

"The football field doesn't sound like such a great hideout," I told him.

"You got a better idea?" he asked.

"Yeah I do, as a matter of fact," I told him. "Meet me at that field off Rochester Lane at eleven."

"Don't be late," he said and walked away.

"What was that all about?" Cliff asked from behind me.

I turned around. "You startled me. I'm working to find out what he knows about vampires. He wants me to meet him tonight and I'm going to find out if he knows a Moretti vampire. He sounds pretty eager to talk to me."

"It could be a set up," he said. "You should go, but Brooke, Steve and I will be hiding nearby just in case we're needed. We'll have Rachel and Charles on back up too."

"If you want," I said. "But I think he just wants to find out what I know."

"I'm pretty sure he has some ulterior motive," he said. "I need to talk to him to see if I can read his mind. I want to find out what's really going on."

"I can read his mind too," I snapped.

"Are you still mad about this morning?"

"Being treated like a criminal? Why would I be mad about that?"

"Alexis, we were trying to protect you. We probably went about it the wrong way, but we had to do something."

"You didn't have to do that," I said.

I decided that I would handle Tanner on my own.

***

When I got home from school, my mom was sitting at the kitchen table, and I could tell by the look on her face that she wanted to talk.

I sighed and sat down across from her. "What's going on?"

"Brooke's mom called me today," she said.

My mind raced to think of what she might have called about. Certainly not about me going through a wall.

She continued, "It seems that she remembers us discussing a foreign exchange student a few years ago. She says that they have one lined up, but due to some upcoming travels, they can't follow through. She wants to know if we would like to host the student."

It all came back to me. A vampire pretending to be a foreign exchange student in order to keep a close eye on me at home. It wasn't bad enough to have Brooke's visions of me or Cliff's watchful eye a block away and at school. They wanted to add a home security system.

"She said something about a foreign exchange student," I said. "I guess I wasn't paying too much attention."

"I think that it might be a nice thing to do," she said.

I tried not to laugh, imagining how differently she'd react if she knew that the student was a vampire.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

I thought quickly. "You really want three teenage girls living in this house?"

"I think that now would be a good time," she said. "You're starting to be more pleasant. This could be a lot of fun."

"Do you know where this student is from?" I asked.

"I think somewhere in Europe," she said.

"Sounds interesting," I said, standing up from my chair. "Let me know what you decide."

As soon as I put my backpack down in my room, my cell phone rang. It was Cliff, and for the first time, seeing his number didn't make my heart race.

"Yes?" I asked into the phone.

"Did you happen to hear the news?" he asked.

"You mean about my family getting a vampire exchange student?"

"What? No. I mean the real news, as in the TV and online."

"Nope. Why don't you fill me in? You're probably going to anyway."

"That blood is sure making you feisty," he said. "It's all over the news that some farmer was slain last night. They discovered evidence of over ten murders in his house. All girls who had been missing, but never found."

"Now their families can have some closure."

"That's not all. They're saying that all of the blood from his body was drained out."

"Is that good or bad?" I asked.

"Bad, Alexis. It's horrible. We are trying to keep a low profile and now there's a broadcast to all vampires that there are others in the area. At least you managed to get 50 miles from here."

"Okay, so next time I won't drain the body completely."

"You don't get it. There isn't going to be a next time."

"I am not going to deny myself," I told him. "The craving is so strong that I can't handle it."

"We will get you weaned down to not craving it so strongly," he promised. "It will be like our plan to slowly introduce it to you, only we will wean you. We'll have to raid some blood banks to keep this under control if we have to."

"Why does it need to be under control?" I asked. "You guys said that vampires were originally created to help the human race. I can help them by getting rid of horrible people."

"Alexis, that is not the way that we royalty handle things. That is how common vampires handle things."

"Look Cliff, I have to get started on my homework now. Especially if we're going to have that powwow with Tanner tonight."

"Just stay close to home, please."

"See you later." I hung up and dialed another phone number.

"Hello?"

"Tanner, change of plans. Meet me at Aunt Betty's Coffee Shop in a half an hour."

Chapter Twelve

I entered the coffee shop and squinted into the darkened room to see if Tanner was already there. He was sitting at a table in the back. I ordered a flavored mocha and then sat across from him.

"I'm not in the mood for games," I said. "Just tell me what you know."

"Hello to you too," he said, smiling.

"What was the name of your little friend?"

He sipped his iced coffee. "Her name was Samantha Erikson and we were good friends for about a year."

"How good?"

Really good. "We had a great thing going and that's what I want to talk to you about."

I was glad that I could read his mind, because I needed to find out for sure if Samantha had anything to do with the Moretti's. "Did she introduce you to any other vampires?"

"No, she wanted to protect me from harm." And give me indescribable pleasure.

Suddenly, I wasn't so sure that I wanted to keep reading his mind. "She didn't mention any other vampires? Any Italian vampires?"

He gave me a funny look. What is she getting at? "No, she was the only one. She knew some others but she had broken away from a family, a coven. They were all newly changed and she thought they were too immature. She wanted to live on her own."

"You're sure that she wasn't involved with any other vamps?"

"She hated being a vampire and hated all vampires," he said. "She was changed against her will. The vampire who was going to kill her thought she was beautiful and hoped that she would be his partner, so he changed her. She was hiding from him." I know he killed her. That's why she disappeared.

"Do you know anything about him?" I asked.

"He was some loser redneck vampire. Who would have even thought it was possible? Can you even imagine a redneck vampire? Do they seal up their victims with duct tape?" he asked.

I couldn't help laughing out loud.

I want nothing more than to get my hands on that loser for what he did to Samantha.

"So what is it that you need from me?" I asked. "And did you seriously pick up on what was going on just from my running?"

He put up a hand. "So many questions. One at a time."

I sighed. "Fine. What do you want from me?"

"I want something that will benefit both of us," he said. "Samantha used to feed on me, and it's been very difficult on me since she stopped."

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you get out of being a human volunteer?"

"So your friends did tell you about that," he said. "You've got the vocabulary down. Have you ever fed on anyone?"

"Nobody that's lived to tell about it."

"Was that you who got that farmer over in O'Dell?" he asked. "The way that you reacted to that blood yesterday, it was obvious that it was your first exposure. It's too big of a coincidence that the farmer was drained of blood just hours later."

"Watch out or you'll be next." I threatened.

"I knew it was you. Anyway, if you feed in smaller intervals you won't need to go out and drain a body. You can stay on the down low and blend in easier."

"I just love how everyone knows more about what I'm going through than I do," I grumbled. "Even you, a mere mortal."

"I only know because Samantha and I spent hours and hours talking and she shared everything she knew with me," he said. "She even told me when she started to notice that you were beginning to transform. She'd seen several transformations and recognized it immediately."

"How long was she a vampire before she met you?" I asked. "It sounds like she knew a lot about vampires."

"She was young as far as vampires go," he said. "She had been a vampire for about twenty years. She spent too much time as that redneck's plaything."

"So you think that he eventually got her?"

He gave me a funny look. "Yeah, I do."

"What did she tell you about me?"

"She noticed little things about the transformation process, things that were so small I couldn't see," he admitted. "After she disappeared, I kept my eyes on you to see if what she said was true. When I saw you running at the speed of light, I knew it was true."

"What do you get out of being a human volunteer? I don't see what could possibly be pleasant about it."

He smiled. "The vampire venom that goes into my system is at such a low level that it ends up working like a drug. It makes me feel amazing, more alive than ever before. It even gives me a little extra strength, which has helped me a lot in football."

"That's definitely interesting," I said. "I can see how that could be useful, since someone has thrown my whole life off course by exposing me to a huge amount of blood. I was supposed to have been exposed to one drop at a time."

"Okay, that was my bad. It's only right if you use me to regain some control in your life," he said. "Would you like to start today?"

"Did you see the size of that guy?" I exclaimed. "I'm not going to need blood for a while."

Dang it! "As soon as you start to feel the need for blood, just give me a call," he said. "You don't need to deal with the headaches or urges. Just call me, feed a little, and feel normal."

"Is it really that easy?" I asked.

"It is and it's the perfect solution for both of us," he said. "I need the small doses of venom to boost my football game and you need the blood fix without turning into a monster."

"That does make a lot of sense," I admitted. "I'm sure you like it because they don't run a vampire venom panel when they do drug tests for the team."

"Yes, that's definitely a bonus."

"I'll let you know when I am ready," I said, standing up.

"Good, I'll drop whatever I'm doing when you're ready." I can't wait for that incredible high.

I smiled at him. "It was nice doing business with you."

"Today was nothing, just wait for next time. It will be unbelievable," he said, standing up also.

"For you," I said.

"You might get a bigger high than me," he said. "Don't you remember how it felt this morning with that farmer?"

"Point taken."

***

Just as I was starting to drift off to sleep, I felt that someone was in my room with me again.

"Who's there?" I asked, unafraid.

"It's me," Cliff said right next to my bed.

"You can go through walls too, can't you?" I asked.

"Of course," he replied. "Why are you in bed? We have a meeting to get to."

"Oh yeah, that. I ran into Tanner in town and talked with him this evening. I can fill you in if you'd like."

"You ran into him? That sounds very convenient," he said. I could hear the disappointment in his voice and I felt bad.

I flipped my light on and looked at him. "I'm sorry, Cliff. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just felt like I needed to talk to him on my own."

"You could have put yourself in danger."

"But I didn't. If I had been, Brooke's vision-radar would have gone off like a four alarm siren."

"That's not the point, Alexis. You are the future leader of our entire kingdom. You really need to be more careful. We are trying to protect you, but we can't when you go behind our backs."

"Don't get all high and mighty on me when you guys locked me in a room."

"It was for your own safety."

"A lot of good that did," I said.

"There is still so much that you don't know or understand yet. We need you to trust us."

"Why don't you guys just tell me what I need to know? Just a few days ago, I thought that vampires weren't real and now I am one. Not just that, but I'm going to be leading all of vampire land. It's a lot to take in, especially with everything that this transformation brings."

"You're right," he said. "It's a lot to take in and it's been a very short period of time. We have barely had the time to fill you in on very much at all."

He sat down on the edge of my bed and grabbed my hand. "I can see that you're frustrated and confused. What can I do to help change that?"

I looked into his eyes and felt my heart soften. What was it about those chocolaty brown eyes that turned me into a puddle?

"You could take me some place that serves dessert and tell me how wonderful I am," I told him.

He smiled at me and I melted even more. "I'll give you a few minutes to get dressed while I call Steve. Then meet me down the road at my car. We'll grab some dessert."

"I'll be down there in a few minutes."

We were eating at another restaurant that I had never been to before. We were having some very exotic cake that sounded awful but tasted like a dream.

I looked into his eyes and got lost, as if I had literally left where I was and gone somewhere else.

"You wanted me to tell you how wonderful you are?" he asked with a grin.

My heart fluttered. "I don't know what you see in me. I love that you do though."

"I've known you since the day that you were born," he told me. "I was seven years old, so I was old enough to remember meeting you. I fell in love with you that very instant. You were the most beautiful and innocent thing that I had ever seen. I vowed then and there to always love and protect you. I failed when you were stolen from the castle, but I will not fail you again."

I put my hand on top of his. "You didn't fail me, Cliff. You were only a boy, and not even my parents knew what was going on. I remember your love, and even though I had forgotten it living in the human world, it never left me. It was just waiting for you to come and find me."

"I'm glad you don't hold it against me, but I have never forgiven myself. I won't stop until I make it right."

I pointed to my necklace and said, "Cliff, this is proof that I've always loved you and have never forgotten you. I had been told my whole life that this was just a piece of costume jewelry. Yet it's the one piece that I never got rid of because I was waiting for you. I just didn't know it at the time."

"It's not over," he said with fire in his eyes. "The Moretti's are still out there and they want our lines wiped out. They were behind your disappearance, which was supposed to be your death."

I shivered when I saw the fury on his face.

"They will suffer for what they've done," he promised. "I will see to it myself and it will happen at my own hand. You may be the one to ultimately defeat them, but I will make sure they suffer first. They stole years from us and they tried to kill you. They will pay."

I looked into his eyes. "We have each other now."

"We have lost so much," he said. "All those years that we should have spent falling deeper in love and training together. We can never get those back. That was our childhood."

I wanted desperately to help him calm down. "But we have centuries ahead of us. A few years will seem like a blink of an eye two hundred years from now."

He smiled at me. "That will be better than anything that I've ever dreamed of, my love. I cannot wait for the day that we put the Moretti's behind us and we are able to truly start our lives together. I will give you the best life that you could ever dream of. Anything that you want will be yours."

"Finding you is all that I could ask for," I said. "Tell me more about the time we spent as children."

"Those were the best three years of my life. I spent every possible minute with you from day one. As you grew, I taught you as much as you could learn from me. I played the games that you wanted to play. Everyone said that I was wrapped around your finger," he said, smiling.

"From what I can remember, that went both ways," I assured him. "One thing that is strong in each of my memories is that I completely adored you."

"I hope to be able to earn that back," he said.

"It never really went away. The first moment that I saw you before the dance, everything came back in a way that I didn't yet understand."

"You think that I'm trying to control you now though."

I frowned. I couldn't deny that. "I know you think you're protecting me, but I don't want to be protected. If I'm going to be a leader, then I need to learn and grow and figure things out on my own. I need you to trust me to figure things out. If we're in battle and I need it, then protect me. But for now I need some space to find my own way." I had no idea how desperately I would later regret those words.

He was silent, and I wished that I could read his thoughts.

"I hate acting like a rebellious teenager," I told him. "But I am royalty and I am destined for greatness. It only makes sense that I will go against being controlled or protected beyond necessary. That's why I reacted so strongly against the favoritism of Natalie, although I obviously didn't know it then."

"You have some good points," he said. "I don't think we've been giving you enough credit. Yes, you have been raised as a human, but that's not what you are. You are the Sonnast."

"Thank you."

"I should get you home, my princess. It's after midnight and we both have school in the morning," he said. He picked up my hand and gave it a kiss.

***

I sat up in bed, drenched in sweat. I had just woken up from a dream about the crows chasing me.

In the dream, I was unable to run and they were pecking me and tearing me apart.

When my breathing returned to normal, I felt a strange sensation pulsating through my body. It started at the bottom of my feet and made its way up, and when it got to my mouth I knew immediately that I needed more blood.

"I thought that draining the farmer was supposed to hold me off for a while," I muttered.

I waited a minute to see if it would pass. Maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with waking up from a bad dream.

Images of the blood from the volleyball game shot through my head, my mouth watered. Thoughts of gratifying a craving on that smelly farmer filled my body with a desire to get more right then.

I grabbed my phone and called Tanner's number.

"Hello?" he asked, sounding as if he was still asleep.

"Now," I ordered. "Meet me in that field right now."

"What? You're serious? That was fast."

"No small talk, get moving." I shut the phone off and grabbed some clothes.

Once dressed, I decided it would be faster if I just ran. I opened my window and decided to jump even though I was on the second level. I landed beautifully and ran to the field.

I was faster than any car, so I got there before Tanner and started pacing around the field, burning with the need for more blood.

"Have a little patience," Tanner said, laughing. "You look like a caged animal."

"Now's not the time to make fun of me," I glared at him. "What took you so long?"

"I'm just a mortal," he said. "Now let me explain to you how to do this so that you don't kill me."

"I have no intention of killing you," I informed him. "Unless you don't hurry up with your explanation."

"Your eyes are glowing red," he said with huge eyes of his own. "I want to make sure that you don't go overboard."

"Just make it quick."

"The best spot is right here on my neck," he said, pointing to the base of his neck. "The vein that you will hit will let out enough to satisfy you but not too much to put me in danger. Once you notice the flow begin to slow down, you must stop. I need to trust you to do that."

I nodded my head. "When it slows down, I stop. Got it." I could feel my teeth growing again.

He took a deep breath, smiled and asked, "Are you ready?"

"I sure am." I leaned in and bit down on the exact spot that he showed me.

The warm blood came into my mouth and tasted even better than it had with that nasty farmer. This was like fine cuisine compared to the other blood. It was even more filling too. When the flow started to slow down, I was able to stop. I had an intuition to lick the wound, and it healed before my eyes.

He stood there looking like he was in some kind of coma.

"Um, are you okay?" I asked.

He blinked a couple of times and said, "That was amazing. That felt even better than it ever did with Samantha. You must have some special super-venom or something."

"I come from a special line of vampires," I said, not wanting to tell him that I was going to be leader of all vampires someday.

"We definitely have to do this again," he said. "I can't get over it."

I looked at him and felt some kind of pull. It was strong enough that I knew it had to be something significant, but I didn't know what it was.

"It was definitely something," I said.

"Do you feel satisfied?" he asked.

Why did he care? He got what he wanted. "Yeah, I do actually. It's strange, because I drained that other guy and only felt full at the very end."

He smiled. "I clearly have a better quality of blood."

I rolled my eyes. Did his arrogance know no end? He had a point though. If I had been used to Tanner's blood when I drank the farmer's, I probably would've spit it out.

"Be sure to give me a call next time," he said. "I'll be back in a flash."

I stared at him, surprised that I didn't want to leave. I wanted to smack myself. I reminded myself that he was a conceited football player who just wanted me to get him high.

"Sure," I said. I started running and was out of his sight before he could have blinked.

Chapter Thirteen

The sound of heavy rain hitting my window woke me up. It was Saturday and I was glad to have no plans with anyone. I wasn't sure how it happened, but everyone seemed to have left me alone for the day. I needed a day to take everything in that had happened over the last week.

It had been the single craziest week of my life by a long shot. Just a week ago, I was just a teenager concerned with my parents favoring my sister and plotting my escape from this place. Suddenly, getting into an Ivy League school was very far from my mind.

I stretched and sat up, listening to the rain. I wondered what my birth parents were doing. I had been so concerned with everything happening to me that I had barely had the time to think about them. I had desperately wanted to know about my real family. I was glad that I would at least have a long time to make up for the time lost.

I went to my mirror and saw the face of an almost stranger. My hair was fuller and darker and my skin was so clear that it looked airbrushed. It was also less tan than it had been; I knew that wasn't from the autumn weather. My features seemed to be changing as well, nothing so drastic that I didn't look like myself. I just looked like a much-improved version of myself.

My eyes had a red tint and I had no doubt that I would be calling Tanner soon. My eyes changed color a lot depending on how I much I needed blood or not. They had turned a light brown color when I was satisfied with blood, and started turning dark brown and then red when blood was needed.

I had actually told people that I've been using colored contacts, because people were taking notice of the drastic color changes. Colored contacts seemed to fit well with my new image, because nobody questioned it.

I looked at my figure and wasn't surprised to see that had improved over the last week as well. I wasn't going to tell anyone that I had any type of surgery, but I suddenly had curves in all of the right spots, and had thinned out at the same time. I would have to have Brooke take my new measurements once we were speaking again.

I couldn't help but smile at all of these changes. I hated the burning desire for blood that made my body and head hurt so much that I'd blacked out that first day. But at least there were some fun perks that came with this transition period. I was beginning to enjoy the attention at school (and everywhere else I went) even though it had completely overwhelmed me at first.

I decided to take a shower so that I would be ready for whatever I decided to do for the day. As I got ready, I thought about how the past Saturday, I could barely put on mascara, but now I was able to make myself runway ready. I shook my head at how unbelievable my life had become in such a short period of time.

When I went downstairs for breakfast, I was surprised to see my dad in the kitchen. He always worked on Saturday mornings.

"Good morning, sunshine. What are you doing up so early?"

"I always get up earlier than Mom and Natalie on Saturdays," I told him. "What are you doing home?"

"Can't a dad stay home and enjoy his family on a Saturday?"

"Sure. But what are you doing home this morning?" I asked.

He laughed. "I know I never take a Saturday off, but I thought today would be a nice day to spend with my family. You don't have any plans do you?"

"No, but I was thinking of going for a run by the lake or maybe at the school. I need to stretch my legs."

"I would love to have lunch with all of my girls. Can you be back and ready to go to a restaurant before noon?" he asked.

"Yeah, I have plenty of time for that," I said, grabbing some cereal.

"You don't have to work at all today?" he asked.

"No, I quit because I have so much going on right now. Jennifer said that I can come back anytime, so if I need money for something it's not a big deal."

"I'm glad to hear that honey," he said, giving me a hug. "You've always worked so hard. You deserve a break."

I rolled my eyes, because he never did anything to stop me from spending all of my free time at work.

He gave me a look that only dads can give. "Honey, I've also always been extremely proud of your work ethic. You always do the right thing no matter what, and you work hard to earn what you have. That's why I've never tried to get in your way."

"I'm the son you never had."

He laughed so loud that I jumped. "That's one way to put it, Alexis. I don't think that those are male traits though. They are traits that make me proud of you."

***

I decided to go to the field to do my running because it was a secluded location and I didn't want to worry about people watching me run so fast that they could barely see me. I also thought that if the running made my need for blood stronger, I would already be in a good location to call Tanner.

When I got there, I decided to practice going up and down the tree. I wasn't sure why but I felt like it was something that was important and would be needed some day. I wanted to be ready for whatever was coming my way, whether it was a battle against the Moretti's or something else.

I practiced for about a half an hour and was very impressed with myself. I became quicker and more able to avoid the branches. I had gotten a few nicks and scratches the first several times, but by the end of my session, I was avoiding all of them completely.

I looked at one of the worst scratches that had bled pretty strongly and saw that it had disappeared! There was no sign that I had ever had any cut.

I could feel the beginning of my body burning. I knew exactly what that meant and wanted to see if I would be able to control it, even just a little. I would see how long I could go before calling Tanner. I began running around the field.

The running felt great and I hoped that it would help lessen my need for blood. I ran and ran while enjoying the rush. There was no way that I would join the track team when I could run like this.

It was freedom.

***

Back at home, I thought about taking another shower but then realized that I hadn't even broken a sweat. I just needed to change my clothes and fix my hair. There were definite advantages to this new life.

"So where are we going?" I asked when I got downstairs. Everyone was waiting for me.

"I thought we'd try that restaurant that you guys went to for the dance," Dad said. "Does that sound good to you?"

"That's fine, if everyone wants to go there."

"Did you like it?" Mom asked.

"Yes, it was one of the best meals I've ever had." Even though the company might have had a lot to do with that.

When we got there, I noticed that the parking lot was full. "This must be a very popular restaurant. I wonder why we've never been here before as a family."

"It's pretty new," my mom replied.

When we walked, in my dad said, "Ferguson party."

We were lead to a different part of the restaurant and appeared to be going into a private room. When I went through the door, I was shocked to see Brooke, Steve, their parents Rachel and Charles, Amanda, several people that we had gone to homecoming with, some members of my CSI club, and even Cliff.

I looked at everyone in the room and back at my family, waiting for an explanation.

"Happy Birthday!" everyone shouted.

"What...?" I asked. I quickly thought about what date it was and couldn't believe it. It was my birthday and I had completely forgotten. "I can't believe I forgot my birthday."

Everyone started laughing.

"That makes for the best surprise birthday party ever," my dad said proudly.

Once the shock wore off, I started talking with everyone and enjoying myself. I was proud of my being able to talk to everyone with such ease and not feeling uncomfortable with all of the attention.

I was glad to see that, at least for the duration of this party, Brooke was not mad at me. I wanted to be able to go back to the way it had been before. Assuming, of course, that they never again treated me like a criminal.

If I needed to, I would remind Brooke that her future queen would not take kindly to that again. I certainly didn't want to be a cruel leader, but I did want to know who was truly on my side and how people treated me during my transition period seemed like a very good indicator.

It seemed that everyone had a great time at the party and I really enjoyed myself. It was nice to be able to celebrate my birthday with so many people who cared about me. It was also nice to see that my parents had put some effort into making me feel special for a change.

"Did you like your party?" my dad asked as we were driving home.

"Definitely. Thank you so much. I couldn't have asked for a better present."

"Even though you forgot about your birthday?" Natalie giggled.

I laughed. "That's true. Hey, where are we going? This isn't the way home."

"We have another surprise for you," my mom said.

"Another surprise? Honestly guys, the party was a good enough surprise. I don't need anything else."

"You'll really like this," my dad said.

I started looking through the gifts that I had been given at my party. Brooke had given me a full set of makeup. Cliff had given me some gorgeous earrings that were the same color as the sapphires in my necklace. Steve and his parents had given me a book that looked like a novel but I was sure probably wasn't. Amanda had gotten me some perfume that I had told her I loved months ago. Most of the rest of the gifts were other accessories that I could wear or use.

"We're here," my dad said, interrupting my thoughts.

I looked out the window. "What are we doing at a car dealership?"

"We want you to pick out a car," he said.

"You want me to pick out a car, a new car?"

"We would have surprised you like we did with Natalie, but your mom and I couldn't agree so we thought we'd let you choose between the two," he told me.

"She gets to pick hers out? No fair," Natalie exclaimed, but she was smiling.

We got out of the car and my parents talked with a guy in a fancy suit, and then we walked around the building and he showed me two cars. They were both a brand new Lexus. One was a blue convertible and the other was a red sports car.

"I can't believe that I get to choose one of these," I squealed.

"Whichever one you want is yours," the suit man said.

I thought about it and decided on the convertible because I thought that would be fun. Somehow, it seemed to be the right choice.

"Let's go in and fill out the paperwork and get you your keys." We followed him inside, and while my parents filled out the paperwork, Natalie and I walked around the showroom looking at all of the cars.

They came back out and the salesman handed me a pair of keys. "In about two weeks your personalized plate will arrive."

Personalized plate? I looked at my parents.

"Your Lexus is going to have the license plate 'Alexis'. A Lexus," Dad said smiling. "How do you like that?"

I laughed. "That's awesome."

"We'll see you at home," Mom said. "Natalie, are you going to ride with Alexis?"

"Of course!"

***

Once we were out of the sight of my parents, I floored it and asked Natalie if she wanted to take a scenic route.

She stuck her arms way up, as I'd removed the top, and said, "Woo-hoo! Let's go."

I smiled, heading for the freeway heading opposite of our home.

"I love the new Alexis," Natalie exclaimed.

"I guess I am more fun than before," I admitted.

"How do you do that?" Natalie demanded.

"What are you talking about?"

"You hear my thoughts as if I'd spoken them," she complained. "I know that sisters can have a tight connection, but this is crazy."

I sighed. What kind of an explanation was I going to give her that she would buy?

"Maybe we just have a special connection." I didn't sound very sure of myself.

"Yeah, but if you're adopted it makes even less sense," she said. "I'm really curious about the adoption and why it's such a secret."

Guilt stabbed me in the heart and stomach. I wanted to tell her, but I knew I shouldn't and that it was probably in her best interest that I didn't. I didn't want the Moretti's to go after her.

I hoped that someday I would be able to tell her, but instead I asked her if she wanted to go to a super greasy fast food place that our parents had always said would kill anyone who ate there.

"Oh...that sounds so good," she exclaimed. "We could also go to that bargain mall that's near there. They always have fun stuff that we can't get closer to home."

"That's a great idea. I got a gift card that I can use there today."

***

I was in my room putting all of my new stuff away when I suddenly got the feeling that I was not alone. I could feel the hairs on my neck standing up, and all of my senses were on alert.

I whipped around to see who was there and saw Brooke sitting on my bed.

"Did you have a fun birthday?" she asked with a kind smile.

I let out a breath that I wasn't even aware I had been holding in. "It was incredible. I can't believe that I had forgotten about my birthday. Well, actually, I can. This has been the craziest week of my life and I doubt that many others have had a week even close to mine."

"I'm glad that you enjoyed your special day," she said. "But we need to talk about our disagreement. I don't like feeling like we're on the outs."

"I don't like it either," I admitted. "But I also don't appreciate being locked up like an animal or a criminal."

She sighed. "Why don't you understand that we were trying to protect you?"

"I guess when you wake up in locked in a strange room all by yourself, you will figure it out."

"You don't have any idea what it's like to be a vampire or what's involved with the transformation process. We couldn't risk you running off and escaping when you woke up."

"But that is exactly what happened. If I had woken up on the couch or in your room, I probably would have stayed in the house. Instead, I was so desperate to get out of that prison of a room, I figured out a new skill."

"Look, Alexis. You're our princess and the Sonnast. It's our job to keep you safe at all costs."

"I may have 'no idea' about being a vampire, but I am still your future queen. You might want to keep that in mind. I can't imagine any queen taking imprisonment by her own people lightly."

She glared at me. "Are you really going there? You're not even a vampire yet, and you're definitely not the queen yet."

"What's going on with you?" I asked. "You were so bubbly and excited about us being friends again and now you're acting all high and mighty."

"High and mighty?" she exclaimed. "I'm irritated that you don't trust us. It's our job to keep you safe and your parents expect it fully. Believe me; I am much more fearful of what your parents can do to us than I am of you."

"I hadn't thought of that," I admitted. "What will happen if you don't keep me safe?"

"We could end up imprisoned or banished...or worse."

"Worse?" I asked. "You mean...?"

"Exactly."

"Oh," I whispered. "I didn't want to put any of you in danger. I really appreciate everything that you've all done for me."

"I know that the transformation process is crazy and that it's even worse for you, but you need to know that whatever we do is for your own good. If you have any questions, just ask. There is so much that we haven't even had time to tell you yet. Most of us grow up and learn everything over the span of our entire childhood. You've only known about this for a week."

"Are my parents really scary?"

She smiled and said, "Not unless you get on their bad side. They are the oldest and most powerful vampires in the world, after all."

"The oldest?" I asked. "I thought that they were descents of the Fyrsturae, not one of them."

"Right, your parents are descendants. That's what makes them the so powerful."

"What I mean is that I don't understand how they can be the oldest vampires if vampires don't die. Where are the Fyrsturae now?"

"Vampires die if they are killed," she said. "Remember wooden stakes and werewolves. There are some other ways to kill a vampire as well."

"So no other vampires are older than them? How old are they?"

"Your parents are about eight hundred years old," she said, as if that was the most normal thing to say. "They were both born in the 1200's."

"That's insane. Why did they wait so long to have a child?"

"That's something that you're going to have to ask them yourself," she said. "Not all vampires choose to procreate and it's not an easy process to accomplish. From what I hear, anyway."

"What about...?"

"Let's take a break from all this vampire talk and let me measure you," she interrupted. "It looks like your figure is impro...changing. I'm going to need to make sure that your clothes fit just perfectly."

"Sure," I said. "Honestly, it's not like I need a new outfit every day."

"Okay then. I'll let you repeat an outfit on Sundays."

I laughed but then stopped when I saw that she was serious. "I seriously don't need a new outfit every day, do I?"

"Of course you do. You're royalty."

"Why is it that I had a favorite dress as a child?" I asked.

"It was a play outfit for one thing," she said. "Also your seamstress used that pattern a lot since you loved it so much. I'm told that you didn't often notice you were wearing a different dress if it had that pattern in it."

She pulled out her measuring tape and started measuring. "Your skin is really starting to look good. Just wait until you complete the transformation. It will be soft and perfect like a child's skin, and it will heal almost immediately."

"Every teenager's dream."

***

Amanda was over to spend the night and we were in my room talking about everything under the sun. Of course I couldn't talk about anything vampire related, but there was enough on her mind that we were able to discuss while eating a full pint of ice cream, a bag of chips, a liter of root beer and some candy too.

"I still can't believe Emma," she said. "She is so focused on becoming popular, and she thinks that Hailey is her golden ticket. She tried to get me to ditch you and join them. I told her that she made her choice and I'm done with her."

"I don't know why she would choose Hailey over us, but it's her loss," I said.

"We've got Brooke now and she's so nice," Amanda said. "She didn't really know me before, but because I'm your friend, she's been a friend to me since the other night at the game."

"See? We don't need Emma."

We decided to watch a movie, and shortly after starting it I heard a strange noise. I paused and closed my eyes trying to focus on it. It was a kind of thumping noise that I couldn't place.

I pretended to adjust my position but was really trying to figure out what the barely audible noise was. I couldn't tell, and it wouldn't let up. It was beginning to drive me crazy.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

It seemed to be coming from the direction of Amanda, and I leaned in closer to her. Apparently, the movie was at a scary part and she thought I was leaning close because of that. She wrapped her arms around me.

Then suddenly I heard the noise very loudly. I instantly knew what I was hearing, but didn't know how it was possible that I hadn't heard it before. It was the sound of her beating heart.

As I sat there in her arms, the rhythm began to sound like a song. It reminded me of one of those romantic songs that causes your own heart to long for romance.

Only it wasn't romance that I desired.

An aroma entered my nose that smelled so heavenly that I thought it was the most delicious dessert ever created. I breathed in deeply, taking in the smell and the sounds.

It was as if she was romancing me into to giving her blood a taste.

A tight, burning sensation developed in the pit of my stomach and radiated up to my chest and throat and finally to my mouth. My mouth began to water and I could feel my teeth growing bigger in my mouth.

I jumped up and declared, "I need to go to the bathroom." I ran to the bathroom at normal human running speed and locked myself in there and sat on the toilet breathing heavily.

I forced myself to think about anything except blood. I pictured dog feces, dead bugs, and any other gross thing that I could come up with to kill my hunger.

Eventually, I felt my teeth return to normal and the burning sensation dissipate. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and texted Tanner to be ready later. He returned the text saying that would be no problem.

Once I felt that I was under control again, I went to watch the rest of the movie with Amanda. It was very difficult to not think about how succulent her blood smelled. It seemed to be calling out to me.

I will not eat my friend. I will not eat my friend. I repeated to myself in my mind.

As soon as the movie was over, I pretended to be exhausted so we went to bed pretty quickly after. I listened intently to her breathing until I was convinced that she had fallen asleep. It was pretty easy, as it seemed that my hearing was able to pick up on the even the quietest noises of the human body.

I texted Tanner to meet me at the field went through my wall and ran as fast as I could to the field. I was getting even faster, and bolder too. I ran near people that I saw along the way and they didn't even see me.

Once I was there, I climbed up the tree and waited impatiently for him to arrive. I needed to find out where he lived and just meet him there next time. It would mean a lot less waiting for me.

When he finally showed up, I moved right in front of him in the blink of an eye.

He jumped a mile and grumbled, "You vampires really get a kick out of that, don't you?"

"I don't care about scaring you," I told him. "I need some blood before my best friend becomes my next meal."

"Let's go sit by that tree," he said. "I would rather sit down than stand."

"Fine by me," I said, and was next to the tree before he could say anything else.

He shook his head and took his sweet time walking to the tree before finally sitting down.

"Are you comfortable?" I asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my tone.

I didn't wait for a response. I just sat down and instead of going in for the bite I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I listened for his heartbeat and allowed the burning sensation to build to the point that I didn't think that I could take it much longer. I could feel my teeth growing again.

"What are you waiting for? You were so impatient a minute ago."

I ignored him, found the spot and bit down. The warm, delicious blood flowed into my mouth and I couldn't get enough. I was feeling very greedy.

"Stop. You promised you'd stop when it—"

"Quiet," I whispered and took in a little more before stopping. I licked the wound and it healed completely.

Desire continued to flow through me.

"Why didn't you stop?" he asked, rubbing the place the wound should have been.

"Shut up," I said and grabbed his face. I looked into his eyes and forced my lips on his.

He tried speaking and even pushing me away, but I was too strong for him.

I shoved him against the tree and said, "I told you to shut up." I began kissing him again. He quit fighting and we continued to kiss until my feelings of desire went down to a manageable level. I pulled away and fixed my hair.

"What was that all about?" he asked, breathlessly. Then quickly added, "Not that I'm complaining."

I sighed. "It must have something to do with the blood. It seems to create an intense desire in me."

"Maybe you should start taking some of your boyfriend's blood too, if mine isn't enough."

Suddenly my heart sank to my stomach.

Cliff.

What had I just done?

Chapter Fourteen

I was pacing frantically at the park, waiting for Brooke to arrive because I had to talk with her. I was completely riddled with guilt over what I had done the night before. I knew that the blood lust was strong and made transforming vampires act crazy, but I couldn't believe that I had kissed Tanner.

Cliff was such a gentleman that he had only kissed my hand and head a few times. I had thrown myself at Tanner, when in my heart I loved Cliff. When I looked into Cliff's eyes, I knew every time that he was my destiny.

What if I had just ruined everything? What if I had broken the blessing? What was going to happen now? What if he decided that I wasn't worthy of him anymore?

I sat down on the bench, trying to compose myself. I thought for sure that I was going to start crying right there.

Where was Brooke? I told her that I needed to talk to her and she was taking so long to get here. I told her that it was serious and that I needed to talk to her privately.

I could feel the agitation building, so I got up and started pacing again. I passed under some large lamps and they exploded as I passed under each one.

"What's going on?"

I turned around and saw Brooke. "What took you so long?"

"I was in the middle of something and came as quickly as I could," she replied. "I am guessing that you are not happy, since I followed a trail of broken lights to find you."

"I was irritated that you were taking so long," I said. "But I'm only irritated because I really need to talk to you. Right now."

"Do you want to talk here or somewhere else?"

"Let's just find somewhere secluded here at the park. I really don't feel like having to wait any longer."

She looked at the broken glass along the path and said, "I can see that. Let's go over there by the woods. It looks nice and quiet."

"Let's go," I said and ran as fast as I could.

"You really need to be careful not to do that around people," she said when she sat down. "Remember that we want to blend in."

"Look, you'll have plenty to lecture me about after I'm done talking. Can you lay off me for now?"

"Uh oh, this doesn't sound good."

"You know that this desire for blood is severely overwhelming for me. I didn't have the luxury of being introduced one drop at a time so I could acclimate myself to it, like you did."

She nodded, looking worried.

"Well I couldn't take it that first night, and that's how I figured out how to go through the wall. I ran and ran, hoping that would help but it didn't." I went on to tell her about the murderous farmer, Tanner offering me his blood, how I wanted Amanda's blood, and finally what happened when I drank from Tanner instead.

"Lecture me, yell at me, or whatever you want. I deserve it all but I doubt you could make me feel worse than I already do," I buried my face into my hands.

She didn't say anything. Nothing at all. That was worse than yelling at me.

"Please say something," I begged.

She turned to me her eyes ablaze. "Do you really want to know what I'm thinking?"

I felt about two inches tall. "I can probably guess."

"I'm trying to find the right thing to say because what I feel like saying isn't the right thing. I could tell you that I told you so or I could yell at you for not telling me about all of this yesterday when I thought that we were having a heart to heart. I could yell at you for how much it's going to hurt Cliff when he finds out. Where do you want me to start?"

I sighed. "What am I supposed to do? Is there anything that I can do to make this right?"

"I certainly hope so," she said. "You're going to have to tell Cliff pretty soon though, because I can't hide it from him."

"You would tell him before I could?" I squealed.

"I wouldn't have to tell him. You guys can read my mind, remember?"

"You can't block certain information?"

"I can with you because you're inexperienced with mind reading. I can't with him because he's experienced and so powerful. Anyone descended from the Fyrsturae has much stronger gifts than any other vampire."

"Does it help that I have never felt worse about anything in all of my life?"

"It doesn't matter what I think," she replied. "Cliff loves you with a love like no other. He will undoubtedly be crushed."

"That's the worst part of this whole thing." I burst into tears. "As soon as I realized what I did, I felt completely horrible. I can't stand it and that's why I called you."

"Since you want my opinion, here it is. I think that you should tell Cliff as soon as possible. The worst thing you can do is to hide it from him. Show him that you want to do the honorable thing and let him know that you will do anything to make it right."

"That's probably the best thing to do," I admitted.

"I'm going to go purchase some fabric for my next round of clothes for the rebellious princess. Why don't you use that time to go talk to Cliff?"

I nodded, as more tears ran down my face.

***

Heart pounding, I knocked on the door and Cliff answered it. His face lit up when he saw me. "I didn't know that you were coming over. What an excellent surprise."

I looked into his eyes for a second, hoping that I would be allowed to look into them again.

"Can we talk?" I asked.

His eyes filled with concern. "Is something the matter?"

I bit my lip, took a deep breath and nodded.

"Come on in. We can talk in the back yard where it's quiet."

We walked to the back yard in silence and sat down under a shady tree.

"What's the matter, my princess?" he asked. The sweeter he was, the worse I felt.

"I've been having more blood cravings," I began. "I made a bad decision about how to resolve those unbearable cravings."

He nodded for me to continue.

"Tanner told me about how Samantha used to use him as a human volunteer and he said that it helped him with his football game somehow." I was so nervous that as I kept talking, my voice became more and more quiet. I looked at him to see a reaction but he had on a poker face. "I was so desperate for blood, and I didn't want to kill anyone..." I sighed.

"So you used him as a human volunteer?"

I gulped. "Yes and it did help. I was able to focus and live my life normally without the horrible desire for blood screaming at me from every cell of my body."

His face showed jealousy, and then softened. "Okay, well, I guess I can't blame you for that. I haven't done anything yet to provide for your blood needs. Next time just tell me and we'll figure something out, okay?"

"I need to tell you more," I whispered.

He stopped. "More?"

My lower lip started to quiver and I nodded my head.

"Go ahead."

"I don't know what overcame me," I started slowly. "It must have had something to do with the blood because I definitely wasn't thinking. It wasn't me at all."

"What. Happened?"

"Please don't hate me. Please," I begged. "We kissed."

He jumped up from where he was sitting. "He kissed you? I'll kill him. I've never killed a human, but I will make an exception this once."

I stood up and grabbed his hand. "No, Cliff. I kissed him."

The look of hurt in his eyes was enough to kill me inside. Tears streamed down my face. "I'm so, so sorry. I hate myself for it."

"You kissed him?" His eyes were ablaze. "You? How could you do this to me?"

His teeth had grown larger and sharp, his eyes were red.

My heart pounded faster than I'd ever felt before. "I don't know. I didn't know what I was doing. It just happened. I'm so sorry. I'll do anything to make it right. Anything."

"I have spent all of these years waiting for you, never taking my thoughts off you once. I didn't even allow my thoughts to be unfaithful to you. Trust me when I say the opportunities were there. They were plentiful, Alexis." He stared into my eyes.

"I don't know what overcame me," I said, still crying. "I wasn't even thinking. It happened before I knew what was going on."

"I would have understood you kissing someone else when you had no memories of me. I expected that, actually. I thought that I would find that you had already fallen in love with some human. But now? Now. After we've reunited and you remembered all that we had before and know everything that lies in front of us."

"I hate myself for what I did. I really do. But I had to come clean with you as soon as possible. If I didn't care, I would have hidden it from you. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

"Do you have any idea how much I love you? The burning passion that lives within me. It consumes me, but I have been raised properly, so I have barely touched you since we reunited. Then you go and do this."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Leave this house."

"What? I—"

"I said leave! I will call you when I have calmed down. I don't want to do or say anything that I will later regret. I am going to use some self-control, even though you don't know anything about that."

I gasped.

"Leave my sight now."

I got up with tears streaming down my face. I ran out of the yard and through the house, slamming the front door on my way out.

***

I had been in my room crying for a while, when there was a knock on my door.

"Go away," I called, between sobs.

As was customary in my house, my request was ignored and the door opened. Natalie walked in and said, "I could hear you in my room over my music. What's going on?"

"Didn't you hear me say go away?" I asked. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Too bad," she said, sitting down. "I care about you and I want to help."

I sighed and knew that she wouldn't leave until I told her something. I said, "Cliff and I had a fight."

"You two?" she asked. "I can't imagine that. What happened?"

"That is exactly what I don't want to talk about."

"I won't tell anyone," she promised.

"Why would I tell you when you don't tell me about your love life?" I asked.

"Who said that I have a love life?" she asked.

"You're trying to tell me that as one of the most popular girls in the school, you don't have a love life? You expect me to believe that?"

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"I know that you're keeping your boyfriend a secret," I told her. "I don't want to share my secrets with you if you don't trust me with yours."

She looked at me in surprise. "What makes you think that I have a boyfriend?"

"What's Braydon then?" I asked.

There was no masking the surprise that was all over her face. "How did you know about Braydon? Did you read my mind again?"

"That's definitely not how I found out about Braydon."

"Nobody knows about him. I haven't even told Sydney. How did you know?"

I was relieved that the subject had changed to her. I didn't want to think about Cliff or the possibility that I had ruined the best thing that had happened to me.

"We're sisters, right?" I asked. "You agreed that we have a special connection."

"Don't give me that. If that was the case, you would figure out that I have a secret boyfriend but you wouldn't know his name."

She had me there. "Maybe I read your diary."

She glared at me. "I know that's not possible anymore. I made sure of that after finding out you read it last year."

"You knew about that?"

"You're not the only smart one around here. I may not be a genius, but I'm not dumb either. I play just dumb enough to be able to use it to my advantage. There's a secret of mine, now tell me yours. How did you find out about Braydon?"

I took a deep breath, thinking about how much I could safely tell her.

"Wait a minute," she said, interrupting my thoughts. "Was that you in the field the other night?"

The look of shock on my face said everything that I didn't.

"That was you? But how...what...? I don't understand." Her face held a mixture of embarrassment and confusion. "That's just not possible."

"I wasn't trying to spy on you or anything like that," I told her. "I was just sitting in that tree, thinking about...life. Then you two showed up and I wanted to leave and give you guys privacy, but I couldn't get away unnoticed. So I tried not to pay attention to what you were doing or saying, but I couldn't help notice the smell wafting up to me or the heated tones."

"I can't believe that you know about all of that."

"Believe me. I haven't had a lot of time to think about it. I've had enough going on in my own life. I wanted to make sure that you were okay, but I haven't had the time aside from just asking you how you were doing."

"How did you...? In that field, I mean. It was like you weren't even human. I thought it was like a...a...I don't know what I thought."

"It's pretty complicated," I admitted. "I don't even know if you would believe me."

"Considering that it was you the other night, I think I could believe just about anything," she said, looking at me.

I took a deep breath. "I found out about my birth parents and that was just the beginning of some really intense craziness."

"Does it have to do with the mind reading and the exploding glass too?"

"Yeah, it does."

"Well you have to tell me. I've been so curious to know what's up because it's so obvious that you were adopted. I can't believe you kept this from me."

I smiled. "It is so crazy and I didn't even believe it at first. Just promise me that you won't tell anyone, even if you don't believe what I'm going to tell you."

"You're still my sister even if you're not blood related."

My heart started racing as I thought about how to come out and say that I was becoming a vampire. I had images of her laughing at me or slapping me.

"Come on already, spit it out. I can't take the suspense."

"Okay, sorry. Well, when I was about three years old, I was taken from my birth parents in the middle of the night by someone who knew our parents. The people who took me were trying to protect me and they...told our parents not to tell anyone."

She looked at me with disbelief. "You've got to be leaving stuff out there. It doesn't make sense."

I was testing the waters to see how she would react before announcing that I was a mythical, blood-sucking creature of the night.

"You're right," I admitted. "They actually changed Mom and Dad's memories and gave them that story about the flood. That's why our parents are so adamant about the flood and me being their daughter."

"Seriously?" Her eyes were so wide that I was afraid they would pop out of her head. "That's insane, but it actually makes a lot of sense if you think about it. Tell me more."

"What do you want to know about?" I asked.

"How were the people who took you able to change mom and dad's memories? Was it some kind of drug or something?"

"No, it wasn't any kind of drug...."

"Did they threaten them? Did they scare them so bad that they couldn't remember the real past?"

"No, they didn't use...."

"Was it the mafia? Are you a mafia baby?"

"Well, it's something like that."

"It all makes sense now." she exclaimed. "Why you would be stolen and given away, and why our parents can't remember the truth. It's just like a movie."

I didn't know whether to laugh or be frustrated. I also didn't know whether to leave it at that or tell her the even crazier truth.

Her phone buzzed. She looked at it and said, "I have to talk to Sydney but before I do, I have to tell you this. Whatever you do, don't act needy with Cliff. I don't know what you two fought about, but I can tell you that guys hate that needy stuff. You have to act all tough and put together or they feel trapped and push you away further. It won't get you anywhere. We'll finish this discussion later, mafia baby." She winked at me and left the room, already engrossed in her cell phone.

We would definitely have to finish that conversation. I couldn't have her believing that I was a mafia baby.

I realized that I hadn't touched my homework all weekend, so I got started because I was sure that my grades were already starting to slip. I was beginning to care a lot less though, because if I was going to be running the entire world of vampires, I didn't think that my high school education was going to help me out that much.

***

The next morning, I was getting ready for school when I suddenly felt that I wasn't alone. I was almost getting used to that. Almost.

I turned around to see Brooke sitting on my bed.

"I haven't been bad," I told her. "I haven't snuck out at all, I haven't had any blood."

"That's not what I'm here about," she replied.

I sighed. "What is it?"

"Have you seen Cliff?" she asked.

"Not since yesterday. He told me to get out of his sight, so I did. I spent the rest of the day in my room crying, and then I did homework. I was hoping that he would call because he said he would call when he calmed down. Why do you ask?"

"He's gone," she told me.

"What? What do you mean he's gone?" I demanded.

"When I got home last night, he wasn't there and nobody else had seen him either. He didn't return last night and he's still gone."

"Did he tell anyone where he was going?"

"No, and he didn't leave any notes either," she said and then looked me in the eyes. "He must be extremely upset. You really hurt him."

I looked at my lap. "I know I did. You don't need to make me feel worse."

"Don't you get it?" she exclaimed. "He's gone. Nobody knows where he is, Alexis. This is not about you or your feelings. He hasn't even contacted his parents. Nobody knows where he is."

"Does he usually tell his parents where he is?"

"He keeps in close contact with them. They are not only his parents, but also his superiors, because he is learning from them how to lead our kind. He only ever took off without telling them one other time, and that was when he was in his transition."

"He probably just went somewhere to think," I said. "He needs some space."

"No kidding, Alexis. But the problem is that he hasn't even bothered to contact anyone about his location. If you happen to see him or hear from him, text me immediately."

"I will," I promised.

She looked at me and her face softened. "I know you're worried and I know that you love him. You didn't mean to hurt him. There's no doubt about that and I know that you didn't want any of this to happen. Don't be too hard on yourself. I truly can't imagine what it would be like to be exposed to blood in the way that you were. If you need any blood, let me know and I'll get you some."

I nodded, with a tear running down my face.

"Be strong. You're going to be queen someday, so use this as training for that."

"Okay," I whispered.

She went through my wall and was gone.

I turned around and looked at the beautiful face staring back at me in the mirror. Life was so much simpler when I was boring and unattractive. That wasn't the course I was meant for, though. I was destined for greatness, and I hoped that I wouldn't ruin it for myself or my people.

I sighed and told the girl in the mirror, "You've got to pull yourself together and stop acting like you have been. There is too much at stake and so much to learn. Get it together."

***

I searched for Cliff at school but he was not there. There were a few spots where he would usually hang out in the mornings to meet me, but he was in none of those places. Each time I saw one of the spots empty, I felt pangs of disappointment and guilt.

I moped through my classes, barely paying attention and avoiding people as much as possible. I didn't feel like talking to anyone, and I was sure that if I did, I would most likely start crying.

At one point, I almost ran into Hailey and Emma but I saw them and ducked into a classroom before they saw me. I was sure that on any other day I could handle them just fine, but on this day I was not so sure of myself.

They still considered themselves my arch enemies. I hadn't had the time to figure out what they were plotting and I wanted to be ready before talking to them, at least while I was in this frame of mind.

I could feel myself getting depressed as I started to feel more and more like a huge chunk of myself had been ripped from me. Nothing else mattered except finding Cliff and making everything right.

As I was entering the combination for my locker to get ready to go home for the day, someone said from behind me, "Hi there, I haven't seen you all day. Where have you been hiding?"

I whipped around only to see Tanner. "Oh, it's you. Would you go away? I'm really not in the mood."

"That's not what you were saying a couple nights ago," he grinned.

"Look Tanner, that was a mistake. It had everything to do with my new, crazy cravings and I didn't mean it. It wasn't even me."

"Oh, it was definitely you. It was the best you that I've ever seen. You finally quit being all stuffy and had some real passion for a change."

I sighed. "It was a mistake. It's not going to happen again. I'm going get some bagged blood or something, so I won't need your services anymore."

"Whoa. Wait a minute—don't be so hasty. We can do this without any affection. I need this as much as you do. We had an agreement."

"I shouldn't have agreed to it in the first place. I'm sorry I haven't been myself at all since...well since you did this to me. No, I'm not sorry. Go find someone else to help you out."

"You'll be back. I know you will. Text me when you change your mind. I'll meet you anywhere, anytime."

"Fantastic," I replied. "Be sure to hold your breath while you wait." I slammed my locker shut and stormed off.

I almost ran into Amanda while I was speeding towards my car.

"Where have you been all day?" she asked. "You were acting strange the other night and now you've been avoiding me. Did I do something to offend you?"

"No, I'm sorry. I've been really preoccupied because Cliff and I had a fight. I can't get my mind off of it. He didn't even come to school today."

"Oh no," she replied. "Can I do anything?"

My lip quivered and I shook my head no.

"Let me know if you want me to take you out for dessert or coffee or something. I wouldn't even mind if you were quiet the whole time."

"Thanks, Amanda. You're a true friend. I don't feel like doing much of anything right now, but I'll give you a call if that changes."

"If you're still mopey tomorrow, then I'm taking you out for dessert whether you want to or not."

I half smiled. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

***

I drove to Brooke's house, hoping and praying that Cliff had returned or had contacted someone. I hadn't received any texts, so I didn't expect that to be a reality.

Inside, Brooke, Steve and I sat in the living room, and I was reminded of that horrible afternoon when I blacked out from the intensity of that headache.

"So nobody has even heard anything from him?" I asked.

"Nothing," Steve said. "This is so unlike him."

I buried my face into my hands. "What have I done?"

"We know that he is extremely intelligent and he's a top fighter, so at least we don't have to worry too much about his safety," Brooke said. "He can take care of himself and then some."

"Isn't there anything that I can do?" I asked. "We have a special connection. It seems like there would be something that I could do that nobody else could."

"Like what?" Brooke asked.

"I'd say you pretty much lost the rights to that 'special connection,' wouldn't you?" Steve asked.

"I made one mistake," I said. "I know it was a horrible mistake, but it was still a mistake. If I didn't have to deal with this horribly intense desire for blood, nothing would have happened in the first place."

"Or if you would have talked to us we could have helped you get blood," Steve retorted.

"Maybe I would have felt like I could, if you guys hadn't locked me in a room like a criminal."

"If you could figure out how to go through a wall, you could have gone through to the house instead of outside to act like a savage."

"I didn't know how until I went through that wall on the outside. By then I was already outside."

"You could have knocked on the door and someone would have gotten you."

"Maybe you should have left me a note instead of letting me wake up locked in a strange room all by myself. Or better yet not locking me in a room by myself."

"Enough, you two." Brooke looked back and forth between the two of us. "Arguing isn't going to find him. There were mistakes on both sides and we're going to all have to answer for our own mistakes."

"Who do we have to answer to?" I asked.

"Your parents, of course," Steve said, rolling his eyes.

"I'm pretty sure that they will find me the victim in all of this," I told him.

"You don't know them too well, do you?" Steve asked with a smirk.

"How would I, since I haven't seen them since I was so young?" I demanded. "Everybody has been so busy all of these years trying to 'protect' me that it's all turned around to work against me now. If I would have known what I was, I would have been prepared for this transition. I would know what to expect and it would be a lot more natural. Instead, everything catches me by surprise and I haven't a clue about anything. You've all left me to figure this out on my own."

"It's clear that you see yourself as the victim," Steve muttered.

I narrowed my eyes. "Easy for you say. You haven't gone through what I have. I grew up not even knowing who or what I was. Now I have all of this to deal with. I am a very smart person and I could figure this all out on my own if I had to. Wait, I pretty much have had to do that! I would make a lot less mistakes if you guys would tell me more and keep me out of the dark."

"Back to that again? You could have just as easily come to us when you had a question or the need for blood. We're vampires, we can help you out. In fact it's our job to help you out."

"I'd say you haven't been doing your job." I got up from the couch and stormed out of the house, slamming the door.

I heard Steve say, "She's making Cliff's transition look like a stroll in the park."

I decided to sit on the front steps and listen in with my supersonic hearing.

"Don't you think you were being rough on her?" Brooke asked.

"You know that we have to be tough when someone is in their transition, Brooke."

"She has a point about being blindsided by all of this. We should have told her about turning into a vampire long before we did."

"Life is tough, and she's been dealt some rough cards. You know what I think?" Steve asked. "It's going to make her into a better leader. Everything that she's gone through will make her stronger and will give her compassion for others."

"If you keep acting like this, you're going to push her away. Yes, we need to be tough on those going through the transition, but we need to extend her some of that compassion that you're talking about. We can't even imagine what it's like for her. Cliff has more of an idea because he's gone through an extra crazy transition, but he's obviously not here. None of us knows what it's like to be raised by humans, thinking that we're one too. Much less being the Sonnast."

"You know, it might be for the best that Cliff isn't here to talk us into babying her. Maybe that's the reason that he's staying away. He knows that he's too close to make any rational decision regarding her. He would wrap her up in bubble wrap and give her everything that she wants, if he had his way."

"He's away because he's hurt by what she did," Brooke said. "He's giving himself time to think and calm down because he doesn't want to react with jealousy. He knows his own strength. He doesn't want to do anything to compromise his relationship with her."

"I can buy that too, but at the same time, I think that he knows it's best for him not to make any decisions regarding her right now. Even with his jealousy and anger, he would still want us to go way too easy on her."

"What are we going to do, Steve? Cliff is gone, our parents are back at the castle and now she's mad at us."

"Let's hope that she doesn't do anything stupid. That's all we can really do right now."

Remembering why I had stormed out of the house in the first place, I got up from the steps and got into my new car.

Chapter Fifteen

I sat on the park bench, watching the lake to calm my nerves. The longer that Cliff was away without knowing where he was, the worse that I felt. It was like someone had literally torn out a major part of me. I was raw and exposed.

There was a growing emptiness deep inside, like I had never felt before. I wasn't sure if this was what it felt like to be depressed, but I felt miserable. I wanted to go into hiding myself.

Then there was the guilt. I couldn't stop beating myself up for what I had done. I knew that it was because of the blood and the transition, but I couldn't forgive myself. Before the all of this had begun, I was the most levelheaded, rational person around. People had made fun of me for it.

Since the transition had begun, I had been acting like someone else and it was driving me crazy. I didn't know who this irrational, stylish and popular girl was.

I believed there had to be a way to find or communicate with Cliff. We were unique even for vampires, and there had to be a way. The only problem was that I didn't have any clue where to begin.

I heard a crow in the distance. That was the last thing that I wanted to deal with, so I got up and ran to my car.

Once at home, I got into my pajamas and crawled into bed, even though I hadn't had dinner. I didn't care about eating or other than finding Cliff and making things right again.

I tried to fall asleep, but sleep wanted nothing to do with me. My ears were picking up all kinds of strange noises. I heard what sounded like a small animal eating. I could hear the freezer making ice downstairs. I heard something scurrying on the roof. There were also a great number of sounds that I didn't recognize.

I pulled my pillow over my head and tried to drown out all of the noises, but they would not go away. I sighed and hoped that I would learn to ignore these noises in the same way that music becomes background music.

Somehow, I must have managed to fall asleep, because my dad was shaking my shoulder and asking if I wanted dinner.

I rolled over and said, "I'm not hungry."

"Mom says that you've been in here for a long time. Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"I'm not hungry and I'm not eating."

"Is everything okay, honey?"

"I'll be fine," I told him. "I just need to be alone for a while."

He patted my head and said, "If you want to talk, just let me know. You know I love you."

"Thanks, Dad."

I tried to fall back asleep, but the new sounds were driving me crazy. I could hear squirrels chattering and chasing each other. I could hear some birds that had yet to fly south. I heard the rustling of leaves and twigs snapping. All from the comfort of my bed with my window tightly closed.

Imagining that the sounds were relaxing instead of annoying, I managed to fall asleep again.

***

I was in the garden just outside of the castle of my childhood. I was chasing a bunny along the path and darted into a patch of bright orange flowers. I dove into the flowers after it, tumbled around and got stuck because the flowers were on some sort of vine plant.

Frustrated, I started kicking and punching to get the vines off of me, but they were sticky and my struggles only seemed to make matters worse.

"What have you done?" asked a voice walking in my direction.

"I'm stuck. Would you get me out of here, Mattie?" I asked my watcher.

"Look at you. You're a pitiful mess. Did you forget that your parents told you to stay clean today? There are special guests due to arrive and you are supposed to look your best."

I started squirming around even more and pulled a flower off my face. "Would you just get me out of here?"

She reached down, picked me up and set me on the ground. "You've got dirt everywhere and your dress is stained with green and orange. What are we to do?"

I sighed. "I almost got that bunny. I was this close." I held my finger and thumb out about a hair's width apart.

She smiled. "You're not going to stop until you make that poor thing your pet. Well, let's get you cleaned up."

I heard footsteps behind me. "Don't worry about that. We just got word that our guests are a day behind schedule. Let me take care of her."

I turned around. "Cliffy!"

He smiled at me and gave me a bear hug even though he probably got dirt on his clothes.

"If you want to be in charge of her, that's fine by me," Mattie said. "She's on a wild streak today. More than normal."

"No worries, Mattie. See you at dinner," Cliff said and started patting my hair and clothes to get some of the dirt off. "You sure have a mind of your own, princess. Our life together will always be interesting and fun."

"Of course I have a mind of my own. Who else's mind would I have?"

He laughed. "That's one of the things that I love about you, little one. You're three and I'm ten, and we adore each other like friends or brother and sister. But my parents said that before we get married, we will love each other so much more. I can't wait! We're going to have so much fun!"

I smiled wide. "It's going to be the best. You're my favorite and I'm glad that we'll be together forever."

"No matter what happens, I'll always love you. Always."

"What if I step on your toe?" I asked, giggling.

"Even if you step on my all of my toes."

"What if I get your clothes dirty?"

"I'll still love you if you get my clothes all dirty."

"What if I eat your dessert?"

"Hmm....Yes, even then I'll still love you."

I poked him and ran the other direction. He chased after me and caught me. I laughed as he picked me up and threw me into the air. I had no doubt that he would catch me.

"I'll love you even if you poke me and run away from me." He was still holding me.

I grinned and kissed his cheek.

***

I sat up in bed. When I realized where I was, the happiness from the dream dissipated immediately and I was quickly consumed with guilt and grief. I threw myself back onto my pillow and let the tears flow until it was soaked.

When I had no more tears left, I grabbed the other pillow on my bed and lay down on it. I could hear all kinds of noises that I didn't want to hear. I could also feel the beginning pangs of wanting blood. I didn't care about the blood. My guilt and grief were both much stronger than the desire for blood. For now, at least.

The memory dream had me feeling even worse than I had before. His love for me was so pure and true. I had stomped all over it.

The next day, I refused to get out of bed to go to school.

"What about your perfect attendance record?" my mom asked. "Surely you don't want to ruin that. It's always been so important to you."

"I don't care about that anymore."

"Are you sure that you won't care about it in a few months?"

"I won't care then, either."

"If you need to take a day or two for yourself, then I'll excuse you from school. I just want to make sure that you won't regret missing your record for the first time."

"The record doesn't mean anything to me anymore. I didn't think that it mattered to you anyway."

"I don't understand it," she said. "I never have. But before I call in to excuse you, I want to make sure that it's not important to you anymore."

"Like I said, I don't care."

I spent that whole day in bed crying, and when I had no more tears, I slept the rest of the time. Natalie had brought my homework and left it on my desk.

Days went by and I barely noticed when one became the next. The pile of homework got bigger, and I knew that I was going to need a shower soon.

One day, my mom came in and said that the school had told her that if I missed another day, I would be forced to repeat the semester.

"Okay," I said.

"What does that mean? Okay, you'll repeat the semester or okay, you'll go back?"

"I'll repeat it, I don't care."

"How can you not care? Do you want to graduate with your sister?"

"I don't care because it doesn't matter."

"What has gotten into you lately?" she demanded. "I've been patient and I'm trying to be understanding. For once, I've been on the side of arguing with your dad on your side. He doesn't think I should let you miss so much school."

"My priorities have taken a drastic shift," I told her.

"I can see that. I'm going to have to put my foot down here, Alexis. I'm not going to excuse you from school anymore. You've missed over a week and a half and you need to get up and face life again."

"What if I just don't go?"

"I imagine that the truancy officers will come and either force you to go back to school or put you in a juvenile detention center."

"They'll send me to juvie for missing school? You've got to be making that up."

"Obviously, you have no knowledge of truancy issues since you've always had a perfect attendance. If you miss too many days of school, it is against the law."

"Do I have to go back tomorrow?"

She sighed. "Tomorrow is Sunday. You have a day and a half to pull yourself together. You might want to start in on that homework."

"Sounds wonderful," I mumbled as she left the room.

I stayed in the same position and watched the clock move for a half an hour before I willed myself up. My body ached because I'd only gotten up to use the bathroom a few times a day. Dinner had been brought to me in bed, which I had barely touched most days. Lying in bed didn't require much fuel.

I looked at my cell phone lying on the floor, unplugged and dead. I knew it had to have died the first day that I climbed into bed if I hadn't plugged it in. It needed to be charged every night. I stared at it for a few minutes before plugging it in. I had missed 137 texts and 78 phone calls. Ugh. I would check those later.

Once in the bathroom, I had to pull my pajamas off my skin and I thought about throwing them away instead of trying to clean them. I looked in the mirror at my severely greasy hair and dried out skin. I was surprised that I hadn't accumulated a single zit. Maybe that was another vampire perk.

I took the longest shower of my life. I had never been one to hog the shower, but after a week and a half, it was necessary. I could see why Natalie could spend a half an hour in there on a daily basis. It felt wonderful.

After I was showered and dressed, I felt noticeably better. I went to my room and began sorting my huge pile of homework into classes and dates. I was glad for the distraction from any thoughts that might upset me.

I decided to start with history and found myself enjoying it. I hadn't poured myself into my studies in so long that it felt good. I had actually missed it. I was glad that popularity couldn't kill my love for learning.

When I had finished the first three days' worth of homework, I decided to get some food. As I was on my way to the stairs, I could hear my parents talking about me in the kitchen. At least there were some advantages to this hearing ability.

"I'm so glad that she got up and took a shower," my dad said. "We really can't let her spend that much time in bed again. It's not healthy."

"Jack, haven't you ever experienced a heart break? It's her first, and that's always the hardest. I remember that I felt like I couldn't breathe the first time it happened to me. It's overwhelming. She needed the time to heal."

I really couldn't get over my mom's sudden interest in me. It would take some getting used to.

"Now it's time for her to get up and move on. She needs to get those grades back up and start preparing for the college entrance exams."

"Let her take the path that she chooses. She may change her mind and decide not to go to an Ivy League school after all. She might wake up and realize that it's never been her idea, but that it's been you pressuring her all of these years."

"I haven't been pressuring her, Janet. She has a gift. She should have been in a school for the exceptionally bright all of these years. Even the honors classes that she's had haven't been much of a challenge for her."

"At least she and her sister have been able to go to school together. That's important."

"Who is it important to? You? They don't have the same friends, they don't play sports together, and they don't hang out together. The only reason that Alexis has had to go to public school is because you didn't want Natalie to feel bad."

I decided to go back to my room instead of eating. I didn't want to walk into the middle of that. I plugged in my laptop and turned it on. I had a long list of new emails awaiting me. Glancing over them, it looked mostly like they were from people at school hoping that I'd feel better soon.

I wondered why people thought I was gone from school. Surely my mom hadn't let it be known that I was moping in bed all that time.

There were a few emails from my teachers, so I read those figuring that they would help me to get a better idea of what I had missed in my classes.

I felt like I was getting into a groove, and I felt like my old self. Not popular Alexis, or transitioning vampire princess Alexis, but plain old me. I liked it and I pretended that all of the new stuff was just a bad dream from when I was in bed sick.

***

While we were eating breakfast the next morning, my mom said, "We have some exciting news for you two. The foreign exchange student is going to be arriving soon."

"That's going to be so much fun." Natalie smiled. "Where is she going to sleep?"

"We're going to give her the guest bedroom."

"Don't you mean the storage room?" Natalie asked. "That room is full of stuff that doesn't have a place and also has a bed in there somewhere."

"Yes, technically it's a storage room right now. Would you like to help turn it into a room for a teenage girl?"

"Of course. That will be fun. After you guys clear out the junk, that is."

"Have fun," I said. "I still have a lot of homework to do today."

"I'm sure your teachers don't expect you to have everything completed tomorrow."

"No, they don't. They all sent me emails telling me what they expect, but I want to be able to be right where everyone else is when I get there tomorrow."

"You can't seriously get like two weeks homework done in two days," Natalie said.

"I can and I will," I told her. "I was up all last night working on it. I'm slept out and I intend to get it all done before tomorrow."

She made a face. "Sounds like you're back to your old self."

"Natalie, be nice," my dad said.

She rolled her eyes. "So tell us about the exchange student. Does she have a name?"

"We don't have too much information," my mom said. "We've gotten all of the information from the Flemings. We haven't talked with the agency at all. Her name is Clara and she's from England."

I wondered if Clara was going to be my warden or if she might actually extend some trust to me.

As they continued to discuss plans for unknowingly bringing another vampire into the family, I became distracted by a noise which seemed to be getting louder until it was all that I could hear. I acted normally as best as I could, but I wanted to run to my room.

The noise was overpowering and very persistent. I needed to figure out what it was, so I tried to focus on it with all of my energy. It seemed like it was more than one noise, so I tried to focus in one of the sources and then realized it was a heartbeat. The full sound was a combination of three heartbeats.

I picked at my food as the sounds of my family's heartbeats screamed at me. The blood pumping through their veins sounded like a rushing river.

My mouth started to water and I could feel my teeth...fangs start to grow. My eyes were probably going to turn red soon if they hadn't already.

"Alexis!" my dad exclaimed. "Alexis, are you okay?"

"I need to get some fresh air." I ran outside, knocking something over on my way out.

As soon as I was outside, I took as many deep breaths as I could. I had not expected to react like this to my family, but I knew that it shouldn't have surprised me, since I had done the same thing when Amanda spent the night.

I leaned against a tree. "Think, think." I waited for a big dose of inspiration to hit me. Then I thought to a show or movie I had seen about vampires where some of them hadn't wanted to eat humans, so they drank the blood of animals instead.

It was worth a try, and there were some real woods about 20 miles away. I could probably run there and be back before anyone knew I had left. I looked around to make sure that nobody was watching and ran as fast as I could to the woods, which were big enough to have creatures bigger than bunnies.

***

When I arrived at the woods, I ran up a tree and put my hearing to good use. I listened for any sounds that would indicate the presence of a large animal. My ears began picking up all kinds of sounds, many of which were unfamiliar to my suburban-dwelling ears.

I zoned in on some heavy footsteps. I could tell the direction that they were coming from, and decided to see if I could jump to the next tree over. I found that it was easier than I had thought, and landed on a branch rather quietly.

I kept listening to the large animal that I had heard, and followed it from tree to tree as much as I could, and on ground when I had to. Finally, I saw a lone coyote. It wasn't as large as I had hoped, but I could hear its beating heart and it would probably do the trick.

I jumped silently to the ground and started tiptoeing my way closer to it. It froze where it was and its ears twitched. It knew that it had become prey.

I sniffed the air and breathed in its scent. I took more steps toward the animal, and then it started running through the thick woods.

At first, I followed it by sight, but then stopped to give it a bit of a head start. I sniffed again and tracked its scent. I could tell which way it had gone, and my heart raced with the excitement of the chase. I could literally smell its fear.

This was exactly what all of my hypersensitive senses were for. I had never felt so alive.

The coyote knew that I was close and that I was toying with it. It zigzagged around trying to fool me, but I was not a human, limited by just sight and sound.

Finally, my hunger got the best of me and I stopped playing with it, pouncing on it with ease. It fought, but didn't stand a chance against my bite. The blood satisfied me, although it was not as good as human blood. It was like comparing chocolate mousse and plain bread. Given the choice, the mousse would be preferred, but the bread would do.

When I was finished, I put the coyote under some shrubs hoping that its pack would find it and do whatever it was that coyotes do with their dead members.

I remembered that I needed to get back home, so I ran back as quickly as I could this time, feeling much better than when I had left.

When I got home, I was assaulted with questions.

"Where were you?"

"Why didn't you tell us that you were leaving?"

"What were you thinking?"

"Stop!" I said. "I didn't mean to worry you guys. I wasn't feeling good so I went out for some air. I felt like I needed a run, so I ran. I'm back and I'm safe."

"Don't do that again. You had us worried."

"Okay, I won't do that again. I'm going to go upstairs and get some more homework done."

***

While I was busy with my homework, Brooke called my cell phone. I hoped that she was calling to see how I was, not to lecture me about something.

"Hi Brooke."

"You're finally answering your phone." She sounded exasperated. "What's been going on?"

"I had a little down time."

"A little? I would say that it was quite a lot. I tried to visit you but your family wouldn't let me. Natalie said that you weren't feeling well, and that she wouldn't let any relative of Cliff's near me."

I smiled. "She knew that Cliff and I had a fight, so she must have been trying to protect me. Surely you can understand that."

"Well, what's going on? Why weren't you answering your phone? We've been worried about you."

"I left it unplugged, so I didn't get any calls or texts until I plugged it in yesterday."

"Why didn't you respond to any of them?" she asked.

I sighed. "To be honest, I don't know who called me or texted me. I've been busy catching up on my homework."

"What have you done about blood?"

"I haven't wanted any until this morning, and I got some from a forest animal."

She laughed. "Don't expect to start sparkling in the sunlight."

"Whatever," I said, rolling my eyes. "I know the movies aren't accurate, but I was desperate and gave it a try. Did you guys find Cliff?"

"No, we haven't heard from Cliff yet. It's been a slow couple of weeks with both of you in hiding."

"So I hear someone named Clara is coming to be my new warden. Want to tell me who she is?"

"I'm sure that the two of you will get acquainted when she arrives, but I can tell you that she's your cousin and she's seen your parents recently. She might be able to tell you more about them than us."

"Is she really my cousin, or is she my cousin like Cliff is your cousin?"

"She's really your cousin. Your fathers are brothers, so she's also a descendant of the Fyrsturae. She's not in line for the throne because her father married a common vampire."

"How do you classify a common vampire?" I asked.

"One who was changed from being a human. Her father caused some upset among the royals when he married a common vampire, but he was madly in love, and they still are, from what I hear."

"That sounds interesting," I said. "I'll have to ask her about that."

"Yes. You'll have plenty of time for that."

"So do you have any new clothes for me, or will I have to wear one of my other outfits two whole times? Not that it would bother me to wear something twice, but I know how you feel about it. Most of the clothes that I wore before you started making me clothes were worn hundreds of times."

"That I believe." she laughed. "I've still been making you clothes, and I can drop them off a little later if you'd like."

"That's fine. I'm doing just homework here all day."

Chapter Sixteen

At school, the rumor about my absence was that I had been out with mono. I knew that it was impossible, but everyone seemed to believe it, so I went with it. I definitely didn't want to get into the real reasons with anyone.

I was glad that I'd had plenty of space while I was gone, because I had no space whatsoever once back at school. Every time I turned around, someone was there to ask me about my absence or to tell me about someone that they knew who had mono. Popularity was suffocating.

During lunch, I avoided the cafeteria where most people were, but ended up wishing that I had gone there anyway. I was by my locker, reading the texts that I had gotten while I was in bed, when I became aware of two people looking at me from a slight distance.

Looking up, I saw Hailey and Emma standing at the other end of the hall staring at me and whispering to each other that I was poser and fake.

They didn't know that I could hear them or their predator heartbeats. My senses didn't know the difference between a physical or social threat, but they were screaming at me about those two. I would have to be careful or I might end up acting out of reflexes.

I walked over to them carefully and asked, "What exactly is it that makes me a poser?"

They looked at me in shock.

Emma asked, "How did you know...?"

Hailey poked her with her elbow and whispered, "Shut up."

"You two were just discussing that I am a poser and fake, right?" I asked.

"What exactly doesn't make you fake or a poser?" Hailey asked. "You went from nothing, and I do mean nothing, to popular and homecoming princess in one night. The only reason is that you got dressed up and had the hottest date in the place."

"Oh, you mean when I took that crown that you thought was going to be yours? I didn't ask for that. The people made their choice."
"I've worked hard to become popular," Hailey said. "For years, everyone has loved me and wanted to be me. You don't know anything about what real popularity takes."

"Everyone seems to like me well enough," I said. "I can barely get any space anymore, because everyone wants to talk to me and be my friend. I'm here by the lockers to get some air. It really does get to be too much at times."

I can't believe she's taunting me.

"You think I'm taunting you?" I asked, as her face went white. "I'm not taunting you. I'm only sharing facts."

"What are you talking about?" Emma asked.

There's no way that she's reading my mind.

"Oh but I am, Hailey. There really is a way, because it is happening."

Emma looked completely confused. Hailey looked like she might vomit, and her heart rate had increased significantly.

"You're some kind of freak," Hailey whispered.

"Is that all you have?" I asked. "Name calling?"

"I'll tell everyone what a freak you are," she said. "Then we'll see how popular you are."

"You think that people will believe you when you tell them that? They will think that you're the freak."

"Tell them what?" Emma demanded. "What are you two talking about?"

Hailey ignored her and tried to stare me down. "So tell me, where is your boyfriend? I haven't seen him around the entire time that you were gone. Did he figure out how pathetic you are and leave you? Is that the real reason that you were gone from school so long?"

It took every ounce of self-control I had not to attack her right there.

"He's traveling," I told her. "Don't try to change the subject."

"Get a life," she said. I'll get you later.

"When you do get me later, you had better stay away from my new car or you will regret it. I could overlook what you did to my old car but I won't overlook anything that happens to my new car."

"Emma, let's go," Hailey commanded. She grabbed Emma's arm and yanked her along as she stomped away.

As I watched them walk away, I knew without a doubt that they wouldn't leave me alone. I was sure that they would do something to me soon.

***

After school, Tanner was waiting for me at my car. "Nice plate. It's very clever: A Lexus, Alexis."

"That was my dad's idea," I told him. "But yeah, I like it too."

"So after a couple weeks, are you in need of some more blood?"

"You don't beat around the bush at all. Tell me what you're really here for."

"I see you're just as funny as ever. My football game is going downhill and I could use some help."

"Find yourself a dealer to get your fix," I told him. "I can't use you as my volunteer anymore. Your blood makes me feel things that I shouldn't. Cliff is my boyfriend, I love him very much and I can't allow anything to come between us."

"It doesn't have to. I'm not looking for a relationship. I just need the fix for my game."

"Your blood does something to me that I can't explain," I said. "That's why I did what I did last time."

He smiled. "You mean when you threw yourself at me?"

"Don't flatter yourself," I told him. "It was only because of your blood. That's the problem."

"Where are you going to get the blood that you need now?" he asked.

"I'll either hunt animals or raid a blood bank."

I thought his eyes would bulge out of his head. "Seriously?"

"Of course."

"That sounds like a lot of trouble, especially when you have a more than eager human volunteer. No chasing and no raiding."

"Hunting is actually quite a thrill," I informed him. "As for raiding the blood bank, I won't actually be the one to raid it. I'll be getting it from some other vamps."

"You've hunted? What did you hunt?"

"You sound pretty interested, Tanner. Maybe I'll have to take you with me sometime. So far, I've only hunted a coyote. But I let it get ahead of me so it would put up a fight. Next time, I'll probably try something a little more dangerous."

"I'm impressed, but not sure if I want to try it myself. You know, if you really like a good chase, I could make it a challenge to get my blood. It could be a lot of fun. I may not be able to outrun you, but I have more mental capabilities than a forest animal."

My heart began to race at the mention of hunting a human, but I didn't want to acknowledge that to myself, much less him. I needed to focus on getting Cliff back and showing him that he was the only one for me.

"I've got your number," I said. "But I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."

He smiled. "I'll hear from you soon enough, Alexis." He gave a slight wave and walked away.

***

I sat in my car, deciding what to do. I missed Cliff and wanted to talk to him so much that I ached. I didn't want to think about him and end up depressed for another two weeks. I couldn't keep my mind off of him.

Why had I kissed Tanner? What had overcome me? More than anything, I wanted to go back in time and take it back.

Something caught my eye. It was shining on the passenger side floor. I reached across and picked it up. It was a fancy men's watch. Who wore those anymore? Everyone checks the time with their cell phones. I wondered if my dad had dropped it, and then a memory flashed of Cliff wearing it one day.

I held it close to my chest and hugged it. It was the closest thing that I had to him, and I had no intention of ever letting it go.

Suddenly, it felt like the car started spinning. All I could see was a blur of colors. When everything stopped moving, I was standing in a hallway, in what appeared to be a log cabin. I wondered if I was really there, or if I was having some kind of a vision. I reached to my left and touched a coat hanging on a rack. It was soft and made of a slippery material. It felt very real.

I walked down the hall as quickly and as quietly as I could. I peeked into a room when I reached an open door. It was a bedroom and someone was sleeping in the bed. I tiptoed to the bed and Cliff was sleeping there. I stood there and just stared at him. I was too stunned to be able to think clearly. I couldn't decide whether I should wake him or let him sleep.

He started to roll around back and forth, looking like he was in anguish. "Why? Why would you do this to me?" he mumbled.

I jumped back, afraid that he had realized that I was there, but he was still sleeping. I held my breath as I continued to watch him.

"How could you break my heart like this?"

A tear rolled down my face. "I'm so sorry, Cliff. I'm so sorry."

His eyes opened. I was so surprised that I dropped the watch.

Suddenly, I was back in my car. The tears that had started in a mysterious cabin continued to flow in my car at Delphic Cove High.

After I had cried my last tear, I was filled with a determination to work on my powers and gifts. I couldn't get back to Cliff without his watch and I couldn't take back what I had done. But, I could do one thing. I decided to go and train myself to be better. That would be a lot better than doing nothing.

I drove to the forest to practice using my senses. There were a lot of unfamiliar sounds and I wanted to learn how to focus my senses and use them to their full potential. I had a strong feeling that I would need them, and I wanted to be prepared for anything that came my way.

It was a certainty that I would be the one to rid the world of the Moretti's, but I didn't know what that would entail. One thing that I knew was that I needed to learn how to use all of my gifts and abilities to their fullest extent.

I ran about two miles into the forest and climbed about half way up a tree. I sat quietly and listened, allowing the quieter sounds to fill my ears slowly as I tuned out the more obvious noises. Many strange noises filled my ears and I picked one that I would search out.

I tuned out every other sound to the point in which I felt I had nearly become one with the unfamiliar noise. I jumped out of the tree and landed soundlessly on the soft ground below. I walked in a near crouch in the direction of the sound.

I went around bushes, over fallen trees, under low branches and basically through an obstacle course until I had found the source of the sound. I found a little family of mice building a nest within a small crevice in a dead tree. I estimated that this was about a mile and a half from where I had originally heard the sound.

Satisfied that I had been successful, I decided to try my skills a couple more times. Both times, I heard something that was over a mile from where I started. I found a bird cleaning its feathers and a couple of weasels wrestling.

Then, I decided to do the same thing with my sense of smell. There were a lot of unfamiliar scents in the woods, and at first it was difficult to separate them out, especially while sitting in a tree that had hundreds of scents in it alone.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, taking in too many scents to count. I held onto the inhaled breath and focused in on a particular group of scents. Then I exhaled and took in another breath, focusing even deeper on that group of scents until I had narrowed in on one smell.

Without allowing myself to think, I went purely by instincts and followed the scent through the woods until I reached my destination. With my eyes closed, I traced the path of the scent that I was tracking. I opened my eyes when I knew that I was getting close, and found myself about twelve feet from a brown bear.

I jumped when I saw it, but quickly remembered that I was both faster and stronger than it, so then I had no fear. I thought about hunting it, but then I saw some cubs not too far away and decided to leave it alone. The cubs were pretty big, but I thought they still needed both parents.

I ran back in the direction that I had come from, and after a couple of miles, went up another tree to test my sense of smell again. I decided that it would be best to keep my eyes open this time.

I took in a deep breath and let thousands of different smells flood my nose. I focused in on a different group of scents this time.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and a cold sensation went up and down my back. I froze in place while all of my senses kicked into overdrive. Something or someone was watching me.

I readjusted myself on the branch while evaluating the situation through my senses. I had to decide quickly what to do. I could either sit where I was and see if whatever or whoever it was decided to move on, or I could act before it pursued me.

The hairs on my arm rose and my senses went into high alert again. This told me that I was being watched intently, and probably not by a passerby. I was going to have to run or fight.

I took in another deep breath to see if I could pick up a scent that didn't belong in the forest. I needed to at least know what I dealing with before I decided what to do.

Could it be another vampire? I knew very little about non-royals except that they were blood thirsty and liked to stay hidden. I hoped that it wasn't a werewolf, because I knew nothing about them except that someone had mentioned to me that they can kill vampires. I didn't know what I could do to defend myself against one, and they probably lived in the forests.

I didn't think that I could smell any type of wolf, but then again what did I know about the scent of a wolf? I also couldn't pick out any human smells.

Why hadn't I asked Brooke to teach me how to hunt and use my senses?

A chill ran down my spine again, and I could feel that whatever was watching me had moved closer. I listened for footsteps but didn't hear anything that was close by.

My instincts took over and before I knew it, I had jumped out of the tree and landed silently. I stood in a half crouch and felt my fangs grow inside my mouth. My heart was racing, but not from fear. I took in every sound, every sight, and every smell. I knew that I was being watched from my right and I spun around.

"I know you're there. Show yourself."

Silence.

"I said make yourself known."

Footsteps.

I turned slightly to my right again and saw a girl mostly behind a tree. I almost sighed in relief, but didn't dare let my guard down. I had no idea who she was or why she was so deep in the woods, alone.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

She stepped out from behind the tree and took a few steps toward me. She looked at me for a minute and then said, "I'm Clara."

"My cousin?"

She stepped closer and I looked at her intently. She was definitely beautiful enough to be a vampire. She walked soundlessly and I felt no threat coming from her.

"What are you doing out here in the woods?" I asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied. "I wanted to meet you before I officially became your human family's exchange student. You didn't make that easy at all."

"I didn't know that you were looking for me. I would have gladly met up with you somewhere a little less secluded. You could have called my cell."

She smiled. "That would be too easy, and so human. I see that you are testing your senses. I'm glad that you're not waiting around for others to teach you. Experience is the best teacher."

"It's pretty difficult to get any information out of anyone around here," I said. "They seem to forget that I know nothing about vampire life."

"You and I will be spending a lot of time together so I'm sure that I can fill you in," Clara said. "I'm also a bit older than the others, so I probably have a better understanding than they do. They are still learning, really, so it's not easy for them to teach. They probably don't realize it, but they're most likely waiting for you to teach them."

"Why would they do that?"

"You are their princess. It's your destiny to be the wisest and most powerful vampire. Their senses know this and it frustrates them that you don't know anything about being their leader. It's their place to take your orders, not to tell you what to do. It's definitely for the best that I'm here. Actually, the best would be for your parents to be here, but that will have to wait."

"When will I get to meet my parents? I've been searching to figure out who I really am and they are my missing piece. I understand a lot more knowing that I'm becoming a vampire, but something is still missing. Once I meet them, I think I will finally know who I am."

"Has it helped spending time with Cliff?" she asked.

"Haven't you heard about Cliff?"

"You mean that he's off hiding somewhere?" she asked, as if he was just playing hide and seek a few feet away. "He's fine. I have no doubt about that. He's a thinker anyway, so it doesn't surprise me."

I looked down at my feet. "I mean, don't you know what I did to him?"

"That you kissed that human volunteer that you were using? Yeah, I know about that. You're talking to a vampire who went through a really rebellious period. Believe me. I've done a lot worse than you will probably ever even think about doing."

"Then why were you sent here to be my warden?" I asked.

She laughed. "I'm no warden. I won't lock you up or tie you down. We come from a line of vampires who likes to learn things the hard way. You've undoubtedly heard about my father's rebellious ways. His brother, your father, went through a very defiant period himself. You'll have to ask him about that someday," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"But that doesn't make it okay that I betrayed Cliff," I said. "There is no excuse."

"Aww, look at you. You totally love him," she said with a smile. "Not that I really had any doubts. I saw you two together as kids, and you two had each other wrapped around your fingers. It was seriously the cutest thing I have ever seen. I can't wait to see you two together soon."

"You saw us kids and thought we were cute?" I asked, confused. "How old are you? You don't look like you could be any older than me."

"Didn't anyone tell you how slowly vampires age?" she asked. "We practically stop aging after the transformation. A seven hundred year old vampire won't look much older than twenty."

"So how old are you?"

"I would have to look at a calendar to know for sure," she said. "The years roll on by, and age just doesn't matter after a while. I'm about 238 years old."

"That is so cool. You look like you maybe just turned sixteen."

She flipped her hair and smiled. "I know. It's so much fun. It can be a lot of fun to toy with the humans."

I smiled. "It does sound like a lot of fun."

"I think that we're going to get along just fine. Listen, I've got to get over to Brooke's house, because the story is that I'm supposed to go there. Your human parents are going to meet me there and then take me in as their foreign exchange student."

"Sounds good," I said. "I need to get back anyway. Last time I took off, my parents got all bent out of shape."

"It's too bad that we can't just tell them that you're turning into a vampire. It would make things so much easier."

I laughed. "Yeah, but then we'd have a whole new set of problems."

"True, true. Okay, so when I meet your family, remember that we've never met. I'm sure you're used to keeping things quiet. I'm not, but I'll be fine. I haven't spent a lot of time with humans in the last twenty or thirty years. It's nice to see the styles have improved."

"I wouldn't know, but that sounds good, I'll meet you later."

She surprised me by giving me a huge hug.

"Wh...what was that for?" I asked.

"You're my little cousin and I haven't seen you since you were three. Cliff wasn't the only one who adored you. After you were born, I went to the castle as much as I could. I missed you terribly, and have been working with your parents to find the Moretti's. That's why I've been selected to be your 'warden' and trainer. I can't wait to finally get to spend some time with you and see what you're like now. I can see you haven't lost your spunk. See you at the Flemings'."

She ran off so fast that I almost didn't see her, which was odd because I could see the others when they ran. Perhaps it was something that improved with age or practice.

I was relieved that she was the vampire sent to watch and help me. She might just understand me, unlike everyone else.

I ran as fast as I could back to my car, grateful that I could find my way with these new senses. Without them, I would surely be lost before I was fifty feet into the woods.

When I got back to my car, I saw a bunch of missed call notices from my parents. Not wanting to deal with my mom, I called my dad back.

"Why do you make yourself so difficult to reach?" he asked.

"I went for a run to clear my head again," I told him. It was kind of true.

"We're supposed to pick up Clara in about a half an hour at the Flemings' house. Why don't you meet us there? We want at least one of you girls with us to meet her. Natalie is at practice and can't get away."

"Okay, I'll see you there in about a half an hour."

***

When I pulled into the driveway, my parents were waiting in their car. I got out of mine and tapped on the window to let them know that I was there.

"I'm glad you'll be able to be here to meet her," my mom said. "It would probably be awkward for her if it was just your dad and I picking her up."

"I wouldn't miss it," I said.

We rang the doorbell and Brooke answered with a smile. "I'm so glad that you guys could take Clara in for us. My parents are traveling, but they thank you very much. They regret that they can't be here to fulfill their duty as host parents."

"It worked out," my mom said. "I have always wanted to have a foreign exchange student, and with Alexis and Natalie getting along so well these days, the timing couldn't have been better."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Mom. Let's go in and meet Clara. I can't wait to see what she's like."

Brooke gave me a look that told me she could tell I was putting on a show.

As we walked in, Clara stood up from where she was sitting and said, "Hello. You must be Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson. It's a pleasure to meet you."

My mom smiled and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Clara. This is our daughter, Alexis."

"Hello, Alexis. It's very lovely to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too," I said.

"We have a special dinner planned for tonight," my mom said.

"Speaking of which," my dad said, "we need to go pick it up. Clara, would you mind riding home with Alexis?"

"That sounds wonderful," she said. "We can get acquainted."

"Alexis, make sure that you get home by 6:30 please," my mom said. "Pay attention to the clock and don't be late. I don't want it to get cold waiting."

"Sure thing," I said. "See you then."

"Clara told us about you two meeting in the woods," Steve said after my parents had left.

"She surprised me, but I could sense her presence."

"Were you hunting?" he asked.

"Not this time," I said. "I was testing out my senses so that I know how to use them more effectively. I know that I'll need them when I have to fight the Moretti's someday. I can't start preparing too early."

"That's the truth," Clara replied. "Those guys are fierce and they grow more powerful each year."

"Have you seen them?" I asked.

"Oh yeah. They love Europe and they make their way over to England pretty frequently. They love to start fights with vampires to show off how strong they are. If they weren't so evil and trying to wipe out our family line, it would be very entertaining to watch them."

"Wonderful," I mumbled.

"Don't worry, Alexis. You will defeat them and that is a show that I hope I don't miss."

"If they're so powerful, how will I ever defeat them?" I asked.

"All of your gifts and talents will have matured by then," Clara said. "I will be here to give you some real training in the meantime. You can still go and play in the woods if you want, but I promise you some real instruction. Don't forget that Cliff will be fighting beside you."

"I thought that the prophecy was that I was to be the one to defeat them?" I asked.

"You will ultimately be the one to win the battle against them, but Cliff will be there fighting alongside you. It's not known exactly how that will come about, but it will."

"Hopefully, Cliff won't be mad at me then."

"I'm sure he's not mad at you now. I've seen him many times since you've been living with the humans, and he has been miserable the entire time," Clara said. "That boy loves you, and he has a bigger purpose for his absence than to drive you nuts." She winked at me.

I couldn't help but smile.

"Okay, so is there any blood in this house?" Clara asked. "It's been a long day for me, starting halfway across the globe. I need a glass."

"I'll go get some," Brooke said. "Who else wants some?"

"I'll have some," I said.

"Me too," Steve said.

"Four bags coming up," Brooke said, and went to the kitchen.

"You guys just keep that stuff in the kitchen?" I asked. "That's so weird."

"Were else would they keep food?" Clara asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

Brooke came out juggling four wine glasses and we each took one from her before any spilled.

I sipped mine and nearly spit it out. "What is wrong with this stuff?"

Clara laughed.

"What's so funny?" I demanded.

"The bagged stuff takes some getting used to," she replied. "It's definitely not the same as the fresh stuff."

"No, it's not. It's horribly stale. How can you guys stand it?"

"It beats going out and needing to hunt humans like some animal," Steve said.

"I'm no animal."

"They've never had the fresh stuff, Alexis," Clara told me. "It's part of being raised with the royals."

"Is that part of the exposure process? One drop of this nasty stuff at a time?" I asked.

"That's how it's done at the castle," Steve said. "By order of your parents."

"Is there anything that can be done about this taste? Please tell me there is."

"You can either just get used to it or you can add wine," Clara told me. "Sometimes the wine helps to bring out the fresh flavor."

"Can I have some wine with this blood, please?" I begged.

"No," Brooke said. "You need to get used to this stuff. If we give you wine, you'll start craving the fresh stuff and we need to get you off of it."

I looked at Clara for some help.

We'll go hunting, don't worry.

I sighed with relief and grew excited about my new warden.

"It's our job to protect you," Steve said. "You think we're just killjoys but it's for your own good."

"It's up to us to follow the orders and wishes of your parents," Brooke added.

"I understand," I said, and took another sip of that nasty drink.

Clara winked at me.

Chapter Seventeen

"That dinner was delicious. Thank you so much," Clara said to my parents.

"We're so glad to have you here and we want you to feel welcome," my mom said.

"Oh I do, this is fantastic. Can I help you clean up?"

My mom smiled. "You are so polite and sweet. No, I just want you to go and have some fun with the girls. Do each other's makeup or nails."

"Let's do our nails," Natalie said. "I just bought a bunch of new colors."

We ran upstairs like a bunch of silly kindergartners. When we got to Natalie's room, she closed the door and then stared the two of us down.

"Okay, I know that something's up. Why don't you tell me what it is?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Clara asked.

"You two are hiding something. I can tell. Spill it."

Clara and I looked at each other. I said, "You caught us, Natalie. She's my biological cousin."

"It's true," Clara said. "Our fathers are brothers. Twin brothers."

"Twins?" I exclaimed. "I didn't know that."

"How did you two find each other? Are you part of the mob too?"

Clara looked completely confused.

"Natalie, we're not from the mob," I said. "I don't know where you got that idea from, but my family is not the mafia."

"You two so need to fill me in. But first, we need to do our nails before our parents suspect anything."

"Our family has deep roots in Europe," Clara said. "Our family line goes back thousands of years and we are a part of royalty. Alexis was stolen as a toddler and placed with your family. Your parents have had their memories changed with a strong spell that won't be easily broken. That's why they refuse to believe that Alexis isn't their daughter."

"That is so intense" Natalie breathed. "So are you here to try to get Alexis back?"

"No, she'll come back soon enough on her own. I'm here to help her get to know her roots, and to make sure that she's safe from the people that ordered her death. They thought that she was dead, but have recently discovered that she isn't."

"Seriously?"

"It sounds too crazy to be true, I know," Clara said.

"Not really," Natalie said. "I've seen her in action. I knew that something really big was up."

"You saw her in action? What does that mean?"

"My boyfriend was treating me badly and we didn't know that Alexis could hear us. She swooped in out of nowhere and threatened him. I thought he was going to pee his pants," she giggled. "He's also been a lot nicer to me since then."

"That's good to know," I said. "If that stops, be sure to let me know."

***

The next day, Clara stayed home to rest while Natalie and I went to school. Clara was jet-lagged and not ready to jump into high school. Not that I blamed her. I hoped that she was ready for modern day school. I didn't know how a 238 year old vampire would do in a school full of immature high school kids.

When I walked to my locker, I noticed that people weren't clamoring for my attention. I was glad for the space, but it struck me as very unusual.

After I got my books from my locker, I paid more attention to how people were acting when I walked by. I noticed stares and whispers.

I thought that I was imagining it, but the same thing happened the entire distance from my locker to my first class. As I walked by, people standing alone stared at me and kids in pairs and groups whispered to each other. I was definitely not imagining it.

I was beginning to feel self-conscious until I got to my honors class where nobody seemed to act any differently toward me. They ignored me, the curve-killer, as usual.

As the day went on, the stares and whispers in the halls turned into pointing and laughing.

"What is going on around here?" I asked Amanda at lunch.

She started twirling her hair and looking down at her shoes. "What do you mean?"

"You're the world's worst liar," I told her. "Just tell me what's going on."

She dug her toes into the floor and let go of her hair. "People are saying stuff."

I raised an eyebrow. "What kind of stuff?"

She began playing with her glasses and continued to look away from me. "They're saying some things about you."

I sighed. "What kinds of things are they saying?"

Twisting her hair again, she said, "Things that aren't nice."

My mind raced with thoughts of what could have been said about me. Did everyone know that I was vampire? Did I think that I was going to attack them?

"Amanda, you are doing me no favors by holding out on me. Tell me what they are saying about me."

Her heart was beating extremely fast and the smell of her blood came to my nose. It was as if her fear was romancing me.

"If you care about me at all, just tell me," I exploded. I did not want to be tempted to bite into her again.

People turned to stare at us. I didn't care because that's what they had been doing to me all day.

She looked into my eyes. "Everyone is saying that Cliff left because you gave him an STD."

I felt like I had been slapped in the face. "They are saying what? That's ridiculous."

Amanda looked down. "I know, right?"

"What do you mean by that?" I demanded. "It sounds like you don't you believe me."

"Of course I do," she mumbled.

"You don't sound so sure of yourself," I accused her.

"I know it's not true," she said, looking at me.

I stared at her. "Why don't I believe you?"

"I do know it's not true." She looked away again. "But I did ask Brooke about it last night."

"Hold it. Wait just a minute." My head was spinning with all of this crazy new information. "You didn't believe it, so you called Brooke? Why didn't you just call me? Or believe in me? Also, how is it possible that you all knew about this last night and nobody bothered to give me any kind of heads up before I got to school this morning? What kind of friends do I have?"

"I'm sorry, Alexis."

"How could you do this to me, Amanda? Emma betrayed us and now you do this to me."

"I know. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

"How could you even question the notion that I could have given him any kind of STD?" I whispered. I didn't want anyone with itching ears to listen in on our conversation. "You know that I've never even kissed anyone. How exactly would I have contracted something to give him?"

"I know, I know."

"I can't believe that you went to Brooke before you even came to me. I wouldn't do that to you. I would have believed you over some rumor and then I would have told you about the rumor."

She just looked at me without saying anything.

"At least now I know why people are acting like this. Thanks for telling me that much at least." I got up and stormed out of the cafeteria, ignoring the pointing and whispering.

I passed by Emma and Hailey walking down the hall. They both smirked at me and I put it all together. They had done this to me.

I turned around and stood in front of them and glared at them.

"Are you having a nice day?" Hailey asked, stifling a giggle.

"You've made a mistake messing with me."

"You can talk to me about it after your condition clears up." She and Emma burst into a fit of giggles.

"I'll get the last laugh. Enjoy it now while it lasts."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Have fun at the clinic."

As they walked away laughing at me, I whispered that Hailey should sleep with her eyes open tonight.

Hailey turned around, "What did you say to me?"

I was shocked that she heard my whisper, but I didn't let it show on my face. I made a mental note to be careful when whispering to someone, no matter how far away they were.

"You were fifty feet away from me, Hailey. I didn't say anything."

"I heard you say that I should sleep with my eyes open."

"Are you kidding me?" I asked. "Did anyone else hear me say that?" I asked the nosy onlookers.

A few people said no.

"Why don't you go and mind your own business? Stop talking before people think that you're losing your mind."

She flipped her hair and said, "You're the crazy one. That's what STD's do to people." She turned around and walked away.

"You'd really better make sure that you sleep with your eyes open. Better yet stay awake all night," I whispered.

She turned around again. "I heard that. Didn't anyone else hear what she said? She's threatening me."

"You're nuts, Hailey," one kid said, laughing.

Emma grabbed Hailey's arm. "Let's go. Now."

"I'll see you tonight, Hailey," I whispered.

She turned around and yelled, "Stop it."

I gave her an innocent look and asked, "What would you like me to stop doing?" It took a lot of self-control not to start laughing. "You obviously have a very active imagination. Very active."

"You're a freak." She glared at me. "A total freak."

"At least I'm not hearing voices. See you around."

***

As I was walking from my last class to my locker, people were not only staring and whispering but they started throwing wadded pieces of paper at me.

I was amazed at how quickly people could turn from one extreme to the next. It was similar to how I had been invisible for so long, and then suddenly everyone wanted to be my friend.

More than anything, I wanted to use my vampire powers and either run away so fast that they would barely see me, or to show them what it feels like to really get picked on. I only looked ahead and walked out of the school as fast as I could.

Once again, Tanner was waiting for me at my car.

"Rough day?" he asked.

I ignored him. "You really want a ride in this car, don't you?"

He smiled. "I wouldn't turn that down. Want to go somewhere and talk?"

I sighed. "Aren't you afraid that I will give you an STD?"

"Hailey Adams is an idiot. I told her as much last night when she started spreading that rumor at the volleyball game."

"She started that at the volleyball game?" I asked. "Did the players hear about that too?"

"Everyone did," he said. "She spread that rumor as fast and as far as she could. I stood up for you, but she and her goons just ignored me."

Natalie knew about this and didn't mention it to me. I was really discovering who I could really trust. "Thanks for standing up for me. I know you didn't have to do that."

He shrugged his shoulders. "It was the least I could do for you. Do you want to grab some coffee and talk?"

I sighed. "Sure. I could definitely use a friend right now. Climb in."

"This car is awesome," he exclaimed as I was driving away from the school. "These seats are so comfortable. It wouldn't be so bad to take a road trip in this."

"It's definitely a luxury car," I said. "It's nicer than some houses I've been in."

"Hey, you just drove by the coffee shop. You have other plans than coffee?"

"Don't get so excited," I told him. "I'm not going to drink your blood. I just want to go to a coffee shop out of town so that we don't run into anyone from school. I can't deal with that right now."

"Oh," he pouted. "Well, I can understand that. People at school have no lives, so they have to talk trash about someone else to bring some excitement into their pathetic lives."

"No lives and no conscience," I added. "I would never treat anyone the way that I've been treated. I will make an exception for the ones responsible for starting this rumor, though."

"Didn't Emma used to be your friend?" he asked.

"She and Amanda were my best friends. The only thing that ever came between us was my studies, because I refused to get anything less than an A."

"What happened? Why did she decide to buddy up with Hailey?"

I explained the whole complicated mess, and by the time that I had finished we had pulled up to a coffee shop in the next town.

"I've never heard of this coffee house," he said. "Have you been here before?"

"My dad used to take me here when I was a little younger. It was our place to get away from everything for a little while."

"Sounds like the perfect place."

When we were ready to order, he bought my drink. "You didn't have to do that."

"No, but I thought that after the day you had, it would be a nice thing to do."

"Thanks, Tanner."

We sat down the back at a table that my dad and I had sat at many times before. It was my favorite spot; it felt hidden from the world.

We sat quietly sipping our flavored coffees for a little while before he spoke. "So today was pretty rough, huh?"

I sipped on my coffee a little more and then said, "It was awful. There is no truth behind the rumor, yet everyone sucked it up as truth. Nobody had any problem pointing at me or whispering, but not a single person even asked me about it. Not even my supposed best friend."

"Amanda?"

"Yeah. When I asked her what was going on with everyone, she wouldn't even look at me, and I pretty much had to force the information out of her. She didn't even ask me about it when she heard about it. She went and called Brooke to find out if it was true. Can you believe that?"

"When things like this happen, you find out who your true friends are."

"How would you know about that?" I demanded.

"Don't you remember the rumor that went around about me last year?" he asked.

I thought for a minute. "No. But then again, if it wasn't part of my homework I didn't pay any attention to it. I guess that's why I didn't have any problems in my classes today, because all of us honors kids are like that."

"Be glad about that," he said. "It's much worse to have those people in your classes. They whisper about you loud enough to distract you during class. They throw things at you, write on the back of your shirt, and trip you as you get out of your seat."

"That's horrible. Some people were throwing things at me in the halls after school, but at least I was left alone during class to keep my focus."

"Who threw stuff at you?" he demanded.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does matter and I will deal with them."

"Don't forget that I'm a vampire, Tanner. If I wanted to get back at them, I could and I would. Believe me when I say that Hailey is going to get the scare of her life tonight."

He smiled. "What do you have planned for her?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow. Unless she tries to tell everyone about it first, but if she does that, they will all think she's lost her mind."

"Then everyone's focus will be on her and not you."

"So, what was the rumor that went around about you?" I asked. "If you don't mind talking about it."

"I don't mind. A guy at school accused me of making moves on his girlfriend. I wasn't. When I told him that I had my own girlfriend and had no interest in his, he punched me. I ended up showing him I was stronger. He went and told everyone that I made a move on him."

"No way. He said you were gay? You?"

He smiled. "Yep, and everyone ate it up, just like they're eating up the rumor about you. Even my so-called friends turned on me. I couldn't get dressed in the locker room. Everyone accused me of looking at their goods, even though I totally wasn't. People called me every name that you could think of. Some tried to get violent with me but I was extra strong, full of Samantha's venom, so it wasn't long before everyone was afraid of me. The rumors died down and my new reputation became arrogant jerk. They've all forgotten about me supposedly being gay."

"Did you tell Samantha what you were going through?"

"No way. She would have started taking people out, and I didn't need anyone thinking that it was me. I liked her, but I wasn't going to jail. I kept it to myself and used her venom to help me fight my harassers."

"What's wrong with these people? I don't care about all of this popularity stuff," I told him. "I really don't. I would take being invisible again any day if it meant that I didn't have to deal with these stupid games. I have no interest in dragging other people down so that I can be on top. That is so pathetic."

"It really is," he agreed. "Yet so many people fall for all of this hook, line and sinker."

"They don't even think. I mean really, if I go back to being popular in a week, do they think that I will have forgotten how they treated me? That I won't remember the stares, whispers and everything else?"

"That's just it, they're not thinking about anything beyond the end of their noses. Nobody is thinking about tomorrow or next week. By then, they'll have forgotten about it so they will expect that you have too."

"Do they think that we don't have any feelings?" I asked.

"What I figured out is that they are so self-absorbed they don't think that anyone else has feelings besides themselves."

Tears sprang to my eyes and I tried to blink them back but it didn't work. They fell to my cheeks and down my face. "I'm sorry," I said, wiping them away.

"Don't be. I know how hurtful it is," he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "We have to act tough or they'll rip us to shreds. Most people think that I'm a conceited bully, but you know what? They don't mess with me. I'd rather have people afraid to mess with me than have people pretending to be my friend only to turn on me later."

I leaned my head into his shoulder and let the tears flow freely.

He kept his arm around me and said, "Let it all out now so that you can be strong tomorrow."

I cried for a few more minutes and then sat up right. "Thanks, Tanner. I didn't realize how much I needed to cry. It really hurt to have everyone treating me like that today."

"I know how it feels," he reminded me. "I would go home and cry too when that rumor was going around about me. But don't tell anyone!"

I smiled. "Your secret is safe with me. Besides, you already know my biggest secret."

"That's true. It looks like we're even."

"I would hardly call that even. You know that I'm turning into a vampire and I know that you cried." I smiled.

"I'm a football player who's known for being tough," he said. "Believe me. It's even."

"If you say so."

We talked for a while longer until it started to get dark. "I'd better get back," he said. "It's my night to make dinner."

"You make dinner?" I asked. "I wouldn't even know how to."

He leaned back in his chair. "There are many facets to me. I'm not just a big dumb jock."

"What kinds of food do you make for dinner? Why doesn't your mom make dinner?"

"I make easy stuff like spaghetti and casseroles because my dad took off a few years ago and my mom has to work late a few nights a week," he told me. "Those nights, I make dinner for my little brother and me."

"Seriously?" I asked. "I have never made dinner and I can't image spaghetti or casseroles being easy. They sound so complicated to make."

"I can teach you sometime. It really is very easy, especially since I don't bother with any meats unless my mom precooks it."

"How old is your brother?"

"He's fourteen, which is why I should get back before it gets dark. He can pretty much take care of himself and he certainly thinks he's a tough guy, but I like to be there before dark when I can."

"Wow, you're really different than I thought. Be careful or you'll have all the girls chasing after you."

"Trust me, that's the last thing that I want. Most of the girls at school are so stuck up and shallow that I don't want anything to do with them. Letting them think that I'm a stuck up jerk is a gift to myself," he said, standing up.

"You're really something." I was honestly impressed.

As we drove back to the school, I told him about my plans for Hailey that night. He couldn't wait to hear how it went.

I smiled and said, "It will be exactly what she has coming."

It wasn't until after I had dropped him off at his car that I realized he didn't even bring up me drinking his blood. The few times that I heard some of his thoughts it wasn't there either.

Chapter Eighteen

When I got home, everyone else was sitting at the table eating dinner. I received what was becoming the normal lecture about not telling anyone where I was going and when I was going to be late.

"Apparently not telling people things runs in this family," I said, glaring at Natalie.

"What?" she asked.

"How dare you ask me what, as if you don't know what I'm talking about? We can talk privately after dinner," I told her.

"Alexis, leave your sister alone and sit down for dinner with us," my mom said.

"I can't believe that you're playing dumb about all of this," I hissed at Natalie as I sat down.

"Alexis," said my dad. "Would you please act appropriately for our guest?"

"I thought that Clara was here to experience being part of an American family," I said. "Besides, I'm sure that she's seen people argue before. I bet people stab each other in the back in England too."

"Alexis," my mom said.

"Fine, I'll stop. But Natalie and I will talk after dinner."

"Thank you," she said. "I just want to be able to show Clara that we can have a nice family dinner."

"Don't worry about me, Mrs. Ferguson," Clara said. "I have a sister too. It's not a big deal."

After dinner, I cornered Natalie in her room and closed her door.

"Do you mind telling me what all of this is about?" she demanded.

"Why don't you tell me why you stabbed me in the back?"

"How on earth did I stab you in the back? I've done nothing to you."

"Doing nothing is just another way of stabbing someone in the back."

"What are you talking about, Alexis? Fill me in because I'm completely lost."

"How could you be at school all day and pretend to be clueless?" I demanded. "Or even be at the volleyball game last night and pretend to be clueless?"

Her face went white and she whispered, "Alexis, I wasn't at school today and I snuck out early from the game. Whatever happened, I wasn't there. Don't tell mom and dad."

"Telling them about you skipping school is the least of my concerns," I told her.

"What is your concern? It must be pretty big to have you accusing me of stabbing you in the back!"

I backed up just a little bit and said, "Last night at your game, Hailey and Emma started a rumor that Cliff took off because I gave him an STD. Everyone was talking about it, and Tanner Monroe was the only person who believed in me and tried to stop the rumor. When I was at school today, everyone treated me like a piece of trash. I even had stuff thrown at me and nobody will talk to me."

"Alexis, that's terrible. If I were there last night, I would have tried to stop them too. I'm sorry that I wasn't there or at school today."

"I'll be fine. I'm pretty sure that I can convince Hailey to tell people that she made it all up. What was so important that you left your game early and skipped school today?"

She sighed. "I was with Braydon."

"What? He's got you skipping school and practice?" I asked.

"You're one to talk about missing school."

"I had a perfect attendance record before that. From kindergarten to the eleventh grade, with no absences. I don't want to hear that. You're just trying to change the subject. Why did you skip? Tell me or I will tell Mom and Dad."

"You wouldn't."

"If I think that you might be in trouble, telling them would be the right thing to do," I told her.

"Oh, you are so annoying. You may be popular but you're still a goody-goody."

"Just tell me what you did," I said. "There's no point in beating around the bush. I'll just read your mind later and find out if you don't tell me."

"You are seriously the world's most annoying sister, ever. We were just hanging out."

"Hanging out, doing what?"

"Leave me alone, Alexis."

"No, I won't. If he was doing anything to hurt you in any way, I'm going to hunt him down and kick his sorry butt!"

"We were smoking. Happy now? We were smoking pot."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because it was fun."

"You could put your volleyball scholarship in jeopardy. Why risk it?"

"I'm not going to college anyway. What's the point?"

"Why wouldn't you go to college? You want to get a good education."

"No, Alexis. That's you. You're the one who is unnaturally obsessed with having an education. I just want to enjoy life."

"Just leave room for the opportunity. You may change your mind and besides, playing volleyball in college would be a lot of fun. You could join a sorority and have tons of fun in college."

She rolled her eyes at me. "I'll think about it."

"If Braydon ever does anything to hurt you in any way ever, I want you to tell me. I will seriously make him regret it."

"Only if I can watch." she giggled.

"And no more skipping school. That's not the same as having a parent excuse it like I did."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, and picked up her phone and started texting someone.

When I got to my room, Clara was in there waiting for me. "So your friend spread some rumor about you?"

"You were listening in?" I asked, not surprised.

"You're not the only one with good hearing," she said with a smile.

"For one thing, she's not my friend. She has made herself my arch enemy at school, and she wants nothing more than to bring me down. But tonight, it will be me bringing her down."

"What's your plan?"

"I'm going to give her the scare of her life tonight. I told her to sleep with her eyes open and she's going to wish that she had."

"Sounds like fun." Clara winked. "Want some help?"

"I'm going to handle this myself, but I could use an alibi just in case. Say that we were up talking and giggling or something."

"I'll come up with something great," she said. "It's not my first time being someone's alibi."

"That really doesn't surprise me," I smiled. "It's going to be a lot of fun having you around."

"Do you want to discuss the plan with me so that I can make sure that there are no holes in it? I've been through a lot of plan-making and I can help you out."

"That doesn't surprise me either." I laughed. "I'd love your help."

***

I quickly shut my alarm off and sat up. It was three in the morning and I was going to go pay Hailey a visit. I was already dressed in the black outfit that I had picked out and I was eager to get going.

I jumped out of bed silently and stepped around Clara who was sleeping on the floor. I leaned against my wall, and within seconds was sitting in the tree outside my room. I could feel the cold breeze but it didn't bother me. I had no coat and didn't need one. The one I used during the day was only for show, so that nobody would suspect anything.

I landed on the ground effortlessly and ran the few miles to Hailey's house in a matter of seconds. At the edge of the property, I found the power box and shut it off, hoping that would kill any security system that they had. I had on a black cotton ski mask just in case, only my eyes and mouth were exposed.

I ran around to the back of the house where the bedrooms would be. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness even before I had reached the house so I easily spotted the pink curtains that announced the location of her room. I knew that she only had brothers, so that was definitely her room.

Looking at the side of the house, I saw that there was not much in the way of things to climb. I had not practiced jumping up, but I decided to see how well that would work for me. I crouched down and imagined myself jumping to the ledge of her window. I jumped and seemed to glide through the air, and I easily grabbed the ledge and went through the wall.

I quickly looked around the room. It was pitch black, indicating no power or security camera. I saw her sleeping in her bed and took a deep breath. I thought back to the rumor that she started about me and how everyone had treated me as a result.

I was next to her bed in a split second. I grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her out of bed and shoved her against the wall.

She shook her head and blinked her eyes. "What? What's going on? Connor, is that you?" she murmured.

"So you think it's funny to ruin people's lives?" I hissed.

Her eyes popped wide open. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"I'm your worst nightmare," I told her. "Only you can't wake up from this."

She started to open her mouth and I could hear her voice box prepare to scream. I quickly covered her mouth with my hand. "If you scream, I guarantee it will be your last."

Her heart rate increased significantly and I could smell her fear. It smelled delicious.

"Why is it that you think you can ruin people's lives without any recourse?" I asked, doubting that she even knew what recourse meant.

"Is that you, Alexis? How did you get in here? Let go of me." She struggled to get free and I used my strength to pin her to the wall with only one arm. "How are you so strong?" she grunted as she continued to struggle against me.

"To take care of the scum of the earth. You can fight me all you want, but you will get tired and I won't. I have a message for you and I want you to listen very carefully. Do you understand me?"

She didn't answer.

"I asked you a question. Do you understand me?"

"Fine, I'll listen, but I'm not doing anything that you say."

"I've shown you that I'm much stronger than you and you refuse to do what I say?" My anger was really starting to rise. I used the force of my one arm to pin her to the wall even more tightly.

She gasped a little but didn't get any words out.

"That's what I thought," I said. "Now listen to me very carefully. When you get back to school, you are going to tell everyone that you made what you said about me. You're going to tell them that there is no truth behind the story that you made up. A public apology would be nice...but not necessary. Just fix my reputation and make sure that everyone knows what a liar you are."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Does it seem like I'm kidding you? Would I really go to all the effort of coming over here just to play games?"

She straightened up and said, "There's no way that I'm going to tell everyone that I lied. I would never live that down!"

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you spread vicious lies!" I bit into her neck just enough to draw a tiny bit of blood.

"What the heck?"

"A little warning to do what I say."

"You're crazy," she said, wiping at her blood.

"You still won't agree to fix what you ruined?" I asked.

"No way. I told you that I'm not telling everyone that I lied."

"But you did lie. You didn't just tell a little white lie to get yourself out of trouble. No, you went to a volleyball game where you knew a lot of people would be and you purposefully started a lie about someone who wasn't even there to defend herself. Even when someone tried to stop you, you refused. Then you gloated when everyone treated me horribly because of the lie that you started. You started this, and you need to fix it."

"You are freaking crazy." Her heart was pounding, and I could still smell the fear despite her show of confidence.

I bit into her again and this time, I drank up some blood. She tried to fight me, but I was able to hold down her hands with mine very easily.

"Will you fix the situation now?"

"I didn't do anything wrong," she hissed. "You stole my crown. I have worked very hard to become and stay popular and you, you little bookworm, just came in like you owned the place and stole it from me."

"Really?" I asked. "I stole it? Isn't the truth that our classmates voted for me over you? I didn't even want it."

"Whatever. I don't care how it happened. It was rightfully mine. You have to pay for that. You didn't work for it like I did."

I bit into her again and drank up more blood until the flow started to slow. "What do you think, Hailey? Do we have a deal?"

"Go to hell."

I leaned down and drank even more blood. Her heart continued to pound and the fear become stronger. "Do we have a deal now?"

"Why...are you doing this...to me?" She was starting to get weak.

"Because you are a liar who enjoys destroying the lives of others." I looked into her eyes, "You will tell everyone at school that you lied."

She glared at me.

"Got it?"

She spit in my face and I immediately went in for her neck taking in as much blood as I could. I could feel her pulse weaken and I stopped. She appeared to have passed out, but I wasn't going to make any assumptions. It was still possible that she was faking to catch me off guard. I took her pulse and could tell that she'd be fine, albeit a little weak. All of my training from the CSI club was going to come in handier than I ever thought before. I laid her on her bed.

I looked at all of the marks on her neck and knew I'd have to lick them to get them to heal and remove the evidence. I licked them quickly and watched them heal before my eyes.

I hoped that she would still be scared when she woke up, so that she would go to school and tell everyone what a liar she was.

I slipped through the wall, sat against the ledge under the window and then jumped down to the ground. I ran to the edge of the property to turn the power back on and then ran back home to my bedroom.

As I was climbing into my own bed, Clara rolled over and asked, "How did it go?"

"I was in and out undetected, but I don't know if she'll make things right or not. She refused to tell the truth right up until she passed out."

"Really?" Clara asked. "It sounds like she might be a tough nut to crack. You might need my help after all."

"I might, but hopefully I got through to her."

***

When I got to school, I didn't expect that Hailey would have had the time to spread the word already, so I braced myself for more immature and hurtful behavior. But I hoped that by the end of the day, things would be different.

When I walked in, people stared at me and pointed. I pretended that I didn't notice and walked to my locker with my head held high.

After I got the books that I needed out of my locker, I started walking towards my first class and I felt something hard hit my head. I resisted the temptation to turn around to see who had thrown it.

I felt something else hit the back of my head. This time it felt like a quarter and I was pretty sure that it would leave a mark. I picked up my pace, eager to get to my class and grateful that the honors kids didn't care about stupid rumors.

"Hey whore," someone called out.

"Did you find someone new to infect?" someone else shouted.

Anger and humiliation began to rise from the pit of my stomach all the way up to my head. Part of me wanted to run and hide, while the other part wanted to attack. I felt my fangs grow.

"Won't you even stand up for yourself? Or is everything true?"

I turned around. "Of course it's not true. It's all lies."

The hallway erupted in laughter and my face flushed.

"Aren't you the same people who would whisper that I was virgin?" I exclaimed.

"Virgin whore," someone called.

Everyone laughed again.

"Virgin whore," someone else shouted.

"Are you people really this ignorant?" I asked in disbelief.

"Virgin whore," several people shouted while everyone else laughed.

I could see that this was going absolutely nowhere except downhill. I started running as fast as I could, while still appearing human. I wished that I could run at full speed.

Once in my seat, I slouched down as low as I could. I was trying desperately not to cry. I wanted to be able to turn my feelings off, but the transformation only made them magnified.

In the past when people had picked on me, I usually felt some degree of hurt, but not like I was feeling right then. My desire to climb back into my bed for two weeks was back and I didn't know how much longer I could keep the tears at bay.

By the time that lunch came around, I had been hit by several more objects and called other names. I tried to sneak out to my car unnoticed, but I could sense someone following me.

I sighed and braced myself when I stopped to open the door.

"Are you leaving?"

I turned around ready to say something harsh, but felt better when I saw Tanner walking towards me.

"You look like you could use a friend," he said.

The tears spilled out and wouldn't stop. I was grateful that Brooke had told me to always use waterproof makeup in the cold months, because you never knew when it was going to rain.

He wrapped his arms around me and I sobbed into his chest.

"Those people are cruel," he said. "I heard what they were saying. I told them that Hailey is nothing more than a jealous liar, but all they want to hear is something juicier than that."

"Why are they so mean?" I asked, still crying. "I didn't do anything to them."

"You don't have to. I didn't have to. They feel more powerful when they can pick on someone else."

"How do you know all of this? How they feel and everything, I mean."

He sighed. "I've been to some counseling, and my counselor helped me to understand their mentality."

I looked up at him. "They were so mean to you that you had to go to counseling?"

"Oh no, it was nothing like that. I was in there because I was having a hard time with my dad taking off. I blamed myself and my mom was worried about me. I just happened to be in counseling when those rumors went around about me."

"That's awful about your dad. I can't even imagine."

"I'm fine now and we're actually better off without him around. It just took me a while to figure it out. Enough about me. Were you planning on skipping school?"

"I wish," I said. "I can't miss another class or I'll be in trouble."

"That's right, I almost forgot about your vacation. Were you just going to sit in your car to get away from everyone?"

"Pretty much."

"Let's sit in there then. It's getting cold standing out here. Not that I'm complaining about having you in my arms," he said with a smile.

"I hadn't noticed the cold, and I left my coat in my locker. Let's climb in so that you don't get cold."

Once inside the car, I started it so that he could have the heat.

"Oh, I love the seat warmers," he said, reclining his seat back.

I reclined my seat as well and we sat in silence for a while.

"Did you end up going to Hailey's last night?" he asked me.

"I did, and she's one arrogant fool. Any normal person would have been shaking and begging for mercy. Not her. She was adamant that she had done no wrong and even spat in my face."

"Why does that not surprise me?" he asked, shaking his head. "You must have scared her more than she let on though. Did you know that she didn't come to school today?"

I looked at him. "I didn't know that. All of my classes are with the honors students. Obviously she isn't in any of those classes. That does explain why people seem to be worse today."

"I heard your sister telling people that the rumors are lies started by Hailey. Nobody wants to hear it. Maybe if I start pounding a few faces, people will stop."

"No. You'll just get in trouble and besides, people will start saying that I gave you an STD and you'll be in the line of fire too. It's best that you just stay out of it. You've already had rumors spread about you."

"I don't care what anyone says about me."

"I do," I told him. "Just let me fight my own battle. I don't want you getting dragged into it. You can keep being my friend and giving me support. That helps more than you know."

Chapter Ninteen

I was sitting with Clara in the living room and we were talking about how she wanted to train me. We were the only ones home, so it was a safe topic for the time being. She was discussing some techniques that she wanted me to understand before I tried them out.

The only problem was that I could not focus on what she was talking about. I was looking at her, saw her mouth moving, and I was aware of sounds coming out. But I was thinking about Tanner at his football practice. I wondered what he was doing at that exact moment. Maybe he was thinking about me too.

"Alexis."

I shook my head. "Sorry, Clara. I just can't focus."

"What has you so preoccupied?" she asked.

"You know what I'm going through at school," I said. "How can you ask what I'm thinking about? Speaking of school, when are you going to start?"

She smiled. "I'm taking full advantage of the jet lag. Your parents agreed to let me start after the weekend."

"Ugh. I have to go the rest of the week getting hit with objects while walking down the hall. You know, people will probably leave me alone if you're with me. You're a weasel."

She laughed. "A weasel? I hear you missed a lot more school than a few days. Actually, weasels are very useful creatures. Did you know that at Buckingham Palace, they used ferrets to get the wiring in through the walls?"

"That's superb. And yes, I did know that," I said. "So you're making yourself useful around here while I'm suffering in school?"

"Actually, I am. I'm helping your mom get some things done around here. I get the feeling that she gets a little lonely during the days."

"That's not surprising," I said. "Spending all of my time in a house is not my idea of fun. That's one reason that I've worked so hard all of my life to do so well in school. I've always wanted an exciting career. I had no idea what exciting career is actually in store for me though."

"Exciting it is going to be. Your parents are so busy running the kingdom. They travel all of the time. Have you heard about their current trip?"

"Vaguely, nobody is in the habit of informing about much around here."

"They are in Europe going through several countries, dealing with issues that have arisen there. In many ways they serve as judges, because they have to solve disputes that the local leaders can't handle on their own."

"Really?" I asked. "Will I get to do things like that? One of the many things that I've always wanted to be is a judge."

"You'll get your fair share of time serving as judge, believe me. Maybe more than you want. You would be surprised how often these so-called leaders can't handle issues in their own areas."

"That sounds so much better than being a judge. Being able to travel and then serve as judge in different places all over the world. I can't wait."

"Then you had better get ready to buckle down and learn about vampire culture, history and governing rules. It's time to get your mind off human boys."

I blushed furiously. "What? How did you know? I didn't think anyone could read a royal's mind. Not even other royals."

She laughed. "I don't have to read your mind, Lexi. It takes one to know one, and I can read you like a book right now."

"You're not angry with me?" I asked. "I mean I'm in love with Cliff and destined to be with him. But he's not here, and the human guy is being such a good friend to me."

"Is he the one that you kissed, that caused Cliff to take off in the first place?"

I looked down and sighed. "Yes."

"Be careful of those humans," she told me. "It's not like the movies and the books. They don't usually want to be turned to stay with you forever. I've been around for over 230 years and I've fallen in love with quite a few mortals. They always end up wanting someone that they can have kids with and grow old with. We can't do that with them."

"They don't want eternal life? I thought most people want to live forever."

"People are drawn to it obviously, but in their minds, vampires are repulsive creatures. Even if they fall in love with us, they don't want to become one of us."

"That just doesn't make sense, but I guess I'm brainwashed from the few movies that I've seen."

"It's romantic in the books and makes for a great story. I just wish that it were true."

"Is there one guy in particular?"

She half smiled. "Yes, there is one who stands out above all the rest. I fell in love with him about 200 years ago when I was still very young. His name was William and he was a lawyer. We were both madly in love with each other and we kept a secret romance going for nearly five years. It was truly amazing. But then he got the bug to settle down and have a family. I begged him to let me turn him so that we could have each other forever. He broke it off, saying that he was as heartbroken as I was, and two years later he was married and had his family. I watched him from a distance until he was buried."

"That is so tragically sad."

"It is, but that's not the worst of it," she said with a tear in her eye. "They grow old and die, but we don't get the privilege of forgetting about them. It's over two hundred years later and I still long for William."

"Have you tried following his descendants?" I asked. "I know it's not the same, but you might find one who looks like him who might...help you feel better. Or that could be a stupid idea, because you can't replace the one that you love."

"It's not stupid," she said. "I did try that actually. About 80 years ago one of his great, great (times whatever) grandsons was a spitting image of him. He did like me until he found out what I was, and then tried to have me burned at the stake."

"Isn't that supposed to be witches?"

"Yeah, he wasn't as bright as William. I stopped following his descendants after that."

"Haven't you found a vampire to hook up with since then? Forget the mortals. You're better than them anyway."

"I'm not looking for a relationship right now," she said, perking up. "I am in my prime and I am having a lot of fun. I'll settle down either when the right guy shows up or when I get bored with having fun."

"It's nice to have someone who not only understands me, but who also tells me more about vampire life."

"I definitely understand," she said. "It's like I said before, we come from a long line of rebellious spirits. My father would be the king now instead of your father if he hadn't chosen to marry my mother. But our grandfather kicked him out of the royal line."

"You don't think it's the end of the world that I have feelings for someone other than Cliff," I said. "It's so hard to imagine."

"If you were to choose this human and he was to choose you, the world would not fall apart. You'd be out of the royal line and your parents would have to figure something out. Have another daughter perhaps."

"What about the blessing? Cliff and I are destined to be together."

"You still have a free will."

"I'm so torn. I am truly in love with Cliff. He is the most perfect being, and we could rule the world together. What more could I want? He's the most handsome guy ever to walk the earth, he is kind and compassionate, and he truly cares about me. Yet at the same time, I'm undeniably drawn to Tanner, who is such a kind soul despite all kinds of odds against him. He cares about me too. He also just happens to be here, and I have no idea where Cliff has been in close to a month."

"There's no doubt about Cliff's love for you," she said. "Wherever he is, I know that he isn't trying to torture you."

"That's what everyone says, but nobody heard him when he told me to get out of his sight," I said and my lips began to quiver again. "How can I feel love for two guys? I'm a horrible person."

"You're not a horrible person, Alexis. You just found two amazing men who both also happen to think that you're pretty amazing too. Do you know how many people long to find just one true love?"

I sighed. "I feel like a terrible person."

"The fact that you do shows that you're not."

I raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't make any sense."

"If you didn't care about holding the hearts of two men, you would enjoy this and revel in it. You would think that it was proof of how awesome you are, and you wouldn't care about hurting them. But you do care about them and you don't want to hurt either of them. I can see that."

"I suppose that's one way to look at it. What am I supposed to do?"

"It all depends on what you want, although before leaving everything to go after the mortal, I would make sure that he is willing to spend eternity with you. By choosing to stay with Cliff, you also get to keep your title as princess, and you get to have the real 'job' of your dreams."

"That's a rotten reason to choose someone, and I would never choose Cliff just so that I could keep my title and position. That would be using him."

"Maybe, but it is also part of the package that you have to consider when you make your final decision. Anyway, you have months left before you complete your transformation, and even then you won't be ready to step into your position of leadership and have your enormous wedding."

"What am I supposed to do for now while I'm waiting for Cliff to return?" I asked. "Do I avoid Tanner, the only friend that I have in a school full of people who hate me?"

"No, don't avoid your only friend. Spend time with him and get to know him better. Make darn sure that you are making the right decision. He showed up in your life at this time for a reason. Don't leave yourself to regret not looking into this further. Since Cliff is gone, you have the perfect opportunity to make sure that you're making the right decision."

"That seems to make sense. What do I do if Cliff comes back?"

"We'll figure that out if and when it does. For now, he's not here, so you can figure things out on your own. In the meantime, we still need to make sure that you receive training in case you become princess. That's why I was sent here. Not to give you romantic advice—that's just a bonus!"

"I need to get prepared. When do we start?"

"Let's go out tonight after everyone is in bed. Then we'll go a little further away on Saturday and get some real training in."

"I can't wait. I better go get started on my homework."

An hour later, I had barely touched my homework. My mind kept wandering to Tanner and then to Cliff. I wondered what both of them were doing. I hoped that Cliff didn't hate me, but wouldn't have blamed him if he did.

There was a knock on my door.

"I'm studying."

"Emma's here," my mom shouted from behind my door.

I opened the door. "She has ruined my life. I will not see her."

"She says it's important and she's already waiting for you at the kitchen table."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I didn't even know that you two were fighting, Alexis. Don't blame this on me."

"You've never liked her. I don't know why you invited her in."

"You're more than welcome to kick her out, but I will not do it."

I sighed, glared at her, and then walked down the stairs. I gave Emma the same glare and asked, "What do you want? Did you find a new way to ruin my life?"

She stood up. "What did you do to Hailey?" she demanded.

"Pardon me? She wasn't even at school, and if I did do something to her she would have had it coming after what you two did to me."

"She wasn't at school today because she was beat up in her room last night, and she's not in her right mind. She has been saying she was attacked by a vampire and that she thinks it was you."

The blood drained from my face. Had I been exposed, before I was even fully a vampire?

"Her parents were considering sending her to a mental hospital because she saying crazy crap like that. The security system shows that nobody was there all night, so we figured you must have called her and threatened her crazy bad."

"So are you saying that I beat her up, or are you saying that I called her? Get your story straight, Emma. I have nothing to say to that low life."

"It's obvious that you did something. Tell me what it was before I really do something to ruin your life."

My anger rose past the ceiling. How dare she threaten me? I listened for heartbeats to see where my family members were before I ran to Emma in a blink of an eye and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. I slammed her into the nearest wall and got a half an inch from her face and glared into her eyes.

"Don't you dare make any threats to me. Do you understand what I'm saying? Leave. Me. Alone." I let go of her shirt and backed up a couple of steps.

She was visibly shaken and I could smell her fear.

"Get out of my house and start telling everyone at school what liars you and Hailey are."

She just stared at me.

I opened the front and shoved her out. "I said get out of my house. Don't ever come back." I slammed the door.

Clara showed up behind me with a crooked smile. "That was subtle."

"I wasn't going for subtle," I growled. "Those two were made for each other. I'm actually glad that Emma showed up here. I would have had to play nice if she had confronted me at school."

"Do you think that she'll actually tell everyone that they are liars?"

"Not if she's anything like her coward friend who wouldn't even go to school today. They act like they are so powerful, but they're weak and afraid."

"Typical humans," Clara said, rolling her eyes.

***

I couldn't focus on my homework after that, so I texted Tanner to find out where he was. He had just finished with his football practice, so we decided to meet up at the school.

"Where do you want to go?" I asked when he got into my car.

"We can go back to that coffee shop or we can go somewhere closer. The location doesn't matter to me."

"I could go for a spicy pumpkin latte. The coffee shop sounds great."

"That sounds good to me, too. So what did you do to Emma?"

"What do you mean?" I asked. I didn't see how he could have known about that already.

"She showed up at the practice telling everyone that you had threatened her and saying that you are psychotic. She said something about Hailey being afraid to come to school because you threatened her too."

I sighed. "She doesn't waste any time does she? She showed up at my house and I told her to get out. Well, I might have possibly shown her a little bit of what I'm capable of. But just a little."

He laughed. "I miss all of the good stuff."

"People are going to be even worse at school, aren't they?" I asked.

"If Emma doesn't change her tune, then I would assume they will be. They're like puppets."

"But she's not even popular, is she? She's just Hailey's sidekick. Will people really listen to her? What did people do when she was going off at your practice?"

He was quiet for a moment. "They were eating up. It was more fuel for their fire."

"I can't miss another day of school, what am I going to do?"

"Let's figure this out at the coffee shop. I don't want you to get upset while you're driving."

Once we were settled at the same table drinking our spicy pumpkin lattes, I said, "Okay, now let's figure out what I'm going to do. I really don't know how much more of this I can take. I want to lash out and use all of my powers, but for obvious reasons, I can't do that."

"I could walk you to all of your classes," he said. "Maybe people would leave you alone then."

"How is that going to work? You'll be late to all of your classes, plus they might start treating you badly. So far, I don't think anyone has picked up on our friendship."

"I don't care if they treat me badly. I've been down that road before and I can handle it again. I would rather help you out. I'm not ashamed to be your friend. I'd be honored to have everyone see me walking through the halls with you."

"Thanks, Tanner. But I don't think that will actually solve anything. What else are we going to do?"

"I do think that it will help. I'd like to walk you to your classes tomorrow and we'll if see if it does. I can deal with a few tardies. I can't keep it up forever, but one day won't kill me."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I suppose that it's worth a try."

"You want to go outside? It's getting warm in here," he said.

"Is it?" I asked. "Sure, we can go for a walk. I need to stretch my legs anyway."

We started walking toward a park once we were outside.

"Want to play on the swings?" I asked with a laugh. "I haven't swung in years."

He smiled. "That's the best idea that I've heard all day."

"I'll race you." I said and ran at a fast human pace to the swings, beating him by a mile.

"Hey, no fair," he exclaimed. "You can't use your powers to win a race."

"I didn't, I ran slowly—and you still lost."

"Oh yeah?" he asked. He scooped me up in his arms and started running through the park with me shrieking and laughing. "I'd like to see you get out of this."

I squirmed and wiggled but didn't try to get away.

"You're not so tough," he whispered into my ear. "You can't even get away from this mere mortal."

I laughed and squirmed some more. He was paying more attention to me than where he was running, and he tripped over something as he was running up a hill. He fell over and we hit the ground. We both burst into laughter and I pulled on his coat, and we went rolling down the hill together.

When we landed at the bottom of the hill, we were only a couple of inches apart and burst into a fit of laughter again at the same moment. We laughed until my stomach hurt and I couldn't laugh any more. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them he was staring at me from just inches away.

I smiled, and we both leaned in and gave each other a light kiss. I pulled back a little and studied his face. He seemed to be more handsome than I had ever noticed before. He touched my cheek and ran his hand down to my chin and gave me another kiss.

He stood up and smiled at me and said with a smile, "If you want more of that, you're going to have to catch me." He got up and started running again.

I started to laugh, but my stomach was still sore and I grasped it. I jumped up and chased him, letting him win for a minute before I rushed in and gently threw him against a tree. We stared at each other and I reached behind his ears and ran my fingers through his hair. I could hear both of our hearts speed up.

"What is it that you were saying? If I want some more of that, I'm going to have to catch you? It looks like I caught you." I grabbed his chin, leaned in and pressed my lips on his.

He stroked my cheek and said, "You've never been more beautiful than you are today." He touched my shoulders and ran his hands down to my hands. I got the chills even though I wasn't feeling the cold anymore. He grabbed my hands and held them above my head against the tree as we continued to kiss.

I closed my eyes and took in his scent. The smell of love was much more intoxicating and delicious than the smell of fear. I started to kiss his neck and before I knew it, I had bit down and was drinking his blood. It tasted even better than it had before. I had thought that fear-tinged blood was the best, but this was many times better. I didn't want to stop when I felt the flow slow down, but I knew that was for his own good, so I stopped and sealed up the wound.

I looked at him and he was smiling and his eyes were still closed. He opened his eyes. "I don't know what's in that vampire venom, but I love it. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It's every bit as satisfying for me as it is for you."

He grabbed my face and looked like he was going to say something romantic, then said, "Race you to the swings!" He took off.

"Oh. You!" I hollered at him and let him win. We jumped on the swings and raced to see who swing the highest.

"I can't remember the last time that I've had so much fun," I said, laughing.

"Me neither."

We swung like toddlers for a while longer before we decided that we should get back so that we could have dinner with our families without getting yelled at for being late.

"I'm glad that those kids from school showed up at the coffee shop," he said as we were driving back to the school.

"What kids?" I asked.

"I'm glad that you didn't see them," he said. "I didn't want you getting upset. That's why I got us out of the shop. I had no idea how much fun we were going to have. We'll have to go to more parks."

"Definitely. I can't believe how much fun that was."

***

When I arrived home, everyone was eating dinner but nobody lectured me.

"You look really happy," my dad said. "I'm so glad to see you looking so good. It's been too long."

"You are absolutely glowing," my mom said. "You're more beautiful than ever."

Natalie gave me a wink and asked, "What's his name, Alexis?"

Clara smiled at me. "You definitely look good. I hadn't seen you happy before, and I have to say that happiness becomes you."

"I'm going to take a shower, and then I'll have some dinner after. Sorry that I won't be able to eat with you guys."

"We're just glad to see you happy again," my dad said.

Chapter Twenty

"Hey sleeping beauty, it's time to wake up."

I pulled the pillow over my head and rolled over, hoping that Clara would decide to leave me alone.

"Remember how excited you were to go training tonight? Let's go."

I managed to pull my blankets over the pillow that was still over my head.

She pulled the blankets and pillow off of my head and whispered in my ear, "You're still part human and still have tasty blood. I wouldn't mind a little taste."

I sat up. "I'm awake. I'm awake."

"Perfect. Now get dressed so that we can get going."

She left my room and I fell back asleep. I woke up to a sharp pain in my neck.

"Hey."

She stopped and licked the wound. "Not quite as good as straight human blood but definitely better than straight vampire blood."

"Vampires can drink each other's blood?" I asked, rubbing my now disappeared wound.

"Usually only vampires in love or vampires fighting," she said. "It doesn't sustain us and it's not nearly as good. It's worse than that bagged human stuff."

I made a face. "Thanks for letting me know. I will keep that in mind."

"Do I have to get you dressed or will you be able to do it on your own this time? This training is not for me, you know."

I sighed. "I can get myself dressed, thank you. Do you want to meet out front in five minutes?"

"No, I'll be right back here in five minutes and you'll be ready to go." She left my room again, and this time I got up and put on some dark clothes.

I wasn't sure what to expect from this training session. She took me to a different part of the same woods where we had first met.

"You've already gone to hunt some animals and it looks like you have that down from what I saw the other day," she told me.

"How long were you watching me?" I asked in surprise.

"I saw enough to know that you can find what you are looking for. We need to make sure that your senses are more finely trained though. In doing this, we'll make sure that you will be able not only to get what you are hunting for, but also be able to sense and take care of something or someone who is hunting for you."

"Hunting for me?" I hadn't thought of that.

"Yes, and if you're caught off guard, that could be the end of you and possibly the reign of our family. The last thing that any of us needs is for the Moretti's to rule over vampires worldwide."

"How long were you watching me the other day?" I asked.

"I was watching you long before you sensed me," she said. "It's good that you did finally sense me, but you need to be able to do that from a longer distance. I'm sure it will come more naturally once you are fully transformed, but we need to work on it now."

"You also weren't a predator," I pointed out.

"No, but I was in effect hunting you. That's why you felt threatened when you first discovered my presence."

"So what are we going to do to practice that? Play a game of hide and seek?"

"Nope. You're going to stand in an open area and we're going to wait for something to come along and discover you. Your instincts will tell you when that time has come, and you'll need to fight or flee."

My heart sunk. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I am. I'm here if you get into some real trouble, but I'm not going to jump in too early. I'm not going to let you get mauled, but I'm not going to protect you from a little physical harm either."

"Wonderful," I muttered.

"I see a little clearing not too far from here. I'm going to hide here and I want you to go over there." She pointed to left behind me and I turned around and saw the clearing. "I'll be watching you."

I looked at her, feeling doubtful and then walked to the clearing. I didn't know what I was supposed to do, so I just stood there feeling like an idiot.

I took a deep breath and let my senses take in the sights, sounds and smells. I noticed a slight breeze and was aware of many sounds and smells that nearly overwhelmed again as I focused on them. I was glad that as I was learning to use these stronger senses, they weren't bothering me anymore when I didn't need them.

Wanting to hide, I thought about how I hated standing out in the open like this. I felt like Clara was torturing me or possibly seeing how dumb I was. I felt so exposed, and I really hated it. It felt like it went against everything in my vampire nature. Even my human nature was to hide and blend in, and I wondered if that was because of my being a vampire.

Suddenly, the hair on my arms and neck stood up and I knew that I was being watched. Here it was—the moment of truth. It was of little comfort to know that at least I wasn't going to get mauled to death.

I listened for a heartbeat to reveal the location of my predator. I was surprised that I didn't hear anything big enough to be any kind of a threat. There was no heartbeat louder than a rodent or a small bird.

I listened for anything unusual or any sound that would give me a clue as to where the animal or person might be. I didn't pick up anything that seemed out of place.

I wanted to run up a tree and use my senses from there, but I had to stand exposed in the middle of the stupid clearing and wait for my predator to show itself or until I could track it down.

The hairs on my arms and neck continued to stand on end, alerting me to danger. Then I realized that the only times I have felt this particular feeling had been when a vampire had been near me. I felt it when both Brooke and Cliff had showed up in my room and when I first met Clara. That explained why I couldn't hear a heartbeat.

My heart started racing. Was Clara messing with me, or was there possibly another vampire in these woods? If that were the case, would he or she know that I was transforming into a vampire? Would that even matter?

I swallowed slowly and used my vision to look for a vampire hiding in the woods. I noticed that my night vision had improved significantly, even since the last time that I was out there. I slowly began to turn around to see if my senses would alert me to the direction where the vampire was hiding.

When I had made three quarters of a turn, I felt for some reason that I had reached the direction that I needed to focus on. My skin was crawling with the sensation of being watched, and I wanted to scream from both frustration and fear.

I looked around intently. I felt like I was staring at one of those pictures where you are supposed to see a hidden scene if you let yourself go cross eyed. I never could find those hidden scenes, but hoped this would be different.

My nerves were shot and I did not feel like putting up a fight. I wanted to crawl back into bed, but my life might be on the line, so that was not an option.

Finally, I thought I saw something. It looked somewhat like a head, hiding and blending in very well between some bushes. I took a deep breath and braced myself. I thought that my mind might be playing tricks on me, but I was pretty certain I was looking at the head of a vampire who was causing all the distress on my senses.

I heard a small rustle, and nearly jumped and ran off. I looked to my left and saw a small mouse scurrying along a branch. My heart was racing and I was sure that the vampire knew it too.

I turned my attention back to the vampire that was watching me. I could not tell if I was truly in danger, or if it was just having fun scaring me. I was glad that at the very least, it couldn't read my mind.

I could feel myself start to crouch a little and I was gaining some confidence. My senses all intensified at once, and I was sure that I could smell him or her.

I couldn't believe it when I started walking toward the vampire. In my mind, I screamed at my legs to stop, but they refused to obey. I continued to walk directly toward it, as if it was the prey and I was the predator.

When I had gone about twenty yards, I could see it smile. That infuriated me and I wanted to attack the prideful thing.

"Show yourself," I commanded with much more confidence than I actually felt. I was acting purely on instinct, and probably adrenaline.

"You found me," he said, and stepped out of the bushes.

I looked around for something that I could use as a weapon. At least I was in the woods and nearly anything could be used as a stake to drive through his heart if need be.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"My name is Jordan, and you must be Alexis, the Sonnast."

"How did you know that?" I demanded.

"I know a lot of things," he said mysteriously. "I have to say though that I am quite impressed with your ability to track me as a transforming vampire. Most vampires going through the transformation don't have their senses so finely tuned."

"I'm not most vampires. What are you doing out here and why are you watching me?"

"Your cousin Clara called on me because I was in the area and I owed her a favor."

I let out a sigh of relief, knowing that I wasn't going to have to fight. "Some favor," I muttered. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

He laughed. "Maybe a little. I was very curious to see how our princess is coming along. I don't know if you realize it or not, but a lot of vampires are very curious to see you. Most of us have not seen you since you were a toddler. There are a lot of rumors flying around."

"What kind of rumors?" I asked. The last thing I needed were more rumors about me.

"That you're alive, for one thing," he said. "For over ten years, we've all been under the impression that you were dead. Someone found you and word got to the Moretti's first since they had put out the order for your death. Then after that, rumors started flying amongst all the other vampires."

Clara came out from hiding. "I see that you found Jordan. Good job. I thought that he would have to get a lot closer to you before you could find him."

"You didn't tell me that I would be hunting a vampire," I complained.

"Exactly the point," she said. Then she turned to Jordan. "Thanks again for helping me out. Maybe we can go grab a bite to eat before you leave town."

"What about tonight?" he asked her.

"I've got to get this one back to bed. She has school in the morning."

I felt about eight years old. "You will have school next week too, don't forget."

"Ugh. Don't remind me, please. I hate dealing with teenage humans."

"This bunch is especially bad. Remember what they're doing to me."

Jordan looked confused. "What could those little weaklings do to you? You have more power than even most vampires."

"I can't exactly go around biting into each of them," I said. "That would raise just a little suspicion."

"Obviously," he said. "Can't you use mind control yet?"

"Vampires can control people's minds?" I asked. "See what I mean. Nobody tells me anything."

"Not all vampires can," Clara told me. "Many can."

"You will definitely be able to," Jordan told me. "I don't think that there is a single vampire gift or talent that you will fail to possess."

"I'll have to try the mind control tomorrow," I said.

"Just be careful and start small," he said. "Get a feel for it before you try anything too big."

"Thanks for the tip."

***

The next morning, I was waiting in my car for Tanner in the school parking lot. Time was going by fast and it was getting really close to the beginning of the first class. I really did not want to be late.

I sighed as I considered going in alone to face the rudeness of my classmates. I figured that it would probably be even worse today after Emma had gone and trash talked me at the football practice. I really didn't want to practice mind control under those circumstances. I wanted to feel relaxed and in control when I did that. If it didn't work, I wanted to be able to come up with a quick comeback.

I looked at the clock on dashboard one more time before turning off my car and getting out. Just as I closed my door, Tanner pulled into the lot and parked near me. He jumped out of his car, apologizing.

"Alexis, I'm so sorry that I'm late. I hope that you didn't think that I had deserted you. I wouldn't do that. My brother missed his bus and I had to drive him to school. I got here as fast as I could."

"That was nice of you to do," I said. "Well, we'd better hurry."

"I hope you're not mad at me," he said. "I should have texted you so that you knew what was going on. I was so frustrated with him that I didn't think about it."

"No, I'm not mad. You don't have to walk me to my classes. I appreciate what you're doing. I just don't want to walk through those halls today. It's probably going to be worse because of what Emma did last night."

"I hate how cruel those people can be. You're such a nice person and you don't deserve it at all."

We walked through the doors and up the stairs towards my locker. People stared at us, but nobody actually said anything, which was nice. I tried not to focus on anyone in particular so that I wouldn't hear someone's thoughts which would just upset me.

When I was getting my books from my locker, someone made some comments that I didn't hear and Tanner asked, "Do you want to repeat that to me?"

"No, dude," was the reply.

"Then don't talk about Alexis this way. If you do, you'll have to deal with me. Emma and Hailey are nothing but jealous liars. Hailey is still mad about not being homecoming princess. Why don't you go spread that rumor? At least you would be telling the truth."

As I slammed my locker door, the warning bell sounded and I said, "Let's get going. I don't want you to be late for your class."

When we were almost to my class, someone threw something at my head. I sighed and rubbed my head.

"I saw that," Tanner yelled to a guy and ran over to him and grabbed his shirt. "You want me to throw something at you? How about a fist?"

"Hey man. Let go of me!"

"If you have a problem with that sweet girl over there, why don't you go over there and talk to her? Why act like an ape?"

"Let go of me."

"Tell her you're sorry before I break that ugly nose of yours."

He looked me and then back at Tanner, who starting to make a fist. He looked back to me again and said, "Sorry. That won't happen again."

Tanner let go of him. "Now if you like rumors so much, go tell everyone how Emma and Hailey spread lies about this beautiful girl because they're so jealous of her."

He grabbed his bag and ran off.

"Let's get you to class," he said. "I'll be back when it's is over, and then I'll walk you to your next one."

The rest of the morning went the same way, and by lunchtime, word had spread that anyone who messed with me would have to get through Tanner first. I didn't want to go to the cafeteria, but he insisted that I go so that I could eat.

Amanda came up to me. "Are you still mad at me?"

"Of course I am," I told her. "I can't believe what you did to me. You really should be friends with Emma again because I can't be around you."

Are you going to sic Tanner on me if I don't?

I felt like hitting her, but instead I thought that this might be a good time to practice the mind control. I knew her well, so she would be more susceptible. I didn't know what I was supposed to do, so I looked her in the eyes and got close to her. "You will go and be friends with Emma again. You will also tell people that the rumors about me are lies."

She stared at me for a minute and said, "I'll see if Emma still wants to be my friend and then I will start telling people that the rumors are lies."

"Thank you," I said, hoping that it worked and that she wasn't making fun of me.

She walked away, and when she passed a group of people she stopped and said, "Those rumors are lies."

Tanner whispered, "Did you just control her mind?"

"I hope so," I said. "It was my first time so I didn't know what I was doing."

"It looks like it worked. You'll have to keep working on that," he said with a smile. "You might just put me out of a job though."

I gave him a confused look.

"My job as your body guard," he said.

"Oh, right." I laughed. "Sorry, I'm not so quick today. I didn't sleep a lot last night."

"Why is that?"

"Clara is training me and she thought that the middle of the night would be the best time."

"Don't do that every night," he said. "You need to make sure that you get enough sleep."

"I do seem to need less sleep these days, but I do need some. I will get some rest tonight. She isn't going to do anymore training with me until Saturday."

"During the day?"

"Yes, during the day. It sounds like she is planning on spending the whole day preparing me to fight."

"Are you doing anything this afternoon? I have no practice today and I would love to go somewhere with you."

I smiled. "I'd really like that. I'll treat you to some coffee or whatever you want to eat or drink. It'll be my way of saying thank you for threatening to punch people for me all day."

"Whatever I want?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes. "I'll have to think about that. I might want to be the drink."

"Already?" I asked. "Was yesterday not enough for you?"

"Yesterday was perfect," he said. "I was just teasing you. Warm coffee sounds heavenly—as long as you're with me."

***

We had agreed to meet at a local coffee shop and risk running into kids from school. As I was getting out of my car, I saw Braydon.

I walked over to him. "Hi Braydon."

He seemed surprised to see me. "Uh, hi Alexis."

"So how's Natalie?" I asked.

He looked around us and said, "What do you want?"

"I just asked how Natalie is. You would know, right? Since she's your girlfr..."

"Let's go talk over there," he whispered, pointing to an area near some bushes where nobody else was.

"Sure, sounds great," I said, and we walked over there.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"I want to make sure that you're treating my sister as well as she deserves."

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked.

"You tell me."

"Look, I don't know what you want from me."

"I just want you to treat her like a princess. None of this secret boyfriend garbage, and certainly no skipping school with her to smoke pot."

"How do you know about all of that?" he demanded.

"I overhear things and I don't like what I've heard."

"I'm a senior and she's a sophomore," he said. "She doesn't seriously believe that she's my only girlfriend."

"I knew it."

"Well you're the smart one."

I got in his face and said slowly, "You will either stop seeing your other girlfriend or you will break up with Natalie. You will stop using her."

"I'll stop using her," he said.

"You will break up with her or you will break up with your other girlfriend."

"I will break up with Natalie."

"That sounds wonderful," I said, backing up. "I'm so glad that we could have this talk." I made a mental note to check on Natalie that night.

I walked back to the coffee shop and saw that Tanner was just getting out of his car.

"What was that all about with Braydon?" he asked when he got to where I was waiting. "That looked serious. Was he picking on you?"

"No. He's been using Natalie and I convinced him to stop."

He laughed. "I'd better watch out before you start using that power on me."

"Tanner, I wouldn't use that on you. Ever."

"You're so sweet, Alexis. I believe you," he gave me a hug and I hugged him back. Even though I was losing my sensitivity to temperature, I felt his warmth and it was intoxicating. I could stand in his embrace forever.

After we had gotten our coffees, we sat down at a table in the back.

"I have a confession to make," he admitted.

My heart sunk a little. "What is it?"

"This ring," he said, showing me a silver ring on his middle finger, "actually protects me from being mind controlled by a vampire. Samantha gave it to me and I've just kept it on."

My skin crawled with jealousy. I did not want to hear her name even though Tanner would have never approached me if she hadn't told him about my transformation. I hated the thought of him wearing jewelry that she gave him. "You don't trust me?" I asked.

"It's not that," he said. "It really isn't. I know that vampires are around here often and I don't want any of them to be able to control me. I can't tell the difference between humans and vampires unless it's really obvious."

"Okay. I believe you. Can you do me a favor and never mention her name again? It makes my skin crawl."

He smiled. "You don't need to worry about her. Even if she were still around, she pales in comparison to you. You're perfect."

I blushed. "Hardly."

He rolled his eyes. "You're too hard on yourself. On my way here, I saw a park with a big pile of leaves. You know what I was thinking?"

I smiled. "You want to jump in the pile and ruin the day of the poor person who made the pile?"

"That wasn't exactly the way I would have put it. But basically that's what I was thinking."

"After how much fun we had yesterday, I think that is a great idea."

He suggested that we walk to the park because it wasn't too far away, and he grabbed my hand as we walked along. I didn't stop him and we walked quietly, just enjoying the afternoon.

"I see what you mean about that pile of leaves," I said when we got to the park. The pile was at least five feet wide and about two feet high.

"Wanna race?" he asked.

"Of course." We ran, still holding hands, and dove into the pile, sending leaves flying in all directions.

We started laughing and throwing leaves at each other. He knocked me over and I pushed him down, shoving leaves down his back.

"Hey, you can't do that."

"I think I just did." I laughed.

"Two can play that game." He grabbed a bunch with both hands and I ran out of the pile and hid behind a tree.

"You can run but you can't hide," he called.

I peeked around to see where he was, and he was right in front of me and dumped the pile on my head. I chased him back to the pile and tackled him, and we landed with a thud and burst out laughing again.

"I never knew how weak my stomach muscles were. It keeps hurting to laugh."

"Me too. I never knew how much I needed some fun in my life."

"Same here," I said. "Sometimes life gets to be a bit much."

"Here's some more fun." He grabbed me and we rolled around in the pile.

I squirmed away and stood up putting my hands on my hips. "You'll never catch me." I started running toward the woods and hid just as I entered them.

He came running after me and I grabbed him. He screamed and said, "You really scared me!"

I giggled. "You just screamed like a girl."

"I did not."

"You most certainly did," I said, laughing.

He grabbed me and pulled me close, kissing me.

All of a sudden, there was a gust of wind and a loud noise that I knew could only be the sound of hundreds of crows cawing. We pulled apart and sure enough, right at the edge of the woods was a flock of crows flying around and cawing.

I sighed. "I hate these things. We've got to get away. They have been chasing me since about the time I started my transformation."

"They've got us blocked in," he said. "We can't get out of these woods."

"I know how to find my way out of the woods," I said. "Let's just run."

The crows started flying faster and faster, and for some reason, I couldn't pull my eyes away from the sight. They looked like a mass of black. It was impossible to see even one single crow.

The black mass took on the form of a man in a black cloak.

"Alexis, we've got to run," Tanner whispered to me, looking completely scared.

"We can't," I told him.

"Why the heck not?"

"There are vampires surrounding us from behind," I said.

"How do you know that?"

"I can sense them. There are at least five of them."

"Alexis Ferguson. We finally meet," said the vampire in front of us. "Or should I say, Marguerite Westerfield?"

"We haven't met," I informed him. "I have no idea who you are."

"My name is Adam and I've been looking forward to meeting you for a very long time."

Tanner grabbed my hand. "Adam, we have no interest in talking with you. Step aside so that we can go home."

"That's not possible. I'm not leaving without Alexis."

"You're going to have to go through me first," Tanner explained.

"Don't do this," I whispered to Tanner. "He's a vampire and he can rip you to shreds. I need you alive and well."

I sensed that the other vampires behind us were moving towards us. They stepped forward standing in a half circle around us.

"Samantha," Tanner exclaimed. "I thought you were dead. What's going on?"

I whipped my head to the other side of Tanner to get a look at Samantha. I saw a drop-dead gorgeous vampire and my heart sank.

She gave him an evil smile. "Of course that's what you thought. That's what I wanted you to think."

I looked at Adam and demanded, "What is going on here?"

"I already told you. I'm not leaving without you."

Chapter Twenty-One

"Are you one of the Moretti's?" I asked Adam.

"Don't I wish," he said. "Once I hand you over to them, then my family and I will be second in command when they take over the kingdom."

"That will never happen."

"It will, and I can't wait to be in the position of royalty. I have been following you for some time, Alexis. The Moretti's have had a bounty on you for years, ever since they discovered that you were actually alive. Whoever brings you to them will be richly rewarded."

"If you think that I'm going to go willingly, you have another thing coming," I said.

"Trust me, I don't expect anything to be easy. I have been taking great pains to do this the right way. I've been planning this out for a long time."

Samantha stepped forward and smirked at me. "Don't you love how Tanner here helped us out?"

I dropped Tanner's hand and looked at him in shock.

"Alexis, I had nothing to do with this. I swear. I would never do anything to hurt you."

Samantha looked at him and ran her finger across his cheek. "Oh, but you did, darling."

"Don't you call me that. You are a liar and deceiver."

She smiled seductively and leaned in toward him. "Guilty as charged. I do have to admit how much fun it was to use you. It was definitely worth my while."

Jealousy burned throughout my body.

"Do you know how much easier it is to use mind control on a human who thinks that he's immune to it?" She laughed.

Tanner looked at his ring. "So this ring does nothing?"

She licked her lips. "It certainly does do something. The blessing placed on it makes any vampire going through their transition fall in love with the person wearing it when they drink your blood." She smiled at me. "It worked like a charm, wouldn't you say?"

I glared at her and then looked at Tanner, who looked like someone had shoved a dagger through his heart.

"Tanner, remember how long I went without drinking your blood before yesterday? It was nearly three weeks. There was no way any of your blood was still in me, and the last two afternoons together have been the best we've had."

He didn't look convinced.

"The only thing this proves is why I threw myself at you the first time that I did," I told him.

He reached for my hand again and gave me a half smile.

"As sweet as this is," Adam said, "time is ticking and I need to get Alexis home with me. I have an appointment with the Moretti's in a few days. I've got to weaken her so that she goes willingly. That may take time."

Samantha smiled and said, "And I need to take Tanner with me to make sure that he doesn't run to any of Alexis' vampire friends. Maybe we can reminisce over the great times that we had together."

Tanner spit in her face just as I was starting to feel jealous again. I made sure to smirk at her.

She hissed and went to bite him. I jumped in between the two of them. "You aren't touching him."

"Maybe not now, but when you're gone...."

"Not then either," Tanner informed her.

"It'll be fun to relive old times, don't you think?" she asked with a wink.

"No, actually I don't, Samantha."

"Oh come on, Tanner. You used to love it when I pretended to love you. You used to really love it."

I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth.

"I don't want to spend any time with you whatsoever. I can't believe that you used me to get to Alexis," Tanner said. "Was that your plan the whole time?"

"Of course it's always been about getting Alexis."

"Why me?" he asked. "I never said one word to her until after you disappeared."

She ran her fingers down his arm. "You were definitely some fine eye candy. Still are. Aside from that, you were open to the idea of vampires. I tried to hook up with several other human boys, but mortals these days are such nonbelievers. It's all about science and proving facts."

"You really are a piece of work, Samantha. Did you come up with that story about the redneck vampire that you were scared of so that I wouldn't come looking for you after you disappeared?"

"Yep, and it worked like a charm, didn't it? Both of you fell right into our trap. It was almost too easy."

"You're never going to succeed with the rest of your plan," I told her. "You may have made it this far, but you will not find yourselves living in the castle. Unless it's in the dungeon."

"You're so cute when you're feisty," she told me. "I can see why he likes you so much."

"Are you done having fun with them yet?" Adam asked Samantha. "I really would like to get going if that works for you."

"Sorry, sir," she said seriously and then smiled. "I just couldn't help myself."

"You take the boy to the place that we discussed and I will take her so that I can deal with her. Do what you want with him," he looked at Tanner, "just make sure that he doesn't get away to tell anyone what's going on."

"It'll be my pleasure," she said, twirling some of his hair. "He's one of my favorite toys. I'll keep him around for a while."

I wanted to take that vampire down. I vowed to myself that I would do it one day when I was a full vampire.

I looked at Tanner. "I'm so sorry that you got dragged into this. You're such a good person, Tanner. You don't deserve any of this. If that thing," I said, and motioned toward Samantha, "doesn't let you go, I will come back and rescue you."

He gave me a small smile. "Not if I rescue you first." We both knew that was impossible, but it was nice to know that he wanted to take care of me.

One of the big, male vampires behind us grabbed Tanner and three of them including Samantha ran into the woods and were out of sight within seconds. My heart sank and I knew that I was going to have figure a lot of vampire skills on my own, and fast, if I was going to save myself and rescue him too.

Adam turned to me. "Now it's your turn."

"You'd better make sure that he doesn't get hurt," I demanded.

"Or what? You'll get me?" he laughed. "Soon I will have you weakened, and once the Moretti's get their hands on you they are going to kill you once and for all. They will personally make sure that it's done right this time."

"Why don't you kill me yourself?" I taunted him. "Are you too weak?"

"You foolish princess. That would do me no good. The Moretti's want you alive, and that's how I will get my reward."

"Unless my friends come to my rescue and take you down. Then you will have nothing. Don't you think that when my parents find out what you've done they will put you to death?"

"Why would I worry about them? The Moretti's are going to take you all down and then I'll be living in your cushy castle. I think that I will request your room. I will take great pleasure in turning that into my own."

I restrained myself from attacking him. I was sure that he wanted me to attack from emotion. What I needed was a plan, and I didn't have one yet.

"Grab her," he told one of the remaining vampires.

A vampire that was even bigger than the one who took Tanner grabbed me and held me with the strongest grip that I had ever felt. I tried to squirm and fight my way out of his hold, but it was useless. I couldn't wait until I was the strongest vampire in the world.

He carried me into the woods and I could hear the others following closely behind.

"She's a fighter," said the one holding me. "Maybe we ought to knock her out."

The blood drained from my face. How were they planning on doing that?

"What, you can't handle a little girl?" Adam snarled. "Vampire up, Luke."

He readjusted his hold on me and squeezed harder. It was becoming harder to breathe.

We traveled through the woods for a while before Adam ordered me chained to a tree.

"Which tree?" asked Luke, the vampire holding me.

"I was warned that you're an idiot," Adam sighed. "Just tie her to a tree."

He held me down against a tree while the other two vampires tied me up very tightly with a very long chain.

"That's a solid steel chain," Adam said. "Don't think for a second that we'd be stupid enough to tie you up with something that you could escape from. We will be back shortly, so just stay put."

"I can go through walls," I told him. "You seriously expect me to believe that I can't go through a little chain?"

"Didn't anyone tell you that vampires can't pass through solid steel?" Luke asked, looking at me like I was a fool.

"I don't believe you."

"Vampires have never been able to pass through solid steel," Luke yelled. "There was a curse placed on the first vampires by some witch. The curse has been passed to all vampires."

"Shut up, Luke," Adam said, rolling his eyes. "You don't need to explain anything to her, she's our prisoner. Come on."

They walked away, talking in hushed tones about their plans for me over the next few days before handing me over. Then they were too far away for me to hear them.

I listened for noises of any other predators, but didn't hear anything that concerned me. I sighed and tried to squirm out of the chains. They were crazy tight. I tried to go through them like I would go through a wall, but they were right. I couldn't do it.

I did manage to get my arms a little bit loose, but could do nothing more than get my hands to my lap and move them to my sides—with a lot of work.

My thoughts wandered to my family and I wondered how long it would take them to notice that I was missing. When I didn't show up for dinner, they would probably just think that I was being irresponsible.

I knew that Clara, Brooke and Steve would probably figure out what was going on. I hoped that they wouldn't think that I had run off with Tanner, since our cars were both at the coffee shop. If they thought so, it would be a while before they began searching for me.

I saw a stick next to me within my reach. I wrestled my arm over to grab it, and I looked it over. If I could sharpen the end, it would make a perfect stake. I didn't have anything else to do, so I used my very strong nails to shape the end until it was very sharp.

I set it next to me and pushed it underneath my leg. I hoped to be able to grab it quickly and unnoticed when they unchained me. Sneaking it under my clothes was going to be the challenging part.

I watched as it got darker and darker, and I began to wonder if their plan to weaken me was to leave me chained to this tree. It didn't seem very smart to do that, because my car was parked not too far from the woods.

With nothing better to do, I decided to see if it was possible to get the stake under my clothes while I waited. I bent my knees and thought that I could possibly get it into my socks. Luckily, my outfit of the day included stretchy leggings under a dress. If I'd been wearing jeans, it would have been impossible.

With such limited mobility, it took a lot of maneuvering, but I was able to get it into my sock. I was grateful that I was so flexible. It was still a lot of work, but I had plenty of time and it was completely dark by the time that I had finished.

My stomach roared with hunger and I hoped that I would be able to eat soon. The coffee from earlier was not going to last long and I hadn't eaten much for lunch.

On top of being hungry, I was also getting bored and I wanted out of the chains. I tried again to squirm out of them but they barely had any give.

I tried again to move through them as if they were a wall, ignoring what they had told me about me being unable to go through them. I was royalty, so I had more powers than they did. They could also have told me that so that I wouldn't try to escape or because I might not be able to if I merely thought that I couldn't.

After that didn't work after about fifty tries, I tried to think of another way out of the chains. I could go through wood, so could I possibly go through the tree and somehow get out of the chain that way? It was definitely worth a try.

I imagined myself standing in the middle of the trunk of the tree. I visualized it until I could feel myself standing inside of the tree. I opened my eyes and saw that I was still chained to the tree but I was standing instead of sitting.

I sighed and tried to think of another way out of the chains. My stomach was yelling at me, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to focus.

Footsteps. They were finally coming back and it sounded like they were about a mile away. I tried to sit back down because they would surely notice that they left me sitting and I was standing when they got back.

I tried to force myself and the chains down but the chains were not budging. I would just have to tell them that they were losing their minds. It would be fun to mess with my captors.

"Wasn't she sitting when we left her?" one vampire asked when they made it back to me.

"Obviously we left her standing, stupid," said another. "She couldn't have budged in those chains."

"I know that I tied her up sitting," Luke said.

"Just untie her," Adam ordered. "I don't keep you around to hear what you think."

He untied me and one of them blindfolded me.

"Hey!" Someone picked me up and I fought and squirmed only to be held so tight that it was difficult to breathe.

Why hadn't I had someone tell me what kind of powers and gifts I had? If I had some sort of idea what to expect, I would have been a lot more prepared to deal with these vampires. As it was, I had figured out most of my powers by accident.

I was thrown into some kind of car. At least they had the decency to throw me onto a seat so that I didn't land on the hard floor. As we drove, I tried to see if I could tell what direction we were going so that I would have some vague idea of where I was when we got there. It was obvious that they did not want me to know where that was.

"What are you planning on doing to me?" I demanded.

"We already told you. We're going to weaken you and hand you over to the Moretti's."

"What are you going to do to weaken me?"

"You will find out soon enough."

"What are you going to do with Tanner?"

"Stop talking."

"I want to know what you are going to do with him. Are you going to let him go once you've handed me over to the Moretti's?"

"You talk too much."

"Are you going to let him go?" I demanded.

"It's up to Samantha what she does with him. We will let her know when you are with the Moretti's, and then she's free to let him go or if she's already taken care of him, then that's that."

"You should let him go. He didn't do anything to anyone."

"We aren't concerned with insignificant humans."

"He's not insignificant. He's a good person."

"We don't care about mortals. They're nothing more than food to us."

"Have you forgotten your own humanity?" I asked in disgust.

"I've been a vampire for over fifty years. I can barely remember my human life."

"What about your family? Your friends?" I asked. "Don't you remember what they meant to you?"

"I was so hungry for blood that I killed most of them off myself."

"Uh!" I exclaimed. "Tell me you're joking."

"Welcome to the world of being turned against your will. It's not neat and pretty like being born a vampire princess. The stories that we could tell you would make your skin crawl."

"Killing your family is horrible. How do you live with yourself?"

Something hit my head and I lost consciousness.

***

The first thing that I noticed as I started to wake up was a strange smell. I hadn't opened my eyes yet and I wasn't sure that I wanted to. Images of being captured flashed through my mind's eye and I was sure that I didn't want to know what the smell was.

I tried to gain a sense of my surroundings before opening my eyes. I wanted to be ready for whatever I would need to be ready for. I was lying down and sensed that I was in a room and out of the moving vehicle.

Aside from the strange unidentified scent, I could also smell hay and must. The air was cool, not that I was bothered by it. I could hear a dripping sound and small critters not too far away. I couldn't hear any of the vampires who had taken me.

I opened my right eye just a crack and could see that I was in a room made of stone that was fairly bare. I opened my eye a little more and decided that nobody was in the room with me, so I opened both of them.

I was lying almost directly on the stone floor except for a small amount of hay underneath me. There was an unused fireplace off to the side and a couple of chairs across from it.

I sat up and my arms jerked back. There were shackles chained to each of my wrists. I sighed and scooted back against the cool wall so that I could sit upright.

The sound of the chains must have alerted the other vampires that I was awake, because I heard the noise of a lock being opened and the scraping of the huge and heavy metal door opening on the stone floor.

"Well, well. Sleeping beauty finally arises," laughed Luke, entering the room with another vampire.

"You've been out a while," the other vampire said. "You must have been pretty tired."

"Or you hit her too hard, you idiot," Luke said. "Adam is going to be pissed that we haven't been able to work on her yet. He's going to be back soon."

"Work on me? What do you think that you're going to do to me?"

"We need to make you weak and agreeable. That way we can hand you over to the Moretti's without any problem," the second one told me.

"Why do I need to be weak and agreeable? You don't think that the Moretti's could handle me if I wasn't?"

"Adam doesn't want you fighting or trying anything. The exchange has to go quickly, quietly and smoothly," he replied.

"Why are you telling her all of this? The more she knows, the more that she will have to use against us."

"It doesn't matter, because she'll be weak and agreeable."

"Are you guys the two stooges or something?" I asked.

Luke was in my face in a split second. "Do not think that we are not a force to be reckoned with. Do you understand me?"

"You tell her."

He turned to the other and growled, "Shut up, Danny."

I tried to stifle a smile. These two were a lot more humorous than they were scary.

Luke whipped back around to me. "You think this is funny?"

I gulped down a laugh and said, "Nope."

He took in a deep breath. "You still have some of your humanity left. Don't think for a moment that I won't drink your blood. I will bite into your neck in a second."

I tried to hide the fear that radiated through me, but I knew that as a vampire he could probably smell my fear.

He smirked. "That's better. Now listen up. You've been out for almost a day, so I'm sure you're hungry. You're not getting any food, so don't even think about asking. You can have water, because we can't let you die, but that's it."

"Is that the big plan to weaken me?" I asked.

"No, that's just part of it," Danny told me. "Adam is bringing a witch because he wants to cast some spells on you."

That sounded serious and I wanted to find a way out of this place before I found out what kinds of spells were planned.

"You guys will never get away with this. I am the Sonnast, descended directly from the Fyrsturae. Whether I live or die, you will pay, Luke and Danny."

Danny grabbed my neck. "Don't even think about threatening me. You are nothing. You've grown up as a human not knowing anything about vampire life. Do you really think that they would put you in charge of all vampires? Think about that."

"Of course they will." I glared at him. "Don't try to make me question that. I'm the rightful heir, and the fact that I was kidnapped has nothing to do with whether or not I will be on the throne. Rest assured I will be. The fact that my death was ordered by the Moretti's, and now you have gone as far as to capture me, shows just how important I am to the future of the royal line."

"If you're so valuable, then why hasn't anybody broke down the doors to rescue you?" Luke asked.

"They probably have no idea where I am. It's not like you sent out invitations."

Luke snickered. "You've got a sense of humor even though your life is about to end. I'll have to remember that for your eulogy."

I glared at him. "I wasn't trying to be funny."

"I like 'em feisty." Luke licked his lips.

I jumped toward him, but was yanked back by the chains. He laughed at me, and I vowed to myself to find a way out of this place and to rid the world of all of them.

"Keep control of yourself, your highness," Danny whispered in my ear. "No matter how much you want us, you can't have us."

I jumped at him and because he was so close, I was able to knock him over. Although that was not what I was trying to do, I was glad to do it.

He landed on his butt, jumped up as quickly as he landed and grabbed my face and squeezed hard. "Don't try that again."

I spit in his face.

He grabbed me and slammed me into the rock hard wall. My head hit, and it sounded like a melon landing on the floor. My vision went double and two Dannys got right up to my face, so close that I could smell the fish-like breath. I tried not to gag.

"Do you have a death wish?" the Dannys asked.

"I thought that I was going to die anyway. Isn't that what you told me?"

"I have the power to make it easy or miserable for you. I can make your last days more comfortable or more terrifying."

"You're already starving me and have me chained to a wall in this cold smelly dungeon of a room. You're obviously not doing very much to keep me comfortable."

"I could do a lot more to make you uncomfortable." He grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me to the ground.

I landed with a thud and small pieces of hay and black dust flew around me.

"We'll be back," he warned, and they left the room, locking the door between us.

I sat up and rubbed the sore spot on the back of my head. A lump was already starting to form and it was incredibly tender.

I noticed that strange smell again. It seemed to be coming from the little pile of hay that I was on. I started digging around the hay and found a lot more of that black dust underneath.

The further I went from the center of the hay, the stronger the smell became. When I had gone as far as the chains would allow, I was almost to the edge of the hay. I dug around and came upon something hard. I pulled it out and discovered that it was a bone.

I knew that it wasn't there for any dogs to chew on. I looked at it more closely and recognized it as a human arm bone. It could have been vampire for all I knew. I doubted vampire bones were any different from human ones. Whoever had been killed in here had been dead a long time because the bone was very dry.

I dropped the bone and dug around some more, and found that the black dust became more of a sludge the further down that I went. I pulled my hand out and it was covered in black goo. My stomach lurched and twisted.

What was that? It wasn't like anything that I had learned about in my CSI club.

Whatever it was, it started to make my hand tingle. I wiped my hand furiously on the hay to get it off. My hand began to go numb.

I threw up.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I sat on the edge of the hay as far away from the black goo as possible and tried as hard as I could to not think about what it might have been. I had managed to get it all off my hand and the feeling had returned to normal.

I had managed to calm down since throwing up, but I wanted out of the horrible room I was in more than ever. I knew that I had killed that farmer not too long ago, but that was different. He was an evil person and I had been quick and painless. I got a feeling when holding the bone, and when the black mush was on my fingers, that the person had suffered greatly.

I decided to focus on the chains and finding a way out of them. That was the first order of business before getting out of this place. I was certain that the walls weren't solid steel, so I could get through them if I had to.

Closing my eyes, I imagined myself outside of the chains. I pictured my wrists going through the shackles with ease. When I had imagined it to the point that it felt completely real, I opened my eyes and looked at my wrists.

I was still in the shackles. I tried the process several more times with no more luck.

I glared at the shackles and said in exasperation, "Just get off my wrists already."

They fell to the ground, landing softly on the hay.

My mouth popped open and I stared at the chains in complete disbelief. I grabbed them, snapped them on again and ordered, "Get off my wrists."

They dropped to the ground again and I smiled.

"At least I learn new skills as I need them," I murmured to myself. "I'm going to need to learn a lot, quickly."

I heard footsteps and I grabbed the shackles and snapped them back on. I wasn't ready to surprise them with that yet.

The big loud door opened slowly and Adam walked in with a lady dressed in black.

"How are you feeling?" Adam asked with smirk.

I didn't give him an answer.

He looked at my pile of vomit and said, "Looks like you're doing even worse than I had hoped for. Perfect."

"Maybe I won't need to perform as many spells for you," the lady said.

"Don't jump to conclusions," Adam said. "We'll stick to our plan for now."

"Do you want me to start now?" she asked.

He looked at me for a moment and then turned to her and said, "Let's start with the first spell and see how it goes. You say that you've performed spells on royals before?"

"It's been several centuries, but yes."

"It worked?"

"Of course."

"Good enough. Get to work."

She gave him a look and then pulled out a bag from her coat and laid some candles, flower petals, and other odd objects out on the floor. She arranged the candles into a circle and placed the petals all around the inside of it. She placed the other objects directly next to one of the candles.

She spoke in what sounded like an ancient language, and the candles all lit themselves simultaneously.

"Place the girl in the middle of the circle."

Adam looked at me and said, "You will walk into the circle and stand directly in the middle. You will do exactly as we say or I will give word for Samantha to kill your human friend. Got it?"

My heart sunk and I nodded in agreement.

He unlocked the shackles and I walked into the center of the witch's circle and stood in place.

She started speaking in the strange language again and began walking around the circle. She pulled feathers and twigs out of a pocket and let them fall into the circle as she spoke.

She stopped when all of the objects had all landed in the circle and shouted unfamiliar words. The candles all went out at the same time. All of the items on the floor flew up into the air around me, swirling and tickling me. When the last object had fallen back to the ground, I fell to the ground too.

I tried to get up, but couldn't move.

"It is complete," the witch said.

"Good," Adam said. "Gather your things and I'll chain her back up."

She touched the top of my head and I was able to get up. Adam grabbed my arm, yanked me up and threw me down on the hay.

"What did she do to me?" I asked as he chained me back up.

"She removed the blessing that protected you from the sunlight. Now you are just like every other creature of the night. No more walking around during the day."

"What will happen to me if I go into the sunlight?" I asked.

He laughed. "You'll find out if you try to escape. I'll let you use your imagination for now."

"Is that it for now?" the witch asked.

"Yes, you can take a break before performing any more. In the meantime, we can get something to eat. I'm starving." He smirked at me.

My stomach rumbled and they left, laughing. The door closed with a loud thud.

I didn't bother getting up from the hay. My mind raced with the possibilities of what the sun might do to me. It would really make escaping so much more difficult.

With depression coursing through me, I closed my eyes and gave into to sleep.

***

I was running around a field full of beautiful, golden sunlight. I had several flowers in my hand and was singing a song that I made up as I went along. My hair was whipping around behind me as I ran, and the sun felt warm and loving as it hugged my skin.

I heard the sounds of horses and ran behind a couple of trees at the edge of the clearing. I wasn't supposed to be outside and I was afraid that I would get into trouble.

The two horses rode into the middle of the field, and the riders got off their horses and removed their caps.

It was a young Cliff and his father.

I was so excited to see Cliff that it was difficult to keep myself from running out to give him a hug.

"Clifford, I need to have a serious talk with you," his father said.

"What is it, father?" Cliff asked.

George Montgomery set his cap down on the saddle and said, "I've received an alarming message from one of the prophets."

"Father?"

"Before you and Marguerite get married, there are going to be some...complications, son."

"What kind of complications, Father?"

George sighed and said, "It saddens me to have to tell you this, but she is going to fall in love with another and...."

"What?"

"Please son, let me finish. This is difficult enough."

"I apologize, Father."

"She is going to fall in love with another, and as a result, she's going to suffer a great deal. I don't know the details, but what I do know is that you must stay true to her no matter what. You will need to keep your head clear, because that is the only way that she will return to you and you will get our family line on the throne."

"This is a lot to take in."

"Yes, son, I know it is. You are young still and it is hard to imagine sweet Marguerite having eyes for another. I do not know why this must be."

"But she will return to me?"

"So long as you don't act out of jealousy and you are able to keep calm and stay true to her."

"This sounds difficult, Father."

"I could not imagine going through that with your mother. It will be very painful for you."

"I will do it, father. She is everything to me and no matter how hard it is for me, I will stay true to her and never stop loving her. I will fight for her and I will fight with her. We will rule the kingdom together. It will be a test and training in compassion to make me into a better leader."

They were silent for a few moments before George said, "You are truly wise beyond your years. I can see why you will be a king that will outshine all others."

***

I sat up on my pile of hay. Cliff knew that this would happen? I knew that this would happen?

Did he disappear because he knew that he could do nothing about it? Or so that he would not get jealous and risk losing everything? Was it possible that he wasn't angry but instead was disappointed that the day of my betrayal had come so soon?

The depression that was starting to overtake me when I fell asleep was now gone, and I had renewed energy and a new sense of purpose to keep fighting. I wanted to escape before I was handed over to the Moretti's. I didn't think that I was ready to face them yet.

I knew that I had to come up with a plan to get out of that place, and the sooner, the better.

Looking at my chains I said, "Get off now."

I watched as they fell to the ground. I walked quietly to the wall opposite the door, thinking that it might be an outside wall.

I leaned against the wall and imagined myself outside. Suddenly, I felt a breeze blowing by me. I opened my eyes and I was standing outside an ugly stone building in the middle of some creepy woods.

I took a quick look around in every direction. I saw no one and there were no windows for anyone to see me. In a split second, I started running as fast as I could in the opposite direction of the building. I ran soundlessly on the forest floor and my bare feet didn't slow me down in the slightest.

After about ten minutes of running, I bolted up a tree to get my bearings. I had no idea where I was, nor in which direction I was heading.

I sat quietly and listened for anything that would indicate danger or my location. I didn't sense that I was in any kind of danger. I didn't want to stay where I was very long, because I knew that it would not be long before Adam and his crew were after me. His witch might even have added ways to find me. I didn't want to take any chances.

Since I didn't believe that I was being chased, I decided to find something to eat. It had been entirely too long since I had eaten.

I listened for large animals. I heard mostly small creatures and even a coyote, but even the coyote would only be enough to tease my appetite. I decided to move on and search for something bigger. I jumped out of the tree and ran in a slightly different direction than I had been running before. I was listening for animals as I ran, which was much trickier than when I was sitting in a tree.

I stopped in my tracks when I heard something that sounded like a bear. That would be perfect. I followed the scent and sounds, found it, and spied on it for a few moments. It knew that it was being watched and I could smell its fear. I was convinced that it was alone so I rushed in and bit down. It didn't even stand a chance, because I didn't give it one. I was too hungry to toy with it or enjoy the hunt.

When I had drained the bear of its blood, I was satisfied, so I thought I should be able to be on top of my game. I ran and I ran until I heard the faint sound of freeway traffic.

I ran in the direction of the noise, and as I ran out of the woods, I felt as if my eyes were being stabbed with thousands of tiny knives. I had never felt anything so painful, and I ran back into the thick woods before I dropped to the ground and fell victim to the sun.

I leaned against a tree and allowed myself to recover from what felt like a vicious attack.

How was I going to get out of the woods if I couldn't go out into the daylight? Even though it was November, it was still going to be hours until the sun went down. I did not want to be tied to these woods for even a second longer.

As I stood there trying to find a way out of this mess, I imagined Adam and his jokers discovering that I was missing and then laughing at me, knowing that I couldn't leave the woods anytime soon.

I shoved them out of my mind and decided to attempt being in the sun again, even though I knew how much it was going to hurt. With my arms covering my eyes and my eyes shut tightly, I slowly stepped out into the sunlight again.

My skin felt warm and began to get warmer and warmer. I was doing a good job of keeping my eyes protected under my arm, because I didn't feel any of the knives stabbing them. I knew that I wasn't going to get very far without being able to see, and my skin was becoming uncomfortably warm.

I sighed, backed up into the woods again and opened my eyes in disappointment. I was stuck in these woods and I needed to decide whether I was going to camp out somewhere and wait for it to get dark, or if I was going to travel further in the woods.

Since I still didn't know in which direction home was, I decided to find a comfortable tree and save my strength. My only point of reference was the direction that I come from, and I would avoid that building with everything in me.

I walked as close to the edge of the woods as possible, looking for the perfect tree to hide out in. I kept trying to look out of the woods to get an idea for my location, but even looking into the light felt like daggers to my eyes.

When I found the perfect tree, I climbed up as quickly as I could and made myself comfortable on some branches that were nestled together. I sat and listened to the sounds of both the traffic and the forest for a long time.

I needed a plan, especially since I could only travel in the dark. My first priority was to find Tanner and get him away from Samantha. Then I had to find Clara, because she would know where to take me to get my sun blessing back. There was no way that I could go back to my family without being able to go into the sun. There was no way to explain that to them.

I thought about how Brooke had visions when I was in trouble. I wondered if Brooke had any knowledge of this mess. Why hadn't she known about Adam coming to town? Were her visions unreliable or was Adam somehow impervious to them?

I peeked out of the branches and saw that the sun was beginning to go down. I would wait until it was at least dusk before I attempted to leave the woods.

I wondered what my parents and sister were doing. I had been gone at least a couple of days. I was sure they were worried out of their minds, because it was so unlike me to disappear. Sure, I had been late a lot recently, but had never completely disappeared.

I thought about Tanner's family and how much his mom depended on him to help with his brother. Did people think that we had run off together? I hoped that it didn't look like he'd taken me. I knew that people often jumped to conclusions like that. Significant others and parents were usually the first suspects when someone went missing. I really hoped that nobody was interrogating any of our parents.

Several years earlier, a little girl in Delphic Cove had disappeared and the whole town came together to put up signs and get the word out nationally so that she would be found. They did find her and she too had been kidnapped, but I doubted she was kidnapped by vampires. I wondered if the town was doing anything like that for Tanner and I or if they thought we'd just taken off...without our cars.

Did my vampire parents know what was going on? That I was missing yet again before they even got to see me after my first kidnapping? I wondered if Cliff knew what was happening, since nobody seemed to know where he was either.

My mind wandered to Hailey and Emma. I wondered if anyone blamed them for our disappearances. Their recent behavior did give reason to suspect them. The thought of them taking some heat brought a smile to my face, but if Hailey was still playing scared little victim, then she was probably off the hook. I thought about Amanda and wondered what she was thinking, since we hadn't talked after I got mad at her for not believing in me. Even at that, I could easily imagine her helping with whatever community efforts were being made to find us.

I hoped that Brooke and her family were searching for me and any clues that might have been left behind. I really hoped that they didn't think that I had run off with Tanner. I did not want to be alone in this. I wanted them to show up and fight with me. I had no battle training and I was sure that I was going to run into Adam and his gang before I made it home. It was a strong feeling.

I looked through the branches again and saw that it was nearly dusk at last. I felt as though I had been in that tree for too long. I stretched my legs and arms, and got ready to get out of the tree and try walking out of the woods again.

I took a deep breath and climbed down the tree, keeping my senses aware of any danger that might be lurking nearby. I walked toward the edge of the woods and looked at the setting sun. If I looked at the outer edge where the colors were dark blues and purples, my eyes were fine. If I looked at the oranges, I could feel the tiny daggers again.

I walked out further so that I was completely out of the woods. I was on a stretch of grass overlooking a freeway. I watched as the cars zipped by not too far below.

I didn't see anything to reveal my location. The freeway signs were not facing me, and I didn't see any other kind of indicator.

I knew that I had to act fast and that any decision was better than no decision. I decided to go in the direction that the freeway closest to me was headed. I hated to be so close to the woods, but I had no choice, being stuck between the woods and the freeway.

Running as fast as I could, I focused on getting to the nearest populated area. I was hoping for a mall or someplace similar. That might also help me to figure out where I was, which would be a huge help.

I sensed that something from the woods watching me. I ran even faster, and felt that who or whatever was watching me was keeping up with my speed. The hairs on my neck and arms rose and I knew that it was a vampire.

There was a park about a mile ahead of me and I made it my goal to get there. It appeared that there was some kind of gathering there, and if I could mingle with humans, I would have a net of safety. My pursuers wouldn't be stupid enough to kill a bunch of humans, I hoped.

Going faster than I ever thought possible, I ran behind a pole in the park near the humans. I stopped and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make myself look presentable.

It looked like some sort of wedding celebration. People were eating and dancing, and a bride and groom were lovingly feeding each other dinner. I could not imagine wanting my wedding to be outside in late November as a human. As a vampire, it would be fine, because the cold didn't bother me. I was wearing a dress with leggings and no shoes, and I was fine.

Doing my best to act naturally, I slipped in amongst the people. Fitting in would be tricky with my clothes being a wreck and my bare feet. I got in the food line and listening to people talking so that I would know what to say if I needed to pretend to know either the bride or groom. As I was filling my plate, I scanned the horizon for vampires and was sure that I saw Adam hiding at the edge of the woods, watching.

I sat down at a table with a couple that was only paying attention to each other. I tried to act normally as I scarfed down my food. The blood did help, but I still needed actual food.

Another couple sat down at the table.

"Wasn't this the most beautiful wedding?" the girl asked me.

I smiled and nodded with my mouth full of food.

"It couldn't have been any more perfect with the sunset as the background," she said with a sigh. "I thought an outdoor evening wedding in November was insane. But what a great idea."

"I wondered that too," I said. "Tonight's sunset was perfect. It must have been meant to be."

"I can't wait to see the pictures. They are going to be stunning."

The guy turned to me and looked like he'd seen a ghost. "You look just like that girl who's all over the news."

My face went white. I was sure of it.

"What girl on the news?" his girlfriend asked.

"Right, you don't watch the news." He rolled his eyes. "There's a high school couple from Delphic Cove that disappeared without a trace three days ago. They were last seen kissing in a park when some thugs showed up. They all went into the woods and none of them came back out. You seriously haven't heard about any of this?"

"No, I didn't hear any of it," she said. "So someone saw them go into the woods with the thugs and nobody went to make sure that they were okay?"

"Apparently, the eyewitnesses didn't know them and didn't think about it. They said that they figured they were all friends. They didn't put two and two together until they heard about the missing couple. Then they came forward to the police."

"It sounds like you've been following this pretty closely," she replied.

"I have," he replied. "It's so scary. The boy reminds me of my younger cousin, and I couldn't imagine anything happening to him. The community has come together, and it looks like everyone has been searching. They've got piles of flowers at the park where they disappeared and people have been holding candle light vigils each night in the park that they disappeared at."

"Do they have any leads?" the girl asked.

"No," he said, and shook his head. "They don't have a single lead. They don't know who the thugs are and there is no trace of them at all. The girl had been getting bullied pretty badly at school, so they were investigating kids at their school, but they didn't come up with anything convincing."

"That is so sad," she said.

"It's especially hard to watch when any of the parents gets in front of the camera," he said. "They always break down in tears. They can't hold it together and the parents actually have a spokesperson speaking on their behalf now."

I felt a lump forming in my throat.

He turned his attention back on me. "You really do look just like her."

I bit my lip and said, "I haven't seen that news story either. I'll have to look into that when I get home. I really hope that they find that couple."

A million questions ran through my mind, but I couldn't ask any of them without raising suspicion. I had wanted to blend in and not be noticed at all. If my picture was all over the news, I had little chance of that happening.

Then I wondered if should tell them that I really was the girl from the news. I could be whisked away without Adam being able to get me. I could still see him watching me from all the way in the woods.

On the other hand, I had the whole issue of not being able to be in the sun, and that was going to be very hard to explain. I needed to get that fixed before going back to my family. If I was discovered then there would be a huge media circus and I would never be able to get back to Tanner or get my sun blessing back.

The guy looked at his girlfriend and said, "I'll be right back."

"Okay," she said.

We both watched him join a group of guys and start talking to them. One by one, they looked over toward the table and started whispering. I focused my hearing on their whispers.

"I think that's the missing girl from Delphic Cove."

"Did you ask her?"
"She only said that she hasn't seen the news."

"How would she get all the way over here?"

"Ever heard of a car, you tool?"

"She's not even wearing shoes. I doubt she drove herself over here to attend the wedding."

"She does look like she's been through some kind of ordeal."

"I watched her eat. It was like she hadn't eaten in three days."

"Dude, she's been gone for three days."

"Exactly."

"Should we call the cops?"

"Is there a reward?"

"Shut up."

"Do you think her boyfriend is around here?"

"Who knows? I didn't see him though."

"Do you guys think that I should call the cops? I really think that's her."

"Be sure to get a picture of her with your phone. They'll want proof, especially if she takes off."

"Right. How did I not think of that?"

"I can't believe you didn't get a picture. Epic fail."

Pictures. I hadn't even thought of that. This was a wedding celebration and someone could end up getting a picture of me. The worst part would be if there were a flash. That could be as bad as the sun.

"Pardon me," I told the girl next to me. I got up and walked as fast and furtively as I could to a tree nearby. I took a deep breath and began running so fast that the humans would never be able to see me.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I came to a movie theater, stopped and stood among a crowd waiting for a movie to start. I was glad to discover that artificial lighting didn't affect me negatively.

As I stood amongst the people, I looked into the distance as far as I could see. If Adam had managed to track me, I couldn't see him. I had taken many random turns and ducked between a couple dozen buildings. He would have had to have some crazy tracking skills to keep up with me.

I walked to a wall and leaned against it to rest and regain as much energy as possible. I'd run at least fifty miles and still felt energetic but I didn't want to take any chances.

Someone nearby said, "Did you hear that they think that girl from Delphic Cove was spotted tonight?"

I looked down, letting my hair fall in front of my face. I didn't want to be seen again so soon. I needed to find a place where I would be able to hide out when the daylight came back.

"They did? Where?" asked another.

"They were near the woods where we go camping every year."

"I wonder if it was really her."

"It sounds like they were really sure, according to the news interview I saw before I left. It was at a wedding, and they're looking through all the cameras there to see if anyone got a picture of her. The guy that recognized her said that she had disappeared before he could get a picture of her."

"Her boyfriend wasn't with her?"

"No, she was alone. I wonder if something happened to him."

"It's so crazy that there are just no clues in that case. I sure hope this will help find them."

"Do you think it was the bullies at her school?"

"She's so hot. I can't believe that she was getting bullied."

I couldn't help smiling despite everything, and was glad that my hair was covering my face.

"That's exactly why she was getting bullied. Other girls were jealous of her. That's what happened to my neighbor before she moved to our street. It was so bad that they had to move to a different district."

I decided to move on before anyone recognized me. I was obviously a hot topic of conversation all over the state. I casually walked away from everyone to a dark part of the parking lot and began running again.

Before long, I came to neighborhood with some very fancy houses. I saw foreclosure signs on many of them, and decided that one of these houses would make a great place to stay and rest. I picked the one with the most pristine yard, because I thought that it might still have electricity and water. I really wanted a long hot shower after everything I had been through.

I walked around the house, making sure that nobody else had decided to squat there. A motion activated light went on when I walked in front of the garage. That was a great sign that I might be able to get a shower. I couldn't find any sign of people or vampires so I walked to a dark corner and leaned against the wall.

Once inside, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the foreclosed owners had left in such a hurry that they had left quite a bit of stuff behind. They must have had to move someplace smaller and only took what they could bring with them. Or maybe they were coming back.

I went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and I saw the food in there. I was still hungry but hadn't realized it until I saw that food. I grabbed things that I could eat quickly, and then made a couple of sandwiches and had some juice. Some of the stuff had expired but I didn't care. If it wasn't moldy, it was fair game at this point.

After I was finally full, I checked out the second story and found some bedrooms and several bathrooms, all with items left behind. I found what looked like a teenage girl's room. She had left some decent clothes behind, they would be just a little big and she had left enough stuff that I take a decent shower too. I could live without conditioner.

I listened intently to make sure that nobody was in the house before taking a shower, even though I was certain that I was alone. I couldn't be too cautious.

Never before had a shower felt so good. Not even after my hibernation, it felt like a lifetime had passed since then. Once I was out of the shower and dressed in some clean clothes, I felt like a new person. I noticed that the sun was beginning to come up, so I went through the house and closed all of the blinds and curtains as tightly as I could. I didn't want to have to deal with any sunlight.

I was getting tired but wanted to wait until it was light out to sleep. I found a small black and white TV in one of the bedrooms on the third floor and turned it on. The early morning news was on and I watched the weather forecast—sunny with no chance of rain so I would definitely be in this house all day.

After that, the story they were covering was about the disappearance of two teenagers from Delphic Cove. They were discussing the sighting of me at the wedding, and everyone was really excited to finally have a lead in the case, even if it wasn't much. They had found one picture taken of me on a camera there, but it was blurry and a side shot. So, they were debating whether or not it was really me.

They interviewed some kids from school and a couple of neighbors. Nobody had anything of significance to say. It seemed to me that people were taken in by the case and obsessing over it the way that people do sometimes. Every little detail gets hashed over to death, and everyone has a theory and an opinion to share.

They showed images from candle light vigils at the park, and I felt horrible when I saw my family holding candles with tears pouring down their faces. There was a lady and a boy with them, Tanner's mom and brother I assumed.

Next, they went through a slide show of pictures of Tanner and me to make sure that everyone knew what we looked like, even though everyone already knew since I had been spotted so easily. They had pictures of Tanner playing football, pictures of us from class, pictures from the homecoming dance, and even a picture of the two of us together. I didn't even know that there were any pictures of us together. With so many different pictures of us on the news, it was no wonder that I had been so easily recognized.

There was a full, ten-minute slot dedicated to us. I couldn't believe that there was so much interest. I knew that our families would be upset, but for the news to be so interested in it so many miles away seemed surreal.

When the topic moved to stocks, I turned the TV off and went to an old computer that I had seen in one of the rooms to see if it was online. I wasn't surprised to see that it was, since everything else in the house was running. I wondered if the owners were planning on returning for the rest of their stuff. I hoped they would wait until after dark, if they were coming back.

The browser's startup page was a national news network site, and a picture of Tanner and I was right at the top of the page with the caption, "Sighting of Alexis Ferguson Last Night."

I shook my head. National news? This was crazy. I knew that statistically, the missing cases that got the most attention were of the people who were the most attractive. For some stupid reason, the masses cared less about ugly missing people. It was ridiculous, because beauty doesn't make one person more worthy than another.

I wondered if Cliff was aware of any of this news coverage. Everyone was calling Tanner my boyfriend, and that picture of the two of us looked pretty cozy.

I thought about checking my email or social profiles, but I didn't want anyone to know that I was online. I could be tracked too easily.

I turned off the computer and went to the master bedroom with the only bed that had been left behind. It was also the bedroom with the thickest curtains. It had no blankets, but I remembered seeing a couple of blankets in another bedroom, so I grabbed those on the way.

I lay down on the bed and thought about my plan. I had no idea where Cliff, Brooke or any of the other vampires were. I wanted to communicate with them somehow and I was extremely tempted to email Brooke.

I thought about Adam and those vampires. I was glad that it was almost daylight so I didn't have to worry about them hunting me down in the light. Or did I? I was trying to remember how dark it was when they approached us at the edge of the woods. The sun was setting, but it had been dark inside the woods. I really didn't know if they could be in the sun or not.

Next, I thought about my family and was worried about their safety if I returned. Home was the obvious place for me to go, and that would be the first place that Adam or the Moretti's would look for me. I hoped that if I stayed away they would leave my family alone.

I thought about Tanner and hoped that he was okay. There was a chance that Adam would have told Samantha to do anything she wanted to him since I had escaped, but I thought that it was more likely that they would keep him safe so they could use his safety as a threat to me if they caught me. If there was any way to help him escape, I needed to figure it out.

I could feel myself getting drowsy, so I listened one last time to make sure that I was alone in the house, and aside from some critters in the attic, I had the house to myself. I let myself drift off to sleep.

***

I woke up feeling refreshed and decided that I would risk sending Brooke an email. I climbed out of bed and walked out of the darkened bedroom. The light inside of the hallway was blinding, but not enough to cause pain.

I closed my eyes, covered them with my arms and ran to the room with the computer. It wasn't as dark as the room I had slept in, but it was dark enough. This time of year, the whole house would be dark enough in a few hours, and I would have to decide whether I should move on or stay another night.

When the computer was back on, I quickly went to a free email site and created a fake email address. In a matter of minutes, I had begun composing a message to send to Brooke. I hoped she would open it, despite it being from an email that she didn't recognize.

Subject: Important! Important! Read me! Do not ignore!

Message: Brooke, it's me. ME. I have to stay on the down-low, so you know I can't say more than that. Some guy named Adam and his jokers grabbed you-know-who and me. The M's have a bounty out on me and they want me dead. I got away from Adam and his stooges. You-know-who is still captive with one of them as far as I know, a v. named Samantha. I doubt that he can get away, for obvious reasons. I'm on the run, but I'm fine. I'm not going to stay in any one place for long. I don't want to be found, and I don't want to put my family in any danger. I want to find you guys so that we can team up against the M's. I don't dare say where I am or how to contact me aside from emailing me back at this address. I can't guarantee when I will next be able to check it. -Me

I stood up to see if I could make it downstairs to eat. Not all of the windows were covered downstairs, so I wasn't sure if I would be able to make it yet since the hallway was blindingly bright on the middle level of the house.

I walked into the hallway and closed my eyes immediately, because it was so bright that I felt like I was looking directly into the sun, yet there wasn't even any direct sunlight in the hall. I felt my way down the stairs and cracked open an eye when I got to the bottom.

The painful daggers shot through my eyes once again, and it felt much worse than the day before. It took all of my strength not to scream at the top of my lungs and draw attention to any neighbors that might be nearby. I ran upstairs as fast as I could and jumped into the room with the computer.

I lay on the floor in agony. The pain was too much, and I started to feel sick to my stomach. I crawled to the closest bathroom with my eyes closed as fast as I could and threw up in the toilet. Five times.

When I was done, I fell on the floor in front of the toilet, grateful that this bathroom had no windows. I watched as stars danced before my eyes and the pain from the daggers lingered. I lost track of time and could think of nothing else except the pain that refused to leave.

By the time that the pain was gone and I could get up without getting nauseous, it was dark outside. I could walk around the house freely. I hoped that my stomach was settled enough to eat, because it was empty again.

I walked cautiously to check my email. I glad to see that Brooke had replied to my email.

Message: Thank u 4 the update. Keep hiding & stay safe. Email me when you can – but not 2 often. I don't want 2 raise suspicion. We R working 2 keep your family safe. We R on a strong lookout 4 any v's. We feel horrible that we missed Adam coming 2 town 2 get u. If you want 2 come home – go to the house where C was staying. No other v's know that we own it so it will be safe. Talk soon. -B

At least I didn't have to worry about my family, but I wished she would have told me if Cliff had come back or not. I knew that I hadn't asked directly, but it seemed like something she should mention.

I decided that I didn't have time to worry about it. I needed a plan, and I needed one soon. I walked downstairs and decided that I would calculate a plan while I ate.

I wanted to stay here and take it easy. It was nice that the house had everything I needed, even though I didn't know when the power would go out or if anyone would return. I was also afraid that if I stayed in one place too long, it would become easier to find me.

I didn't want to just keep hiding as Brooke had recommended. I was a born princess after all. I was not meant to run and hide all the time. I needed to have a mission and to focus on that.

I grabbed a pen and paper and wrote out a list what I needed to accomplish:

Rescue Tanner  
Take down Adam, Samantha, etc.  
Find Cliff  
Meet my vamparents   
Take down the Moretti's with Cliff  
Rule the kingdom

I looked over the list several times and didn't even know where to begin. I didn't know how to accomplish anything on the list, especially on my own.

Taking a bite from a sandwich, I noticed that I could smell some cheese that was in the closed refrigerator. If I could smell food that way, I could surely use this sense to find people and vampires. I could also make stakes with just a stick and my own fingernails.

I smiled with the realization that I could actually do a lot more than I realized. I really could come up with a plan and follow it through. I was destined for greatness, and it was supposed to be me, not my knight in shining armor, that was going to beat the Moretti's once and for all.

It was up to me to figure this out on my own and I could. I was no damsel in distress. Being in this mess sucked, without a doubt, but it seemed like it was the ideal way for me to find out what I was capable of.

I finished eating and then went through the house, looking for things that would help me. I grabbed a bag from the girl's room and put in some clothes, food and some makeshift stakes that I made from pulling apart some empty picture frames.

Before leaving I sat down, closed my eyes, and tried to recall the scents of the people and vampires that I knew. I hadn't paid much attention to the smells before, but when I thought about it I could remember each one's distinct scent. I held on to each one in my mind so that I would be able to detect it as easily as possible.

When I was outside, I took in a deep breath to see if I could pick up any of the scents, even though I doubted that I would be able to. I was certain that nobody I knew was anywhere near this place.

My heart nearly stopped when I picked up the faintest scent of Tanner. I took in another deep breath and smelled it again. I couldn't smell Samantha or any other vampire.

Maybe it was a relative of his. His dad had run off, so maybe he lived around here.

Strapping the backpack around my shoulders as snug as possible, I started tracking scent. There was no breeze, so it was more difficult to determine the direction it was coming from. I started walking away from the house, and the scent became minutely weaker. I turned around and walked in the other direction and it became slightly stronger. I kept walking, and little by little the scent became even stronger.

Even thought it was dark out, I kept as close to the shadows as possible and did my best to stay out of the lights from the houses and street lamps. I had to go through some yards and in between houses in order to follow the trail of the scent. The trail did not go neatly down the sidewalk.

The further along that I went, the more I developed the feel for tracking the scent. It was similar to tracking an animal in the woods, but there was much more at stake, so I wasn't going to take any chances just in case it was Tanner and not some random relative.

I picked up my pace as I became more comfortable with the process. However, I was afraid of going too fast and losing the trail altogether. I also didn't want to become so focused on that one scent that I failed to recognize any of the others.

I was worried about the fact that I didn't smell any other vampires near him. I was worried that they would have harmed him and then left him. I told myself that he was fine and that they just had him locked up somewhere as they had me locked up.

I hoped that after I had completed the transformation and I was a full vampire, this stuff would come naturally. It felt like so much to keep track of the scent that I was following, to remain aware of other scents, to stay out of sight and to stay aware of anyone who might be watching me. I felt like I was focusing on too many things at one time. It was difficult to do anything effectively.

The closer the scent became, the more that I felt something was really wrong. I had already traveled several miles. The urge to run at full speed was overpowering. I decided to give it a try, so I broke into a full run and was glad that I could still track the scent and change course as often as needed.

The feeling that something was very wrong kept getting stronger, and I couldn't go any faster. I came near some woods, and the smell was undeniable.

I ran into the woods in the direction of the scent and a few miles in, I came to a rundown shack. I had no doubt that the scent was coming from inside. I didn't smell anyone else and I was certain that it was Tanner inside. I tried the door and it opened right away. There was one little room and two smaller ones in the back. I looked around at the dirty, very old furniture but didn't see him. I could smell him; he was in the shack somewhere.

I followed the scent to one of the back rooms and there was Tanner, lying on the floor not moving.

"No," I gasped. I ran to him and sat down next to him, shaking him. "Tanner! Wake up. Wake up."

He didn't budge.

"Tanner!" I didn't care who may have heard me. I grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Wake up, you have to wake up."

His head wobbled back and forth as I shook him, which meant that he wasn't stiff and there was a possibility that he could still be alive. I couldn't hear his heartbeat, so with tears streaming down my face, I put my ear directly to his chest and heard a very faint and very weak heartbeat.

I blew into his mouth to start CPR to see if I could help him. He was so close to gone. I did a couple chest compressions and heard the cracking that they warn you about in CPR courses. Somehow, I bit my tongue during the process but I ignored the pain and the blood in my mouth. If he didn't survive, then a little blood in his mouth wouldn't matter anyway. I just kept going.

Eventually, I became tired and had to take a break. I hated myself for it, but I was still part human and had too many limitations. I looked at his nearly lifeless body and started crying again.

"Tanner, please wake up," I begged. I leaned over and gave him a kiss on his lips as my tears ran down onto his face. I lay my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat going slower and slower.

I sat up. "No. Don't go." With what little energy that I had left, I started the CPR again. When I was too tired again, I listened for his heartbeat and it was gone.

Gone.

I lay my head on his shoulder and cried. "I'm so sorry, Tanner," I whispered. "This is all my fault. Samantha used you to get to me." I sobbed until I couldn't shed another tear.

I thought about trying to find a hospital to take him to, knowing that they had defibrillator machines that could bring life back to his heart. It was most likely light out by then, so I was stuck in the woods until nightfall. There was nothing more that I could do to bring him back. I buried my face into his chest and sobbed.

Starting to fall asleep on the dirty floor, I woke up with a start. What if Samantha and the others came back? I didn't want them to find Tanner's body and I didn't want to be there either.

I had to move his body so that I could make sure that his poor family could get it back to mourn properly. Without thinking, I picked up his body and carried him out of the shack. When I realized what I was doing—carrying someone much bigger than myself—I nearly dropped him. I had forgotten about the time I carried that huge farmer.

I walked further into the woods with more ease than I would have expected. I decided to try running, and was pleasantly surprised when I discovered that I could run while carrying him. I ran for miles until I came to an abandoned bear den. From the smell of it, no bears had been in there for a very long time.

I lay him down on what looked like the bed used by the bears that once lived here. I went outside, gathered leaves and covered him up in hopes that they would mask his scent if the vampires decided to look for his body.

After he was covered up and taking on the scent of the leaves, I reclined next to him. I wished that I could hear a heartbeat but knew that it would not return. I fell asleep from the emotional exhaustion.

***

When I woke up, I was certain that I could smell Samantha's stink. Although it was faint, I was willing to bet that she was at the shack to remove or destroy Tanner's body.

Anger surged through my body, and fueled with rage stronger than I'd ever felt before, I grabbed two makeshift stakes from my bag and stuck one in my sock and the other in the arm of my hoodie. I also put some matches in my back pocket.

I went outside of the bear den and saw a rock that was large enough to cover the entrance. It would be perfect to cover his scent from animals and vile vampires. I moved the rock with as much ease as I had run with Tanner across the woods.

When I was certain that nothing would disturb him, I ran as fast as I could back to the shack. I hated her more than anything, and I would see to it that she did not live to see the next sunrise. I was prepared to take her down or be taken down myself.

Before I walked in, I could hear two distinct voices. One was Samantha's and the other was probably that of one of the vampires that had gone with her when she took Tanner.

"He was dead. Where could he have gone?" Samantha demanded.

"Maybe he wasn't actually dead. Did you take his pulse?"

"Of course he was dead. I've killed plenty of people. I know when someone is dead."

"It's obvious that he wasn't dragged off by an animal, so he must have gotten up and left."

"Did you hear a thing I told you? He was dead."

"Maybe another immortal found him and took him."

"Who would do that? Why would anyone? He's not even an important human."

My fists clenched tighter and tighter as I listened to their exchange. The rage and hatred pumped through me, right along with my blood. Had there been any electricity, I would have blown out every light for miles.

I walked up to the door and said, "I found him and I took him, you good for nothing pile of flesh!" I flew at her as she turned to look at me in complete shock.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I slammed into Samantha, knocking her to floor. Her head hit the dirt floor and she glared at me. "How did you find us?"

I hit her across the face and said, "I'll be the one asking questions around here."

She shoved me off and I landed against a grimy, old chair. "You're not even a full vampire. How dare you think that you can get the upper hand?"

I stood up and kicked her down just as she was starting to get up. "I am your princess. I already have the upper hand. Even now, I have more powers than you will ever dream of having."

She laughed and said, "You have so much to learn." She grabbed my leg and yanked me to the floor.

I rolled on the floor and grabbed a broken table leg. I jumped up and hit the male vampire across the head with it. He was standing back, just watching us as if we were part of some reality show to be gawked at. He fell over immediately and didn't get up. I would finish him off later.

Samantha jumped up and grabbed my hair, forcing my head back as far as it would go without breaking my neck.

She was close enough that I scratched her face, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see blood running down her cheek. She kneed me in the back and I gasped.

Somehow, I managed to twist myself around so that I was facing her. I grabbed her hair and we began having a hair-yanking contest.

"Are we having a cat fight now?" I asked. "This seems too high school to me."

She stared into my eyes. "You will let go of me and let me leave."

"I will let go of you and let you leave," I said slowly. "When pigs fly."

She looked completely surprised that I hadn't been able to be controlled, and I took advantage of that second, grabbed both sides of her head and shoved it into the wall. The shack was in worse shape than I thought, because we both went flying through the wall and landed on the forest floor outside.

We rolled around, each trying to get the advantage. I scratched her face again, but then noticed that the scratches from just a few minutes ago had already healed. Scratching was obviously not going to help me out much if she could heal that quickly.

I managed to grab one of her arms, sat up and twisted it as hard as I could. I heard a loud pop and she let out a yell. I kept twisting and she started kicking me. I twisted harder, and she quickly rolled over on top of me and pinned me so that I couldn't move. Did her arm already heal itself?

She smiled from on top of me. "This is pretty familiar."

"What are you talking about?" I grunted, trying to get out of her grip.

Samantha gave a seductive smile and said, "When Tanner and I were together this week."

"You're lying."

She raised an eyebrow and said, "You'll never know, now will you? He won't be able to give his side of the story. It's too bad, because he really was one of my favorite toys."

Being reminded of why I was there in the first place gave me all the fuel that I needed. I pushed her off of me and rolled on top of her, pinning her down.

"This is even more familiar." She laughed.

I slapped her. "Why did you kill him?" I demanded.

"I had no choice. I had direct orders."

"If you liked him so much, you could have found another way." I banged her head against the ground.

She rolled her eyes. "There will be others just like him."

I pulled the stake out of my sweater and began stabbing her in the chest with it. Her eyes became wide and then turned a silvery color. She shoved me off of her, stood up, and pulled the stake out.

"You missed my heart," she said. I couldn't tell if she was lying or not, although her eyes had returned to their normal color. I noticed some silvery liquid coming out of one of the wounds on her chest. She turned around and started to limp away.

As I watched Tanner's murderer hobble away, I debated whether or not to finish her off or to let her suffer. No matter how much she suffered, I knew that she would not endure nearly as much as I had. Had I any more tears, I still would have been crying.

I got up and walked back into the shack. I found the other vampire still lying where I had left him, and stuck the other stake deep into his chest. Streams of silver fluid oozed out. I pulled out my matches and lit the shack on fire. I didn't even care if the smoke drew attention. The forest was wet from recent rains, so I didn't worry about causing a forest fire. I wouldn't be that careless.

I looked in the direction that Samantha had gone, and found that she had disappeared. I picked up the stake that I had used on her and ran back to the cave to figure out my next move. I rolled the large stone just far enough for me to get back into the cave, and then let it slide back to cover the entrance.

I was suddenly very tired. I whispered another apology to Tanner and fell asleep beside him.

***

When I woke up, I was shocked to find that Tanner was thrashing around next to me. I jumped up and watched him with both curiosity and horror. I knew that he had definitely been dead. I was one of the top members of my CSI club because I really knew my stuff. He was very much dead before I went after Samantha.

Yet there he was, thrashing around like he was having a nightmare or was in some kind of intense pain. He was not conscious, but this was something more than some postmortem muscle spasms. I knew what those looked like too.

I watched and waited for close to a half an hour before he stopped moving around. I walked over to him and checked his vitals. Sure enough, there were no signs of life whatsoever. No breathing, no heartbeat, no pulse. I was disappointed but not surprised.

His skin was cold, but there was no stiffness settling in as I would have expected. As I sat there next to him, tears started to fall again. How could this have happened? Why him? Why? He was such a good person. A tear fell onto his arm.

His eyes opened up and I nearly fainted with shock. His eyes were red and they turned to look at me.

"Alexis?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out.

"What's going on? There was such a horrible pain going through my entire body. I couldn't wake up, but I felt it the whole time. Where are we?"

I started crying again. "You were dead. You were dead. You were dead."

"I can't move. The pain isn't as excruciating as it was, but it's still hanging on."

"Your eyes are red. I think I must have turned you into a vampire when I tried to save your life."

"How did I die?" he asked.

"Samantha."

His pupils became really small and his eyes narrowed. "I remember now."

"I brought you here after my CPR failed because I didn't want her to return and take your body. I found you too late to save you. Then I pushed that rock in front of the entrance to this cave to keep your body safe, and went and put a stake in her heart."

"How did you turn me into a vampire?"

"I don't know. I was so focused on saving your life. The thought of turning you hadn't even crossed my mind. I was so afraid of losing you."

We sat in silence for little while.

"I bit my tongue and it bled a lot. It's possible that while I was giving you CPR, my blood went through your system and somehow caused you to turn when you died. I have no idea how that works. Most of the vampires that I know were born from vampires. Those that were turned didn't exactly tell me about how it happened."

"Am I going through the transformation now?"

"You must be, but I don't know anything about the pain. I haven't died yet, my heart still beats. It might continue for another six months, from what I've been told. It was supposed to be another year, but my rapid exposure to blood the first time has accelerated my transformation."

"Hold me."

I laid my head on his shoulder and wrapped an arm across him. It was beyond strange that he was talking to me without my being able to hear his heartbeat or breathing. We laid in silence for a long time and I tried to wrap my mind around having him back. As a vampire.

I wasn't sure if I had fallen asleep or not, but the next thing that I was aware of was Tanner thrashing around again. This time, I knew what was going on and that he was in pain. I grabbed his hand and kept telling him that it would be okay.

When he finally stopped, he turned his head and looked at me with sad, red eyes. "Am I going to be okay, really?"

I squeezed his hand. "You've already died. I don't see how it could get much worse. Maybe I should bring you something with blood in it so that you can eat. That might help."

He nodded his head. "Let's try that."

"I'll be back," I told him, and moved the rock out of the way of the entrance and back again. I wondered how much he would need. He might need a lot, so I decided to find something substantial. I listened and thought I heard a coyote not too far away. I ran after it, caught it, broke its neck and ran back to the cave with it.

"Let's try this guy," I said. "I think it will help."

Tanner looked at the animal but didn't move. I bit into its neck so that blood flowed from it.

In an instant, he jumped up and began drinking the coyote's blood. He didn't stop until he had drained it. Then he looked at me and said, "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked.

"For getting it for me. I felt so weak, but now I feel like my strength has already returned."

"Good. That's what I was hoping for."

"What happened to you? What did those vampires do to you?" he asked.

I sighed. "Do we really need to talk about this now? You need to regain your strength because we can't stay here for too long."

"All I wanted to do was to kill those vampires. I felt so helpless knowing that I couldn't do anything to help you."

I smiled.

"What?" he asked. "That's not funny."

"I know it's not funny. I'm just glad to see your personality coming back. You have no idea how upset I was when you were dead. It's such a relief to have you back again."

"I'm glad to have you back too. They kept telling me that you were going to be killed and that you were no match for them."

"They wish," I said. "I got away as soon as I could and I came for you."

"Tell me what happened."

"You really want to know, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. Tell me everything," he sat down on our makeshift bed and pulled me down on his lap.

I let out a shriek and started laughing, "You're definitely feeling better."

He pulled me close and whispered in my ear, "That's right. Now don't change the subject."

I sighed. "They drove me to a horrible building in the middle of the woods and locked me in a dungeon. They brought in a witch who cast a spell on me, taking away my ability to be in the sun. They didn't give me anything to eat or drink, but I still managed to find the energy to escape from the chains and through the wall."

"You can't go out in the sun? I thought that was an old wives tale."

"No, it's true unless you have a blessing that allows you to be in the sun. I was given that blessing at birth, but that witch took it away."

"Does that mean that I can't go into the sun, either?"

"That's right. We're both creatures of the night. For now at least, until I am able to have the blessing given to both of us."

"How did you find me if you can't go out in the sun?"

"I traveled at night. I hid during the day. I spent one day in the woods and yesterday I spent in an abandoned house. It still had electricity and food, so I was able to eat and get a shower."

"This whole thing seems so unreal. I can't believe that I'm a vampire now."

"Me neither. I'm so sorry that you got dragged into this."

He looked into my eyes. "Alexis, this is not your fault. I don't want you to blame yourself for this. I would rather go through all of this again than never to have met you."

I blushed. "Hey, give me that ring and have a drink of my blood. I'm still part human you know, and you're going through the transition."

"I don't need a ring to be in love with you."

"You won't believe how amazing it makes the blood taste and feel," I told him. "It's so much better than drinking of any other blood, even other human blood. Believe me. You've got to try it."

He gave me an unsure look.

"Hand over that ring," I told him and he gave it to me. I put it on my thumb and said with a twinkle in my eye, "Remember to stop when the flow slows down."

He leaned in, still looking unsure.

I pointed to the spot, smiling. "Right there." My heart started racing with anticipation.

He pulled back. "You're nervous."

"You can already sense that?" I asked. "You just turned."

"Your heart is very loud."

I laughed. "I believe you. Hurry up."

He laughed and then bit down into my neck. I felt an explosion of euphoria starting from my neck and quickly running through my body in every direction. The only thing that I could see was amazing show of colorful lights, and I felt like I might faint. It was a good thing that I was sitting on his lap in case I happened to pass out.

He pulled away from my neck just before I was about to faint.

"That was...wow."

"I definitely see why you were always begging me to drink your blood," I whispered. "Wow."

We looked into each other's eyes and started laughing. When we stopped laughing he said, "That is some ring."

"It sure is. Too bad once you're done with your transformation, it will be useless."

"We'll have to make the most of it while we can," he said, and smiled. "It's like a drug."

"I feel drunk on your love," I said, twirling a strand of his hair.

"This is much better than being drunk."

"Of course it is, not that I would know from experience. But, we're drunk on our love, not some stupid drink," I told him.

"I'm so glad to have you back. I hated being apart from you and not knowing what they were doing to you. I felt so powerless as a human, but now I feel so empowered, like I could take them down."

I stopped smiling. "We might have to do just that, you know."

"They're not going away, are they?"

"Not until we do something about them. Adam and that whole group only want one thing. They want to take over the vampire kingdom. They want to rule all vampires and live in the castle, and they think that it's necessary to kill me for that to happen."

"Why you?"

"I'm next in line for the throne. I was born the princess of all vampires, and the Moretti's tried to have me killed as a toddler, but I was hidden among the humans and raised as one of their own. It took the Moretti's all this time to find me and now they want me dead."

"You're a vampire princess? You were born a vampire? Why didn't I know any of this?"

I didn't respond right away. "I don't know, I guess it never came up."

He looked hurt. "How could you not tell me something so big?"

"It's all so big to me. Being a vampire is so incredibly crazy, and the princess part is no more crazy than that. It doesn't even feel real yet. I haven't even met my parents since finding out about all of this. Everyone says it's for the best, but it doesn't feel that way."

"Is there anything else that I need to know about you?"

That time I was hurt. "I don't know. Like what?"

"How would I know?" he asked, pulling me off his lap and moving away from me.

I sighed. What had gone wrong? How could things be so amazing one minute and go downhill so fast the next? Then I remembered that we were two transitioning vampires. Crazy emotions, times two.

"I'm not trying to hide anything from you," I said. "Anything that you want to know about me I will tell you. I didn't ask for any of this. A couple of months ago, I was just living my invisible life, going to school and work completely unnoticed by anyone. Then strange things started happening to me and I found out that I was actually something that I didn't think even existed. Not only that, but I suddenly became beautiful and popular and nobody would leave me alone. Then in almost no time at all, I went from adored to hated, which is where you came in with your kindness and friendship. We both got kidnapped because of me. It's been a huge whirlwind and a roller coaster."

"Alexis, I'm sorry. You're right. I wasn't being fair."

I looked into his eyes. "It's not your fault. We've both had a lot hidden from us. Samantha used you to get to me. She definitely didn't tell you the truth about who I was."

"No, she pretended to accidentally notice that you were going through the transformation. She knew exactly what was going on. She wanted me to go after you when she disappeared."

"Nobody told me that I was a vampire being raised by humans. I had vampires around watching me most of my life, but they kept me in the dark. Even after finding out that I was vampire, they didn't tell me much because there hasn't been much time. Everything has been crazy, especially since my transformation got kicked into overdrive."

"Alexis, I'm really sorry about that. I was being selfish, and if I had it to do over again, I wouldn't have forced you to be exposed to blood like that. I didn't know that it was your first exposure or what it would do to you. But I'm still sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I could have exposed you to everyone if you couldn't control yourself. I also could have put those guys who punched each other in danger if you had gone after them. Maybe my jerk persona was more than just an act."

"I'm not upset about that. Sorry that I keep bringing it up. It was actually a good thing, because it caused me to learn more about my abilities, and if I had been exposed to blood 'properly,' I would have never known how much better fresh blood is compared to the disgusting bagged stuff. More importantly, I would have never gotten to know you."

"So what's the deal with Cliff?" Tanner asked.

"Huh?"

"Well, you two were obviously together before the whole blood incident. He's been gone and there was that rumor that Hailey started. What's the real story? You did go from him to me pretty quickly."

"Should I be offended?" I asked, scooting away from him.

"No! I'm not judging you. I just want to know the story. What's the deal with him? Is he a vampire too?"

I sighed in relief. "Yes, he's a vampire. We grew up together in the vampire castle before I was kidnapped, the first time. We met up again the night of the homecoming dance. He got mad when I told him that I had kissed you that first time, and he told me to leave his sight. That was the last that anyone has heard from him."

"Overreacting much?"

"No he wasn't," I said, trying not to be as defensive as I felt. "He'd been waiting for me ever since I was kidnapped when I was three."

"Why do I feel like there's more to the story?"

I sighed again. "We're destined to be married and rule the vampire kingdom together for many centuries," I blurted out.

He stared at me. "You're the vampire princess and he's the prince?"

"I can't win. No matter what I do, it's wrong and it makes someone mad. I did save your life, remember. Instead of being dead, now you're a vampire."

"So you're going to marry him?" he asked, glaring at me.

"I don't know. You've really complicated things."

"You don't know? Where has he been lately when you needed him most? Has he shown you any compassion?"

I ignored him. "I'm barely seventeen. I shouldn't have to think about this. Do you know that I had planned on never marrying?

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't evade my questions."

"There is the chance that Cliff won't want anything to do with me again. There's also the chance that I could choose you over Cliff and being a princess. My uncle made that choice, because he fell in love with a non-royal vampire. He gave up his place in the royal line, which is why my father is in that place now. They're twins, but my uncle was born first."

He gave me a funny look.

"What did I do now?" I asked, exasperated.

"Did you just say that you would consider choosing me over being a princess?"

"Yeah...."

"Really?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "That's crazy. Do you realize that? What am I that you would throw all of that away?"

"Just a second ago, you were on my case about how Cliff hasn't been here for me. Now you're saying 'who am I?' What gives?"

"He shouldn't treat you like that and expect that you would have anything to do with him," he said. "But at the same time, I don't think that I deserve you. Who am I that you would give up being a princess?"

"What do you mean who are you? You are an amazing person...vampire. You're kind, you're giving, and you're compassionate. I have already risked my life to save you from Samantha. I put a stake in her heart for what she did to you, and I gave up my ability to be in the sun to save you."

"Wait...what? The sun thing has to do with me?"

"When the witch was getting ready to cast the spell to remove my sun blessing, Adam told me that if I didn't get in the circle to receive her spell, they would kill you. So I walked in freely."

"You did that for me?"

"Of course."

He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me. "You're truly amazing. I don't deserve you."

"You've been my only friend in a sea of obnoxious high schoolers. You threatened to punch faces for me. You walked me to my classes, getting tardies for yourself. You risked ridicule being seen with me. How can you say that you don't deserve me?"

"I also used you. I only approached you because I wanted your venom to help me with my game and for the high. Then I put you at risk by setting up those two guys to give each other bloody noses."

"You didn't know what you were doing then. That wasn't really you. Once you saw me in pain, then you allowed your true self out. Your true self is incredible and also so much fun."

"Also, as much as I hate to admit it, I don't know why you would even consider choosing Cliff over me. On top of everything else he's also a prince. Who is very obviously in love with you. I'm poor, Alexis. I have nothing to offer you."

"But you're a good person, and you have admirable qualities. Besides, feeling that way just makes you even more desirable. Nothing is more of a put off than a guy who thinks he's awesome."

"If that's the case, then I must be irresistible right now."

I turned around, gave him a squeeze and then a quick kiss. We enjoyed our embrace.

After a while, I asked, "How does your strength feel? I think that we should move on from this cave pretty soon. If we stay in one place too long, they will be able to track us."

"Maybe we want them to track us."

"What?" I wasn't sure that I heard him right.

"I feel like I could take down an army. If there's any truth to the human legend, then as a newly turned vampire, I should be at my all-time strongest."

"You really want to fight Adam and his jokers?"

"More than anything."

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tanner and I were making stakes in an even more remote part of the woods than the cave. He was determined to take out Adam's whole group and so was I.

"I think we have enough stakes," I told him.

"There's no such thing as enough," he said.

"We can only hide so many in my backpack and on ourselves. We do want to be subtle. I had two on me when I got Samantha and her friend."

"We don't know how many of them there are."

"I already took care of two of them, and there were five plus Adam when they took us from that park. The two that Adam had watching me while he was gone aren't exactly the sharpest tools in the shed. If the witch is still there, we're still only looking at five."

"Do you know how to kill a witch?" he asked. "She's obviously got some powers if she was able to remove your sun blessing."

"I don't know. But I'm sure we can figure it out if she's there. I'm pretty sure that these stakes won't help."

He smiled and gave me a kiss. "You're cute when you're irritated."

I tried not to laugh and gave him a shove. "Let's go see what you've got."

"What do you mean?"

"We're going to go find something for you to hunt, and get an idea for you what you have in you."

He gave me a funny look.

"Look, I'm not going to go marching into battle if I don't know what you're capable of. I'm not losing you again. It's not happening."

He curled his lip. "Thanks for the outstanding vote of confidence."

"Prove me wrong."

He stood up. "Let's go."

At least I had got him to stop making stakes. "Follow me," I said. I started walking and listening for an animal for him to hunt. After only a minute, I heard, very faintly, footsteps and a heartbeat. It sounded like a mountain lion.

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

"You can hear that?" I asked. "You pick this up fast. Maybe it's because you've already died. You're going to fly through the transformation. Let's go."

He ran in the direction of the animal and I almost didn't see him. I shook my head in disbelief and went after him. He darted quickly through the trees and bushes, moving quickly and silently. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that he had been a vampire for a long time.

When he saw the mountain lion, he paused and let it sense his presence. He let it run a little and gave it a good chase before jumping on it and killing it instantly.

He turned around and asked, giving me a bow, "How was that, my lady?"

I smiled. "Very impressive. Now let's dig in."

***

Once the sun was starting to set, we headed for the edge of the woods.

"I need to get my bearings and figure out how to get back to that building to see if Adam is still there or if we need to track him. Keep a watch."

I closed my eyes and let my mind create a mental map of where I had come from. I looked for any other routes that would be more efficient. When I opened my eyes, it was completely dark.

"Do you know where we're going now?" Tanner asked.

"Yes, and I have a quicker route for us to take. We're going to run as far and as fast as we can while avoiding populated areas as much as possible. We should be able to run past people completely unnoticed, but I don't want to take any chances. If you need to stop, let me know. We can rest whenever either of us needs to."

"I'm fine."

"You were dead this morning. I don't want to take any chances."

"Okay," he said. "Let's get going. I'm anxious to take them down. I need to make them pay for what they did to you."

"Let's go." I ran out of the woods and followed the map in my mind. It took us less than a half an hour to reach the woods that I had escaped from not too long ago. "Are you good?" I asked.

"Never better," he said with an arrogant but playful grin.

"We're not too far from the building. We need a game plan. Do we rest up and attack in the daylight or do we go now?"

"I don't want to rest," he said. "I am too anxious to get this done. I wouldn't be able to rest if I tried."

"I believe that," I said with a laugh. He looked as though he was about to explode with anxious energy. "I think we ought to drink a bit of each other's blood. That should give us the energy that we need. We're both transforming and have part human blood, and human blood is what gives us the most strength."

He smiled. "That sounds wonderful to me."

"Let's find a secluded place."

"I'd like that even better."

"Over there," I said, and we ran to a section of trees in a nice, secluded little glade. We took turns drinking each other's blood, and it was so intoxicating that we had to work to focus on our mission.

"After we take out Adam and his group, I want you in my arms all night...er, all day," he told me.

I smiled at him. "It's a deal."

We stepped out of the trees and breathed in the fresh forest air, letting our heads clear.

"You lead the way," he said.

It was easy for me to remember where that horrible building was, and I could also smell those rancid vampires, so I knew that they were either still there or had left very recently, making it easy to track them.

When we got to the building, my heart sunk down to my stomach. I didn't want to be there, but I made the decision to focus my energy on taking them out instead of focusing on what they had done to me. I would not be able to beat them if that's what I was thinking about.

I looked at the walls. "I didn't even think about this. Can you go through walls?"

"Let's find out. Is there a trick?"

"Lean against the wall and imagine yourself on the other side."

He stood against the wall and closed his eyes. He disappeared into the wall.

I quickly went through the wall myself, hoping that nobody was on the other side to greet us. We were back in the horrible room that I had been locked in. The door was open.

I looked at him and pointed to the door. We tiptoed to the door and walked outside the room. It was another dungeon-like room but not as much like a jail cell. I pointed to my ears and we listened for any indicators of the vampires.

I heard some very faint voices and I pointed in the direction. He nodded yes and we tip toed towards them. We came to some stairs and went up them. The next level of the building was much better than the basement level. We continued to follow the voices through a maze of rooms and hallways.

When we got to the room adjoining the voices, we stopped and I looked at him to see if he was ready. He nodded yes.

I took a deep, silent breath. My heart raced and I figured that they could hear it, as I was the only one in the building with a beating heart unless the witch was there.

Tanner ran into the room before me and several vampires began yelling at once. I ran into the room and saw Tanner on top of Adam on the floor. He had him pinned and was going for his neck. Luke and Danny were standing there, frozen in shock. A fourth vampire was about to jump on Tanner.

I ran in and threw the fourth vampire down before he could touch Tanner. I grabbed his head and slammed it into the floor a few times until he passed out. I pulled a stake out of the pocket of my hoodie and stabbed him with it several times, watching silver liquid ooze out.

I stood up. Danny was lunging at me. I threw myself at him and stabbed him in the chest. I missed his heart by about six inches. We hit the ground and slammed into a fireplace. The corner of the seat got him square in the back and he let out a gasp.

I quickly glanced at Tanner before going after Danny. Tanner had bit Adam in several places and had blood all over his face and shirt. He pulled out a stake and stabbed Adam repeatedly in the chest.

As I was looking back toward Danny, he was reaching for me. I bit his arm and he hissed at me. I pulled his other arm, pinned it behind him and twisted harder. He was yelling profanities at Luke, who going after Tanner.

Tanner threw Luke into a wall and ran at him with a stake, jamming it right into his heart. Silver oozed from the wound and Luke slid to the floor.

Two more vampires ran into the room, one going after Tanner and the other after me. I threw Danny on the floor and stepped on his chest, pulling another stake out from the arm of my hoodie. He stood up and threw me to the floor. I almost hit my head on the fireplace seat, but I moved at the last second. I grabbed his leg and pulled it out from under him.

He fell onto the floor with a loud thud and I lost no time. I ran over to him and rammed the stake into his heart until the silver oozed out of him as well.

I turned around to help Tanner, but he was standing there with both of the two vampires who had run into the room at his feet. They both had stakes in their hearts with silver ooze streaming from them like a river.

"How did you do that?" I asked in disbelief.

"I told you I was ready to take them down. Are there any others here? I'm ready for more."

I looked around the room at the six dead vampires. "Let's set this place on fire."

Tanner grabbed some lighter fluid that was at the fireplace and poured it all over the vampires. He took a box of matches from the mantle and threw one on Adam. In a matter of seconds, the room was ablaze.

"Let's get out of here," I said above the roar of the flames.

We ran out of the room and down a different section of the building to see if there were any more vampires that we needed to fight. The building appeared to be empty, so we ran out and kept going in the opposite direction from where we had come.

When we'd gone about 25 miles, we reached the other edge of the woods. The sun was starting to come up, but it was not yet bright enough to give us any trouble.

"What are we going to do?" he asked.

"Obviously we don't have much time before we are stuck for the day. I think we should try to find an abandoned house to stay in for the day. Then we can try to make our way back home to our families."

"Okay. I'll follow you."

I started running through the streets and kept my eyes open for houses with foreclosure signs. I hoped for another house with food and electricity, but knew that was probably a long shot.

When I started to feel little tiny pangs in my eyes and some warmth on my skin, I said, "We need to hurry up and find something soon. The sun is going to kill us in no time."

"I think I see one. Over there." He pointed up the road to the left.

"Let's go." We ran to the sign. The daggers were starting to hurt.

"I need to get in there now." Tanner shouted, and ran through the wall.

I wondered how he managed to run into the wall, but I didn't have time question it or I would soon be throwing up and incapacitated for hours. I leaned against the wall with my eyes closed and went through just in time.

"Quick. Find a room without any light," I told him with my eyes covered.

He grabbed my arm and led the way. Finally, he stopped and said, "It's safe to open your eyes."

I opened them and we were in a nearly empty walk-in closet. There were a few pieces of ugly clothing hanging up and some scarves lying on the carpet.

"Why didn't light bother me as much as it did you?" he asked.

"It has been getting more intense each day," I told him. "I'm not sure if it gets worse with time or exposure, but it keeps getting worse each time."

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. But if I had spent any more time out there, I wouldn't be." I told him about what happened the last time, when I was in the other house before I found him.

"That's horrible. We need to find a way to get the sun blessing. We can't show up to our families unable to be in the sun. How would we explain that?"

I sighed. "You're right. We could go back and pretend to be normal humans if we could be in the sun. But there's no way to explain that away."

"How are we going to have a sun blessing placed on us?"

"I will have to get in contact with Brooke or Clara, because I don't know anyone who can give us the blessing."

"How will we get in contact with them without anyone else discovering us? Didn't you say that we were all over the news?"

"Yes, everyone is looking for us. We can't blend in at all, especially while we are together. If this place has internet access and a computer, I can email Brooke like I did last time."

"It doesn't look like too much was left in this house from what I could see. Did you want me to look around, assuming that the sun doesn't bother me yet?"

"If it starts to even tingle get back in here. The pain can start very suddenly."

"Will do," he said, and left the closet.

I sat and thought about everything that had happened in the last week or so. I wasn't even sure how long it had been since Tanner and I were taken. Now he was a vampire, and together we had killed the vampires who had taken us. It made my head spin just thinking about all of it.

Part of me wanted to go back home and have everything back to the way it was before I began my transformation. Another part of me was very excited about all of this and couldn't wait to see what was next. I was definitely feeling conflicted about everything.

I started to feel sleepy, so I lay down on the carpet and closed my eyes.

***

I was in a beautiful meadow beside a waterfall. Tanner was with me, and I was watching him as he ran through a field of flowers trying to catch a unicorn for me. The unicorn was toying with him, but he was determined to catch it for me.

Smiling, I sat down on a blanket, felt the soft spray of the waterfall and listened to the birds singing. I had on my homecoming dress and my fingers were covered with rings adorned with all kinds of jewels. They seemed to shine especially prettily in this particular light.

I looked up at Tanner. He had given up on the unicorn which was now sitting down, cleaning his tail. Tanner was walking toward me and had the most magnificent purple rose in his hand. When he reached me, he handed it to me, and I held it close and took in a deep breath. The scent filled my entire body with its sweetness.

He sat down beside me and said, "The flower reminded me of you because it is the most beautiful thing in this whole meadow. But it still doesn't even begin to compare with your beauty."

I smiled at him, and he leaned in and gave me a kiss. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him back.

He sat back and said, "This is like heaven on earth. I'm in the most beautiful place I've ever seen with the most beautiful woman to walk the earth, and we're here in the daylight."

"It certainly does seem perfect," I agreed and gave him another kiss.

"Excuse me," came a voice right next to us.

I opened my eyes and there stood Cliff towering over us. We both stood up and I exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you because I was ready to forgive you for your indiscretion and look where I find you. Right back where you were: with him. I thought that you were sorry, but you are back in his arms again. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I...I..."

"That's all that you have to say for yourself? You look like you've gone and found a new love. You've replaced me so easily and quickly. Yet I have spent my entire life waiting for you."

"You need to make a choice. If you make the wrong choice, I will banish you."

I gasped. "Banish me? Where?"

"To the underworld, which is the land of eternal misery. You'll never be able to escape and I'll never again have to look upon the face that betrayed me and broke my heart into millions of pieces."

I gulped. "I thought that I would only lose my place in the royal line."

"Leaving me to be the most powerful vampire in the world. Then I would be able to banish to you anywhere that I please."

"You wouldn't!"

"I couldn't stand to look at you if you didn't choose me after everything that I've done for you. Who is it going to be?"

"I have to choose right now?"

"Yes, reign with me or be banished with him into the land of misery and torment."

I looked at Tanner and thought of all the wonderful things that we had done together and how kind he had been to me when I was alone in a sea of hostility. I didn't want him to be banished.

Then I looked at Cliff, looking past his current rough exterior, and felt a flood of memories from our childhood when I adored him and him alone. I saw images of him waiting for me all those years even when he thought I was dead. Then, I saw the first time we were reunited before the dance and all the moments following. I saw how he had treated me like a perfect gentleman and refused to do more than kiss than my hand.

I looked back and forth between the two of them and started crying. How would I ever be able to make a choice?

***

I sat up in a cold sweat, gasping for air. It had all been a dream, a terrible dream. I knew that one day I would have to make a choice, but not right then and there. I looked over at Tanner who was sleeping on the floor next to me. He must have found a blanket somewhere, because there was one draped over us.

My mind wandered back to the dream. It was obviously not a memory like so many others that I'd had over the past months. I hoped that it was not a vision of the future. Cliff had been so cold and so distant, not unlike the last time that I had seen him.

I sighed, remembering the last time that we had seen each other and had spoken, with him ordering me out of his sight, telling me that he would call me when he was ready. He hadn't called me or anyone else. Everyone assured me that he was staying off the radar because he loved me, but I wasn't so sure.

Perhaps this dream was an expression of my feelings. I knew that the way Cliff was acting in my dream was the way that I thought he should be acting toward me. I didn't think I deserved his forgiveness. Especially now.

I looked over at Tanner, beautiful and sleeping so peacefully. He had been extremely handsome as a human, but now that he was a vampire he was extraordinarily beautiful.

How would I ever make a choice?

***

I had fallen back asleep and was awoken by a thumping noise. I listened more intently for other sounds, and thought that I heard people in the house. I nudged Tanner and he pushed me away.

"Tanner, we're not alone," I whispered in his ear.

He sat up and looked at me in shock. "You heard someone?" he whispered.

"I'm pretty sure that I heard several someones."

"Do you think it's the people that live here?"

"Look at this place. Nobody lives here."

"You don't suppose it's a realtor do you?"

"Or worse, cops, if this place has any kind of security system. I didn't think to check for that when I was about to be killed by the sunlight."

We heard several footsteps coming up the steps and possibly right towards us.

I pointed to the ceiling and Tanner looked at me as if I had just suggested that we paint ourselves blue. I climbed up a wall and held myself up in one corner of the ceiling. He quickly followed to the corner opposite me. We were almost directly above the door to the closet, and would hopefully not be seen by humans.

My heart began racing and I told myself that we were fine, that we could take any human or even a vampire if need be. I was beginning to look forward to not having a heartbeat anymore, because it was a blaring siren to the undead.

Three people entered the closet. They were dressed like they were headed to the latest goth convention. I couldn't tell if they were human or vampires.

One said, "I hear a heartbeat. Do you hear that?"

"Of course we can hear it. It sounds like it's right on top of us."

Tanner looked at me and I knew that we had two choices: be discovered or jump down and have the element of surprise on our side. He nodded to me and then looked down.

He held out one finger, then two, then three fingers. On three, we both jumped down in front of the three strangers.

All at once, they stood like a cat ready to pounce and showed us their sharp teeth.

We responded in the same way, showing our teeth and stood in the same stance, ready to pounce.

"Who are you?" the tallest one demanded.

"Who are you?" Tanner demanded.

We all stared each other down.

"Do you mean us harm?" I asked.

"Do you mean us harm?" the other girl asked us.

"I've killed enough vampires today to last me at least a month," Tanner said. "If you don't intend to hurt us, we won't touch you."

"Seriously?" the girl asked, looking impressed.

"Yeah of course," Tanner replied.

"This I have to hear," she replied with a smile. "Tell us about the vampires you've killed today. Don't leave out a single detail."

Chapter Twenty-Six

We were sitting around the kitchen table with the three vampires that we had just met, and Tanner was finishing up the story of his heroism. I smiled at the parts where he embellished a little, but let him have his glory. The other vampires, Kayla, Brad and Eric, were eating it up and thought he was the man. They practically had stars in their eyes.

I didn't know what his future held as a vampire, but it looked like he would make a good leader. He already had an adoring following.

"You should have seen him," I told them. "He killed about four of them while I was busy with just one vampire. He's really strong." I hoped that they got the message to not try messing with us, just in case they had other plans.

"I wish I had known how powerful I was when I was newly changed," Brad said. "That would have been really useful information."

"How did you know that you were so powerful?" Eric asked Tanner.

I glared at Tanner. Don't tell them too much.

"I hoped that what I'd seen in the movies was true, and it was," he told them.

"So did you guys escape from Vince?" Kayla asked.

"Vince?" I asked.

"So many vampires that we have run into have escaped from a powerful vampire named Vince. He's going around turning people into vampires and making them his slaves or something," she said. "Nobody really wants to talk about it."

"We haven't heard of Vince," I told her. "Has he changed a lot of vampires?"

"It sure seems that way. Almost every vampire that we come across is running from him."

"They're really scared of him too," added Brad.

"Do you know his last name?" I asked.

They all shook their heads no.

"He seems to want to keep his identity off the radar," Eric said. "Most of the vampires only know Vince by name. Nobody's actually seen him...and lived to tell about it. It sounds like he has other vampires taking care of the newly changed ones."

"I wonder what he's planning," I said, more to myself than anyone else.

"How did you guys become vampires?" Tanner asked, clearly trying to distract them from my out-loud thoughts. The last thing we needed was for them to find out that I was the vampire princess.

"I was left for dead by some vampire who didn't know that he had changed," Kayla said. "I found these guys not too much later."

Brad spoke up. "We've been wandering around together for a few years, trying to figure out what to do with ourselves. We don't actually run into that many other vampires. We keep hearing that if you can find a witch, they can cast a spell on you so that you can go into the sun, and we've been trying to find one ever since without any luck."

"It would be so nice to be able to blend in with society," Kayla said, sighing. "Wandering around at night gets so old. I get bored a lot."

"What about hunting?" Tanner asked. "That's pretty exciting."

"One thing that we have in common is that we don't want to kill people," she said. "So we just feed on them. It's not really a hunt. We just find some poor saps in their sleep and they wake up with a headache from the blood loss."

"Do you think that vampires make a habit of blending in with people?" I asked.

Eric said, "We don't know what typical vampires do. Like we said, we've mostly only run into Vince's runaways. We haven't found any vampire societies."

"You mean covens," Kayla corrected.

"You know," I said, "We're also looking for a way to be able to go into the sun. I know how to find someone to do it, but I will have to go alone. If you guys would stay here with Tanner, I would be willing to help you guys out."

Tanner shot me a look. Are you crazy?

I'm going to read their minds to make sure they can be trusted before I leave you with them. I wouldn't leave you in danger. You could take them, anyway.

The three of them looked at one another.

"You can really help us to go into the sun?" Kayla asked. She looked like I'd just offered her a winning lotto ticket.

"How?" Brad asked.

"What's in it for you?" Eric asked.

"Slow down. Not so many questions. Yes, I can really help to get you guys into the sun safely. I just need some kind of jewelry from you that will have the spell placed on it. What's in it for me is that I don't have to leave him alone so soon after he's been changed. Like I said, I need to go by myself."

They looked at each other, their thoughts were buzzing with excitement. It was very difficult to differentiate between the three of them.

"We're going to go discuss this in private if you don't mind," Kayla told us.

"Sounds good," I said, and they got up and went upstairs.

"What are you doing?" Tanner hissed at me.

"I'm going to get us out of this nighttime curse. Shhh, I need to listen to their conversation."

"Can we trust them?" Kayla asked the two guys.

"That guy is really powerful. They say he just took down four vampires by himself," Eric exclaimed. "He makes me nervous."

"They seem genuine. I think they're okay," Kayla said.

"I don't want him turning on us," Eric said.

"Guys, we would be able to go into the sun. We will be able to walk around with people during the day. We could possibly have a life again. Get jobs and have an actual place to live. Make some friends," Kayla said.

"What do you think, Brad?" Eric asked. "You're being quiet."

"I am concerned about his strength, but they do seem like the real deal. I'm not getting any bad vibes from them."

"It sounds like they're worried about you hurting them," I whispered to Tanner. "They aren't talking at all about harming you."

"I can hear them too," he said, rolling his eyes.

"You can?" I asked. "Strange. I thought that common vampires didn't have very many gifts. You can already do almost everything that I can do."

"Maybe I'm not so common because it was you that turned me."

"Interesting point," I agreed. "I haven't heard of any royals turning people into vampires. It's possible that a vampire takes on the gifts and talents of the vampire who changes them. I'll have to find out more about that."

They had stopped talking and were on their way back down the stairs.

"I can't believe you want to leave me with these vampires that we just met," Tanner hissed at me.

"You could take them all if you needed to. Not that you'll need to, they're scared of you. Maybe you could teach them a thing or two about fashion."

He laughed.

"What?" I asked.

"Just thinking it's funny coming from you. I remember what you used to dress like."

I shoved him in the shoulder. "Just because they're vampires doesn't mean that they need to dress like goths."

They entered the kitchen and Kayla said with a smirk, "We'd be happy to babysit him for you."

"Babysit me?" Tanner exclaimed.

"She's kidding," I said, rolling my eyes and trying to hide a smile. I turned to the other three. "So here's the deal. I'll need some kind of jewelry item for each of you to have it blessed for you. Also, unless your lives are in danger, don't travel too far from here. I'll need to be able to find you when I come back."

"Okay," Kayla said. "I've got a necklace. Will that work?"

"That should," I said, and she took it off and handed it to me. Brad and Eric each handed me a ring. I already had Tanner's ring.

I looked outside. "I probably should get going if I'm going to make it before daylight. Do you guys need anything before I leave?"

Tanner looked at me like he really didn't want me to leave.

"How long do you think you'll be gone?" Eric asked.

"I'm not sure exactly," I said. "I know who can take me to the one who can give us the sun blessings, but I don't know where that person is. It could be a couple of days, or even a week."

"A week?" Tanner exclaimed.

"I hope it's not that long, but I am being honest here."

"Are you sure that I can't go with you?" he asked.

"I really don't think that's best," I said. "I really do need to do this on my own. I think you understand."

He nodded. "I know, you're right."

Kayla stood up. "Hey guys, I think I left something upstairs. Let's go get it."

"Get it yourself," Eric told her.

Kayla cleared her throat. "Let's give these two a little space."

"Oh," Eric said, and stood up.

"Have a good trip," Brad said, and the three of them disappeared up the stairs.

I smiled at Tanner. "See? They're good people...vampires. You'll be in good hands while I'm gone."

"I know," he said. "I just wish that you didn't have to go."

"The sooner that I can get this taken care of, the sooner that we can get back home to our families and blend in, trying to live our lives as normally as possible. We obviously can't do that if the sun can kill us."

He smiled. "That would raise a bit of suspicion."

"I'll be back for you as soon as I can," I promised him.

We stood up and he wrapped his arms around me. "I'll miss you every second that you're gone."

"Me too," I told him, blinking back some tears.

He gave me a kiss and I was afraid that I would never leave. I gave him a quick squeeze and disappeared through the wall.

I looked through the window where he was standing for a moment before I started running. I began to run, with my mind on my goal. I wouldn't allow myself to think about anything else.

I didn't care about where I ran, because I was going so fast that no human eyes would be able to see me. I ran right past people, down streets, through some crowded areas.

Finally, I reached my neighborhood. I hid in a dark corner and looked at my house. I couldn't detect any movement, so I ran to the house and went through a wall in the back and went into the laundry room. I tiptoed upstairs to the room that Clara was staying in. It was empty.

I groaned quietly. Where could she be? I checked in on my parents and sister and gave them all a quick kiss before going to my room to change my clothes. I hid the clothes that I had taken off so that my room would look undisturbed.

I wanted nothing more than to climb into my bed and pretend that everything was like it used to be. But I knew that nothing would ever go back to the way it had been. I took a deep breath, stood tall, and ran toward my wall, and jumped through it, landing down on the ground below gracefully and quietly.

I ran toward Brooke's house and was there in just a couple of minutes. Clara's car was there, but I didn't see anyone else's cars except for Cliff's. His car was still in the same spot that it had been since he had disappeared, I noticed with disappointment.

Since I didn't feel like knocking, I walked to the side of the house and went through a wall. I heard two distinct voices upstairs. I walked soundlessly up to Brooke's room, where I saw Clara and Cliff alone.

I stood in the doorway with my mouth open in complete shock. Cliff was back? What was going on?

They hadn't even noticed me. Cliff was sitting in a chair and Clara was sitting on Brooke's bed. Both of them had their backs to me.

"We don't know anything other than what was in that email that she sent to Brooke," Clara said. "We're pretty sure that it was her that sent it, but we don't really know of course, since it was from a fake email address."

"I can't believe you all managed to completely lose her," Cliff said angrily and hit the desk. "No trace at all? How could this happen?!"

"Maybe you shouldn't have taken off for so long, Clifford. What did you think would happen?" Clara demanded.

"Don't talk to me like that."

"I'm a royal too, don't forget. Just because my father stepped down doesn't take that away. I will not treat you like a superior. You're what, twenty-something? I'm more than two hundred years older than you."

"I will be your king," he growled.

"You'll get my respect then and only then, Cliff. For now the only thing I care about is finding my cousin, who wouldn't even be missing if you had stuck around. Your father told you to stay loyal to Mar...Alexis during this time. What did you do? You took off and left her on her own. For an insane amount of time at that."

He was silent and then said, "You're right, I shouldn't have taken off for that long. I was furious when I heard what she did. I had waited my whole life for her, never letting even one thought stray from her. I needed to get some space before I did something that I would regret. I was very close to losing it, doing something stupid to lose her forever."

"That was a lot more than some space you gave her. You didn't even tell your parents where you went. We had no way of contacting when something went wrong."

"Look, it was nothing compared to the time that I spent waiting for her."

"You're comparing that to this. Seriously, Cliff? She was taken from you and didn't even know anything about that part of her life. You took off knowing exactly what you were doing. You leaving like that for so long is no less of a betrayal than what she did. Her actions involved another person, that's the only difference."

"I should have been able to trust you guys to keep her safe while I was gone. You couldn't even do that. You were even living right under the same roof as her, Clara." He punched his fist into his palm.

Clara glared at him. "She wasn't even at home when she was taken, and you know that. She was in a park with that human. The one who you practically threw into her arms this time around."

He slammed his fist on the desk and it went through. He stood up. "I most certainly did not throw him into her arms."

"You could have fooled me."

"Did you even try to protect her?"

"Don't give me that. She got away from her captors. She's smart and powerful enough to do that. Nobody gives her enough credit around here."

"They shouldn't even have been able to capture her." Cliff yelled. "That shouldn't have even happened in the first place."

"Look, Cliff. Everything was a disaster when I got here. I've been trying to clean up everyone's messes since I arrived."

I cleared my throat. "What are you doing back, Cliff?" I asked.

They both whipped around to look at me. Cliff was suddenly next to me and had me wrapped in his arms. I hugged him back and looked into his eyes. I immediately felt at ease, and my heart started fluttering as I got lost in his eyes. I didn't know how we would ever rule anything if I always felt this way when looking into his eyes.

"Alexis, I'm so sorry for abandoning you when you needed me," he said with tender eyes.

"I'm sorry for betraying you," I said. "I'll never forgive myself."

"Don't say that," he said, brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear. "This will only serve to make us stronger together."

I smiled and he leaned in close and gently placing his lips upon mine. My heart sped up and my mind raced. I felt like I was floating on a cloud.

He pulled back and said, "I was going to save our first kiss for our wedding, but you arriving safely after a second kidnapping warrants it." He closed his eyes and gave me one more kiss. After only a moment, he interrupted my bliss. "Now we need to hear every detail about what happened to you and who took you. How did you get back here?"

"It sure wasn't easy," I said feeling dizzy. "Especially because I had my sun blessing stripped from me. That really complicated things."

"They took your sun blessing?" Cliff asked, eyes blazing. "I am going to make them pay."

"They're already dead," I told him. "Adam and his followers are taken care of. What I need right now is a new sun blessing."

"You killed them?" Clara asked with wide eyes. I had forgotten that she was in the room with us.

"I didn't kill them all by myself. I had some help."

"Who helped you?" Cliff asked.

"Another vampire. It's not important now. I need you guys to take me to someone who can fix this curse."

"How was the blessing taken from you?" Clara asked. "The way it was taken will affect the way it can be restored."

I sighed. "A witch set up a circle of candles and removed the blessing that I received at birth."

"Do you know what kind of witch?" Clara asked.

"What kind of witch?" I asked. "I didn't know that there were different kinds. Otherwise, I would have stopped everything and asked her."

She was clearly trying to suppress a smile. "Do you know if she only removed your spell, or if she also gave you a curse too?"

"I might know...if I spoke the ancient language she was using."

"She was using an ancient language?" Cliff exclaimed. "We're going to have to find a witch that's at least as powerful as she is to reverse this for us. It won't be as simple as having one of our vampires giving you back your blessing. There's most likely a curse to remove first."

"We need to take care of this quickly," Clara said. "There isn't a lot of time left before sunrise. If we don't go now you'll be stuck in here all day."

"I assume that you know a witch in the area," Cliff told her.

"Of course," she said. She whipped out her cell phone and started dialing.

I laughed.

"What's so funny?" Cliff asked.

"It just cracks me up that she can just use her cell to call a witch," I told him.

"How else would she call the witch?"

I shook my head. "I don't picture witches with cell phones. I see them living in the middle of the woods, brewing things in their cauldrons."

"I keep forgetting that you were raised with all the human myths," Cliff said, sighing.

"How could you forget?" I asked him. "Didn't you spend all those years waiting for me to return from the humans?"

He gave me a look that I couldn't read. "Of course I know that you were raised by humans. I just forget that you don't know all of the truths about the world."

"I wish I did. It would make a lot of things much easier than figuring all of this out on my own. I'm going downstairs to get some food to eat," I said, and went to the kitchen.

As I was finishing up some warmed up casserole, they came downstairs.

"I got a hold of Gessilyn and she's still in the area," Clara told me. "She can meet with us before sunrise and we'll see if we can get this fixed."

"Is there a doubt?" I asked.

"Just a small one. Gessilyn is very powerful, but if the witch that did this to you is more powerful than she is, it may be a problem."

I sighed. "Wonderful."

"Let's go," Clara said. "We're going to run because it's much faster than taking a car, so you're going to have to follow me closely. I'm not going to slow down."

"You won't have to wait on me," I said.

We ran through a part of town that I was unfamiliar with and would have been very scared of without my vampire abilities. We passed through a few other towns and into some woods that I had never seen before either. I was quite surprised when we stopped at an apartment building.

Clara buzzed apartment 563 and simply said her name, and the gate buzzed, unlocking itself to let us in. As we walked to the elevator and passed a family with a couple of kids, I couldn't help but wonder how many "mythical" creatures lived around us humans that we were completely unaware of.

When we got off the elevator on level five, we walked down a long hallway and stopped at a very normal looking apartment door. Clara knocked.

The door opened and a very cheerful lady with blonde hair and a yoga outfit welcomed us inside. I kept myself from asking if we were making a pit stop first. She gave us all cups of tea and had us sit on a soft leather couch. I wished that Tanner was there to see this because I knew he would find it as humorous as I did. Cliff and Clara acted as if it was the most natural thing on earth.

The yoga witch leaned back and turned her attention to me. "I'm Gessilyn and you are the long lost princess. Astonishing. I'm so glad that you're alive. That is such good news."

"Uh...thanks," I said. I wasn't sure how to respond to that, and I was still really taken aback by this witch. I wasn't expecting her to be flying around on a broom with a pointy hat, but I wasn't expecting a perky fitness instructor, either.

She took a sip of her tea and asked, "Can you tell me in detail everything that you can remember about the witch who removed your blessing and about the ceremony, dear?"

I told her everything that I could remember, leaving out the part about getting into the circle willingly because they had threatened Tanner's life. Gessilyn nodded every so often and had a very serious look on her face as she listened to me tell the story.

"I think I know the faction that she comes from. They are a lower class than my group, so I should be able to remove the curse that she placed on you easily. Can you humor me and tell me about the vampires that she was with?"

I told her about Adam and everything I could think of about the others.

"Were there any others?" she asked.

"Oh. I forgot about Samantha. She was there when I was abducted, but I didn't see her again until after I escaped."

"Samantha?" Clara exclaimed, jumping up and nearly spilling her tea. "Samantha was there?"

"Do you know Samantha?" I asked.

"Dirty blonde seductress with a star tattoo on her neck?" Clara asked in disgust.

"I didn't notice a tattoo, but she has dirty blonde hair and was acting very seductive and very full of herself."

"Samantha is back in town. How dare she?" Clara's face was red and she looked like she was going break something. "Tell me everything you know about that wench."

"Did she steal your boyfriend or something?" I asked.

"No. She's my sister. Your cousin."

"What? No way. How is that possible? She said that she was turned 20 years ago."

"She's a liar and out for power. She can't stand the fact that our line is not on the throne. Because our dad is the oldest brother, she feels that it's her rightful place to be next in line. She's power hungry and has always wanted to find a way to sit on the throne. In fact, she was so jealous that you were born with the Sonnast mark that she went out and got that tattoo. She's pathetic."

"So that's why she was working with Adam and trying so hard to get to me," I said.

"What do you mean?" Clara asked.

"She's the one who got to Tanner. She told him a whole story about how she just happened to notice that I was transforming into a vampire. She got him addicted to vampire venom and then disappeared. He came after me so that I could use him as a human volunteer. Samantha had also given him a ring that she said kept him from being mind controlled by vampires, but it was actually a ring with a spell to make a transforming vampire fall in love with him."

Cliff's eyes looked like they would shoot out fire. "I'm going to finish her off myself."

"I already got her with a stake," I told him.

"What kind of wood did you use?" Clara asked.

I thought about what kind of tree I had gotten the branch from that day. "Pine, I think. Why?"

"She's not dead," Cliff and Clara said in unison.

"I was there. I staked her and she...."

"Since she is from the bloodline of the Fyrsturae, she must be staked with wood made of the Icelandic Populus Tremola tree. It's one of the rarest in the world," Clara said. "Even if she appeared dead to you, she was not."

The blood drained from my face and my stomach dropped to my feet as I thought about Tanner out there without the right kind of stake, not even knowing that she could be after him. Again.

"Where do we get that wood?" I asked.

"I'll take care of that," Cliff growled, his fists clenched. "I will take much pleasure in eradicating her. What she has done to you, to us, is unforgivable." He stood up and began walking to the door. "I will avenge you."

"Right now?" I squeaked.

"Yes. You and Clara can find me once you are able to go into the sun again. I will not wait."

"But she's working with the Moretti's. She may be waiting for you, knowing that you would come after her."

"Then she won't be disappointed."

"Won't you wait just a little bit?" I asked. "I can't imagine that this will take too long. We haven't even had a chance to talk." I pouted.

"I've waited long enough to deal with this," he said.

"That's for sure," I muttered, and then suddenly felt bad. "Sorry, that slipped out."

"I had it coming," Cliff said, and left the apartment.

"I'll be right back," Clara said. "I need to talk to Cliff real quick."

When she was gone, I turned to Gessilyn. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"What, darling?"

I sighed. "I have some friends who would like to be able to go into the sun as well. I have a piece of jewelry from each of them. Would you be able to bless the jewelry so that they can go into the sun while wearing it?"

"Let me see the jewelry," she said, holding out her hand.

I handed the pieces to her and she examined them.

"This one," she said holding Tanner's ring, "appears to have some kind of spell already on it."

"That's the one that made me fall in love with the human," I mumbled.

She apparently heard me just fine. "Why does a human need a blessing to go into the sun?"

"He sort of isn't human anymore," I said, looking at my hands.

"Uh oh," she said. "Do Cliff and Clara know this?"

"Not yet," I said, sinking into the couch as far as I could go.

"What about these other three?" she asked.

"They belong to some vampires who helped me."

"I see," she said, and stood up. "Give me a few minutes. It may take a little extra time to remove the spell on the first ring. The others should be no trouble." She left the room.

I sighed and sipped my tea.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I was sitting in the middle of a circle of candles again. It seemed all too familiar, except that this time I was there because I wanted to be. Gessilyn was speaking in a foreign language; she had explained to me that she would need to use it to lift the curse before giving me the sun blessing.

Clara sat on the outside of the circle across from Gessilyn, who still looked like a yoga instructor. I had to close my eyes in order to concentrate because it all seemed too strange to me. I listened to the relaxing instrumental music that she had playing in the background.

I wasn't sure what to expect, as this was so different from the other circle that I had sat in. I felt like I was drifting off to sleep, but I was aware of everything going on around me.

"We're finished," Gessilyn announced, and I opened my eyes. I didn't feel or look any different, but I hoped that I would be able to handle the sun now.

Clara walked over to the curtains and said, "It's about 7:30 so there should be sunlight now. Shall I open the curtains?" She reached for the curtain and I was behind a door across the room hiding before she could even touch it.

"Wow, you must have had some experience with the sunlight." Clara exclaimed.

I looked around the door and scowled at her. "You think?"

She grabbed the curtain and I pulled my head behind the door again for cover. I wasn't taking any chances.

"You don't have much faith in me, do you?" Gessilyn asked with mock offense. She smiled at me. "Come on out. I assure you that you'll be fine."

I hid behind the door like a scared little mouse.

Clara sighed loudly. "What was the point of coming all the way over here to get you your blessing back if you won't even use it? Come out here, you baby."

"You can call me what you want. I'm not budging."

They both came to me, grabbed my arms, and pulled me out into the light that was streaming from the window. I closed my eyes and struggled against them, but noticed no daggers or heat on my skin. I stopped struggling and opened one eye.

I was directly in the sun, and it wasn't bothering me in the slightest. I opened the other eye and smiled. "Yes."

They both let go of me and I walked over to the window and looked out in amazement. It really hadn't been all that long since I had lost the blessing, but it had felt like a lifetime.

"Thanks, Gessilyn," Clara said. "What do we owe you?"

"It's an honor to be able to help the princess," she said. "It's my gift."

"Are you sure that you don't want anything?" she asked.

"Someday I may need something," she said, smiling.

"Well I definitely owe you," I said, not taking my eyes off the sunny outside view.

"Let's get going, Alexis. We have a lot to do."

"Has the time has come to fight the Moretti's?" I asked.

"Yes, and we need to find Cliff. He was really determined to find my sister and destroy her. I hope she isn't with the Moretti's, because with Cliff's state of mind he would march in there by himself."

We started walking to the door and Gessilyn snuck the now-blessed jewelry in my hand with a wink. Clara didn't see the exchange at all.

"Thanks for everything."

"Yes, thank you for being so readily available to help us out," Clara added.

"It's my pleasure," Gessilyn responded. "Let me know how everything goes with the Moretti's."

"You know I will," Clara said with a wink as we walked through the door.

When we got outside, I asked, "What's our plan?"

She looked at me. "You're going to need to be the one who devises the plans pretty soon, you know. You're going to have to princess up."

"Am I going to get any training in the meantime?" I asked. "I missed our previous appointment. You know, getting abducted and everything."

"Don't remind me. That was horrible timing. I need to get back to the house before your parents think I've gone missing and freak out. Then I have to find Cliff and get you some training so that we can battle with the Moretti's."

"We?"

"You didn't think it was just you and Cliff, did you?" she asked.

"Nobody tells me anything around here," I reminded her. "All I know is that the prophecy says I will defeat them."

"Yes, but not by yourself. We're going to have plenty of help going in with you."

"So am I going to meet you somewhere for training?" I asked. "I obviously can't go home."

"No, you can't. Your parents won't let you out of their sight once you return, plus there will be a ton of publicity. You'll have to wait until we finish off the Moretti's. Meet me in the woods where we first met, in a few hours. If I have to skip school, I will."

"So you and Natalie have been going to school, like nothing's wrong?" I asked, hurt.

"Your parents want us to feel as normal as possible. Natalie's having a horrible time. I've tried reassuring her that you would be okay, but I don't think she'll believe it until she sees you."

I felt bad. "We need to take care of the Moretti's as quickly as possible. I can't stand to think of what my family is going through."

"That's right, which is why I need to get going. I'll see you in a few hours."

"I might have some other vampires with me that you can train. I'm sure they'll probably want to help."

"You've made friends with common vampires?" she asked. "Well, we can use all the help that we can get." She ran off and was out of sight in a couple of seconds.

I closed my eyes to get my bearings and started running towards the house where Tanner and the others were. It actually wasn't too far away. I had almost traveled in a circle from there to Brooke's house and then to Gessilyn's apartment.

I ran the whole way back to the house without stopping. It felt wonderful to be running in the daylight again. I hoped I would never again lose that sun blessing.

When I got to the house, I went through a wall in the back, listened for the others and didn't hear anything. They might have heard me and were being quiet in case I was someone else.

I walked up the stairs to the closet that Tanner and I had hidden in, hoping that they would still be there. I didn't want to have to track them down. I had an uneasy feeling. Something was wrong.

They were all in the closet. Tanner looked like he was going to be sick, and Brad and Eric had tear-stained faces. That's when I noticed Kayla laying on the floor.

"What happened?" I exclaimed.

Brad sighed and said, "We went out to get some blood and ran into some of Vince's runaways. There were a lot more of them than us, and we fought them. You should have seen Tanner. He killed at least five by himself. But Kayla got injured and she hasn't woken up. There was no silver liquid from her anywhere so we think she's still hanging on."

"It's hard to tell since we're already dead," Eric said. He hadn't moved from her side.

I had a feeling that I should be able to do something to help. I sat down next to Kayla and placed my hands on her head. I thought I should place my hands on her stomach. I could feel some kind of sharp vibration. "I think this is where the injury is," I said, closing my eyes and imagined a vibration of healing, radiating from my hands to her injuries.

Just when I was beginning to wonder if I was helping at all, Kayla sat up. She looked around and asked, "What's going on?"

Eric pulled her into an embrace. He said, "You were injured when those vampires attacked us. Alexis just healed you. I wouldn't have believed it, except that I saw it with my own eyes."

She looked at me. "I don't know how you did that, but thank you."

"I don't know how I did it, either. I just did it."

"Did you have the jewelry blessed?" she asked.

"Yes." I gave everyone their pieces.

"Let's go try these out," Brad said. "It's been a couple of years since I've been able to even look in the direction of the sun."

"I can't even imagine," I said. "The short time that I couldn't go into the sun was torture."

They all ran downstairs where the light was brightest.

Kayla began dancing around. "Look at this glorious sun. Look at us in this glorious sun."

"Where should we go first?" Eric asked.

I looked at Tanner. "I have a battle that I need to prepare for. It's against the Moretti's. I think that their leader might be the same Vince that you keep hearing about. I could be wrong, but it's too strange to be a coincidence. The Moretti's are trying to take the throne, and it only makes sense that they would be creating vampires for just that."

"A battle?" Kayla asked.

"That sounds right up my alley," said Brad. "I'm in."

"What throne?" Eric asked.

"There is a queen and king vampire who rule the entire vampire world," I said. "The Moretti's are jealous and power hungry. They want to take down the king and queen and rule the throne themselves. They are cruel, but the current king and queen rule with kindness and justice."

"I'd be more than glad to use my new vampire strength on them," Tanner said.

"There's more," I told Tanner. "Samantha is still alive."

He gave me a look of total shock.

"As it turns out, she is a descendant in a line that was removed from the throne, and she's working with the Moretti's. Because she's still a royal vampire, even though she's not on the throne, she can only be killed with a stake made of one of the rarest types of wood on the planet."

"I'm going to...."

I looked away. "Cliff is already on it."

"What? Cliff is back? When did this happen?" He looked very disappointed.

"Sometime while we were away," I said. "As soon as he heard what she did with your ring, he took off again, this time to kill her."

Eric looked at Kayla and said, "I feel like I should help out with this. When I'm done, we can meet up again. I will only go if you're okay with it. Especially after what you've been through."

She looked disappointed and sighed. "It's okay Eric. You know where I'll be."

He nodded.

"Since we're going to be in training soon, we might want to get something to eat to give us strength," I said.

"Food or blood?" Tanner asked.

"It would probably be best if we have both," I said. "Also, even though we can go out into the sun, we should still be careful because everyone is looking for us."

"Why?" Brad asked. "What did you do? Wipe out a whole neighborhood or something?"

I laughed. "No, nothing like that. We were abducted by the vampires that Tanner killed and now our families and our pictures are all over the news. After we finish fighting the Moretti's, we can go back home, but not before."

"Your human families?" Kayla asked. "How recently were you turned?"

Tanner laughed nervously. "I was turned a couple of days ago."

"Dude, you're going to keep getting stronger for a few weeks. Take full advantage of it while you can!" Brad exclaimed.

"I plan to," Tanner said.

"I'm going to get going," Kayla said, looking at Eric. "I am looking forward to getting out into the sun."

Eric gave her a hug and said, "I will come back to find you."

"Hey guys, let's go to the kitchen and see if there's any food," I said, trying to give Eric and Kayla their space as they had done for Tanner and I. "Bye, Kayla."

"Bye, and thanks for everything. You don't know how much this means."

"I do, actually," I said. "But you're welcome."

Tanner, Brad and I went into the kitchen and found it pretty bare.

"Where are we going to find food?" Brad asked.

"Where do you guys usually find your food?" Tanner asked.

"We eat what we can find at night, and then of course, feed on people as they sleep."

"It might not be easy finding people asleep during the day," Tanner said. "We could feed on some animals."

I looked at him. If we can get away, we can feed on each other. I'm still part human.

He smiled at me.

***

Tanner, Brad, Eric and I were waiting for Clara in the exact spot that I had first met Clara. We had come across a large group of die-hard campers and had more than enough blood to fill each of us. We figured they had been up into the wee hours if they were sleeping in so late. Our gain.

Clara showed up. "You weren't kidding when you said you'd have company."

I introduced her to the three guys and she said, "So, I finally get to meet the famous Tanner."

"Famous?" he asked.

"Sure. You're all over the news. I've also heard a lot about you before that, you're giving Cliff a run for his money."

He grinned and stood taller. "Well Alexis needed a good friend, and I didn't see anyone else stepping up to the plate."

"When did you become a vampire? That's an interesting twist that I wasn't aware of." She raised an eyebrow at me.

"Just a couple of days ago," I said. "Samantha left him for dead and I was trying to save him. I ended up turning him instead."

"That's convenient," she said. "It also adds some complications that I'm sure you know nothing about."

"Complications?" I asked. "What kind of complications?"

"It's complicated," she said, smirking at me. "Too complicated to get into right now. You'll have to put your curiosity on hold for now. I'll explain it all later."

"Can't you tell me something? The suspense is going to drive me crazy."

"It should, because you've really complicated things," she said. "You fit in perfectly with our side of the family, Alexis. You can take the vampire out of the family, but you can't take the family out of the vampire."

"That doesn't even make sense," I said.

She laughed. "But it does."

"So what's this training all about?" Brad asked. It was obvious that he was anxious to get on with the program.

"The Moretti's are a very strong and powerful group of vampires. We need to make sure that everyone fighting them is prepared. The rest of us have had plenty of training, but you four have not been raised as vampires, so you have much to learn. Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of time."

"It's a good thing that I'm at my strongest," Tanner said proudly.

"Have you all watched nothing other sparkly vampire movies?" Clara asked. "We don't sparkle and newly transformed vampires aren't the strongest. There is an initial surge of power for a few weeks, but it dies down. As vampires get older, we get stronger. Even with your power surge, you are no match for me, and I'm only a couple hundred years old. None of us are a match for the king and queen. We have to think fast to be able to beat an old vampire."

"Oh," Tanner said.

"So what's the plan?" I asked.

"I'm going to hunt two of you at a time, and you need to show me what you've got. I'll help you with your weaknesses when I see what they are. The two that I'm not helping will hunt each other."

"Okay," I said. "Who are you going to start with?"

"Whomever I find first. I will probably spend the most time with you though, because you play the key card here as the one who is supposed to win the battle."

"What?" Eric and Brad asked at the same time.

"There's a prophecy about this battle that Alexis is the one who is going to be the one to finish it off."

"Yes. It's a sure win." Tanner smiled.

"That doesn't mean that it's going to be easy, and we still need to be prepared," I said. Even though we took out Adam's group, I was not confident that I was ready to face the Moretti's. "Let's get started."

"Why does she play the key card? Why is there a prophecy about her winning?" Brad asked.

Clara rolled her eyes at me. "You complain about people not telling you anything. She's the princess of all vampires and after she changes, she will be the most powerful vampire around."

Brad and Eric stared at each other.

"At least we're on the right side," Eric said.

"I can't believe it," said Brad.

"Be amazed later," Clara said. "We have limited time to train. You two go off in one direction, Tanner and Alexis in another. I'll be hunting for you, and you need to keep your senses alert to be aware of me and fight me off. When I say stop, stop. Now go."

Tanner and I ran off one way while Brad and Eric ran off in the other direction. Clara stayed where she was. I wondered how long she would wait before going after us. We zigged and zagged, trying to take the most unusual route possible. We wanted to make sure that she was on top of her game too.

Finally, we decided to stay in one spot, and we waited a long time.

"Why do you think she's taking so long?" Tanner asked.

"I don't know. It's pretty weird," I said. "Do you think something happened?"

"Maybe we kept our trail well covered by taking such crazy paths."

"I hope that's it," I said, but I had an uneasy feeling.

We sat in silence for a while and then I heard something. I sat up slightly, trying to tell if it was Clara or an animal. I still had a very unsettling feeling that something was wrong. The pit of my stomach felt twisted.

The hairs on my neck and arm stood up. "It's a predator," I told Tanner. "Let's hope it's Clara."

I looked around and used my other senses to figure out where she was. If it was her, that is.

"It's coming from the northeast," I said.

"That's what I'm sensing too," he agreed.

"Let's go tackle her," I hissed, and jumped out of our hiding spot. He was just a step behind me and we took our predator to the ground.

"Okay guys, you win," Clara said.

I folded my arms. "Not much of a training session. I was expecting some tips and critiques."

"You certainly know how to hide your trail," she snapped.

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" I asked, confused at her irritation.

"I've been looking for you because I have to tell you something."

My heart sunk. "I knew that something was wrong. I had a really bad feeling about it. What's wrong?"

"Cliff has been captured by the Moretti's."

My face went white and the whole world shrunk away from my vision. "How do you know?" I asked, as if in a dream.

"Samantha called me to brag," she muttered.

"Did she happen to tell you where they have him?" I asked.

She snickered. "Yeah, because she's such a kind soul."

"So what's the plan?" I asked.

"We're going to meet at Brooke's and we're all going to devise a plan together. It's going to be a group effort this time, princess."

"What about Brad and Eric? Did you find them already?"

"They were actually harder to find than I thought they would be. They'll be pretty useful for our battle. I was surprised at their skill for common vampires. They're waiting in my car for us."

"Are we all going to drive to Brooke's?" I asked.

"Not you two," she said. "You guys are missing, remember? You'll have to run there and stay out of human sight. Meet us there. You'll probably get there first in fact."

"Okay, we'll see you there."

She ran off at top speed and I turned to Tanner. He looked completely dejected, and that's when I realized how he must have felt when he saw me react to the news of Cliff being taken. I felt bad, but didn't have time to waste.

"Are you ready for a run?" I asked, him pretending not to notice his hurt expression. "Want to race?"

He just looked at me with another hurt expression and said flatly, "Let's go. You start."

My heart was pulling at me because I couldn't just ignore his hurt. I leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. I grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him close to me. "Do you want to drink each other's blood?"

He tried to fight a smile, but lost. "Okay. Me first." He leaned in and bit into my neck. I let my head fall back as I enjoyed the experience. It was still amazing, even without the ring working its magic.

When he stopped, I said, "My turn." I leaned in and drank of his blood.

"I'm ready for a battle. Are you?" I asked.

"Most definitely. I'm glad to be at this level of my strength."

"Keep that in mind, as the Moretti's will be after me. It's such a horrible feeling to know that powerful vampires that I've never even met want me dead so badly," I said and frowned.

He got a look of sadness and defensiveness at the same time. "Don't worry, I will protect you."

"Sounds good. Let's get going so we can get this over with. I keep hearing about the Moretti's and the prophecy. I can't wait to get it all behind me."

"Ladies first," he said and put his arm out.

I started running and he was right behind me. I ran as fast as I could to Brooke's house. I didn't want Clara to beat us, and I knew that she might, since Tanner and I stopped to drink each other's blood.

When we arrived at Brooke's house, Clara's car was already there. "I hope she doesn't grill me about why we took so long. Should we knock?" I asked with a smile. I would have loved to just go in since it was their antics that ended up teaching me how to do that in the first place. I knew it was immature to want to rub it in, but a part of me still loved the idea.

"I'd feel more comfortable knocking," he said.

"Knock we will," I replied, and gave the door a good knock.

Brooke opened the door and waved us in. Clara, Brad and Eric were sitting on the couch, and Brooke stood next to her brother and parents. The atmosphere was very heavy.

"Has a plan been started?" I asked.

Charles spoke up. "We have vampires at the castle on it now. They are searching for the location and Cliff's parents are on their way here. Your parents have been notified and will likely join us too. They keep their location secret, so we don't know what they're in the middle of right now."

I stood tall. "I'll do whatever I need to do."

"Of course you will," Brooke said. She glared at Tanner. "What's he doing here? Didn't he cause all of the trouble you've been in? He threw your blood thirst into overdrive and caused you to kiss him, which is what sent Cliff away."

"Actually, Samantha caused most of that with her selfishness. She wanted to be on the throne and she used him, giving him a ring that—"

"Enough," said Charles, interrupting me. "What matters is that we have as many vampires on our side as possible. Tanner is a new vampire, so he's got a lot of strength for the battle."

Brooke's eyes widened. "You mean he's a vampire? How did that happen?"

"Never mind," her father said. "We don't have time for that now."

"How many vampires will be joining us?" Clara asked.

"As many as we can get," Rachel said. "There are vampires on their way here from all parts of the world."

"Are they all meeting here?" Clara asked.

"The ones who arrive first will come here," Charles said. "Once we know where we are going, we will send word and they will head straight to the battle location."

My heart sped up at the thought of so many vampires coming to join us for the battle. I hoped that I was ready for this. I was not even a full vampire yet and I had a lot of pressure on me.

"What are we going to do while we wait?" I asked.

"You are going to go to a quiet room upstairs and focus on Cliff to see if you can pick up any clues. You have the closest connection to him."

I didn't feel like I had the closest connection to him. I had missed all of those years while I was away from the castle. Then there was Tanner. I sighed. If they were depending on my closeness with him, we were in trouble.

"The rest of us will stay down here and discuss our options and plans."

"Why don't you go to the guest room," Rachel suggested. "That's where Cliff was staying while he was here. That might help."

My eyes lit up as I remembered using his watch to find him before. Maybe I could do that again if he had left anything in the room.

I walked silently up the stairs. I heard the doorbell ring and there were several voices that I didn't recognize. More vampires coming to help.

I opened the door to the guest room. I hoped it would help and that I could find him again. I closed the door behind me and looked around the room. I could tell by all of the flowery stuff that it was a guest room.

I focused on the few personal belongings that he had left behind. There were some clothes in the closet and a coat resting on a chair. Some books were on the nightstand, but I didn't know if those were his or not.

I picked up the jacket and brought it up to my face. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I could smell a faint scent that reminded me of Cliff. I pictured his face in my mind and focused on that.

The doorbell rang again, disrupting my concentration. I wondered how many vampires would be fighting with us. My pulse quickened in anticipation. This was going to be much bigger than I had imagined.

I had to continue to focus on Cliff. I slipped the coat on and walked to the dresser where there were a few notebooks. I picked one up and flipped through the pages. There were pencil sketches of me. I skimmed through all of them and all contained sketches of me from infancy, all the way to the time before Cliff had left. I stared at the baby sketches, because I had never seen a picture of myself as a baby.

As they progressed, they looked less like me. It was probably hard to guess what I looked like after last having seen me as a three year old. My heart ached as I thought of what I had done to him, how much I must have hurt him. He had fallen in love with me when I was a baby and he had stayed in love with me all of the years that I was gone.

We had barely spent any time together since we were old enough for our love to be a romantic one. When we were kids together, it was an adoring love but not mature. I had never had a boyfriend until the time that he came back for me. I had waited for him even though I hadn't known it.

Then, when he showed up, I fell in love with another guy. I shouldn't have allowed that to happen, even if it was all a ploy by an experienced, older vampire who wanted me dead.

Anger burned within me. I would go after Samantha personally. If we didn't have the right kind of stake to kill her, I would make sure that she spent many years paying for what she did.

I lay down on the bed to focus on Cliff and try to get a sense for where he might be. As I did, his scent came up and surrounded me like a cloud. I breathed it in and closed my eyes. I noticed something under my foot. I got up and lifted the blankets at the edge of the bed.

There was a little box underneath the covers and I opened it. It held a small necklace, and as I contemplated its importance, my mind flashed back to one of my dreams about Cliff in the castle when we were kids. He was carrying me after I'd fallen into the flowers, and I saw him wearing the same necklace then. It would be too small for him now.

The necklace must have been important. Why else would he keep it in a little box hidden in his bed? I put the necklace on.

The room started spinning and I found myself in a room made of stone. Samantha was standing right in front of me, laughing.

What was going on?

She started twisting a strand of her hair and asked with a wink, "Are you sure that you don't want me? Nobody will ever know."

What was she talking about? Why couldn't I get up to tear her apart? I looked down and saw that my hands were chained to the bed.

"Won't answer me?" she asked. "I should be offended but I'm not. I always get what I want in the end."

I looked back down at my arms and noticed that they were a lot bigger than they should be. It was really strange.

"You know, I had a really fun time setting your girlfriend up. It was way too easy and nobody even suspected that I was back in town. Tanner was so easy to play and your girlfriend fell right into the trap. It was perfect."

"Shut up, Samantha," I said, but it was Cliff's voice coming through my mouth. I had switched places with Cliff.

"Don't you get it, Cliffy?" She got really close to me. Close enough that I could have punched her if my arms hadn't been restrained. "I am the one that you are really destined to be with. When my grandfather removed my father from the throne, I should have been next in line. Not Alexis. Her father shouldn't be king of the vampires."

"Your father was removed from the line because of his choices and his actions," I said with Cliff's voice. "Alexis is the rightful heir. Don't forget that."

I stopped paying attention to Samantha and focused on the surroundings, letting my senses take over so that I could figure out where Cliff was.

I looked around the room for a window to give me an idea of where Cliff might be. There was no window within my line of sight, so I concentrated on my hearing. I thought I might be able to hear something that would offer a clue. I didn't know what, but I needed to find any clue that I could. I didn't know how long I had.

Focusing was very difficult with Samantha going on and on. Her voice grated on my nerves worse than nails on a chalkboard. She wouldn't stop talking, and it was obvious that she was trying to seduce Cliff.

Did she try to seduce every guy that she came in contact with, or just guys that I loved?

"Ignoring me won't last forever," she said loudly. "You and I both know that I am your rightful fiancé. We will be together soon enough, so you better get used to it."

I laughed with Cliff's laugh. "You will never be on the throne. You only wish that you were good enough for Cl...me. Get used to rejection."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Clifford. You'll marry me."

"That'll be the day."

Samantha flipped her hair and stormed out of the room. I was so glad that she was finally gone. I needed to focus so that I could figure out where this place was. There was no time to waste.

I closed my eyes and felt like I was spinning in place. I opened my eyes and I found myself back in the guest bedroom in Brooke's house. I was not alone. Clara, Brooke, Steve, Rachel and Charles were all there looking at me.

"What's...going...on?" I asked.

"You and Cliff just switched places," Clara said. "He told us where the Moretti's are and confirmed that they have him. We need to get downstairs and share this with everyone."

"Did you see anything of significance while you were there?" Charles asked.

"He's chained up in a bedroom and Samantha is trying to seduce him. How did we switch places?"

"It's that necklace that you were wearing. When he took it off, you two switched back. It's a necklace that he used to wear as child that has a blessing of protection for his safety. Let's go downstairs and tell everyone where we're headed for battle."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

As we were leaving Brooke's house with about fifty other vampires, I wondered how long I had spent switching places with Cliff. I couldn't believe how many vampires had arrived in what seemed like such a short period of time. What was even stranger was that the vampires were mostly bowing to me and were all speaking to me with the utmost respect.

We were all heading out in groups of no more than five at a time to the site of the battle, which was about a hundred miles away. Most had chosen to travel by foot because it was so much faster. Some took their cars, to move them from the house. Everyone was concerned about being noticed by the humans.

I was traveling with Clara, Charles and Rachel. They said that Cliff's parents would be at the site and that my vampire parents had been notified and would be there if they could. What a family reunion that would make.

When we began to get close to the place where the Moretti's were holding Cliff, we slowed our pace and found the agreed upon meeting place. Several of the vampires had arrived before us and had checked out the building. They shared with us how they thought we could best invade the building.

I looked around at all of the vampires among us. I wanted to memorize all of their faces so that I would know not to attack any of them. I wished that we had a team color to make it easier.

We would all enter different places around the building, surrounding it. Then we would walk around in stealth mode until one of the tallest among us yelled out a signal for everyone to attack at once.

My heart began racing with anticipation, and the vampire who had been barking out the orders for the plan looked at me and said, "Maybe she should enter the building last. Her heartbeat will give us away."

I looked down, feeling horrible that I could ruin the whole operation.

"Don't feel bad, Princess," he said. "You're in your transition and we are here to protect and serve you. We'll keep a group out here to enter last, after the fighting has commenced."

He pointed to four vampires that I didn't know to stand with me outside while the others entered silently. I wished that I could go with them but I also didn't want to blow the whole thing. I had to keep my strength to be able to battle to the end.

He gave a signal for the remaining vampires to close in around the building silently. My heart raced even more as I watched them all enter the building. I couldn't wait to join them.

It seemed like it took forever while we were waiting to hear the battle begin. In fact, while we waited, nearly twenty other vampires joined us.

"We're just waiting for the battle to begin and then we will go inside," someone told the new arrivals.

"Is this the princess?" one of the newly arrived vampires asked, looking at me.

"Yes, our princess is back among us."

More bowing ensued and the vampires assured me of their allegiance.

Just as some more vampires were arriving, we heard a loud scream which I assumed to be the signal. Then there was a lot of fighting noise.

"Attack," ordered the vampire that had introduced me to the new ones.

At once, we all ran to the building and through the walls. I felt a hundred times stronger and more confident with the legion of vampires fighting along with us.

We all went in several directions in which we had heard fighting. I stayed back a little bit because I wanted to find Cliff, and I also wanted to keep my strength as much as possible.

I was saddened to see some familiar faces lying lifeless on the ground as I walked along. I went through walls to avoid being seen.

At one point, I found myself in a kitchen where several vampires were battling. I saw four vampires attacking one. I took a closer look and saw that the lone vampire was Tanner. I was at his side in a split second. I grabbed one of my stakes and threw it at one vampire's heart, hitting it directly. The familiar silver ooze came out and he fell to the floor.

One of the other vampires turned on me and I threw him across the room. I looked over at Tanner and saw that he had already killed one and was choking the other. I grabbed the stake from the dead vampire and rushed at the one I had thrown across the room. He let out a cry as I came at him and threw it at his heart with dead accuracy.

I grabbed a stake and threw it to Tanner, who caught it and impaled the two vampires lying at his feet. I ran out of the room and up a narrow staircase. It was difficult to focus any of my senses because there was so much fighting going on all around me. I could hear the battle all over the building. It was almost dizzying to listen to, with my vampire hearing.

Focusing on my sense of smell instead of hearing, I tried to locate Cliff or Samantha. I figured that if I found one of them, I would probably find the other, since she was so insistent on luring him to her. It was hard to smell anything over the rancid stench of the silver ooze all over the place.

Suddenly, a vampire jumped out at me, hissing, fangs exposed. I quickly ran across the hallway and he landed with a thud against the floor. He jumped up again and started running after me. I jumped out of the way once more and he slammed into the wall.

I took advantage of the split second that he was in shock and grabbed his curly hair, smashing his face into the wall several times. He turned and looked at me with his eyes rolling around. I grabbed a fresh stake and thrust it into his heart, letting him fall to the ground. I grabbed the stake again and ran to find Cliff. We were supposed to kill off the Moretti's together, so I urgently needed to find him and not waste my time with common vampires.

I went up two more flights of stairs and found myself in another hallway with lots of closed doors. It reminded me of the hallway of a hotel. I felt a sense of familiarity, and hoped that it meant that Cliff was nearby.

The hallway was quiet, so I would have an easier time finding him, I hoped. I walked along the hallway listening for any sounds, and heard movement from behind a door on my right.

Without thinking, I opened the door, unprepared for what might be waiting for me.

"Alexis!"

I looked to the far corner of the room toward the voice. "Cliff. Cliff!" I ran to where he sat on the bed. I wrapped my arms around him although he couldn't return the embrace. "How do I get these chains off you?"

"Samantha says that she has the only key."

"Let me try something," I said, remembering my own experience with chains. I stared at the chains and said with as much authority as I could muster, "Remove yourselves from him. Get off of his wrists now."

Cliff's eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he watched the chains fall to the bed. He looked at his newly freed wrists and asked, "How did you do that?"

I smiled. "It's a gift. Let's go kill some evil vampires who want me dead."

He kissed the top of my head. "I really like your newfound confidence. I'm sorry for everything that you had to go through to get it though."

My heart nearly melted. I reached for his face and stroked his cheek. I breathed in his smell and smiled.

We stared into each other's eyes for a minute and then I said, "Don't do this to me. I need to stay angry in order to kick some evil vampire butt."

He laughed. "Seeing you made me forget about where we are and what we need to do. Let's go kill those impostors."

"Do you know where they are?" I asked.

"Yes, I overheard them talking. One benefit to being a descendant of the Fyrsturae is that other vampires don't realize how much stronger our senses are than other vampires. We can hear and smell much further than they can."

"That explains a lot. I'll follow you then," I said.

Cliff led the way as went through a maze of hallways and staircases. We had gone up and down so many different sets of stairs that I had even lost track of what level we were on.

"Is this a castle?" I asked. "It's so huge."

"This is nothing compared to our castle," he said. "Even when you lived there, you didn't even come close to seeing all of it. Do you remember the secret passage that we discovered?"

"No."

"We'll have to relive old times when we get back there," he said, smiling. "But first, we have a battle to win."

We ran on and then he suddenly stopped. I nearly ran into him but managed to stop myself in time, just centimeters away.

Do you hear that?

I listened and heard a faint scuffling noise.

What is that?

They're in that room. He pointed to a door just a few feet away from us. They know we're here.

They can hear my heartbeat, right?

Don't worry about how they can sense us. We will communicate with each other with our minds like this if we need to.

Can't Samantha hear us? Isn't she a royal too?

Only those that we want to hear our thoughts will hear them. Our thoughts cannot be invaded. Unfortunately, that does apply to her too. Are you ready, my princess?

I sighed. I hope so.

He cupped my face in his hand. You are ready. Everything that you've gone through has prepared you for this battle. You will even outperform me.

I looked away, overwhelmed. Let's go in.

He turned and opened the door. Samantha and a tall male vampire with short, spiky hair turned to look at us. I assumed that the tall one was Vince, head of the Moretti clan and rarely seen, even by the vampires that he had turned.

"If it isn't the prince and princess," Samantha said. "What should we do with them, Vincey?"

"Take them down, of course."

Samantha looked at Cliff and licked her lips. "I'll take him. He's yummy."

At the same moment that Vince slapped her, I jumped to attack. Cliff was faster than I was and put his arm out to stop me.

She's trying to get under your skin. Don't let her.

Samantha didn't even seem to notice Vince's slap. "She's quick to defend you, Cliffy baby. Just like she was with that human boy. He was pretty yummy too."

She ducked, and missed Vince's slap that time.

Several light bulbs exploded in the room and I thought I heard some go off in adjoining rooms as well. It was taking every ounce of my self-control not to rip her to shreds.

Samantha turned her attention back to me once the light bulbs had stopped exploding. "You really should watch that temper of yours, missy. It's going to get you into trouble."

Cliff pushed his arm against me to remind me that he was still blocking me and to remind me to stay focused.

"Speaking of that human boy," she said. "I heard that you changed him, Alexis. Is that true?"

Pushing past Cliff's arm, I flew at her and ripped into her flesh with my teeth and my nails. I caught her off guard because she didn't even fight back at first. I spit out a chunk of her flesh onto the floor and that's when she grabbed my neck and started choking me.

I felt Vince jump on me, pulling my hair back and yanking my neck so that Samantha lost her hold on me and I started to gag. Suddenly, he was off my back and I saw Cliff throw him against a wall. Cliff flew at him and bit into his neck.

I turned my attention back to Samantha who was about to bite into mine. I quickly moved out of her way and she fell and hit her face on the floor. I jumped onto her back and grabbed her hair, banging her face into the floor a few more times for good measure.

I could hear Vince and Cliff fighting outside of my line of vision, but I didn't dare take my eyes off of Samantha even though I had the upper hand for the moment.

She began to reach around her back, trying to get to me. She managed to wrap a hand around one of my ankles and somehow used that for enough leverage to roll herself over and was nearly on top of me. I kneed her in the stomach, and as she groaned, I was disappointed to see that most of the small wounds that I had given her had already healed.

I reached into the sleeve of my sweater, pulled out a stake and started stabbing her with it. If I couldn't kill her with it, I would do as much damage as possible. I stabbed her as hard as I could.

Taking a deep breath and doing my best to avoid her claws, I stabbed with all my might in the heart. She started gasping for air, and I backed off and took a moment to see how Cliff was doing.

It looked as though he was being overpowered by Vince. I wiped something wet off my face and saw that it was blood. I felt to see where it was coming from and found a good-sized gash on my forehead. I hoped that it would heal quickly.

Cliff was really struggling and I knew that I needed to help him. I looked at Samantha and found that she was still lying on the ground gasping for air. I leaned over and drove the stake into her heart three more times.

I took a deep breath and flew into Vince, knocking him off of Cliff. I grabbed him and tried to throw him into the wall, but he was stronger than any other vampire that I had come across. He barely budged.

He laughed at me. "Is that all you have?"

I glared at him and quickly looked back down at Cliff who was still on the ground. I ran into Vince again with all of my energy and again he merely stumbled.

He ruffled his spiky hair and smirked at me. "There's a reason that vampires all over the world tremble when they see me coming. You're still part human and you think you can beat me."

I bit into his chest because he was too tall for me to reach his neck. He let out the tiniest sound and then gave me a little shove, and I flew across the room, knocking over a sofa chair and landing on the floor.

Cliff, how are we going to defeat this guy?

We're going to have to take him by surprise. But I'm pretty badly hurt.

I stood up and walked over to the two of them. I leaned down to where Cliff was lying and placed my hand on his chest. I imagined him healthy, healed and strong, and sent those thoughts through my arms and into his body. I could feel the healing going as a vibration in the same way that it had when I had healed Kayla.

"He's not going to give you energy, little princess."

I ignored Vince and concentrated on trying to heal Cliff.

Vince just stood there watching me. He pretended to file his nails and act bored to show me how confident he was that I could never beat him.

You've healed me. You really have been blessed with a lot more gifts and talents than any other royal. I'm going to pretend to still be down and take him by surprise.

I gave a slight nod, letting Cliff knew that I understood and then I stood up and stared at Vince.

He stared back at me and laughed. "Do you think you'll beat me with a staring contest?"

"What makes you think that you are so powerful that no vampire can beat you?" I asked.

"I don't think, I know."

"How did you become so powerful, then?"

"Do you think that I'm going to give my secrets away?"

"Are you a descendant of the Fyrsturae?" I asked.

"Do you think that you will beat me with conversation?"

"Why do you keep answering my questions with questions?" I exclaimed.

"Why wouldn't I?" He smirked at me.

I stood there and focused all of my energy, imagining that it was a ball growing larger and stronger as I concentrated on it. Once it was as big as I was, I ran at him and he actually flew back and landed against the wall.

As soon as he hit the wall, Cliff was up and had Vince's neck in his hands.

"What?" Vince choked. "I broke your legs in a place that takes vampires hours to heal."

I copied his smirk and said, "You're not all-knowing after all, are you?"

He reached up and began pulling Cliff's hands off of his neck. I ran over and held his hands down so that he couldn't push Cliff away. Vince started gasping for air and I let go, biting into him and ripping out pieces of his flesh.

Vince finally pushed Cliff off, threw him across the room and turned to me. He pushed me down onto the ground and put his arms out, facing Cliff. He stretched out his fingers as far as they would go and then squeezed them tight so that it looked like he was holding a small ball in each hand.

I watched in horror as Cliff lifted up into the air. Vince moved his arms to the left and right and Cliff moved in the air in tandem with Vince's arms.

Cliff started choking and grabbing at his neck.

"Stop!" I screamed. "Whatever you're doing, stop."

He turned his head to me and laughed. He continued to control Cliff with his hands from across the room.

"I want to see you make me stop," he taunted me.

I imagined my energy as a ball again, and ran toward him when the ball was twice my size. He was thrown back twice as far as the time before. He lost his control over Cliff and Cliff fell to the ground, gasping for air. He stood up, still gasping.

I didn't want Vince to go after Cliff before he had caught his breath, so I charged at Vince again. I went to stomp on his face, but he grabbed my leg and I fell back on the floor, hitting the back of my head.

Before I could get up, he lifted me off the ground and threw me back across the room. I landed with a thud against the fireplace. I had hit my head really hard on the brick mantle and slumped to the ground.

I could feel something wet and sticky surrounding my body. It started around my head and moved down to my shoulders, arms and body. I managed to get my arm up to look at it and saw that the substance was my blood. A lot of it, from what I could feel.

I started to feel dizzy and it became harder to breathe. The harder that I tried to take a normal breath, the less air that I was able to take in.

Cliff appeared over me. His face held shock and terror. "Alexis, hang on. You're going to be just fine." His face was white and his eyes glistened with tears. "Everything is going to be just fine," he repeated, his voice wavering and his lips trembling.

I just watched him, as I couldn't bring myself to utter a word or even think of a thought to send to him.

He reached down and rubbed his hand on my forehead and over my hair. When he brought his hand up, it was covered in blood.

Vince then appeared over me and his eyes were a scary shade of red. He was obviously in a severe state of blood thirst. Cliff must have seen that too, because he jumped over me and flew into Vince, sending them both flying across the room.

I heard several crashes and everything turned white, then black.

The only things I was aware of were the sounds of my body. I heard the very slow throb of my heartbeat. I heard the rasp of my strained breathing. I heard the blood coursing slowly through my body. I could hear my other organs shutting down.

As I listened, everything became slower and slower. One by one, the sounds stopped. Finally, the last sound was that of my very weak heart. Until it wasn't even pumping blood.

Was this supposed to be happening? Was I going to die?

Could I still transform into the powerful vampire princess that I was meant to become?

Silence.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I listened for any sound that could be heard. The silence seemed so loud, and I wanted to know what was going on and what was going to happen.

The fact that I was aware of the silence encouraged me, because I figured that if I were truly dead that I would no longer be aware of anything at all.

My mind wandered back to the battle and to Cliff fighting Vince. I didn't see how this could end well at all.

Vince was obviously a very strong vampire and knew what he was doing. I didn't know how he managed to break Cliff's legs so badly, but Cliff would still have broken legs if I hadn't healed him. It was too bad that I couldn't heal myself from death.

Suddenly, I became aware of a tingling sensation from where all of the blood had gushed out of my head. I was so excited to be aware of something. I didn't know what the tingling was, but it had to be better than nothing.

Anything had to be better than nothing.

The tingling became stronger and had begun to spread down my body until it reached my toes. The sensation danced around me for a while and then stopped.

Nothing.

I would have sighed if I had any breath within me. I didn't want to go back to nothing.

I got my wish a couple of minutes later when a horrible stabbing pain went through my heart. I wanted to scream but could not move a muscle. The pain intensified and I wanted to cry, but again, couldn't do anything.

The pain shot out from my heart and coursed its way through my veins. I could feel it go through every inch of me and in all directions. I didn't think that I could stand any more pain, yet I had to, as it got worse the longer it lasted.

When the pain finally began to subside, strength began to build within my body. It started in my stomach and grew as it radiated throughout my entire body. I felt as though I had enough strength to tear down the entire castle with my bare hands and still have enough energy to take down a football team of vampires.

I opened my eyes.

A glorious light shone into my line of sight. I moved my eyes around and began to focus on the room. It looked different than it had before. It took me a minute to realize that the colors on everything had become much deeper and had almost a glow to them.

My hand brushed against my cheek and my skin felt so soft, almost like a baby's skin. It was tougher though. I tried moving all of my limbs and was pleased to discover that they were all in perfect working order.

I jumped to my feet soundlessly, full of rage and intense power. I looked around the room and saw Cliff slumped over, leaning against a wall. Vince was leaning over Samantha with his back to me.

He had no clue that I was more alive than ever, and ready to rip him to shreds.

I bared my teeth and crouched down like a cat ready to pounce. I ran silently to him and attacked. I jumped on his back, and bit him and tore into him with my nails.

He cried out in pain and turned around. He looked completely shocked to see me but that didn't keep him from grabbing my neck. I pulled him off of me with ease, picked him up like he weighed nothing and threw him across the room.

I let out a scream and ran at him again faster than I had ever had run before. I bit into his neck once more and started pulling out his spiky hair. Normally, doing both at the same time would have been nearly impossible, but I seemed to have developed incredible strength and flexibility.

He reached up to fight me off, and I grabbed one of his arms and broke it. It was so easy that I broke it in three more places. He cried out in pain, and I stood up, grabbed him and threw him across the room again.

It brought me a lot of pleasure to be able to throw him so easily. I ran over to him and bit in him several more times. He tried to grab me with his good arm and I broke that one too.

I decided to give him a taste of his own medicine, so I picked him up and threw him against the fireplace. He hit his head and as he fell to the ground, I ran over to him and threw him against the fireplace yet again.

When he slumped down, he appeared to be unconscious so I grabbed a stake from my under my pant leg and stabbed him in the heart with it repeatedly. Silver goo oozed out of his chest and his eyes turned the same color.

I wasn't taking any chances with him. I pulled the stake out, reached into his chest with my nails and I pulled out his heart. I ripped it to shreds and threw it into the fireplace. I found some matches and lit it on fire. It lit up much easier than I had thought it would and I watched it burn down to ashes.

I ran over to where Cliff was still slumped over and laid him flat on the ground. I placed my hands upon him and imagined him healed completely. Immediately, he sat up.

"Alexis? What's going on?" he asked.

"I just killed Vince," I said, pointing to where he was laying with my bloody, silver goo covered hand.

He looked me over. "You've completed your transformation."

"Of course I did," I replied. "I'm stronger than ever. He was no match for me at all. I'm ready to take out the rest of his cronies now."

"I can't believe you've already transformed," he said, shaking his head.

"Why not?" I asked, only half paying attention. I was focused on taking down every single one of Vince's followers.

"For those of us born into vampire families, it takes at least six hours to complete the transformation after death. You were out less than fifteen minutes."

"You were out too, Cliff. It probably only felt like a few minutes."

"No, Alexis. I looked at the clock. You were only out for about twelve minutes."

"Well so far, I haven't done anything else by the book, so it's not really that surprising," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "What are we going to do with that thing?" I said, pointing toward Samantha.

"We can't kill her without using a Populus Tremola stake."

"I could probably find a way to kill her without any special wood," I growled.

"We can tie her up, carry her with us and then hand her over to our parents. They can decide her fate," he said.

My body was filled with strong waves of energy and strength. I needed to do something to release them.

"Okay, you carry that heap of flesh and I'll fight off any of Vince's followers that we might run across," I told him.

He picked Samantha up and said, "Let's go back to the room I was in and chain her up there."

"Sounds like justice to me," I replied. "Let's go."

We ran to the room and it took about a fraction of the time that it had taken when we were coming from that room. "Why was that so quick? Last time we went all over the place and it took forever."

"I kept getting lost," he admitted. "These chains aren't going to come off this bed. We're going to have to come up with a different plan to restrain her."

I walked over to the chains, gave a quick yank and they came off easily.

He smiled. "I could get used to this."

He threw Samantha onto the bed and we quickly tied her up good and tight.

"Follow me. I remember how to get down to the main level," I said.

He picked her up again and we ran quickly to the main level. I was very glad when a vampire jumped out at us in the hallway. I ripped him to shreds in just a few seconds. I needed to get my energy out.

As we got closer to the main area, we began to find a lot of vampire bodies sprawled all over the floors. We had to step over and around many of them.

"Do you hear that?" I asked. "It sounds like a conversation. Let's go see what's going on."

We followed the sounds of voices and came to a large room. There were about thirty or forty vampires, all gathered around a very large table. Everyone stopped talking and turned to look at us as we entered the room. They all erupted into applause and cheering.

I momentarily forgot about the internal power that was driving me crazy. The ovation took me by surprise, and I was very embarrassed to have that kind of attention directed onto me. It reminded me of the homecoming dance all over again.

They started asking questions all at once.

"Did you kill Vince?"

"Was it just like the prophecy?"

"Tell us the details."

"Did you get injured?"

"How did you do it?"

Two vampires that I did not recognize stood up. The male put his hands up in the air and said, "Silence!" Everyone stopped talking immediately.

"Father, Mother," Cliff exclaimed. "You're here."

I stood taller. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to address the two of them.

They walked straight towards us and his mother gave me a big hug. "It is so good to see you again, my child. George and I have loved you since you were a baby, and you were always like a second child to us. We are so glad that you are back and we look forward to the day that our families are united."

I hugged her back and said, "I have been remembering more and more with time. The memories I have of you two are fond ones. I look forward to getting to know you both."

Cliff's father smiled at me and said, "It's a joy to see you again after all these years, child. It will be a pleasure to catch up with you and see how well you have done. I've heard that you still very much have a mind of your own."

I smiled. "Yes, I've received several complaints about that."

"You're your father's daughter, nothing else would be expected." He then put his arms back up in the air and began speaking to everyone, "Clifford and Marguerite, who now goes by her middle name Alexis, stand up front and share with you how our battle was won."

I looked at Cliff. Alexis is my middle name?

We have a lot of catching up to do, my princess.

We walked up to the front of the room, following Cliff's parents. They had us stand and his father motioned for all of the other vampires to sit and listen to our story. I wasn't paying attention to what he was saying to the remaining vampires, because I was scanning the vampires in the audience.

I hoped that all of my friends made it through the battle successfully. I noted my friends as I looked through the audience. Brooke...Clara...Brooke's parents...Tanner...Brad...Eric...Jordan (Clara's friend who surprised me in the woods when I was training). My heart sank when I realized that I didn't see Steve. As much as we always bumped heads, I didn't want to think of anything happening to him. He had been like my own big brother when I was growing up.

I didn't have time to dwell on it for long, because Cliff's father had handed the floor over to us. Cliff started sharing about being chained up in the room and how I came in to rescue him. As he went on through the entire story, he made me sound like such a hero.

I would have been blushing had I any human blood in me. I could already tell that the new vampire blood worked differently. I didn't feel like any kind of hero, but the way he told the story I was quick-witted, strong, and brave. Everyone started whispering and gasping when they heard how quickly I had completed my transformation.

When he finished the story, he asked me if I had anything to add and I just shook my head no. I was so embarrassed by the attention and the hero status that I wanted to run and hide.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to fly. They wanted to hear from me. Most of them were very curious about me because I had been gone so long, and most had thought that I was dead until very recently, since my parents didn't want the Moretti's to hear that I was still alive.

I took a deep breath and said, "Thank you all so much for coming all this way to support us in this battle. As you know, the Moretti's have wanted me dead since I was very little. Today, you have helped to right that terrible wrong. I can't thank you enough for all that you've done. I look forward to serving as your princess."

Everyone clapped and I was very glad that it was enough to keep them happy. I was not prepared to give a long speech. I had just gone through a major battle, after dying and transforming into a full vampire.

After I was done speaking, everyone got up and came to talk with me. I felt like I was in a sea of faces. I hoped that being a princess wouldn't always be like this. I thought that it must be due to the newness of finding me alive, and that I would eventually get some space. It was just like going to school after I was crowned Homecoming Princess.

After everyone had had their chance to talk to me, I was worn out and word had been received that my mother and father were on their way. Most everyone started cleaning up the colossal mess that had been made in the battle.

Brooke was commissioned to get Cliff and me looking our best while everyone else cleaned. My hair was stiff and sticky with huge amounts of blood. It was also all over my shirt.

I sent Clara to Brooke's house to pick up shampoo, clean clothes, makeup and some other stuff that she would need to make us presentable to see the king and queen.

"Where is Steve?" I whispered, afraid to hear the answer.

Tears filled her eyes and her lips trembled.

"No. It's not possible, it can't be." I felt light headed.

She took a deep breath. "He was proud to fight for you. He knew that you were going to be an amazing leader and he really wanted to see you become a vampire. He would have been very proud of you today. I wish he could have heard you share your story of victory."

I wrapped my arms around her. "Brooke, I'm so sorry. You've just lost your brother. What are you doing here with me? Go and be with your family. Don't worry about me."

She hugged me back. "I'll mourn later. Steve would have agreed with me. Meeting your parents is one of the biggest days of your life. I'm here to serve you because I want to. Not only as our princess, but as my friend. I'm here for you."

"Are you sure? Clara can get me ready this one time."

She took a deep breath and stood tall. "I'm completely sure. I want to be here for you. It's an honor for me to serve you."

I gave her a sad smile. "Thank you, Brooke. It really means a lot to me."

"Well, I'm not the only one who has lost a loved one. Many did today, and they're all helping to clean up this mess."

"It looks like we lost about twenty or thirty vampires," I said.

"About thirty. We had seventy-three show up in total."

"I feel horrible that any had to die," I said.

"They were more than happy to serve you," she said. "Besides, the Moretti's took a much worse hit. There were about ninety of them and not one remains, except Samantha."

"That's awesome that we beat them even though we had so many less on our side."

Clara showed up and she and Brooke found a dressing room with a large bathroom. They began to set it up for us.

Cliff was behind me and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. "Do you have any idea how scared I was right before you died?"

"No," I said. "You told me that everything was going to be fine."

"That's what I wanted you to believe so that you would stay strong," he said. "I thought it would take more than six hours for you to transform if you died. I didn't think that we had that long. I was certain that I had lost you."

"What about the prophecy?"

"I wasn't even thinking about it. All that I could think about was how I didn't want to lose you. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you again."

"Why do you blame yourself for my kidnapping? You were just a child. You couldn't have prevented it."

"I should have been able to stop it. I should have protected you."

I turned around and looked into his eyes. "I don't blame you and I never will."

"You might when I tell you the whole story."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I overheard your watcher discussing the plans. I didn't understand what they were talking about, so I didn't say anything to either of our parents. If I had, you would have never been kidnapped and been raised so far away from me."

The pain in his eyes was so strong that I could almost feel it myself. I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You were just a child. You can't be to blame. Like I said, I will never blame you."

"There is so much that I want to tell you," he said. "There is so much to fill you in on."

"We have all the time in the world," I told him with a huge smile. "Centuries lie before us. This is the very beginning."

He cupped my face in his hand. "For that I am extremely grateful."

We looked into each other's eyes for a few more minutes and I truly felt that I was home. It was the greatest feeling I had ever experienced. If I'd still had a heartbeat, it would have been going very fast. I could've stayed in his arms staring into his eyes forever.

Clara had other plans, however. "Come on you two! We need to get you cleaned up and presentable. You can moon at each other later."

We both started laughing and followed her into the dressing room. She sat Cliff down on the couch and began scrubbing his face with a washcloth. Brooke ordered me into the shower and closed the door behind me.

When I got out of the shower, I saw a brand new outfit waiting for me on the bathroom counter. It was an elegant dress, and as soon as I had it on, Brooke ran into the bathroom and began putting on my makeup.

"Do you have any questions?" she asked.

"About what?" I asked.

"You're about to meet your parents, the highest ranking vampires in the world. I would have imagined that you have some questions."

I thought about it but couldn't think of anything to ask. "They're my parents. I'm sure that I'll be fine."

"Okay," she said. "Let's just get you ready then." She dried my hair and styled it almost as fancifully as she did when I went to the dance.

"Are you going to continue to make my clothes and dress me up?" I asked. "I could definitely get used to this."

"I'm here to serve you. If you had grown up in the castle, I would have been doing this as soon as I was old enough. It's my job."

As soon as we got out of the bathroom, Cliff was rushed in to take his own shower, and before I knew it, we were walking down the stairs back to the room where everyone had met after the battle. As we walked along, I was amazed at how quickly everything had been cleaned up.

When we entered the room, I saw Cliff's parents standing next two vampires that I recognized from my dreams as my own parents.

I froze in place. What was I supposed to do? Why hadn't I asked Brooke any questions when I'd had the opportunity?

Cliff gently grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. We approached the four vampires and I scuffled my feet. I had waited so long for this moment, and suddenly I wanted to hide under a rock.

We were four feet away from my parents when we stopped. I just stared at them. They were gorgeous and I couldn't get over how young they looked. If they were to order drinks, they would be carded for sure. How could they be over 800 years old? What had they done in those centuries? I suddenly wanted to ask them a thousand questions.

They stared back at me. Were they as nervous as I was? Or were they just taking me in? The last time they had seen me, I was only three years old.

I was flooded with emotions and unable to sort them. I wanted to run and jump into their arms like a little kid, but everyone had told me over and over how regal they were and how proper that I needed to act. As if running to my parents would cause them to kill me on the spot for my irreverence.

Memories flooded and I remembered hundreds of times that I had run into their arms. My father had flung me into the air and caught me. My mother had held me close and told me how beautiful and smart I was. Maybe everyone else feared them, but they were my parents.

I let go of Cliff's hand and I ran to my father and gave him a huge hug. He returned the embrace as soon as I touched him. "I've missed you guys so much. I hated waiting so long to see you."

Squeezing me, he said, "I can't believe that it's really you. We've dreamed of this day for years. It was as if someone had killed me when I was told that you were dead."

My mother wrapped her arms around me too. "I'm so glad to finally have you back, darling. Letting you stay with those humans after finding out that you were alive was the hardest decision I've ever had to make."

Tears were streaming down my face and I said, "I've been waiting to meet you guys again. It's been so hard only being able to see you in my dreams. Can I go to the castle with you?"

They both stepped back with tear-stained faces. My mother said, "Unfortunately, we still have unfinished business to take care of in Europe. We would love nothing more than to bring you back with us now if we could. We just can't."

"Nothing would make us happier," my father said. "But as king and queen, we have many obligations and we can't get away from what needs to be taken care of. You will understand this someday." He gave me a sad smile.

"It looks like we will back at the castle this summer," my mother said with a twinkle in her eye. "We will have to arrange a foreign exchange program for you."

"I'm going back to my human family?" I asked, dejected.

"We know that you love them and that they love you," my father said. "We've caught some of the news coverage. With all that we have going on, it would best for you to continue your life there."

"But I haven't seen you in so long," I whined, like a little kid. "I want to spend more time with you. You're the king and queen, can't you just decide to go to the castle and spend some time with me? Send someone else fill in for you in Europe." I had to refrain from stomping my foot and crossing my arms.

Brooke glared at me. Nobody talks to the king and queen like that! You need to take their orders happily.

My father hugged me. "Dear child, our hearts desperately long to be with you as well. This summer, we will catch up and make up for lost time. We can't ignore our obligations. It was dangerous for us to leave for this short trip but we had to see you."

Brooke looked shocked that he hadn't reprimanded me for such disrespect. Apparently, it was true that I take after him with my independence. He understood me.

"When do you suppose we should begin discussing the wedding?" Cliff's mother asked.

I heard a gasp from the back of the room. I turned around and Tanner was standing in the doorway.

"Who is that?" Cliff's mother asked, pointing to Tanner.

"Isn't that the boy who was kidnapped with her?" my father asked.

I looked down at my feet and mumbled, "Yes, that's him. But he's a vampire now."

"He's a vampire?" Cliff's mother exclaimed. "How did that happen?"

I had forgotten how well vampires can hear. I took a deep breath. "I accidentally turned him."

"What?" Cliff asked.

"It was an accident. I was trying to save his life."

My mother shook her head with an almost-smile and turned to my father. "She's definitely your daughter, Geoffrey."

"Caitlin, don't make light of this," Francine exclaimed to my mother.

"How did you turn him?" my mother asked me.

Did I really have to discuss this in front of Cliff and all of our parents?

"It's okay," my father said. "You can tell us."

I sighed and explained what had happened from when I found him nearly dead at Samantha's hands to the bloody mouthed, botched CPR attempt.

Francine's face was awash in anger and disgust. George looked shocked. I looked at Cliff to get an idea as to why his parents were so angry. He looked agitated himself.

I looked to my parents. What did I do wrong?

Both of my parents were attempting to cover smiles on their faces. I was completely confused. What I had said had angered Cliff and his parents, but seemed to please my parents. What could have done that?

"Don't even let your thoughts go there," Francine huffed at my parents. I could see that she was restraining herself. I guessed that royalty didn't scream and shout because it wasn't dignified. But if they could, she would have been throwing a fit.

My mother let her face break out into a full smile. "Darling child, you didn't do anything wrong at all. In fact, you've secured our family's place on the throne."

"I'm completely lost," I said.

"Surely you are aware that if you chose anyone aside from Clifford you would have to walk away from the throne," she said.

I nodded my head in agreement. Where was this going?

"The fact that you turned that boy into a vampire with your blood, rather than your venom, means that he is now a member of the royal line. Not by birth, but by creation."

Cliff looked at me with deep vulnerability. I opened my mouth to speak, but his mother spoke up before I could say anything.

"If you allow this happen," she said, glaring at my parents, "you will find yourselves in the middle of the biggest war that this world has ever seen."

The End

To continue the series with Betrayal now, follow this link: click here to visit the author's website: stacyclaflin.com

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The Black Parade  
Book One  
By Kyoko M.

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Chapter One

The alarm clock went off like a duck being strangled with a telephone cord. I always tried and failed to remember to buy a new one. Groaning, I lurched onto my side and slapped at the device until it went silent. Sunlight streamed in, golden and annoying, through a gap in the dingy grey curtains of the window across from the bed. I threw the comforter over my head and lay there with my face pressed into the mattress, breathing in the faint smell of fabric softener and fried chicken. I really did need to wash these sheets.

After about a minute, I reluctantly climbed out from underneath the blanket and stumbled towards the closet to find my white button up shirt and short black skirt. My shift at the restaurant would start in half an hour. Colton would kick my ass if I was late again.

After wriggling into my work clothes, I wandered into the kitchen and began the nearly involuntary process of making coffee. Once it was brewing, I retreated to the bathroom. As I brushed my teeth, I read the list of the names and addresses I'd taped to the vanity mirror: Linda, Ming-Na, and Ron. I only worked a five-hour shift today so I should have been able to take care of all three of them. After I finished brushing my teeth, I swept my hair up into something that vaguely resembled a bun and took a deep breath before staring into my reflection for a brief analysis.

To be frank, I looked like shit. The skin beneath my eyes was dark with circles since I hadn't gotten a decent amount of sleep in about two years, my complexion that had once been a rich brown was now a sickly brown-paper-bag color, and my weight had dropped significantly from lack of decent meals. Lord knows how I managed to keep my job looking like this. Cue the makeup—some foundation to cover up the spots and black eyeliner to further divert attention from my unhealthy pallor. A dash of lip gloss and voila, I was once again presentable for public consumption.

My gaze fell across the list again. I sighed. "Ninety-six down, four to go."

I snatched the Post-It off the mirror and grabbed my flats on the way to the kitchen where my coffee was ready. When I got to the kitchen, I shrieked in surprise.

My favorite forest-green coffee mug was already out and filled with coffee.

I glanced to my right and my left, letting my eyes sweep across the small room carefully. Nothing. Not a soul.

It took a moment for me to calm down enough to tiptoe around the apartment and check the closet, the bathroom, and even underneath my bed, for any signs of an intruder. Nothing had been moved and there were no signs of entry. I took a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen, sniffing the coffee for any signs of irregularity but I could smell nothing except for the enticing aroma.

I put enough sugar and cream in to turn the dark brown a rich caramel color and sipped away my exhaustion. Maybe I'd poured the coffee without thinking and forgot. It was early and my brain hadn't kick-started yet. I grabbed a Nutra-Grain bar from the cabinet, my keys, and headed out the door, giving one last salute to the worn, leather-bound book sitting on top of my refrigerator. After all, I needed all the luck I could get today.

The first things I noticed about Linda were that she was small, blonde, and probably about seven years old. Her cheeks were still round and pink with baby fat that she hadn't grown out of yet and her dress was bright orange with yellow flowers dotted down the length of it. The look would have been complete with a pair of white or black Mary Janes but since she didn't have any feet, it was impossible. Linda was, after all, a ghost.

"What's your name?"

I paused, having been lost in my thoughts after analyzing her appearance. "Jordan."

She smiled, seeming interested. "Isn't that a boy's name?"

I resisted the urge to wince. She was just a kid, and a dead one at that, so she didn't know any better. "Yeah, I get that a lot. Mind if I ask you a couple questions?"

"Sure."

"What's the last thing you remember before you ended up here?" I asked the little spirit in my sweetest voice. Linda glanced up from the dandelion she had been attempting to pick up, surprised that her small hand phased right through it.

"Um, I don't know. Mom, she told me to sit next to my brother on the log by the lake. My brother kept poking me so I got up. The water was really pretty that day," she added with another bright smile.

I nodded, scribbling her comments down on my ragged notepad. "What did you do after that?"

"I saw a frog and I wanted to catch it to bring it back to Mommy. My mean old brother told me to come back. I bet he thought I couldn't catch it. So I tried my best to catch 'im, but he was really fast. Then I woke up over there." She pointed to the tall oak tree a few feet from where we stood by the lake, where police tape had been stretched across the bank.

"Is there anything you want to tell your mother or your brother?"

The little girl nodded. I suppressed a sigh. This meant I'd have to get the address of the family, and the police were pretty stingy with those sorts of details. Maybe I could find another way to get her to see them. The funeral, perhaps. Much easier to access and far less suspicious to look for.

"Can you remember your last name?"

Linda's face scrunched in thought. "Nu-uh."

Great. No last name. This case was going to take even longer than I thought and I was already short on time. Three days left to deadline.

I took a deep breath, dispelling the disturbing thought. "Okay, I'll tell you what—why don't you go play on the playground until I come back and then we can go see Mommy. Does that sound good?"

She beamed. "Mom'll be so proud that I caught that frog. Bye, Jordan!"

The ghost scampered off for the abandoned playground, which was off-limits until the investigation was over. I stuffed my notepad in my grey duster and shoved my hands in my pockets, walking in the opposite direction. The park was only a block or two away from the nearest newsstand, where I might be able to find the child's last name. What a loss, though. The kid was so cute she could put little orphan Annie to shame.

I paid a few dollars to a man at a newsstand and collected a handful of papers, searching through the obituaries one by one for her name. It wasn't until the very last one that I found a matching picture: Linda Margaret Hamilton, age 7, died August 5th, 2010. Loving daughter, wonderful sister, and family jewel that will never be forgotten. Funeral services held Sunday, August 8th at Wm. J. Rockefeller Funeral Home, Inc., 165 Columbia Turnpike, Rensselaer, N.Y at 6:00PM.

Good news for me. I could get her there and be home before any of my shows came on. The wind picked up around me so I buttoned up my duster, heading back in the direction of the park where I had left her. Surely no one in Albany, New York would think it odd to see a black girl in shades talking to a jungle gym. Normal people couldn't see ghosts. They were lucky that way. Ghosts are terrible nuisances once you notice them because they are always on the look out for someone to help them. As far as I knew, there weren't others like me. To put it mildly, my situation was decidedly unique.

"Linda?"

When I turned, I discovered the new ghost had achieved a limited amount of solidity. She was hanging from the monkey bars. When I called her, she hopped off of them without hesitation. My hands shot out to catch her out of reflex, but she slipped right through them, sending a cold shock up my spine. I hated the tingly feeling of dead souls against my skin.

"Yep?"

"I'm going to come back on Sunday afternoon and take you to Mommy. Is that okay?"

She nodded. "Are ya gonna come visit before then?"

I winced. "Well, I am a little busy, but I'll come see you if I can. Be good, alright?"

"Okay!" She giggled and started back on her climbing, blissfully unaware of anything else. At least the dead had that going for them. She was just a ghost child so she retained her early behavior. Other ghosts I'd met weren't nearly this cheerful.

I waved and headed back in the direction of the city to catch the bus. I noticed a brown-haired guy smiling at me as I walked past the bench he sat on. He was my age at least with strikingly attractive features, so much so that I found it odd he was paying any attention to me. Did he know me or was he just friendly? Either way, I flashed him a brief smile and kept going. Shame, though. A couple years ago, I might have stopped for a chat, maybe asked him to grab a cup of coffee with me. If only I had a life that didn't involve taking care of dead people.

Night had folded in around the edges of the city by the time I trudged back to my crappy apartment after solving Ming-Na and Ron's cases. The rent was cheap because it was in a lousy neighborhood, wedged between a liquor store and a barbershop. Lucky for me, it was on the bus line so I didn't need a car. Work was only a fifteen-minute ride so it all balanced out pretty well. It would probably be more depressing if I weren't so used to it.

I opened the door to the apartment to find an obscenely tall blond man standing in front of my kitchen counter, stooped over the red leather book that had been on top of the fridge. A year ago, this would have been a strange sight. I didn't even bat an eyelash—just tossed my keys next to the book and shrugged out of my duster.

"Evening, Gabriel."

The archangel Gabriel smiled down at me with sky blue eyes. "Good evening, Jordan."

"Busy day?" I asked, opening the fridge to pull out ingredients to make dinner. Spaghetti tonight, and every day until payday. What a glamorous life I led.

He shrugged. "The usual. I see you have logged two more souls today."

"Yep. That puts me at ninety-eight. You wouldn't mind rounding it up to an even hundred, right?" I asked with a voice as sweet as honey. He laughed—a gentle, slightly echoing sound. That creeping sensation of joy rose inside my body and I did my best to ignore it. Gabriel had that effect on human beings. Even though I had known him for two years, it was still really unnerving.

"If only the Good Lord would allow me to. You have done remarkably well this year. You are nearly past the mark to your salvation," he replied.

I didn't even bother to shrug. "Ring-a-ding ding."

He watched me with a considerate look as I went about filling a deep pot with water to cook the noodles. "Something troubling you, my dear?"

"Not at all." He closed the book and placed it back on the fridge, which was no feat for him since he was close to seven feet tall. Gabriel appeared in his human form because his angel form would have blinded me. He wore a navy Armani tux that easily cost more than my rent. An archangel with impeccable taste, oh my.

"Shouldn't you be happier about your progress?"

I sat the pot on the stove and turned the dial, watching the coils for the red glow. "It's hard to get worked up about the fact that even when my debt is paid, I still have to do this for the rest of my life because I'm the only one who can. I don't like having that decision made for me already, Gabe."

When I turned to face him, he had a curious expression on his delicate features. I shook my head.

"You don't get it. It's fine. You're a seven-foot angel in charge of delivering God's will. I wouldn't expect you to understand the mind of a twenty-one year old American girl."

I moved to take the spaghetti sauce out of the cupboard when I felt his large, warm hands resting on my shoulders. His face brushed my cheek, voice low and soft with kindness.

"Have faith, Jordan. That is all I ask of you and all you should ask of yourself."

He kissed my forehead, in the same spot as always—above my right eyebrow. Over the years, it had become a familiar gesture between the two of us. I felt the gentle brush of air as he walked past me and out the door. A lone golden feather drifted to the floor in his wake. I stooped and picked it up, twirling the holy object between my fingers. His pep talk hadn't worked, but I did love it when he left souvenirs. I tucked the feather in the top of my ponytail and went to gather the seasonings for the spaghetti. All three of them—seasoning salt, garlic powder, and onion powder—were sitting in a row on my counter. Had Gabriel done that while I wasn't looking?

Once again, I raked my gaze through the apartment for any sort of presence before reminding myself to calm down. Gabriel must have done it, because ghosts can't touch anything. Relax.

Still, maybe I should sleep with two guns underneath my pillow. A girl can never be too cautious.

Chapter Two

"Order up for Tables 6, 10, and 14!" The head chef's voice beckoned me back to the counter where the steaming portions of fried chicken, grits, corn on the cob, and greens sat waiting for a hand to carry them to the customers. I finished refilling the sweet tea for a gentleman reading the paper on my left before heading back to where the chubby cook bellowed.

The Sweet Spot was a tiny but well-known Southern cuisine restaurant. Odd to have one in Albany, but it was pretty popular. The place was owned by Colton Banks—a South Carolina native who moved up North when he married a New York resident. I'd known him for going on three years and secretly felt a little proud of how the place had bloomed since we met. Not on my account, of course.

I scooped up the three plates and balanced them on my flat, round tray before gliding towards the tables. They were each labeled with little plastic outlines of the state of South Carolina. Corny but memorable, as Colton always said. Work hours were odd for me because I basically went through them with my brain turned off. The hand gestures of writing orders, carrying trays, and pouring drinks came unconsciously. No matter how fast the chef rang up orders, I could get them to tables, no sweat. Most people had a career or were in college in their twenties, but I was dancing the elegant dance of a waitress.

After the plates had been passed out, I set about clearing off the table of a couple who had just left. The pair was currently on the sidewalk giggling obscenities in each other's ears. Something in my chest ached as I watched them from the corner of my eye. I couldn't remember what it was like to have a life, let alone a boyfriend. Must've been nice.

"Jordan?"

I turned my head to the left to find my best friend and fellow waitress Lauren Yi waving her dishrag at me. She shook her head, biting back a smile.

"You were cleaning the same spot for like a minute. Something on your mind?"

I shrugged. "Not much."

"There's a surprise," she teased, her brown eyes flashing with mischief. That might have offended some people, but Lauren had an abrasive personality. She seemed like a bitch when you first met her but beneath the attitude was a richer, more interesting Lauren. Besides, how many Korean girls worked at Southern cuisine kitchens? Maybe I'd Google the statistics later.

"I'm just saying that you've been moodier than usual. Don't ask me how I know, I just do," she continued, holding up the salt and pepper shakers while I cleaned underneath them. Maybe I should have told her the truth—that not twenty-four hours earlier the archangel Gabriel was in my kitchen marking off souls in my own personal Penance Book. She'd probably just rent me a nice white padded room and a jacket to match.

"Just tired and ready to call it a week," I said as earnestly as possible.

She wiped her brow, ruffling her pin-straight black hair. "Aren't we all? When's your shift over?"

"Soon. I've got a few stops to make and then I'm passing out for the weekend."

Lauren arched an eyebrow at me. "For a girl with no life, you sure have a lot of 'stops' to make. You're always late for work. What are you doing all the time?"

I met her eyes with a dead serious expression. "I'm Spider-Man."

She burst into giggles, slugging me in the arm before moving on to the next table. "Get back to work, you moron."

Her insult seemed to be just the pick-me-up I needed because I finished off my shift with a genuine smile. I waved good night to everyone and headed out of the door into the cool August evening. If I got lucky, I would spot another ghost to finish off my debt. Gabriel seemed to have confidence in me. I could only hope The Big Guy did as well.

Fifteen minutes later, with keys dangling in my hand, I walked up the short stairwell to my apartment only to stop halfway there. The cute guy from the park was leaning against the wall to the left of my door. Shock and fear rolled through me. How did he know where I live? How should I react? Could I get to the gun in time?

Finally, I decided to play it cool and continued up the steps as if nothing had bothered me. When I got closer, I could see him more clearly. He was even more handsome up close. His longish dark brown hair was parted down the middle, hanging low over his forehead and along the side of his neck. Intense sea-green eyes held my gaze.

He smiled at me with those full lips when I walked over. "Hi."

"Hi," I replied, not sure of what else to say. "Can I help you?"

"Actually, yes. Mind if we step inside for a chat?"

I glanced around in the narrow, empty hallway. No witnesses. Shit. "Uh, I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

The stranger raised his hands. "I'm not gonna hurt you, I swear. You can even pat me down if you want to."

I lifted an eyebrow. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He grinned. "No comment. So how about it? I'll be quick, I just don't want an audience."

I took a deep breath. This was a terrible idea. I knew that. He probably knew that. Still, according to the law I couldn't shoot him outside of my property and claim self-defense so I might as well go inside. After all, I was a small relatively cute girl and he was a big strapping fellow. The cops would probably believe me over him if I claimed he assaulted me. Morally questionable but effective.

I stuck the keys in the door and nodded. "Yeah, come on."

When the door opened, he didn't try to rush me. He stepped inside and watched me close the door. I was careful not to lock it in case I needed to escape. I tossed my duster on the chair by the round kitchen table and headed for the fridge. The key was to act casual. The guy had no idea I owned a firearm, nor was he aware that I knew self-defense.

"So what's up? I saw you in the park the other day."

"Yes, you did. I was surprised." That made me look at him. He seemed serious.

"Why? Were you pretending to be invisible?"

The stranger chuckled, walking towards me. I froze, pulse thundering in my ears as adrenaline shot through me. He stopped a few inches short of actually touching me and murmured:

"You have no idea."

Still meeting my eyes, he reached up into the cabinet and brought down my favorite green coffee mug. "You were going to make coffee, right?"

The truth hit me like a lightning bolt. How could he have known where that was unless he had been in the apartment? I felt a paralyzing jolt of fear grow in my stomach and spread through my body like cold poison. Then, out of almost nowhere, I got angry.

"You—? You were in my apartment? How the fuck did you get in here? Why? Are you some kind of sick freak or something?" I searched for the nearest weapon I could reach. He didn't even try to defend himself as I discovered a dirty kitchen knife and brandished it at him.

"You and I have something in common, Jordan."

"You have three seconds to get out of here before I call the cops or stab you, not necessarily in that order." I held the knife inches away from his throat.

His smile widened into a smirk.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I am not playing with you. Get. Out."

"Y'see, there's something you can do that other people can't."

"Now."

"And that's how and why I tracked you down."

"Time's up. Now get out!" I punctuated the last word by slashing at his arm. The blade met resistance but no blood came out. It just sort of...bounced off.

"I'm dead...and you can see me."

My mouth dropped open. "You...you can't be a ghost. You can touch things."

"I'm a poltergeist. I can touch whatever I want, whenever I want." He reached a hand out towards my cheek. I flinched, expecting to be hurt but instead it felt like touching some sort of metaphysical barrier. The skin on my cheek tingled, though not in the same way that a ghost passed by me. This sensation was more constant, as if energy were rushing from him to me.

"I need your help. I want to know what happened to me, and you're the only person in this entire city who can help me." His voice was gentler now. The teasing smile vanished, leaving his face vulnerable, serious, maybe even wounded.

I shook my head, taking another step back and kept a loose hold on the knife just to make myself feel better. "You were stalking me and now you're asking for my help? You're out of your damn mind."

"I don't have a mind to be out of. I can't remember anything. All I know is that you're the only person in Albany who can see and hear me. That's all I've got to go on."

"Give me one good reason to help you," I shot back, crossing my arms underneath my chest.

The poltergeist paused, softening his tone. "What if the reason I'm dead is that I did something terrible? I can't go wandering around for the rest of eternity not knowing. Wouldn't you want to know?"

Something in my chest stung when he spoke those words. He couldn't possibly have known about what happened to me, but the question wasn't lost on me. I often wished I hadn't killed an innocent man or that I could forget about it, but at least I was working to make up for it. If I denied him the same chance, what would that say about me?

"I...I can't guarantee anything, but I can give it a try," I said after a long, tense silence.

He sighed in relief. "Thank you."

A few minutes later, I had rummaged through my duster to find my notepad and the mystery dead guy had perched himself on the counter by the sink. My hands still shook a bit as I smoothed down the paper enough to write. How embarrassing.

"What's your name?"

"Michael. I can't remember my last name, oddly enough," he said, his brow wrinkling a bit with worry. I started the page.

Michael

Caucasian, possible Mediterranean background

Brown hair

Green eyes

6'1''

Athletic build

No accent

Apparently a poltergeist

"You're Jordan Amador, right?"

I looked at him in surprise. He pointed to the counter behind me where there was a stack of bills. "It was on your mail."

"Oh. Right. Yeah, that's me." I cleared my throat and started off with my official preliminary questions for a new spirit.

"When did you 'wake up'?" There seemed to be a prominent process where troubled souls would recover after their death either at the site or nearby hours, or sometimes days, later. They never immediately remembered how or why they died. In my experience, it took between twenty-four hours to two weeks for a ghost to remember his or her death. Perhaps Michael would have that sort of luck.

"About two days ago. I was lying on a bench outside of some sort of club."

"When did you realize you were dead?"

"At first, I thought the couple outside were just ignoring me, but then I started to notice they couldn't hear me no matter how I shouted. Even when you're ignoring someone, you flinch if they scream right in your ear. The weirdest part is that I could still touch them even though they couldn't see me."

He paused to chuckle. "Found that out the fun way, though. I flipped up this chick's skirt in the middle of the street just to test out the theory."

I rolled my eyes and wrote "horny dead asshole" below the last line. "Can you remember anything about your life yet?"

"Nothing more than my name so far."

I snapped the notepad shut and took a good long look at him from head to toe. "Based on your face and body, I'd say you're not out of your twenties. The clothes you died in are the clothes you're wearing now, and that makes it a little harder to figure out what you did for a living."

Michael wore a modest attire: a black button up shirt with the sleeves tucked back, dark blue jeans with a chain hanging off the back pocket, and black Timberland boots. The reason ghosts wore clothes was that their souls retained a self-image. Since human beings wore clothes at nearly all times, it was only natural that the way they saw themselves as spirits was represented that way as well. The fact that he had feet was what threw me off the most, which explained why I hadn't recognized him as dead sooner. I made a note of his wristwatch and the silver chain with a small padlock around his neck before moving on.

"By the way, how did you know you were a poltergeist instead of just a ghost?"

Michael shrugged. "Well, think about it. The definition of 'poltergeist' is 'noisy ghost.' I figured that's what made me different from a regular ghost since in most legends and stories, they can't touch stuff."

That actually sort of made sense. Hell, I'd only remembered what a poltergeist was because of the 1982 movie. Despite his somewhat immature behavior, the knowledge of the term suggested Michael may have been well-read when he was alive. It could come in handy later.

"Tomorrow, we'll try to find the place where you woke up and see if anyone has discovered your body. With any luck, your memory will return and we can find out your soul's final wish," I said as I set the pad on the counter.

He nodded, raking a hand through his hair to push it out of his face. "How...how do you know all this stuff?"

I let a small, tired smile cross my lips. "That's a long, complicated story. It's late. I don't want to get into it tonight so why don't you go wander off and I'll see you in the morning."

I started to walk away but he jumped in front of me, seeming confused. "Wander off where? And what am I supposed to do all night?"

That made me pause. There was no reason why I should have trusted him enough to let him stay in my apartment overnight, but then again I couldn't let him go around making trouble for other people. In the end, I just sighed and flourished a hand at the apartment.

"If you promise to behave yourself, you can just stay here. In the den. If you come in my room while I'm asleep, I'm going to start researching ways to get rid of you." I ended this statement with a harsh glare.

He held his hands up in supplication. "I'll be a good boy. Scout's honor."

"I'll hold you to that."

With that, I sidled past him with great care not to bump into him. I wasn't ready to feel that odd sensation again. I shuffled off to the bedroom and shut the door with a sigh, feeling much more tired now that everything slowed down enough for me to process it. I kicked off my shoes, peeled away the skirt, and unbuttoned the shirt most of the way before searching for my nightclothes. Once I redressed, I flopped down on the bed face-first, allowing a frustrated groan to tear from my throat.

"I cannot believe I'm having a sleepover with a dead guy."

Chapter Three

I smelled coffee. Coffee and bacon. What the hell?

My body reacted before my mind could catch up—arm poised at the door, gun in hand. Then, I remembered I had a houseguest and I let my arm drop. A dead houseguest.

After scraping myself off the bed, I threw on a robe, some ratty blue slippers, and stopped to check myself in the mirror. I was halfway through fixing my mussed black locks when I realized I had been preening for a freaking dead guy. I shook my head at myself and walked out of the room.

"I got bored waiting for you, so I decided to make breakfast," Michael told me, shaking the pan a little to get the bacon a nice even brown. He was a picture of nonchalance, as if it wasn't unusual that he was a dead guy cooking breakfast for a girl he hadn't known a day yet. It made my head hurt just thinking about it.

"Though I can't believe you don't have any eggs. Even poor people have eggs. That's just depressing."

"You're dead. What do you care?" I yawned, grabbing my mug and the fresh pitcher of coffee.

"I'm merely remarking upon the fact that you're pathetic."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Go rob a bank and get me some cash. Then you can have your damn eggs."

He clucked his tongue at me, turning off the stove. "We've got to work on your people skills. Sleep well?"

"No, but that's normal for me." After adding cream and sugar, I sipped away at the delicious beverage while searching for a plate to put the bacon on.

Michael watched me with his arms crossed. "Well, the good news is that I apparently know how to cook. Maybe that will help us."

"Yep, you're a regular Emeril Lagasse. Bacon a la bacon, with bacon garnish." I smirked when he scowled at me. We'd known each other for less than a day and we were already arguing. That had to be some kind of record for me.

"So I was thinking," I continued, biting into the first strip. "If you're a poltergeist, shouldn't you be able to change between being solid and intangible?"

"I tried that out last night. I'm not very good at it. It sort of...comes and goes," he admitted, staring at his outstretched hand as if it would change. Nothing happened. Poor sap. "So you've really never met something like me before?"

I shook my head. Michael scratched his head. "That's just...weird. I wonder why I'm not a regular ghost...or why I didn't just go to Heaven or Hell."

"I don't know either. I'll ask Gabriel about it the next time I see him." I moved to the kitchen table with the coffee and bacon, scooping up my notepad to review what I'd written last night.

Michael followed, sitting opposite of me. "Who's Gabriel?"

"The archangel? God's Messenger? Doesn't anyone read the Bible any more?"

"I had to make sure. What's he want with you? Do you two have a—wait for it—heavenly relationship?"

I rolled my eyes again. "He keeps track of all the souls I assist. I can't exactly just call on him. He's always in different parts of the world helping people."

"Oh, I get it. You help ghosts find their final wishes so they can pass on to Heaven or Hell."

"Exactly."

"Why? Did you just fall into this job, or was it bestowed on you by a higher power?" His tone was teasing, but already I began to feel uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading.

I kept my eyes on the paper and my voice as mild as possible. "We really should get going. I've got a long day ahead of me if you're gonna keep sticking around."

I stood and drained my mug, tossing it in the sink before heading back to my room. I threw on normal street clothes: purple t-shirt, black jeans, tennis shoes, and my trusty grey duster. The key to my existence was lying low and hoping nobody noticed me whispering to no one they could see. It truly was a wretched sort of life, but I had a price to pay and this was part of it.

When I came back out, Michael was waiting. "You're very trusting, you know. How do you know I'm not some sort of wandering murderous spirit?"

"Because they don't live around here. I've only seen an evil spirit once."

Michael's eyes widened as he walked towards the door with me. "What was that like?"

I opened the door, not meeting his gaze. "Don't ask. It'll give you nightmares."

"I don't dream."

"Be grateful for that."

He shut the door for me, arching an eyebrow. "You're just a ray of sunshine, huh?"

"I'm glad you finally noticed." I locked the door and then we started down the hallway. A couple of my neighbors walked up, waving briefly to me and walking straight towards Michael. He had to dodge behind me to keep from bumping one of them.

He shook his head, stuffing both hands in his pockets. "Am I ever gonna get used to this?"

"With any luck, you won't have to because we'll find out how you died and you can cross over," I replied, grabbing the Bluetooth I kept in my duster for this exact purpose and attaching it to my right ear. Otherwise, people saw me talking to myself and would think I was nuts. We made it to the sidewalk now where people were brushing past so Michael fell in line directly behind me to keep from hitting them. I couldn't feel his presence behind me because he had no body heat. The notion raised the hairs on the nape of my neck. Better not let him know it creeped me out. He might use it against me.

"And then what'll happen? Who determines whether I go to Heaven or Hell?" Michael asked. We reached my bus stop in a minute or so. Two people sat on the bench while Michael and I stood next to the sign.

I tilted my face towards him out of habit. "Gabriel told me that you go before the Father and Son. They weigh your life based on what you accomplished. It's not quite as black and white as in the Good Book."

"That's a relief. I'm getting the feeling I wasn't a very good little boy during my life." His expression relaxed. I made a mental note about his more serious behavior. It could be that he was starting to regain more of his personality traits. That would become helpful later on. Still, I smiled to keep him from worrying about my silence.

"What? Did the skirt flipping tip you off?"

He smirked. "Why? Jealous?"

"You wish."

"For all you know, I do. Maybe my final wish is to follow you around for all eternity." He leaned down to my height with a smug look on his face.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'll have you exorcised before I let that happen."

"Ooh, would you? I wanna see if it actually works." His voice was genuinely eager. What a weirdo. Luckily, the bus pulled up and I climbed aboard, sliding my bus pass through the slot. It was half past noon, so there were passengers everywhere, forcing me to choose a spot in the very rear. Michael walked on, flopping down next to me in the empty seat.

"I think the best thing about being dead is no longer paying for public transportation."

"You're just full of deep thoughts, aren't you?"

"Yep."

I sighed. "Focus, please. I need you to watch where the bus route goes and let me know when you recognize something so we can try to find your body."

"What if we don't?"

"I check the obituaries. If nothing turns up, I have to file a missing persons report and see if anything matches at the coroner's."

The bus lurched forward, its engine coughing to life and making it harder to hear his voice. "How many times have you had to do that before?"

"Not many. I have to be careful that the police don't get wise to me being involved with so many dead people. They might peg me as a suspicious character."

Michael peered into my face, making me lean back a bit. He had a strange lack of appreciation for personal space. "You are pretty shifty looking. It's the bags under your eyes and the fact that you're about ten pounds underweight."

I folded my arms underneath my chest, choosing to stare out of the window instead of facing him. "I don't look that bad."

"Maybe not. You're pretty cute for a girl who sees dead people all the time."

I resisted the urge to squirm in my seat from the compliment. I was wholly unused to them.

"Though I can't vouch for your fashion sense. What's with the man-coat?" He tugged at the edge of my sleeve.

I jerked it away reflexively. "Don't!"

His eyes widened at my reaction. The people in seats in front of me turned to look.

I cleared my throat, reminding myself to calm down. "It's...important to me."

Michael studied my neutral expression before nodding. "Got it."

No joke this time. Maybe he wasn't as thick as he looked. Ye gods. I started to apologize, but his hand shot out past my face, pointing.

"There! I recognize that club. I woke up down the street from here."

I tugged on the bus line and we came to a stop nearby. Michael followed me out as I hopped onto the sidewalk and fished for my notepad.

"Let your mind go blank and then just describe whatever comes in it as you look at this place," I instructed with my pen poised.

Michael let his eyes wander over the building, now mostly empty because it was the middle of the day and most people were at home or at work. "I remember there was music, some kind of emo-kid rock music playing when I woke up. The first thing I noticed was that it looked sort of chilly out here, but I wasn't cold. I just felt...faint. I felt like myself but somehow a little different."

He ran his fingertips across the aforementioned park bench, eyes searching the tattered wood for answers. "I got up to ask a girl next to me where I was, but she didn't answer me. When I touched her, she looked right at me but asked her friend if he was messing with her. That's when I figured she couldn't see or hear me. It should have bothered me more when I realized I had died somehow, but instead I just wandered down the street checking for proof. I flipped the girl's skirt up over there."

He pointed towards an ice cream shop two stores away with a faint smirk on his lips. "She freaked out. Thought it was the wind. I couldn't figure out what to do so I just starting walking in that direction."

Michael turned and walked, making me have to jog to catch up with his long strides. "I walked for most of the night, not knowing why but I knew I had somewhere to be."

"What happened after that?"

He stopped and I collided with his back. I rubbed the tingling sensation away from my nose, frowning up at him. A few people around me whispered and stared at my strange behavior but I ignored them. Michael hesitated, turning his face until just one side was visible.

"I saw you."

I stared. "What? When?"

"I think you were walking towards the bus stop that day. Something about you caught my attention. I don't know why, but I felt like I had to be near you. Still, I didn't want to freak you out so I made sure you didn't see me when you got on the bus, stayed in the background during the ride, got off one stop after yours. I crept into your apartment through the window and hid in the closet. After you went to bed, I had a look around to see if there was any reason I felt drawn to you. Nothing really came of it but I had nowhere else to go so I stuck around. The next morning when I poured your coffee, you seemed to notice but like most people, you sort of brushed it off. When you left for work, I trailed you for a while but then I realized just how insane my stalking had gotten and went to the park. That's when I figured out you could see me that time you walked past. I didn't understand what was going on but I figured you might be able to help me. I followed you back to the apartment. This time, though, there was a blond guy in your kitchen so I stayed away. I figured I'd wait it out until you got back from work the next night. That's why I was outside your apartment when we officially met."

Michael turned around, looking sheepish. I mouthed uselessly for a moment, trying to figure just what to tell him. "That is the creepiest goddamn thing that has ever happened to me."

He tilted his head, making an apologetic face. "Yeah, sorry about that. I had hoped you might find it romantic or something, but that was sort of a long-shot."

"Who am I, Bella Swan? That makes me never want to sleep ever again! Thanks, you creeper." I resisted the strong urge to shudder at the thought of him sneaking around my apartment while I slept. Good thing I didn't have a rocking chair or that would just be the end of my ability to relax at home.

He winced a bit. "Alright, I deserve that. What's your conclusion?"

I sighed, flipping through what I had written down. "Unfortunately, nothing you've told me suggests the nature of how you died. We're gonna have to check the obits. Come on."

Around the corner from the club, I discovered a newsstand and bought the available newspapers. Tossing the other parts of them aside, I found the proper section and began browsing through names and photos.

Michael hovered over my shoulder, bouncing on his heels with anxiety. "Anything?"

"I found one. I'll write it down and Google it later." I scribbled down a man named Michael who didn't have an accompanying picture. As I folded up the paper, he tucked his hands into his pockets once more.

"So now what?"

"We'll circle the block a couple of times to see if anything jogs your memory. Until I check this name, there's nothing more I can do." I hated the immovable truth in my words. This was the worst part of my "job"—waiting.

Two days left. Any more waiting and I was dead meat. Harrowing thought, really.

The poltergeist fell in step beside me, making sure to take in every detail he could about the block. This part of town was nicer than my side with its shiny boutiques, brightly colored neon signs, and clean, well-lit parking garages. The club Michael had woken up in front of, called Devil's Paradise, was pretty exclusive—they only let the trendiest of the trendy in to observe whatever band would be playing. It had previously occurred to me to ask the people inside if they had seen Michael before, but the success rate without a picture would be pretty low. Better to dig up a photo before banging on doors. It saved time.

"What are the chances that people I know have reported me missing?" Michael asked.

I thought about it. "Depends. If it's been two days, someone should have notified the authorities. Y'know, assuming you're a person of good moral character."

He touched his chest, feigning a wound. "Ouch. You think I'm a drug dealer or something?"

I snorted. "More likely a male prostitute."

He threw his head back and laughed, nearly making me jump. "That's rich. If that's what my life was like, I'm sad I died. I'm sure my clients will miss me."

"Or at least part of you." I let my eyes drift downward.

Michael shook his head, smirking. "Careful. You'll have me blushing soon."

We turned the corner in a comfortable silence. Not sure how that came about. Could it be that I was getting used to him? I could only hope I wasn't that desperate for companionship.

We passed a candy shop that made my stomach growl as I caught sight of fresh pralines and caramel apples. I rarely enjoyed sweets since I was on such a limited budget.

Michael noticed my longing gaze and offered a sympathetic look. "I think I'm going to miss getting a sugar rush."

"It's overrated. Still, I'd kill for a fresh caramel apple," I admitted, rubbing my stomach. The bacon and coffee had only gone so far. Real food would be a necessity within the next hour.

"Is your wallet really that tight?"

I resisted the urge to wince. "I'm on my own. The money I get is from the restaurant. Most of that goes towards rent and utilities. I make what I can out of the rest."

"You work for God. He can't cut you some slack in the employment department?"

That made me smirk. "You would think so. Anything familiar yet?"

"Nope. Maybe I really was a street...walker..." He stopped and then whirled around.

I stopped dead in my tracks, confused. "What is it?"

His eyes darted through the crowd wildly as if he were searching for someone. "I thought I saw something."

"Something or someone?"

"Someone. A man. He had dark hair. When I noticed him, something felt weird," Michael muttered, looking back and forth down the sidewalk.

I threw up my hands. "Feel free to specify at any time."

"I'm sorry, I just..." Michael shook his head a bit, still frowning. "Forget it. Maybe I'm seeing things."

He kept walking, careful not to bump into anyone. I couldn't help but feel worried. I cast my own gaze into the people on either side of me. It was clear to me that this street and whomever that mystery man was had something to do with Michael's death. Sometimes I had to take a ghost to more than one site to help their memory return but for him, this seemed to be a hot spot. Still, there was an uneasy feeling in my gut that I had never felt before when working on a case.

When I caught up with Michael, he was peering at the sign for a store called Guitar Center with a glazed expression. He didn't speak, but he stepped up to the glass and watched a brunette with purple bangs shelve different kinds of headphones. I had to step close to hear him whisper, "Chloe."

"Chloe?"

He blinked a couple times, snapping out of whatever vision he'd just seen. "Yeah. It's weird. Her face just sort of clicked in my mind. I think I knew her when I was alive."

"Couldn't hurt to ask." The door jingled to indicate my entrance, and I made my way through the aisle to find the girl. She was a little shorter and thicker than me with wide pink lips and too much mascara. Still, she smiled prettily when I walked over and welcomed me to the store.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah. Is your name Chloe?"

"Mm-hm. What's up?"

I fought the urge to glance at the poltergeist to my right in confirmation. "I'm Jordan. Do you know someone named Michael? Six foot one, brown hair, green eyes?"

"Yeah, sure. He's a friend of mine. Does he need something?"

Uh oh. She didn't know he was dead. This little interview could get real bad real fast. I licked my lips and thought of the least harmful thing to do.

"Would you mind giving me his cell phone number? I have an important call for him."

"Sure, no problem." She glanced over her shoulder to make sure her boss wasn't hovering around before taking out her iPhone and showing me his number. I copied it down on the notepad. It was indeed a local cell phone number, and maybe the first bit of good news for the day.

"Ask her how she knows me," Michael prodded. Couldn't blame the guy.

"By the way, how do you know him?"

"Oh, he comes in here all the time to try out the new guitars. He practically lives here. His band plays on weekends over at that club down the way. Sometimes I drop by to see the performance, but he disappeared after the first big concert a couple nights back. He's always been like that, though. You interested in him?"

Naturally, my face went hot with a blush. Michael spared me a sly little smile.

I faked a laugh. "No way. He's dead wrong for me."

"Oh, real nice. Gimme a second to go make a rim shot on the drum set over there," Michael grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest.

I bit back a snicker and addressed the girl again. "Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it. I may need some more help from you pinning him down—"

Cue another immature chuckle from the Peanut Gallery. "—would you mind telling me the store hours?"

She gave them to me, no questions asked. Nice girl. I waved and left the store, heading for the nearest quiet spot. There was a clearing across the street with a few tables underneath a group of trees, so we scurried over the crosswalk to take a seat. I dialed Michael's number, putting it on speakerphone so I could write any new information down. Instead of ringing, the phone belted out lyrics to Oasis' "Falling Down." At the very least, the guy had good taste in music.

"You've reached the voicemail of Michael O'Brien. If you leave your name and number, I'll be sure to get back to you if I actually give a shit. Konnichiwa, bitches." BEEP.

I arched an eyebrow. "So you really were a charmer while you were alive."

Michael grinned. "Make fun of me all you want, I don't care."

"Why?"

"I know my last name now." For an instant, I didn't have anything to say in response. The statement was so simple, but he said it with such...happiness. Who would have thought that one little word could make his face glow like that? I masked my surprise by scribbling down what I had heard on the notepad and closing the phone.

"Well, we've got a name, a number, and a reference. Maybe today isn't a total loss."

He made a scornful noise. "Please, what would you be doing if you weren't out solving my death?"

"Lying in bed with a cup of coffee and a good book," I replied with a wistful sigh. He muttered something about being a drama queen under his breath while I stood and stuffed my phone in my pocket.

"Where to next, fearless leader?"

"Home. We've done a lot today and your mind needs to reset itself. Come on." We passed back the way we came but I kept an eye out for any unusual dark-haired men. Y'know, other than the one walking right next to me. Maybe I was just being paranoid again but ever since he mentioned the man, I had felt like someone was watching us. I hoped for once it was just my imagination. If only I could be so lucky.

Chapter Four

"So you don't have enough money to buy a caramel apple, but you can afford a laptop?"

I leaned over the side of the kitchen table, plugging the landline for the Internet into my laptop. Couldn't afford wireless yet but I was working on it. "It's called saving up. Considering the nature of my work, I knew I'd be needing one unless I wanted to schlep to the library every time I want to search for something."

I plopped down in my chair and opened the Internet browser, taking me straight to Google. Michael propped his elbow on the back of my chair, leaning in to see. I typed in "Michael O'Brien Albany NY 518 555-8762" and hit Enter. The page exploded full of entries. I read through the headlines that included pictures and none of them were the dead man standing to my left. However, one of them caught my eye because it had to do with the club Chloe had mentioned, Devil's Paradise.

Underground Band 'Throwaway Angels' Smash Hit in Devil's Paradise

"Gee, is there enough symbolism here for you?" I muttered. Michael snorted with laughter. I opened the article and began to scan through it, particularly the first couple paragraphs.

August 5th, 2010—Local talent Throwaway Angels hits it big at club Devil's Paradise in Albany, NY. Tonight was the first performance to sell out tickets more than a week in advance for such a small establishment and the response through email, phone calls, and Tweets suggests that fans are begging for more.

The band, consisting of five members, is of the garage rock variety: showcasing strong vocals by the femme fatale Casey Beck and the hunky Michael O'Brien, dual guitarists Kate Levitz and Stanley Cooper, and drummer Martin Cunningham. Michael O'Brien founded the group over a year ago and had been strategically planning performances ever since until they were able to secure a gig. He has not released a statement as to whether or not they will do a follow up to their explosive concert.

"Well, this explains my Guitar Center visits," Michael said.

The rest of the article went on to describe which songs they played, which wasn't terribly useful, so I copied and pasted the article in a Word document for safekeeping. "If we're lucky, we can figure out an address from this information. If you really did that well at the club, someone will try to find you in order to get a statement or invite you guys back."

I paused, frowning. Michael tilted his head at me. "What's wrong?"

"I was going to say we need to contact your band mates, but...they probably don't know you're dead."

He shrugged. "For all we know, one of them did it. Think about it: with such a successful debut, what if one of these guys wanted to gank me to become the new leader of the band?"

I shook my head. "That'd be a damn stupid thing to die over. Playing at a football stadium during the Superbowl is worth killing for but Devil's Paradise in Albany? Not so much."

Michael raked his bangs away from his face with a sigh, his expression somewhat melancholy. "It's just a theory. Couldn't hurt to write the story in case it turns out to be true."

A small smile tugged at my lips. "Who are you? Richard Castle?"

He flashed me a roguish grin. "Only if you'll be my Beckett."

"I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"A little bit, yeah."

I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms over my head before pressing them over my eyes to think. The best course of action now would be to contact the writer of the article to see if they had a listed address for Michael. I'd hate to go snooping around his apartment if the killer was hanging about, but any other method would involve alerting the others to the fact that he was dead. It would be much harder to recover his memory and get him crossed over with cops covering all the angles of the case. Honestly, I should have just enrolled in the Albany police academy for all the trouble I went through with deaths in this city.

"What are you thinking, Beckett?"

I didn't bother telling him not to call me that. Instead, I removed my arms from my face to stare up at him from upside down. "I'm thinking we should contact the author of the article to see if we can get an address. With any luck, no one is there and we can figure out how to get inside."

"What if my body's in there?"

"We'll pretty much have no choice but to call the cops. Things will get sticky, but not impossible. Every day that passes is another day for you to potentially get your memory back." I sat up straight and scribbled down the email address of the article writer posted on the right-hand side of his name—Vincent Dreyfuss. I typed the most innocuous email possible asking for Michael's address to send him fan mail and hoped he would reply sometime soon. For now, we would have to wait.

"Now that we have some free time..." Michael sat down in the chair next to me, fixing me with a sobering gaze. "Why don't you tell me about how you got into this mess you're in?"

I lowered my eyes to the keyboard. "I'd rather not."

"Jordan." He spoke just my name with a tone that was both firm and gentle at the same time. There wasn't really a defense I had other than it was my own damn business. Part of me knew I needed to face my past at some point. After all, little harm could come from telling it to a dead man.

I let out a long breath. "Two years ago, I was home alone when some sort of demon came into my apartment and tried to attack me..."

Crazed teeth gnashed inches away from my face. The eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. Spider-like fingers strained for my throat. I screamed and ran towards the bedroom.

I slammed the door shut and dove for the nightstand, hands shaking as I checked the chambers to make sure the gun was loaded. The door flew open with a bang. A second bang followed. Then all was silent.

The phantom was gone, but in its place stood a man in a suit beneath his dark grey duster. His hair was black and his face was growing paler by the second. He reached out his hand. My panicked eyes spotted the scarlet speckled across the palm. The room had gone silent because the gun had deafened me. The barrel was still smoking and now I could see the hole I had put through the man's chest.

I couldn't breathe, but somehow I could still talk, and my lips were whispering one word over and over.

"No, no, no, no..."

The man said nothing as he fell to his knees in front of me, his azure eyes locked on mine as if he were trying to tell me something, but the strength was ebbing from him in crimson rivulets. I dropped the gun and fell to my knees as well. My fingertips grazed his face as if I could bring him back to life with one touch, but we both knew it was too late. He laid a rough, scarred hand to the side of my cheek where hot tears had fallen, his lips parting to whisper in a soothing voice.

"Don't be afraid. They're going to come for you, but please don't be afraid."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please..." I managed to gasp out in between sobs.

The man merely smiled and closed his eyes. "Don't be. I'm ready."

He swayed forward and I caught his heavy body, feeling his blood soak my shirt. He slid down until his face rested in my lap, drawing in a few more shallow breaths before going completely still, empty, lifeless. I sat there with my coated hands stroking his hair, still whispering over and over for him to forgive me.

Golden light poured in from all angles, nearly blinding me, and I could just barely see the outline of a man with wings.

When the light dimmed, a blond man stood in front of me with white-gold wings that stretched nearly from wall to wall of my small bedroom. His tanned body was wrapped in white linen and his skin seemed to possess an ethereal quality, glowing like he had some unique source of inner radiance. Blue eyes like twin suns shone down on me with kindness and empathy. A new feeling of shock and reverence gave me enough strength to speak.

"W-Who are you?"

"My name is Gabriel. I am the archangel of the Lord God." His voice had an echo to it that seemed to soothe and agitate me at the same time. The angel folded his wings into his back and knelt beside the dead man in my lap. His fingers hovered over the wound the bullet had left through the man's back.

"As I thought...he is dead."

More tears poured as I tried to explain. "I-I didn't know it was him. There was a monster chasing me. I got scared. I'm so sorry."

Gabriel's face fell into that of a pitying expression. "You are human. It was only natural for you to be afraid. However, the Father cannot overlook what you have done. The man before you is a Seer—one of the few humans in this world who can see angels, demons, and spirits. He was hunting the demon you saw a moment ago."

"Please, I don't want to die. I'll do anything to make this better," I whispered, bowing to the angel.

He touched the crown of my head in comfort. "There is something you can do to make amends, my child. You must take his place."

I looked up in shock. "What?"

"You are a Seer, Jordan. Your abilities had not awakened until just now. That is why the demon was drawn to you. Your time to serve the Lord is now. In order to pay for the crime of taking this man's life, you must help one hundred wandering souls cross from this world to the next. If you do not finish this task two years from this day, I am afraid your soul shall be sent to hell."

"H-How? How do I even know which people are spirits?" I stammered in protest.

"The dead have no feet to walk upon because they are no longer tied to the Earth. Your task is to discover how they died and help them fulfill their final wish. Do not fear, for I will teach you how to free their souls. After this is done, the soul will go to the next world and I will write down the name in the Book of Penance."

He held out his hand and a red leather book materialized, spelling out my name in gold cursive across the front. It managed to be both beautiful and macabre. Gabriel placed it by my side and carefully rolled the man over onto his back. He plucked a feather from his wings and pressed it over the man's heart.

"Rest in peace. The gates of Heaven are waiting."

I watched with wonderment as the feather dissipated into tiny flecks of light and felt warmth as something nearly transparent rose from the body. I realized with shock that it was the man's soul. He hung in the air between Gabriel and me for a moment before floating upward and out of sight. His body faded seconds later, leaving only the bloodstained clothes behind. My fingers closed over the grey duster, which was still salvageable in comparison to the shirt and pants.

"I shall be watching over you always, Jordan Amador. Do your very best and above all, have faith." He rose upward on those amazing wings once more and was gone.

"Wow," Michael murmured. "That's...pretty damn heavy. So did you ever learn the guy's name who you...y'know?"

I shook my head. "Gabriel said it wasn't important, but..."

I stood and walked over to the counter, opening the first drawer on my right. From it, I found a manila folder and tossed it to Michael. He flipped the cover open, reading the file name.

"Mr. N?"

"N as in unknown?"

"Geek," he said. Inside were several news clippings I had collected that told of a nameless man who performed exorcisms around the world and appeared at the scene of a crime days in advance. No one knew anything about him or where he lived. He was as much a ghost as any of the spirits I had met.

"This guy was a serious bad ass. I hope you find out who he is someday."

"Me too."

He paused. "Wait, so you've been on your own doing this for two years? What about your family? Parents?"

"I never knew my father. My mother..." I took a deep breath. "They took me away from her when I was five. She was put in a psychiatric hospital and committed suicide not long afterwards."

"Jesus." He started to say more, but I just shook my head.

"The worst thing you can do is feel sorry for me. It's a small price to pay for my soul so I'll pay it."

"So what? You think you deserve to be completely alienated from every aspect of humanity because you accidentally killed someone?" The disbelief in his voice was nearly palpable. I merely shrugged.

He let out a bitter chuckle, raking a hand through his hair. "You're a piece of work, alright. There are a lot of things you can do wrong in this life, but killing someone in self-defense is not the worst crime ever committed."

I hardened my gaze. "That's easy for you to say. You don't remember your life. I highly doubt with your rock star status that you ever killed someone and sat there watching them bleed to death in front of you."

My throat tightened as the mental image of his blood on my hands flashed through my head. I brushed the thought away as quickly as I could. "I don't care if I never have to speak to another human being again as long as I can pay for my mistake."

"What's the point of saving your own life if you do nothing with it?" he asked, stunning me to silence. The truth in his words rang like bells through my head. He was right. The arrogant son of a bitch was right.

I closed my eyes and let my breath out slow. "We're busy enough trying to save your soul. Please don't try to save mine."

He didn't call out to me as I turned and went back to my room, shutting the door. I collapsed on the bed face first. There was no reason to listen to him. The only things that mattered were the last two souls that still needed saving. Faintly, I heard the front door open and close. I shut my eyes and told myself not to care.

My dreams were almost always nothing but fractured memories of the night I killed the man who saved me, but this time I didn't see my room. There was a long hallway with a white door and a gold knocker. I stood there in this pure isolation, transfixed as a soft voice spoke into my left ear.

"Open the door."

My head snapped around to look but no one was there. "Who's there?"

"Relax, my dear. Don't worry. Everything you've ever wanted...everything you're waiting for in this life...is beyond that door. The only thing you have to do is open it." The voice caressed my ears as if it were made of silk.

I felt relaxed, almost euphoric. My bare feet could hardly even feel the cold of the tile as I began to walk down the hall to the door. Black satin from the dress I wore curled around my ankles as I continued, one hand reaching for the elegant glass knob. My body came to a stop.

"Open the door, Jordan. You will suffer no longer. Don't you deserve to be happy?"

"Yes," I whispered, feeling the weight of its words. "I'm so tired."

I turned the knob and the door swung inward, exposing nothing but a vast darkness. From it, a hand wearing a black glove stretched towards me. Surprised, I took a step back. A tall Japanese man stepped out of the shadows, clothed in a black tuxedo with tails. His hair was midnight black and framed both sides of his pale face. He bowed formally at the waist, speaking with a seductive purr.

"Please come with me. I need your help. Yours and yours only."

He held out his hand, palm upward, with a patient smile. I had no idea who this man was, but for some reason, I believed him. I reached my hand towards his, but then hesitated. Something about his smile made the tranquil feeling retreat. He opened his eyes and I noticed that they were the palest blue I had ever seen, nearly white. Stranger still were his pupils, which weren't round but thin slits like a snake's.

"What's wrong, my pet?"

"Where are we going?" I glanced furtively into the dark abyss behind him that now seemed ominous. At first, all I could think about was disappearing with the gorgeous stranger, but now my surety had melted into uncertainty.

He smiled again. "What does it matter? Don't you want to be happy? Don't you want to be freed of your burdens?"

"Yes, but not if I'm walking in blind."

"I will be your eyes, your ears, your mouth. Rely on me only, Jordan. I am but your servant."

My fingers hung in the air, mere inches from his, but something in my gut told me to pull away. I pressed my hand to my chest, shaking my head.

"Please, just tell me where we're going."

The man's smile faded, leaving his once pleasant face colder than ice. "You have opened the door. There is no room for doubt or hesitation."

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards him. I screamed and tried to yank my arm free. I turned to run back down the hallway but it seemed to stretch for miles with no end in sight, no door on the other end to run through. The man folded my arms across my chest and held me against him with inhuman strength, his lips brushing my ear.

"Make no mistake. I will find you and you will help me. Your Father is not the only one with a plan."

He dragged me, kicking and struggling, backwards towards the darkness.

I woke up, groping in the dark for my gun when I noticed someone in front of my bed.

"Jordan, calm down! It's me!" Michael strode into the moonlight cascading in from the window opposite the bed. How long had I been asleep? I slid the gun back underneath the pillow and pressed my hands over my eyes, trying to slow my breathing. The effects of the nightmare still raced through my body like a drug. I hadn't felt such intense fear before, not since the night I killed that man.

"Nightmare?" Michael asked, casting a concerned look over my shaking shoulders. I rubbed my arms to settle the goosebumps and merely nodded, still too bothered to come up with a sarcastic remark.

"You have them every night, don't you?"

I glanced up at him, frowning. "How did you...?"

He pulled out the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I winced. There was a small glass and a large bottle of strong whiskey inside. One of the few perks of living next to a liquor store. "Just a guess."

"I really don't appreciate you snooping around me when I'm asleep," I grumbled, tossing back the covers. A quick glance at the clock clued me in to the fact that it was past eight. I'd been asleep for nearly six hours.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"We had a fight. I went for a walk. You were asleep by the time I got back so I decided to let you rest. That was before I knew about the nightmares, though," he said, brushing the back of his fingers against my cheek. The gesture made me jump. I then realized that there were tracks of tears drying on my skin. Shit.

I wiped my face and stood up, pretending not to care. "Well, you should have gotten me up. We still have work to do."

He was still staring at me with that soft expression. I let out a frustrated sigh. "Oh, don't give me that look. I thought we had mutual disdain for each other. Don't go ruining it by actually caring about me."

"It's high time someone did." His voice was hard to place so I couldn't tell if he meant the comment or not. I sifted my fingers through my hair and walked towards the door without answering, partially because I didn't know what to say and wasn't sure I wanted to continue the conversation.

"Did anything happen when you went for that walk?" I called over my shoulder, sitting in front of the laptop and tapping it awake.

"Not really. I went around the park a few times. Decided not to murder you in your sleep," he added with a small smirk.

"How kind of you. Aha!" I discovered that Vincent had indeed emailed me back.

Michael leaned over my shoulder. "I knew I wasn't the only person who says 'aha.' Is that what I think it is?"

"Yep. Your address." I copied and pasted the address into a Map Quest tab I'd opened and set about copying directions. Still hadn't gotten around to buying that printer yet.

Once I finished, I folded the paper and slipped it in the back pocket of my jeans, then went to the fridge to get a drink. "Hey, Jordan?"

"Yeah?"

"Did I thank you?"

I thought about it. "No, I guess not."

Michael gave me a small smile. "I will."

I couldn't resist a grin. "At least we know the movie quotes part of your memory is back. Desperado? Really?"

"Aw, c'mon," the poltergeist protested, adopting a faux hurt look. "I thought that sounded cool. It's classic Robert Rodriguez."

I took a long swig from my water bottle and replaced it on the shelf, shutting the fridge door. "If you say so. Hold on, I've got to grab something before we go."

Normally, I didn't need to resort to carrying the handgun with me but there was always the chance that his killer, assuming if there was one, was still in the vicinity. The gun itself was nothing fancy—a .38 Chief Special Smith & Wesson revolver. I had two copies of the permit for it: one in my home, the other in the lining of my coat. The inner pocket of the duster was just the right size for it to fit comfortably but still be able to be drawn easily. I didn't expect I would need to use it, but better safe than sorry.

"Do you really think I've been murdered?" Michael's voice was soft, but I still heard it from across the bedroom. He stood in the doorway with a rather solemn expression. Words failed me. Would he really want to hear the answer? If it were me, would I want to know if someone killed me? Maybe.

I took a deep breath. "I'll be honest with you. It doesn't look good. The fact that no one knows you're dead yet makes me worry that your death might have been intentional."

I stepped closer to him, staring all the way up into his face. "But if you want the truth, I don't think the reason you died was your fault. You're a pain in the ass, but you're a good guy. I'm sorry this happened to you."

He gazed at me for a handful of seconds before nodding and his hair slid forward into his eyes. For some reason, it was the first time Michael seemed human. He was always so amiable and confident that seeing him be vulnerable felt odd.

"Thank you."

"Come on. Let's go find some answers."

Chapter Five

We made good time—a half-hour ride on the bus followed by a five-minute walk to the building. The one bedroom apartment was on the third floor. The hallway housed bare white walls and grey carpeting with eight other rooms on each side. A couple of newspapers were curled up outside of the door. I tried the knob. Unlocked. Shit.

I motioned for Michael to be quiet and fished the gun out of my inner pocket. I nosed the door open an inch at a time until the light from the hallway shone in. The first room was clearly a den with a squishy, faded black couch and a glass coffee table covered in sheet music and magazines in front of a decent-sized television set. I took slow, measured steps to make sure my feet made no noise and checked behind the couch. Nothing.

Pausing, I removed the flashlight I'd brought just in case and held it parallel to the gun. The kitchen was clear as well, sporting only dirty dishes and opened cereal boxes. The last room was to my right. Probably the bedroom. I took a deep breath and turned the doorknob.

"RROW!"

I shrieked, nearly firing off a shot as a black cat scurried past my knees with an indignant meow. The animal gave me a curious look with its golden eyes. She had a red collar with the name "Bast" on it in white lettering. Only Michael would name his cat after an Egyptian goddess. I let out a relieved sigh before shoving the door the rest of the way open with my foot.

"You're lucky you didn't get shot, furball," I muttered, flipping on the light to the bedroom. Nothing in here, either. The bed was a queen-size with rumpled blue sheets and a black comforter. A bookshelf that sagged under the weight of its books had been shoved against the far wall. Pocketing the flashlight, I checked underneath the bed, but there was nothing under it but unwashed socks and lint. Why had the door been unlocked? Nothing appeared out of place like he'd been robbed. My gut told me something was up.

I checked the bathroom and closet before heading out of the room only to find Michael crouching in front of the cat.

"Jordan, you're not gonna believe this—the cat can totally see me."

I put the gun away. "No way."

"Yes way." He held his hand outstretched and moved it from side to side. The cat's head moved from side to side as well.

I knelt, rubbing the cat under her chin. "You guys really are half in and half out, huh?"

"What?"

"Nothing. C'mon, it's time to start looking for clues to who you are." I stood and brushed off my knees, sliding the gun back in my pocket. We split up. I went around the den to search for his wallet in case it was here instead of with his body and Michael disappeared into his bedroom. The television sat on top of a small cart with DVDs packed into it, everything from Citizen Kane to Independence Day. From the looks of it, Michael was nothing more than your average American guy. Across from the coffee table, I discovered a one-drawer file cabinet and opened it, hoping to find something interesting. The bulk of the files inside was sheet music, but the very last folder held something interesting: hospital bills and a page with a diagnosis on it.

"Michael, get out here!" I called.

He reappeared, jogging over to me. "Found something?"

"I'll say. According to this, you were badly injured in some sort of fight. You had a skull fracture and they treated you here in town. They say you suffered from retrograde post-traumatic amnesia."

Michael's eyes widened. "What? I thought amnesia wasn't even real?"

"As far as I know, it's possible. It's just extremely unlikely. The way I hear it you have to be both injured and have witnessed something emotionally traumatizing. The records say this happened a couple years ago." I frowned, trying to mull the new facts over in my head.

"So I was severely injured two years before I died? There's no way that's just a coincidence," he said, damn near reading my thoughts.

"Agreed. Did you find anything in your bedroom?"

"Nothing but clothes, books, and old pizza boxes. The room, though...it feels familiar. I knew where stuff was almost unconsciously. It was weird as hell."

"Good. You're making progress."

"Thank you, Dr. Phil," he said, pointing back to the file. "What else have they got on me in here?"

"You're twenty-four years old, your blood type is AB negative, and...damn."

"What?"

"Your parents aren't listed. Not sure if I can find your next of kin without reporting you missing, which we can't do since your body's not here." I let out a sigh. "I swear, I am just going to drop this case."

Michael laughed. "Wow, thanks."

"Oh, cut me some slack. I'm not a detective. I'm a damn waitress. Some of this stuff is beyond my resources."

"Hey, you're a pretty smart waitress. I doubt the average person could have figured out half as much stuff as you did."

I resisted the urge to frown. Again, compliments. Not used to them.

I flipped the folder closed and folded it enough to fit in one of my pockets. "Just...help me search for receipts. If we can figure out what places you frequent, maybe we can find out where your body is."

I sifted through the piles of sheet music and magazines on the coffee table, locating a handful of receipts in the process. Michael went into the kitchen to search there as well. I sat on the couch to go through them. The black cat hopped up next to me, pushing her head underneath my hand. I scratched the spot between her ears as I read them aloud.

"A few from McDonalds, Starbucks, Guitar Center...nothing too special. It's all stuff around this area. At the very least, we can take your picture around and ask if anybody's seen you recently."

"Sounds like a plan. Shouldn't we stop by Devil's Paradise tonight too?"

"Yeah. Your band might be there. Still, we don't know what they look like."

"This might help." I glanced up to see Michael holding a digital camera. He handed it to me, taking a seat. The cat crawled across my lap to settle on his. How unnerving. I started flipping through the memory card: pictures of the park, a couple of instruments, and at last Devil's Paradise.

"I think these may be photos from your performance the other night." The first picture of the club had a massive crowd in line outside. The next depicted a blurry but definite picture of Michael on stage with his band. He stood out in front beside a short brunette with a streak of white in her bangs. Behind him stood a tall black guy with a faux-hawk and a skinny blonde girl with short hair. I could just barely make out the drummer in the back—a dark-haired Hispanic guy. There were a handful of these pictures all taken from different angles but the date at the corner confirmed they had been taken August 5th, 2010.

"Alright, now at least we know who we're looking for," I said, standing.

Michael scooped up the cat and deposited her on the couch. She hopped to the floor and wandered into the kitchen to drink water from a bowl on the floor by the counter. I made a mental note to come back and feed her.

"Anything else you think we need?" Michael inquired.

I thought about it and then an idea hit me. "Spare key?"

"Oh. Sure." Michael opened the file cabinet and stuck his hand inside, bringing out a key that had been taped to the inside of the drawer. After a second, he realized what he'd just done and shot a surprised look at me.

"How'd I do that?"

"Habitual memory. I figured you'd react without thinking about it," I explained, stashing the key in my pocket. At least now we could actually lock the door.

Luckily, we'd gotten out in time to catch the next bus to Devil's Paradise. When we pulled up to the stop across the street, I began to regret coming here on a Saturday night. The line stretched down the block: Goth punks, girls in tiny skirts, and guys with faux-hawks. Two bouncers stood outside the double doors, eyeing each person before allowing them inside and refusing those who didn't make the cut. The white guy on the right had a neck as thick as a ham and a body like the trunk of a Redwood. The black guy on the left was easily over six-feet tall and could probably bench-press a Volvo. Great.

"I can see this being a problem," Michael said, letting his eyes scan over the long line. I raked a hand through my hair as I tried to figure out what to do. My outfit was far too casual to get me in. It wasn't like I could bribe the bouncers: I had maybe twenty bucks.

"Any bright ideas, rock star?"

"Prostitution?"

I sent him a hateful glare while he just held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry. I got nuthin.' There's no point in having me sneak in there because I can't talk to anyone."

"Wait, does that mean you figured out how to turn intangible?"

He stuck his hand out to touch the bus sign. It passed right through like magic. "Yep."

I nearly slapped my forehead. "You could have told me that earlier."

"You didn't—"

"If you say 'you didn't ask,' I am going to call that exorcist."

Michael closed his mouth and merely smirked. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Hey, Jordan!"

A female voice called to me from across the street. I spotted the girl from Guitar Center, Chloe, waving me over from near the front of the line. I checked for cars and then jogged over to her with a surprised smile.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

She waved a hand at the club. "I came here to meet up with some friends. Are you still looking for Michael?"

"Yeah. I called the number you gave me but he didn't pick up."

Chloe frowned a bit. "Sorry to hear that. Do you want to come inside and see the band? I know at least two of them are here tonight. Maybe they know where he is."

"Yeah, that seems likely," I replied, indicating the huge line behind her.

Chloe flashed me a crafty grin. "You're with me. Don't worry about it."

I watched with shock as she tugged me in next to her and waved to the bouncers. Their stony expressions softened and they nodded for us to go in. When I turned to ask her how the hell she'd done that, she told me she had been the baby sitter for each guy's kids on weekends. Small world.

Inside, the club was deceptively large. The stage at the far wall had a band of six going in full swing, swallowing me in thrumming music as soon as I stepped through the door. The main room was separated into two parts: the immense dance floor packed with bodies and a surrounding area of booths where waiters were serving food. Chloe led the way up the stairs to the left. Michael trailed behind us, watching with wonderment as people passed right through him without noticing. I sort of envied normal people sometimes.

We approached one of the booths near the bar on our left where I recognized two of Michael's bandmates: the brunette with white streaks in her hair and the black guy with the faux-hawk.

"Hey, guys! Having a good time?" Chloe asked with a bright smile.

The short brunette groaned, leaning forward in her seat to shout over the music. "I would if they had a better band on stage. These guys are amateurs with a capital A."

The black guy shook his head at her. "Give 'em a break, Casey. Everybody's gotta start somewhere."

She shrugged, arching a thin eyebrow at me. "Who's the new girl?"

"This is Jordan. She's looking for Michael."

Casey snorted. "Aren't we all? I can't believe he up and left right after we had such a good premiere. Here, sit down."

She scooted over and patted the open spot to her right. I sat and Chloe took a seat opposite me by the black guy. He stuck out a hand, smiling. I took it.

"Name's Stan. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," I replied, impressed by how friendly they all were. Michael may have been annoying, but he kept good company. Speaking of whom, Michael stood beside my side of the booth so he could keep up with the conversation. A waiter wandered by, asking for drink orders, but I declined. I knew for a fact how expensive alcohol was at popular clubs in the city. Besides, no sense in drinking while I was "working." Casey and Stan ordered beers while Chloe stuck with a tried-and-true Vodka soda. I wracked my brain for inconspicuous ways of asking what happened to Michael in the last few days.

"Does he always disappear like that from time to time?"

Stan waggled his hand in the "kind of" motion. "He sucks at communication. Sometimes I'll go three days without talking to him and then he'll call me the next day to chat for four hours."

"Same here. I haven't been able to keep up with him since I met him," Casey admitted, absently folding a paper napkin into triangular shapes.

"Why are you looking for him anyway? He's not in trouble, is he?" Stan pressed, adopting a somewhat wary look. Good instincts. Crap.

"No, it's nothing like that. I found something of his that I thought might be important to him. It's an old watch with his name on it. I would have brought it with me but I was worried it would get stolen in this crowd."

"Oh. I was starting to think you were a reporter," Stan said in a sheepish voice.

"Or a cop. Especially because of this," Casey pointed to the duster.

I managed a faint smile. "Yeah, I guess I do sort of look like a cop in this getup. Sorry if I made you suspicious."

Chloe waved the comment away. "Trust me, we're honestly shocked there aren't any warrants out on him."

Behind me, Michael snorted. "I'm loving the solidarity."

I cleared my throat to hide a laugh. "So you guys don't think he's in any trouble?"

"No more than usual. Last time I heard from him was after Thursday's performance when he left to head home. He always slips out the back door right after we finish so he can beat the crowd to the bus."

A red flag went up in my mind. This club happened to spill out into an alleyway that was dark, damp, and far away from the street. That would mean few to no witnesses for our potential killer. I hid the interest with a passive nod and made a mental note to check there as soon as I could get away from the group. I hoped that would be soon because the longer I sat here, the more horrible I felt that these guys didn't know their friend was dead. It wasn't like I could tell them his spirit was hovering not a foot away from the table. Besides that, there was no absolute proof. Not yet, anyway.  
The waiter returned with the drinks, asking for food orders. Chloe ordered some wings but the other two declined since they'd eaten before they got to the club.

"Hey, where's the bathroom?" I asked Casey.

She pointed past my head to the right of the stage. "Go by the stage and hang a right. Good luck, though. The line's a bitch this time of night."

"Thanks. I'll be back. It was nice meeting you guys. Thanks for your help." They all waved as I retreated through the crowd. The bathroom was my cover. I'd only needed an excuse to sneak out of the club and didn't have a pack of cigarettes to use as a ploy. Michael and I passed the insanely long line to the Ladies Room and found one of the exits that spilled into the alleyway. Luckily, it hadn't been a fire exit so an alarm didn't go off. I stepped out into the dark and noticed that there wasn't a knob to let us back in. Smart. Didn't want anyone sneaking into the club without paying. I found an empty cigarette pack on the floor and wedged it in the door. If we got lucky, we could check the area before one of the bouncers noticed.

"What are we looking for? It's been a couple days since I would have been here." Michael watched me examine every inch of the concrete around us. The alley stretched a good ten feet and then turned into a right. Behind me, there was faint noise from the street, but its view was obscured by a large dumpster.

"True, but unless you were killed by an expert, they may have left some kind of evidence." I slipped on a pair of purple surgical gloves that I kept with me specifically for snooping purposes and flipped on my flashlight. The Exit sign above the door shed an eerie red light over the area but that was about it. Aside from the dumpster a few feet away, there was a trio of trashcans against the wall opposite the exit. Great. My favorite part of the job.

Breathing as sparingly as possible, I peeked into the trash and carefully sifted through, looking for traces of blood or anything that may have been on Michael's body when he left the club. Michael started to join me but I stopped him.

"What? It'll go faster this way."

I arched an eyebrow. "Michael, if someone happens to look this way, they're going to see trash floating in mid-air. That's not very inconspicuous."

"Neither is a hot chick in a grey overcoat with purple gloves sifting through garbage," he said, his voice flat. Damn. The man had a point.

"Just help me look around. And don't touch anything."

"Why?"

"Because shut up."

Sighing, Michael walked past me to inspect the bits of garbage that hadn't made it into the cans. I searched the three containers and found nothing out of the ordinary, which made me groan internally because that meant I'd probably have to check the dumpster. Did I like this guy enough to get that horrible smell in my clothes? No. Would I do it anyway? Maybe.

With a regretful moan in my throat, I stepped towards the dumpster, but stopped as my foot kicked something metallic into my line of sight. I stooped and picked it up, examining it in the dim light. A broken silver chain with a tiny padlock on it.

"Michael, come here for a second."

When he walked over, I held the necklace up to him. They matched perfectly. Hot damn.

"I'd say this is a clue," I muttered, inspecting the edges to detect any traces of blood. None. Still, this was definitely proof that something had gone down in this alley.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," Michael said with half-hearted sarcasm, too busy staring at the chain to commit to sounding dry. "I'm guessing it snapped off in the struggle. Maybe I fell."

"Yeah. Judging by the fact that there's no blood around, I'd say whoever attacked you either broke one of your bones or used something quiet to take you out, like a syringe. The question is still why, though. As far as I can tell, you're not an incredibly important person."

He gave me a look. I winced. "No offense. I mean, your band is doing well but it's not doing that well. I'm starting to worry that we need to involve the police. There are some questions I can't go around asking without raising suspicion. You saw how your band mates reacted when I did."

"Yeah," he said. "I wish I could say everything's rushing back to me, but I'm only getting a feeling that I really did die here. Someone said something to me, and when I turned around, it happened. I just can't remember what, though."

"Don't stress too much about that. The point is to find out about your life and why you died. When we do that, your final wish should become clear. Come on. We'll do one final check and then go back inside. Your band mates might be getting curious."

We walked up and down the alley, as well as the one next to it that led to a dead end, but there wasn't anything else. Afterward, I carefully placed the necklace in my pocket and threw the gloves away. I poked my head into the door of the club. Nobody. Lucky us.

Quickly I removed the empty cigarette pack and slunk back towards the main area of the club with Michael behind me. The girls in line to the bathroom gave me funny looks but I brushed past them, heading for the booth.

Chloe had gone off meeting her other friends, as Casey told me. Shame. I wanted to thank her again for getting me in. I left my number with Casey and Stanley and said good night, happy once we were out of the flashing lights and pounding music. We reached the bus stop, which was thankfully devoid of other people, and Michael exhaled slowly, glancing at me.

"So what's the plan for tomorrow?"

"I have to take Linda to her funeral to speak to her Mom. I think that's her final wish. We might get lucky. If I get her to cross over, Gabriel will show up and maybe I can ask him for help. He's not allowed to directly help me solve cases by order of the Big Guy, but he can offer advice."

Michael shook his head. "What's that like, having an archangel drop by every once in a while?"

I shrugged. "It was nerve-wracking at first, but...I eventually got used to it. Gabriel's really easy to get along with. He's probably the closest thing I have to family. I guess being God's Messenger has something to do with that."

"Are you allowed to ask him questions about Heaven and Hell and stuff?"

"Sort of. There are rules. He told me he's not allowed to tell me anything that would reveal the 'true nature' of God or Heaven because I'm supposed to find out on my own when I die."

"So I take it you tried asking him about Mr. N?"

I lowered my eyes, forcing myself not to wince. "Yeah, but he said that's on the list of things I'm not allowed to ask him. He told me I don't understand now, but it's for a good purpose."

He made a soft, scornful noise in the back of his throat. "Can't be that good of a purpose if it means you have to have nightmares every night for the rest of your life."

That sounded like honest-to-God sympathy. I couldn't help but glance up at him. He met my eyes with a solemn look that made my breath catch for a second. There was something strangely compelling about his face when he stared back at me like that. It was a quality I had recognized in someone else, too. Gabriel.

His voice was quiet. "The bus is here."

I faced forward to see the rusty vehicle in front of us. Just like that, the spell broke and I climbed aboard, shaking off my thoughts.

Chapter Six

"Ms. Catalina Amador, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to come with us."

My mother's shoulders tensed in response to the man's statement. I stood behind her, blinking up curiously at the scene before me. My mother had opened the apartment door with the latch still on it and through the crack I could see a man in a suit with two men in blue uniforms on either side of him.

At five years old, I had no clue who they were or why they were at our home. I tugged on my mother's skirt, whining, "Mama? Who is it?"

She pushed me away from their sight. When she spoke, her voice was harsh with anger. "I know what I saw, Dr. Merriweather. There is nothing you and your facility can do. There are powers in this world beyond your comprehension and they are the ones who have come for me today, not you."

The doctor sighed. "Ms. Amador, we are trying to help you. We don't want you to endanger yourself or your daughter—"

"My daughter is fine, you son of a bitch!" She spat, making me jump. I had never heard her speak like that. Her accent made her words burn like flames against my skin. Tears welled up in my eyes so I buried my face in her leg, trying to hug her.

"Mama, I'm scared. Why are you yelling?"

She rested a hand on the top of my head, whispering to me. "Don't cry, mi hija. It's alright."

"Ma'am, if you don't come out of the apartment I'm going to have to have the police escort you out. I have legal permission to admit you into the facility. Rest assured, your daughter will be taken care of and your stay will not be permanent." The doctor adjusted his large glasses over his nearly translucent face. My mother glared at him before turning to me and kneeling until our faces were level. The fury trickled out of her lovely features, filling my vision with her soft brown eyes.

"Listen to me. These men have come to take me away. I have to go with them."

I shook my head wildly. "Why? I don't want you to go! Don't go! Please don't go!"

"Por favor. Be strong. I love you. I love you so much. Never forget that." She hugged me tight, allowing me mere seconds to bury my face into her neck as I tried to memorize the feeling. I was sobbing by the time she pried my arms away and opened the door for the men. The doctor led her out of the room first but I ran, heading for my room to lock myself in. Someone grabbed my arms from behind, lifting me into the air. I screamed and kicked as hard as I could. The cop that picked me up had no expression, no face—just a blank void. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to go.

They put her in the back of a white van and started driving without telling me where we were going. I sat up front with the faceless men, calling for my mother over and over again. My eyes were swollen and red by the time the truck stopped, so I couldn't see where we were until they opened the doors. The building before me was huge and white like a hospital, but something about it seemed nothing like a place to help people.

The men led my mother away and dragged me into a tiny office with grey wallpaper and a massive white woman behind a desk. In front of her sat a Spanish woman with light skin and a deep scowl that only worsened when she saw me. Her brown hair had been pulled into a tight bun atop her head and her forehead had deep lines in it. I bawled and asked for my mother again, but they ignored me. The fat woman handed the Spanish lady a stack of papers in a folder and turned to me with a sickening smile.

"It's okay, sweetie. You're going to live with your Aunt Carmensita for a while until your Mommy gets better. She'll take care of you."

Aunt Carmensita grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the office without a word, ignoring my sniffling hiccups. Why didn't anyone listen to me? Where was my mother? I just wanted my mother.

My aunt dragged me to the parking lot where a dingy green car sat. She strapped me into the back seat and got into the driver's side. The car coughed to life and I became surrounded in the smell of gasoline, exhaust fumes, and the faint stench of vomit from the faded suede seats. We pulled out of the parking lot and lurched onto the street.

"Where are we going? Where's Mama? I want Mama," I piped up.

My aunt scowled. "Your Mama ain't coming, niña. She's gone loca so they put her in the house with all the other idiotas. Stop that crying. You're lucky. They were going to put you in a home if I hadn't come along."

"Mama's not loca! Mentirosa!" I wailed, scrubbing frantically at my tear-soaked eyes.

My aunt snorted, digging through her glove compartment until she came away with a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She set the pack on the space between the seats, close enough for me to touch. She lit one cigarette and cracked my window open to let the smoke filter out, her voice flat with cruelty. "Está loca. Always been loca. If she had kept her mouth shut, none of this would have happened. Blame your Mama for this, niña. If I had my way, they would have taken you too but they didn't. Stop crying. You're gonna stay with me for a while and you will behave. I'll get that crazy out of you one way or another."

Finally, I'd had enough. Infuriated by her words, I grabbed the pack of cigarettes and threw them out of the window. She let out an anguished shriek.

"Morena del Diablo! What did you do that for?"

"Don't lie about my Mama! Don't!" My voice was so hoarse I could hardly yell but I managed it anyway.

"Just wait until we get home, niña. All the fancy men in suits in the world won't be able to help you then." She puffed angrily through her last cigarette.

"I don't care! Liar!"

I sat, fuming, as we drove through New Jersey until we reached a wretched apartment complex that smelled of urine. As soon as she parked the car, Aunt Carmen ripped me out of the seat and spanked me, shouting about how ungrateful I was, how I was just like my mother. I did my best not to cry out, remembering my mother's words about being strong, but it was hard to obey a woman I would never see again. Her blows rained down on my head, neck, and back like hail until hot tears were all I could see.

"Jordan?"

My eyes flew open as I heard someone say my name. Michael stood over me with a worried expression. He must have noticed how hard I was breathing. I wiped the thin film of sweat away from my forehead and sat up, eyes adjusting to the light spilling in from the window.

"I'm alright. What is it?"

"You slept right through the morning. I thought it might be time to start moving." I glanced at the clock to confirm this. Four o'clock. Damn, he was right. I had slept for a long time. Then again, I'd stayed up well into early morning going over his case, trying to find anything I might have missed. One day left. Twenty-four hours to solve Michael's murder or I'd burn in hell for all eternity. No pressure.

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" I grumbled, motioning for him to turn around while I got out of bed. No pants. I felt more comfortable sleeping that way.

Michael obliged, answering without a single quip about me being pantsless. Weird. "You looked like you needed the rest."

"Eh. I'll rest when I'm dead," I said, collecting my robe from the floor and putting it on.

Michael snorted. "I should find that funny, but it's more disturbing than anything else."

I shrugged. "They can't all be winners. I don't suppose you—"

"Made coffee?" He pointed to my nightstand, where a steaming mug of liquid paradise sat. Was I so predictable that a guy who had only known me for going on three days could figure out my morning rituals? Probably. Oh well. I drank the coffee anyway and walked towards the kitchen.

"What did you do while I slept?"

Michael gestured a hand at the table where the hospital papers were spread out. "Looking over what we gathered. I kept hoping my memory would come back, but the only thing I remembered was how to play a few songs on the guitar."

A smile touched my lips. "I have to admit I would pay to see you play one in public. People would freak out if they saw a guitar playing itself in the middle of the sidewalk."

He flashed me a grin. "Hey, don't tempt me. I almost went home to grab my guitar but then I remembered I'm invisible to normal people. I'd be on Youtube by morning."

I nearly choked on the next mouthful of coffee from laughter. "The Mysterious Floating Guitar of Albany, New York. Maybe it'd make it all the way to CNN."

We shared another bout of giggles that eventually descended into comfortable silence. Wait, comfortable? Ah, hell. I must be losing my marbles.

Michael seemed to notice this so he glanced around the kitchen, searching for dishes.

"Why don't you get dressed and I'll scrounge up some food?"

I shook my head. "Keep it up and I won't solve your murder just so you can be my butler."

He chuckled. "That's pretty cruel. You couldn't even pay me if you did that."

I paused. "Good point. You'd be my slave. Somehow, I like that idea even better."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Go get dressed, woman."

Smirking, I took another deep sip of the coffee and returned to my room. No casual clothes today. I wasn't going into the actual funeral, but I would be near the church. No sense in making the mourners worry about a woman showing up who no one knew, so it wouldn't hurt to blend in. That meant a black button up shirt, skirt, and flats. I'd wear heels, but I might be doing a lot of walking today.

I took a quick shower and got dressed, pinning up my hair in somewhat of a bun. Many women wore full makeup—lipstick, blush, foundation, mascara, the works—but I honestly hadn't learned how to put it on properly on account of who raised me. On my worst days, I wore foundation and eyeliner and that was it. Same for this instance.

Michael let out a low wolf whistle when I walked into the kitchen, which was pretty much the reaction I'd expected. "Don't you clean up nice."

"Thank you," I replied with a flat tone, swiping a reheated slice of bacon and toast from a plate. As I munched, I plopped down in front of my laptop and opened it. Needed directions to the funeral. The lack of car would be a problem, but I had enough money to spring for a cab.

"What exactly is gonna happen with the ghost girl?" Michael asked, hovering over my shoulder as I typed.

"When a spirit sees the person or thing that caused them to stay behind, they'll speak to it, and that's what allows their final wish to be fulfilled. Afterwards, they just disappear into the next world and Gabriel comes to write their name in the Book of Penance."

"Book of Penance?"

I pointed to the top of the fridge. Michael walked over and picked it up, flipping through to read the names written in black ink.

"Wow. You've helped this many in two years?"

"Don't sound so impressed. I've still got to solve your case by midnight on Monday or I'm going to Hell, literally."

He fell silent and then asked. "Do you always do that?"

I glanced at him, confused. "Do what?"

"Self-deprecate to push people away." The bluntness of the comment rendered me speechless.

"Yes," I murmured after a while. "I don't always do it on purpose. It's a bad habit I developed from being on my own for so long. Any other personal flaws you'd like to point out?"

"No. I figured we'd work on them one by one."

I flipped open my notepad and began scribbling down directions to distract myself. "So what? Are you my therapist now?"

He sighed. "If only. I'd get so much cash working on your ruptured psyche."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "Ruptured psyche? Only a musician could come up with something so poetic instead of just saying I'm effed up in the head."

Michael shrugged. "It's a gift."

"I'll take your word for it." I closed the notepad and drained the remainder of my coffee and scarfed down the bacon and toast.

"Let's go."

Ghosts are tricky bastards. They're intangible but they don't float through everything. I ended up getting Linda into the cab by instructing her to just hover above the seat or she'd sink right through it. Adult ghosts had better grasps on the concept of not going through everything. It was much harder to teach young ones. Needless to say, the cab driver had thought I was cuckoo for Coco Puffs for whispering incessantly to thin air. Michael had a fine time laughing at my plight. Jerk.

The good news was that we didn't have to travel for too long. The church where the funeral was held was about fifteen minutes from where I lived. I groaned when I looked at the meter in the cab, but I'd live. I told our driver to sit tight for about ten minutes and ushered the two dead people out of the back.

When we arrived, the procession had already lined up for the bringing in of the body. I felt my throat tighten as I saw the tiny white coffin housing Linda's body. The first time I had worked with a child's ghost, I'd cried at least three times: when I met him, when I saw his parents, and when I saw him cross over. Now I only got choked up at the funeral. It had been a rough couple of years.

The cab had let us out across the parking lot from the front of the church so nobody could see us yet. Good. I knelt in front of Linda and mustered an encouraging smile.

"Do you remember what's kept you here on Earth?"

Linda nodded, making her pigtails bob up and down. "I wanted to tell my Mommy something."

"Okay, sweetheart. Mommy won't answer you but she will feel your presence deep down. I want you to go inside and tell her whatever it is you need to tell her. I'll wait for you out here."

"Mmkay." The little ghost headed towards the long throng of family and loved ones until she disappeared from sight inside the sanctuary. I let out a long breath.

Michael stood next to me with a concerned expression. "This isn't your first time seeing a kid's funeral, huh?"

I shook my head. He sighed. "That's a damn shame. Y'know, as much as I bitch about being dead, I don't really mind. The world will survive without guys like me. Kids like Linda, though...makes you wonder if there's a greater purpose for stuff like this."

A small snort escaped me. "Gabriel always tells me to have faith. It's hard to do when you see little girls and little boys who have lost their lives. I can only imagine how her mother must feel. Maybe something like mine did."

Michael opened his mouth but I just shook my head again. "Don't say anything sympathetic or I'll cry, and I am damn sure not messing up my makeup today."

He closed it. "Hard ass."

"I try."

We spent the next five minutes or so in silence. I spotted Linda walking back towards the cab, looking the same as how she'd entered. So young. She seemed to understand that she wasn't normal, but I didn't know if she knew much beyond that.

I smiled at her again. "Did you tell her?"

"Yes. Thank you. What happens now?"

"Have you fulfilled your final wish?"

She looked up at me with her blue eyes. Something in them changed when I said those words. The childish air around her seemed to dissipate as she whispered, "Yes."

"Then you have nothing to tie you to this world. Your Father is waiting for you, Linda Margaret Hamilton. Cross over and walk the Earth no more."

A bright golden light surrounded her on all sides and she faded from view with a calm, peaceful expression. When the last speck of light disappeared, I knew she had gone to the next world.

"Wow," Michael whispered. "Is that what it'll be like for me?"

"Mm-hm." I knocked on the glass to let the cab driver know I was getting back in the car. He gave me a confused look.

"What the hell was that all about? You didn't even go in."

I spared him a thin smile. "I didn't need to. Drive back to my apartment, if you please."

He sighed and shook his head. "Whatever you say, lady."

We drove back into town until we reached my apartment. By then, the sun had already set and swallowed the city sky in a wave of navy. Not a bad day, all things considered. Especially if it was my last day with my soul free.

The door swung inward, treating me to the sight of Gabriel in my kitchen filling out the Book of Penance. As always, he was dressed in an immaculate, expensive suit and looked out of place in my crummy living conditions. I walked in and shut the door behind Michael, addressing the angel.

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to show up in jeans one day. You're making me feel like such a bum with those fancy threads."

Gabriel smiled and looked up. "Sorry. I'll try to remember next—"

He stopped in mid-sentence and I swear to God, all the blood rushed out of his face. It took me a second to realize he was staring at the poltergeist behind me.

"Michael?"

"Gabriel?"

My jaw dropped. I stepped back, looking between them to find completely stunned expressions on both their faces. It took me a moment to form a coherent sentence.

"Wait, wait, wait a damn minute. You two know each other?"

Michael ran his fingers through his hair nervously. "Yes. No. Shit, I don't know. When you said his name, I didn't notice but now that I've seen his face, it all clicked."

I turned on Gabriel. "Why do you know who he is?"

"Jordan, this is no mere ghost. This is the soul of Michael the archangel, Commander of God's Army in Heaven," Gabriel explained in an awestruck voice. He took a cautionary step forward.

"Brother, do you realize how long you've been gone?"

I pressed my fingers to my temples and massaged them, trying to keep up. "Alright. One of you had better start explaining something or my brain is going to explode."

Gabriel spared me a sympathetic look. "Very well. Two years ago, the Spear of Longinus—that which pierced the side of the Son and killed him—was discovered and brought into this city for an auction. Father knew what a dangerous weapon it is and therefore sent Michael to retrieve it so it would not fall into the hands of evil. The night of the auction, Michael disappeared."

"How could he disappear? Shouldn't one of you have been able to find him?"

The blond archangel shook his head. "No, Jordan, you don't understand. When I say he disappeared, I mean from existence."

I stared at him. "What do you mean from existence?"

"Before you brought him in here, I had no recollection of the archangel Michael. When I saw his face, everything came back to me at once, like some sort of shockwave. This is the work of something powerful, something that was able to bend reality so that history did not hold a record of Michael. It was only broken now that I've seen him with my own eyes."

I raked my fingers through my hair, sinking into the chair by the table. "But what the hell could do something like this? Make everyone in Heaven and Earth forget that Michael even existed?"

"I suppose we'll find out when we recover the Spear. In theory, it may have been the cause of all this because it holds so much power."

"You said you didn't want the Spear to fall into the hands of evil. Is there anyone specific you're talking about?" I asked.

Gabriel's pale eyes narrowed. "Satan has long coveted the Spear. It's been lost since the death and rebirth of Christ. Mankind has no idea the sort of might that rests inside that accursed object. There's no telling what the Fallen One could do if he got his filthy hands on it."

"Well, apparently he did because I'm dead. I've been this way since Thursday night."

Gabriel shook his head. "You're not dead. Angels cannot die. Your soul has been displaced. Despite whatever happened, your body was not destroyed. You were sent in a special body that allowed you to use all your powers rather than just some of them, like the one I am inhabiting."

I turned my head to look up at Michael. "Is any more of this coming back to you?"

He nodded. "I'm starting to remember my life before this happened. Not much, but it's there. I remember the auction and winning the Spear. I was leaving with it to report back to Heaven when someone attacked me. I hit my head pretty hard when I fell. I woke up in a hospital and couldn't remember anything. Since I couldn't remember I was an angel, I never used any of my powers or tried to contact Gabriel."

"Yes. Apparently, you believed you were human and therefore your soul didn't give off the aura of an angel, making it impossible for us to notice you," Gabriel said.

I frowned as another question came to mind. "Why didn't God tell you where he was? He's omniscient, right?"

"Father will not directly interact on Earth. He feels that humanity and the angels will reach harmony if we face our problems without His help. Aside from His orders, He will not act if it interferes with human lives."

The urge to frown was enormous. "I don't mean to blaspheme, but that's pretty messed up, Gabe."

He spared me a small smile. "I would like to agree, but I don't want to be disavowed of my rank."

That almost made me feel better. "Can you remember who attacked you and stole the Spear?"

Michael shook his head. "Not exactly. It was night. I couldn't see well. All I can say is that it was a man dressed in black."

Something clicked in my mind. "Did he have dark hair?"

"I think so."

"Michael, you mentioned a strange dark-haired man when we were walking yesterday. Maybe he's the guy that stole the Spear. Maybe he's the guy who kicked you out of your body. Gabriel, is that possible?"

"Yes. However, I am not entirely sure of why a demon would want an angel's body. They can't kill him. It's virtually indestructible. I get the feeling there is a larger scheme in the works. If that demon saw the two of you yesterday, then he has surely been trailing you and knows where this apartment is."

Fear climbed up my throat and made my mouth dry. "What should we do?"

"Don't panic," he assured me in a kind voice, causing a relaxing sensation to fill my body until I could breathe normally again. Gabriel strode over to the door and muttered something in another language under his breath, tracing his fingertips over the wood in the shape of the cross. He did it to all four sides of the door and to each of the windows in the apartment.

"I have blessed all the entrances to this apartment. Demons cannot enter a place that has been blessed by an angel. No matter what happens, you will be safe here." He touched the side of my face. I felt a little better.

"However, I would advise you not to leave until we're able to find out what this demon wants with Michael's body and where it is—"

"I can't stay holed up in this apartment, Gabriel," I insisted. "I have work tomorrow."

His face took on a more stern edge. "Jordan, I do not want to place your life in danger."

"I won't be in danger. I'll go to work and come straight back. You don't have to treat me like a child. I've managed to stay alive this long, haven't I?"

He stared me down for a long moment before sighing and reaching into his pocket. "I am beginning to wonder if stubbornness is a specifically human trait."

Michael smirked a little. "Nope, that's just Jordan."

"Hey, back off—!"

"Hush," Gabriel said, growing impatient with our bickering. He held up a black rosary and three vials of what appeared to be water.

I stared at him in confusion as he handed them to me. "I'm not Catholic, you know."

"I know, but these will protect you should a demon choose to attack. The cross hurts their skin and makes them vulnerable to injury. The holy water will as well. Carry these on your person every time you leave this apartment. I will be waiting for you when you return tomorrow. I have a few sources to check so I must depart for the night."

He glanced at Michael. "I am relieved you've been found, brother. Watch over her until I return. Stay vigilant."

"I will."

With that, he left. Silence folded around us for a moment or two, then I filled it.

"Well, that wasn't weird."

"Tell me about it," Michael said, slumping into the chair across from me. "This is so bizarre. I'm starting to remember who I was before this happened. I was so different from how I am now."

"How so?"

He winced. "Well, for one I didn't much care for humanity. I had spent so much time in Heaven that you all seemed like sheep to me: blind and dumb without guidance."

"I can't really fault you for that. We're not very smart or good-natured at times. What can you remember about your life when you thought you were human?"

Michael tilted his head a little, trying to remember. It was sort of a cute look. I immediately brushed the thought away. "I spent the first year trying to build a life out of pretty much nothing. I didn't know who I was or why no one knew me. One of the first things that got me back on track was music. I remember hearing an old man on a park bench play his guitar, so I decided to learn how to play. When I got good, I performed at local clubs until my band mates found me and we started the Throwaway Angels. Obvious symbolism aside, it was the most fun I'd had since the incident."

He glanced at me with a sly smile. "Aside from meeting you, of course."

I rolled my eyes. "You're an archangel. You're not allowed to flirt with me anymore. Especially since I'm apparently a blind, dumb sheep girl."

Michael pouted, watching me rise from the chair to go put away the holy objects Gabriel had given me. "You're going to hold that over my head forever, aren't you?"

"Yup. Now come on. I want to hear more stories."

"You're inviting me into your bedroom? What was it you said about flirting?"

"One more smart ass comment and I'll have Gabriel ban you from my apartment."

"Yes, ma'am."

Chapter Seven

By the time I rolled out of bed the next morning, I hated myself. Michael's human and angelic life had been so interesting that I didn't kick him out of my room until well into morning. I had a seven-hour shift today that started at eight AM sharp. Yippee-skippy.

Michael tried to give me a serious speech about being careful, but I assured him I would be fine and that he didn't need to follow me there or back from work. I'd considered bringing the gun, but according to Gabriel, it wouldn't help since demons couldn't be eliminated by anything other than holy items. I wished I thought of asking him to bless the gun or the bullets before he left. Wondered if that would have worked. I decided to ask him when I got home.

The workday crawled by because my mind was so preoccupied with Michael and the Spear of Longinus. Something else nagged at the back of my mind, but it just wouldn't come to me. Figures.

Finally, my shift ended and I headed onto the street with an unnatural awareness of everyone who passed by me. A dark-haired man. Right. Because that was extremely specific and helpful.

Something scampered past my ankles—too big to be some kind of rodent. I stumbled, staring down in shock as I recognized the sleek black fur and familiar gold eyes. Michael's cat, Bast.

"Hey, you," I cooed, stooping to reach for her. "How the hell'd you get out of the apartment? You'd better come with me."

As if understanding my words, the cat mewled in protest and scampered down the alleyway to my left. Groaning, I broke into a jog and tried to catch up. The cat darted around a corner to the right and I followed, calling after it.

"Oh, c'mon! My place's not that bad!"

I rounded the corner, hopped over a few trashcans, and squeezed my way past a large dumpster. No sign of the cat. I went to the alley on my right, bending down to look behind the trashcans at the dead end.

"Bast? Where'd you go?"

A voice spoke directly into my left ear. "Looking for someone, my dear?"

A cold shock went up my spine. I whirled around, fists raised, only to stand there stupefied by the sight before me. There stood a Japanese man in a black tuxedo and matching gloves, smiling at me. It was the man from my nightmare. I hadn't even remembered it until I saw that pale face of his again.

"You...no, that's not possible," I whispered, my arms dropping to my sides like deadweight.

The man tilted his head at an angle. "Whatever do you mean, my pet?"

I shook my head. "You can't be real. That was just a dream."

"I assure you, Jordan. I am quite real. And like in the dream, I am in need of your assistance."

"Why? You're not dead, are you?" I glanced down. Polished dress shoes adorned his feet. The man chuckled, a sound that crawled up my spine like a feather being drawn along my skin. I shuddered.

"Not at all. I am here to offer you a choice."

My throat went dry. Fear welled up from inside my chest where my heart thundered from the adrenaline.

"What choice?"

"I know the deepest desires of your heart, Jordan," the man said in his most soothing voice. "You long to be freed of this burden of trafficking souls. You want to live your life free of the Father's bonds. I can help you take back your life."

I slipped my hand into the pocket of my duster and gripped the rosary tightly. Everything finally clicked into place.

"Nice offer, but no thank you...demon."

His eyes narrowed. Another wave of fear washed over me as he glared with those slit-shaped pupils that reminded me of some sort of reptile. I thought he was getting angry but he merely started to chuckle again.

"Well played, my dear. I am indeed under the employ of the Fallen One. Unfortunately, your refusal is unacceptable. I'm afraid I will have to remove you from this alley by force."

He stepped towards me, still smiling like a serpent. "You may scream if you like."

I took a deep breath and withdrew my hand from my pocket. "That won't be necessary."

I slammed my fist into his stomach with the cross lying across my knuckles. He hissed, pitching forward. Ignoring the pain crackling through my right hand, I kneed him in the chin and then brought the same fist across the side of his face. The force of the blow knocked the demon into the left wall of the alley, doubled over, nursing the wounds. He was still too close to the end of alleyway. As soon as I made a break for it, he'd be able to grab me.

A sudden sound caught my attention. I thought the demon had been coughing. He was...laughing. I took a cautionary step back as he pushed off from the wall. Blood trickled down his chin as a wistful sigh escaped his lips. "It's been so long since I've felt pain in this body. It's quite delicious, I must say."

Don't panic. Stay calm. I tightened my jaw and spoke with confidence I didn't feel in the least. "Want the second course?"

The demon lowered his hands from his stomach, allowing his voice to take an almost regretful tone. "As much as I do, I cannot stall the ceremony any longer."

The humor drained out of his face, leaving it clear with malicious intent. I slid my left hand into the other pocket, gripping the vials of holy water. As soon as he stepped forward, I threw two of them at him. He dodged to the right almost effortlessly. I brought my fist up again, but then he vanished. Too late, I felt his breath on the nape of my neck. A horrible, vise-like grip wrapped around my right arm. He twisted it behind my back and slammed me face-first into the brick wall. The vicious blow stunned me. Blood dripped down my forehead, hot and thick.

He ripped the rosary from my sore knuckles and tore off the duster. The demon held my arms behind my back with one hand, sliding the other around my throat and squeezing. I gagged, struggling with every muscle in my body, but to no avail. Tears overflowed down my face as the last gasps of air escaped my mouth.

"You could have made this so much easier on yourself," the demon murmured against my ear. "Then again, that is what I like about you, dear Jordan. You're a fighter."

The world bled out of my eyes and darkness pooled in its place.

A bright orange light peeled back my eyelids, making me groan. The color swirled in unsteady intervals until I blinked a few times. Sunlight. The faint heat probably meant I was outside somewhere. My arms ached with dull pain from being held above my head. I strained my neck upward to see that my handcuffed hands dangled from a hook sticking out of a concrete wall behind me. My aching body swung back and forth when the warm wind fluttered over me. Tiny grey pebbles on the ground shifted as well.

I let my eyes adjust. I was on a rooftop of a building, but not within the city limits. It looked to be somewhere on the outskirts, maybe an old factory in a foreclosed sector.

Michael's body lay on top of a stone slate, motionless and yet somehow still gorgeous. Next to it stood the demon.

"Ah, you're awake," he purred, fixing me with an amused stare.

The grogginess I felt retreated in an instant, leaving me cold with fear and confusion. The wind picked up as he strolled towards me with the patience I imagined a serial killer had when he knew his victim was helpless. My feet skimmed the ground as I struggled, trying to strain the chain of the handcuffs to see if I could bend it. No such luck.

He clucked his tongue and shook his head, making his black hair flutter. "I wouldn't do that. You'll only hurt your wrists."

"What do you care? Aren't you going to torture me some more anyway?" Raw pain rippled through my injured throat, making me sound hoarse.

He smirked. "Would you prefer a lie or the truth?"

"Who are you?"

He shrugged. "I have many names and many forms, for I have served my master well for eons. This body happens to be my favorite because of the fear it seems to inspire. However, to ease your curious mind, you may call me Belial."

"Great. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, what do you want with me?"

"You are a very special girl, Jordan." Belial stopped mere inches from me and reached his gloved hand towards my neck. I flinched when he touched my throat, stroking the delicate skin as if I were a cat.

"The blood running through your veins is that of a Seer. In order to make this ceremony work, I will need it to open a channel into Michael's body. Once that is done, I can inhabit it myself."

"What does a demon want inside an angel's body?" I managed to get the question out without a shaky voice. Gabriel would have been proud.

Belial dropped his hand. "Angels have the power of emotional influence over humans. Surely you have realized this, spending time with God's Messenger himself. In that body, I will be able to control as many of you as I wish in order to serve my master."

I shook my head. "What good will that do you once Christ comes back in the Rapture?"

He merely smiled. "What good will it do the Son to return to a world that is beyond his control?"

The icy knot in my gut hardened into a glacier. Gabriel had been wrong. This wasn't just about me and Michael—this was about the free will of the entire world. I forced myself to take slow, even breaths and think logically. Belial hadn't killed me yet. Every second I was still alive was a second I could potentially keep this from happening. My best course of action would be to stall him, keep him talking, until Gabriel could get here. Not my best plan, but it was better than nothing.

"How did you even find me?" I demanded. His thin eyebrows rose in surprise, as if he hadn't expected me to ask, but the venomous smile remained intact. The guy seemed to like the sound of his own voice, which could work to my advantage.

"That is quite the interesting story. Two years ago, my master informed me that the Spear of Longinus had surfaced. It was being sold in an auction in Albany, New York. Thus, I was given a human body and told to retrieve two things: the spear and a Seer. My master is often enigmatic, so he did not tell me what these were for. I went to the auction, only to be outbid by your precious Michael."

He sneered when he spoke the angel's name, his eyes glittering with hatred. "I later cornered him outside and we fought. I was about to finish him off when a group of people spotted us. My priority was the spear, so unfortunately I had to retreat and find the Seer my master required. But before I left, I decided to take the ever-difficult angel out of the picture. I commanded the Spear to erase his identity so that none of the other angels would be able to find him. However, I underestimated the might of the spear itself. It wiped him from the entire history of the universe, leaving me without memory of him either. Thus, I continued on my mission to find a Seer."

The smile widened into a grin. "That is when I knew our fates were intertwined, sweet Jordan. I had located a Seer to entrap by sending out a lesser demon as bait. These creatures aren't particularly smart. They only seek out human souls and feed off their fear. The Seer fell for it and chased the demon into the apartment of a young woman."

My entire body went numb. Everything became deathly silent except for the sound of his voice.

"Do you understand now?"

"You sent that thing into my apartment. You're the reason I killed that man," I whispered, my throat tightening as I fought back tears of hatred.

"Indeed I did. You killed the man I was going to use for the sacrifice. It's quite interesting when you think about it. If you had not slain him, he would be in this situation instead of you."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell and rip free of these handcuffs and tear him apart. This beast was the reason I had been alone for two years straight, the reason I had to spend day after day looking for lost souls, the reason I had been drinking myself stupid in order to calm down enough to sleep, the reason I woke up constantly every night because of horrific dreams. The rage burned inside my chest like a wildfire. I was so angry I couldn't even speak.

Belial sighed. "I made the mistake of leaving the area after you killed the Seer because you had not yet had your Awakening. I reported back to my master with the Spear. That is when he informed me that he needed a Seer in order to gain access to an archangel's body, which I had unknowingly lost. Things seemed problematic until I stumbled across him one night while searching through the city. I confronted him in an alley and captured his body. The only task left was to locate a Seer, and all I had to do was wait. Regular souls are drawn to your kind. So was Michael's. You can imagine my surprise when I discovered you were the Seer he found. I spread my influence and reached out to you in a dream to see if I could win you over. When you refused, I planted one of my sentries to wait for you and the angel in his apartment."

"Bast."

"My, you catch on quick. I kept an eye on you until you were most vulnerable, and you played right into my hands."

"So that's it? You're going to kill me and then what?"

"I wouldn't be so bitter if I were you, my dear. I have plans for your soul after you die."

"What plans?"

The demon stepped closer, filling my vision with those empty eyes. "I asked the master for your soul in return for my services. When you die, you will become my servant."

I licked my lips, trying to remain calm as best as I could but I could feel myself starting to shiver from the finality of his words. "Why?"

Belial chuckled. "You're too modest. I was not lying when I said I liked you. I will thoroughly enjoy bending you to my will. Besides, it would be much more fun than simply killing you."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather have my soul destroyed than be your pet."

"That reaction alone makes me wish I didn't have to kill you right away," he sighed, closing those thick lashes over his eyes.

I fought back another urge to shiver with a question. "How can you claim my soul? I thought everyone who dies is taken before the Father and Son to decide if they go to Heaven or Hell."

Belial's eyes lit up. "Excellent question. But what you forget is that your soul is already damned. We know about the contract you've made with Gabriel. You haven't collected the one hundred souls, so yours belongs to my master to do with what he will. In this case, it will be given to me."

I swallowed hard. "Why'd you wait until sunset?"

He stepped away, walking towards where Michael's body lay and picked up the Spear of Longinus. The wooden shaft of the spear had been snapped off. The tip looked sharp despite being worn with time. He stroked the blade almost lovingly, like a kid with a delicious piece of candy.

"The Lord's power works best in the light. At night, His power dims and mine grows. When the sun goes down, I will be able to perform the ritual at full strength. Take in the last of the sun, dear Jordan. When night falls, you are mine."

Panicked, I glanced at the horizon over the city. The dusky orange had given way to a dark navy blue. A sliver of the sun was still visible, but from here it looked as if it were dying—dragging down all the beautiful pinks, reds, and yellows down in its throes. I didn't have long, maybe less than a minute. Where the hell was Gabriel?

When I turned my head again, Belial stood right in front of me. As I stared at him, a strange sense of calm enveloped me.

"Are you afraid?" he whispered. I shook my head slowly.

The demon rested his gloved fingertips over my heart, testing my pulse to see if I were lying. "Why not?"

"Whatever happens...it ends tonight. I have no choice in the matter. There's nothing left for me but death or salvation. You have nothing left to scare me with."

"Then close your eyes and say a prayer, sweet Jordan. I will send you to sleep." Belial lifted the spear, its tip crusted with the blood of Christ, of Michael, and soon to be with mine. The sun finally disappeared from sight, wrapping the two of us in darkness. I let my eyes fall shut and words spilled from my mouth from memory.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven

Hallowed be thy name

Thy kingdom come

Thy will be done

On Earth, as it is in Heaven

Give us this day our daily bread

And forgive us our trespassers

As we forgive those who trespass against us

Lead us not into temptation

But deliver us from evil

For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory, forever.

Amen."

"Jordan!"

I opened my eyes to see Gabriel soaring over the edge of the building, his wings spread wide. Michael dangled from his arms, shouting my name. In that exact moment, Belial plunged the spear into the spot a few inches above my heart. Excruciating pain ate through my chest as my blood overflowed the wound, coating both the rest of the spear and Belial's hands. Agony climbed through my limbs like acid and stole my breath.

Hit too many arteries, I thought sluggishly. I'll only have a few minutes before I die. When this notion filled my mind, I should have panicked or cried, but I didn't. All I could think was, I hope I get to say goodbye to Michael.

"Thank you for your sacrifice, Seer. With this life blood, I will usher in the era of the Dark One," Belial said with an insidious smile. He ripped the blade out of my chest, turning to face the angel and poltergeist that had landed on the roof.

"Filthy creature!" Gabriel shouted, his beautiful golden wings flaring in anger. "Father should have sent you lower than the depths of Hell when he banished you and your wretched leader from the Heavens."

"On the contrary, archangel. He could not have given us a sweeter reward than to free us of His tyranny. Let me show you how your Lord has blessed me."

He rushed forward, almost too fast for my eyes to follow. Gabriel darted after him in a graceful arc, drawing the elegant sword from his waist and shouting at Michael over his shoulder.

"Attend to Jordan!"

Gabriel swung downward in a powerful stroke, but Belial met it with the tip of the spear, deflecting the blow. They moved with deadly, liquid grace, scattering gravel this way and that as they fought.

Michael raced around the other side of his body to meet me, his green eyes wide with panic as they fell across the wound.

"Jordan, stay with me. I need you to focus." He wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me until my handcuffs came free from the hook. Michael sank to his knees and laid me on the ground, his hands hovering over the wound. Each inhale burned like hell. The blood that oozed outward took my strength with it.

I took a deep breath, struggling to speak. "I-It's not your fault. I know you did the best you could. Please...help Gabriel."

"I can't. Jordan, you've got a hole in your chest."

I managed a small smile. "Guess that means I'm not going anywhere. Go."

He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes momentarily before starting to stand up. "Don't die. I'd hate to have to miss you."

I let my head roll backward just in time to catch sight of Michael racing towards the battle between Belial and Gabriel. The angel had managed to drive the demon farther away from the body, but he had a cut on his cheek, arm, and over his left knee from the spear. The demon hadn't fared much better. Even from here I could see the tears in his suit that had been marred with blood.

Belial reached back to swing, but Michael grabbed his arm, shoving his palm upward at the demon's elbow. Belial's arm broke with a sickening crack, and the demon roared with pain. The spear flew from his grasp, landing a few feet away from Michael's body. Gabriel's sword flashed as he slashed his blade across Belial's chest, slicing a gash down his front. The demon let his broken arm go limp at his side and grabbed Michael by the throat with his other hand, throwing him at Gabriel. The angel reacted only a second too slow, moving aside on reflex. Belial ran for the spear, sweeping it up and slamming it into the chest of Michael's body.

I cried out as something boiled within me, as if my very essence were being torn apart. It burned so badly I couldn't breathe. I could only writhe on the floor, feeling salty blood well up in the back of my throat.

A light shot up into the sky from Michael's body, nearly blinding me. I could just barely see Belial's face, a mask of fiendish glee, as Michael's body arched upward on its own. He let the weapon clatter to the rooftop and hovered over the blinding light: bruised, bloodied, and ecstatic.

"Master will be so proud," he said, leaning forward to climb into the light. The demon's fingertips brushed over the area above the wound when he stopped in mid-motion. His body jerked forward as Michael ran him through with the spear, twisting the end for good measure.

"Go to hell," Michael spat, stepping back to let Belial's body fall. The demon hit the roof with a solid sound, painting the gravel black with his blood. He drew in a couple shallow breaths, his voice wet and thick with hatred.

"Savor...your victory now, archangel. I will return and take what is mine."

With a final gurgle, the demon went still. Gabriel and Michael hurried over to me, kneeling on either side of my trembling form. Gabriel snapped the chain of the handcuffs with ease, but I couldn't really feel it. The pain had receded and with it came numbness. I could barely breathe anymore. I had lost too much blood.

"Can you save her?"

Gabriel scanned the wound. "I should be able to seal it up."

He plucked a feather from his wing and started to lay it over the gash, but I caught his wrist. "Don't."

Gabriel's mouth fell open. "Jordan, what are you—"

"If you heal me, the portal to Michael's body will close," I said through shallow breaths. "Let him go back."

Michael shook his head. "No. No, I won't do it. I will not be responsible for your death, Jordan!"

"It's not your choice to make. I have to make things right. This is the only way to truly atone for the life I took."

"Jordan, there is no way to know if the Father will accept this in place of the hundredth soul you owe," Gabriel said in a pleading voice. Now that he was so near to me, I could feel waves of worry pouring off the angel and flowing inside me. So much compassion. I had never felt such a powerful sensation before.

"I know. Finish it."

He raised his eyes up to Michael, whose face had crumbled into something between anguish and disbelief. My limbs were shaking badly, but I still reached up and touched the side of his cheek to make him look me in the eye. The strange metaphysical energy of his poltergeist form spilled across my tired skin and gave me enough power to speak clearly.

"This is what you were born to do, Michael. You're an archangel. The people in this world need you more than I do."

"What if I need you?" he whispered, almost as if he were ashamed of what he was saying.

I smiled. "That's the most...beautiful thing..."

He pressed a finger over my lips before I could finish the V for Vendetta quote and returned the smile, though it was weak around the edges. "You watch too many movies. Goodbye, Jordan."

His lips pressed to my forehead, a strangely soft tingle, before he got up and walked over to his body. Gabriel brushed the hair from my face and kissed the back of my hand, his lovely face heavy with regret.

"I will treasure you always."

"Back atcha, Gabe."

I didn't see Michael enter his body. I felt it. It felt like sliding beneath the warm covers of a bed after a long day—safe, comfortable, alleviating. Death swept me up into its arms and carried me away to darkness where there was no pain, no suffering, and not a care in the world. I couldn't have asked for more.

BOOK TWO: IN MEDIAS RES

Under his gloomy power I shall not long

Lie vanquished; thou has given me to possess

Life in myself forever, by thee I live,

Though now to Death I yield, and am his due

All that of me can die, yet that debt paid,

Thou wilt not leave me in the loathsome grave

His prey, nor suffer my unspotted soul

Forever with corruption there to dwell.

-Paradise Lost, John Milton

Chapter Eight

I had been expecting great leaping flames, sinister cackling, and maybe Peter Stormare dressed in all white to greet me in the pits of hell, but that didn't happen. The first indication that I was alive was that I could see the ceiling fan of my bedroom. Then, like a tidal wave, I felt pain. Everywhere. My bruised hand, my punctured chest, my sore arms—the agony hit my poor senses all at once. I closed my eyes and just lay there until the sensory overload receded.

I gathered my arms beneath me to sit up. It wasn't easy but I managed to prop my back up against the headboard. Michael sat in a chair to my right with his head resting on the mattress, slumped over asleep. Then, I noticed that his hand, which had been resting near mine, was emitting heat. Michael was alive. Alive.

Then why the hell was I?

I reached out towards him just enough to brush my fingertips over the back of his hand. Michael grunted and rolled his head to the side, peeking up at me through a waterfall of brown hair. A sleepy smile tugged at his lips.

"You're awake."

I cleared my throat a few times until I could speak. "You're alive."

He stood and perched himself on the bed, brow furrowing with concern. "How do you feel?"

I shrugged one shoulder, immediately regretting it as my chest wound stung. "Like I've been choked, stabbed, and handcuffed."

"It could have been a lot worse," Michael murmured, tugging aside the bloodstained button up shirt to reveal the heavily bandaged part of my chest.

"I know. Why wasn't it? I thought I died."

"You did," he said in that same soft voice. "But after Father saw what you did in order to restore my life, He decided to wipe your debt clean."

"So...when I die...I'm not going to Hell?"

Michael finally smiled. "You're not going to Hell."

A rush of relief flooded through me from head to toe. I lay my head back, resisting the urge to cry. "Thank God."

"You bet I did."

It took a minute or so before I could regain composure. When my eyes were dry and my throat clear, I spoke up. "That reminds me. Does this mean you have all your memories back?"

The smile waned. "Yes. I remember everything about being an archangel, but...it's sort of bittersweet."

I tilted my head in question. "Why?"

"The Michael you knew is now just a small fraction of who I am. I will never be him again." His voice held such regret in it that I reached out and touched his hand, trying to choose the right words to express how I felt. As annoying as his poltergeist self had been, I did like him deep down. I hadn't even considered the fact that regaining his body and all of his memories would change his personality.

"Who you are and who you were are the men that I owe my life to. You can never disappoint me, Michael." My words had the kind of truth I expected from someone like Gabriel. I wasn't the smartest or most eloquent person. However, judging by the relieved expression on the angel's face, I made my point well.

"Thank you. For everything. Your faith is something no one can replace."

I waved the comment away. "Knock it off. Just because you got your body back doesn't mean you get to sweet talk me."

Michael laughed. As with Gabriel, the joyous feeling filled my chest and erased the aches and pains that had previously resided there. I caught myself wishing he would never leave and cursed my vulnerable state.

Just then, Gabriel walked through the door with a dark-haired Hispanic man I didn't recognize. They were both wearing street clothes: Gabriel in a black sweater and dark blue jeans while the stranger wore a grey button-up shirt and black slacks.

I lifted an eyebrow. "I'm digging the casual look on you, Gabe. Be careful or one of these Albany girls might make off with you."

The handsome angel blushed, to my delight. "I'll be quite careful. Jordan, this is Raphael. He's going to be treating you."

"Raphael? As in archangel Raphael?"

Gabriel nodded. I squirmed in my seat. "Geez, I'm really getting the star treatment, aren't I? Why are three of God's archangels wasting time with a waitress?"

Raphael spoke with a surprisingly deep voice that had a hint of a Spanish accent in the background. "You don't give yourself enough credit. You made an important sacrifice. You are entitled to a bit of attention."

That made me smile. "Fantastic. You wouldn't mind bringing me something to eat, would you?"

"Certainly not. Michael, mind showing me around?"

"No problem." Giving my hand a final squeeze, Michael stood and led Raphael out of the room in search of food. Gabriel sat beside me and began inspecting the many bandages adorning my body.

"What happened to Belial?"

Anger flickered across Gabriel's face at the mention of the demon's name. "We burned his body, but unfortunately the Spear of Longinus did not kill him permanently. Demons are very hard to destroy. Their souls are simply expelled from their bodies and return to Hell where their wretched leader gets them new ones."
"Guess I'll be needing a lot more crosses, then," I said, trying not to wince as he checked my chest wound.

He nodded with a grim expression. "Many. Michael was immensely concerned with your condition. He even went before the Father and Son to plead on your behalf."

My jaw dropped. "Plead what on my behalf?"

"I think she might want to hear this from me, Gabe." I spotted Michael in the doorway with a glass of ice water and a Nutra-Grain bar. Raphael entered behind him, glancing between us with a worried look. I eyed Michael's careful expression as he walked towards me with the food. He very pointedly did not look at me as he handed the items over.

"Hear what?"

"Based on the persistent nature of the demon Belial, I asked the Father to remain at your side until we have determined he no longer wants possession of your soul."

I sputtered in mid-swallow of the water. "What?"

Michael cleared his throat. "It was the logical thing to do."

"Logical? Michael, you're an archangel. You can't just hang around my stuffy little one-bedroom apartment!" I exclaimed, resisting the urge to throw the health bar at his head.

"I'm not moving in with you and I won't be abandoning my post as Commander of God's Army. I'll just be continuing my job here on Earth alongside you."

I gave Gabriel a pleading look. "There is no way The Big Guy agreed to this, right?"

Gabriel coughed into his hand. I noticed the upward twitch of his lips. The damn angel was trying not to laugh. "He found it to be an acceptable proposition. I'm quite sorry."

I palmed my forehead, trying to wrap my head around this ridiculous idea. Well, at least this put an end to the problem of being alone. Lord knows I had never thought it would be ended by way of archangel.

Gabriel spoke up, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. "I can see the two of you will need time to adjust to this change. We will be back tomorrow to check your wounds, Jordan."

The two left the room in a hurry. Smart angels. I took a deep breath, licked my dry lips, and tried to figure out where to start.

"I'm not sure if you noticed, but I'm not much of a people person, Michael. It won't be easy with you hanging around me all the time."

He took a seat at the foot of the bed. "Do you want to know why I volunteered to do this? Other than the whole 'there's a demon trying to get you' thing?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice." I hadn't meant to sound so mean, honest, but I suddenly remembered Michael's words before I died. They rang clearly in my head, almost mocking me: What if I need you? As silly as it sounded, I felt embarrassed and defensive. Did he still feel that way or was that just the other Michael?

"I may have only been with you a week, but I feel I can do more here than I thought. Yes, it's true that you are smart and tough and independent, but you've been alone for so long. I owe you my life. This is the least I can do."

I wanted to protest, but I remained silent because he was right. I'd been doing things on my own as soon as I got old enough to leave my aunt's apartment in inner city New Jersey. She had been cruel because I reminded her too much of my mother. She already had two kids and a distant husband to worry about. Nearly all of the growing up I had done as a person, I did so alone.

That didn't mean I could accept it. "But I barely know you."

Michael spared me a soft smile. "Then I guess we'll have to get reacquainted."

He stuck out his hand. "Michael the archangel, Prince of Heaven's Army."

I finally sighed and took it. "Jordan Amador. Welcome to my world."

Chapter Nine

The first order of business was calling work. The incident had caused me to miss two days. Gabriel came up with the cover story: I had been violently mugged and would be recuperating for two weeks minimum. Colton sent Lauren over to check on me (and probably confirm that I wasn't lying) and she nearly fell apart when she saw my condition. She told me she knew relatives who would fly over here from Korea and hunt down my attacker, but I managed to convince her not to do it. Strangely enough, it was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to me.

Michael posed as an at-home nurse assistant in the daytime hours. I told Lauren I was deathly afraid of hospitals, so they had discharged me. When he left to get me more food, Lauren asked for his number. I'd laughed so hard I nearly reopened my stitches.

Speaking of those, Raphael had actually treated me while I had been unconscious. It turns out that he couldn't bring me to full health because of the massive strain I had already gone through. Raphael worried that using all of his healing powers might push my body past its limits.

At the moment, we were in my bathroom with the door shut—me perched on the side of the bathtub with Raphael sitting in a chair across from me. His hands were warm and firm against my skin as he tested my temperature, examined the bruises, and moved the joints in my injured hand. Everything still hurt, but not nearly as bad as when I first woke up. I probably should have felt more uncomfortable being shirtless in front of a man I had only known for two days, but Raphael kept me distracted with conversation as he worked. Plus, angels weren't attracted to human beings so there was no sexual tension to be had, much to my relief.

"So does Michael have any of your healing abilities?" I asked.

He offered me a faint smile. "Michael is more of a fighter than a healer. I've had more experience in this area."

I arched an eyebrow. "Aren't all archangels sword-toting badasses?"

He chuckled—a warm, rolling sound. "Not exactly. He is the more proficient strategist when it comes to fighting. It has always been that way."

"If that's true, do you really think he'll do a good job of taking care of me?"

I could tell the question surprised him. He paused, mulling the thought over. "Each archangel has strengths and weaknesses. As God's Messenger, Gabriel interacts easily with human beings, but lacks the hardened nature of a warrior like Michael. As God's Healer, I have extensive skills in treating the bodies and souls of humans so I lack the desire to harm others. Michael is the superior commander, but he has spent the least amount of time on Earth. I believe this is why Father sent him to return the Spear of Longinus to its proper place. I think that is also why Father agreed to let him stay on Earth with you. There is much more he can learn here than in Heaven."

"You didn't answer my question."

Raphael grinned, tossing the small pile of old bandages in the wastebasket before standing. "Yes, Jordan. I think he will do a fine job taking care of you, and vice versa."

I frowned. "How could I possibly take care of an archangel?"

His brown eyes twinkled as he spared me an enigmatic smile. "How indeed."

I shook my head and offered him my hands, which he took to help lift me to my somewhat shaky feet. He opened the door and held me steady to walk back to my bed. He could have just picked me up, but I insisted I could get there myself. Stubborn? Who, me?

From my bed, I could see into the kitchen where Michael stood at the stove cooking something. He even wore an apron, which made me giggle. I'd have to make fun of him for it later.

Raphael handed me a glass of water before zipping up his leather bag. "That should be all for now."

He hesitated, his brow furrowing in a slight frown. "Are you sure you don't want me to heal your back?"

Discomfort curled through my stomach in a cold wave. I didn't like that he'd seen them—my scars. It raised a lot of questions, and none of them I wanted to answer. "No. I'm alright."

"Very well. I will be dropping by a few times a week to check on your progress. Make sure not to put too much stress on your body."

I nodded. "Thank you. I owe you my life."

He smiled. This time, I could feel a different emotion than with Gabriel and Michael. An overwhelming sense of calm washed through me. I felt safe in his presence.

"Think nothing of it. Good night, Jordan."

With that, he turned and left, nodding to Michael before leaving the apartment. It made me realize this would be the first time I was alone with the new (or would that be old?) Michael. Just how much of the Michael I knew was in there? That was the million-dollar question.

I searched the top of my nightstand for the remote control and turned on the TV. Midway through Transformers, Michael appeared with a bowl of chili and a spoon. I couldn't stop staring.

"Do you realize how weird it is that you're an angel who knows how to cook?" I pointed out, hoping my question would mask the sound of my stomach growling.

Michael shrugged, handing me the bowl, spoon, and napkin he'd brought with him. "Man's gotta eat."

"That reminds me—what kind of body is that? Is it like Gabriel described?" I continued, tasting the first spoonful. Oh, Lord. It was delicious. The urge to shovel in several mouthfuls was intense.

"It's...a little hard to explain," he admitted, sitting on the edge of my bed. The little blue apron was gone. I missed it.

"This is a hybrid body: half-human and half-angel. I look human to blend in with everyone else, but I can still use my abilities."

"So where are your wings?"

"They'll appear if I concentrate hard enough."

I considered asking him to show them to me, but I figured that was a little personal. "What kind of abilities do you have?"

"Seeing spirits, something similar to super strength, influencing emotions and will power...those sorts of things."

"Are the demons the same way?"

Michael's eyes narrowed a bit. As with Gabriel, the angels really didn't like it when I mentioned their evil counterparts. It was understandable: Belial had been the foulest creature I'd ever met, dead or alive.

"You could say that. They too have human bodies, but demon souls. Belial is Satan's personal favorite of all his minions. He's the most resourceful, since he's spent the most time on Earth. It's hard to keep track of him because he switches among his own line of human bodies every so often."

A shudder crawled up my spine when I thought about his creepy smile and lifeless eyes. "Can he possess anyone?"

Michael shook his head. "Two souls can't share the same body without one of them being expelled. That's why possessed people are so violent. The two spirits fight for control. A demon only uses that tactic if his original body is in danger of being destroyed."

I lowered the bowl. "Belial mentioned something about a lower class demon he sent as a lure for Mr. N. How is it that things like that can walk around in our world?"

"Trust me, it wasn't supposed to. As Gabriel said, Father has not directly interacted with the human race since the Transfiguration of the Son. It's the same with Satan. He isn't allowed to make his presence known to mankind. Instead, he sends his minions out to corrupt. To counter his actions, Father implements everything through the archangels. Sometimes He will give specific orders, but in general we travel between Heaven and Earth keeping peace."

"So what happens when I help souls cross over to the other side?"

"The archangel Uriel escorts the souls up to the gates of Heaven for judgment."

My eyebrows rose in surprise. "Damn, I guess Milton really was onto something when he wrote Paradise Lost."

Michael flashed me a grin. "He had a little help."

I rolled my eyes. "Be more vague."

"I can try."

Ignoring this, I moved on to my next pressing question. "How did you guys find me after Belial kidnapped me?"

"That's a bit more complicated. When you fell out of consciousness, you entered a state that can be tracked. Because you're a Seer, your mind sends out certain kinds of energy that we angels can feel, and so we followed it to where you were."

I considered his words. "Maybe that's how Belial was able to find me in the first place. The first time I saw him was in a dream. I wish I had remembered it earlier."

"Well, at least you know now."

"Can I ask you something else about him?"

"If you must."

"Why are his eyes like that? Like a snake's? I've never seen anything like it before."

"It's the mark of an archdemon. There are only five of them, if you recall—Belial, Mulciber, Moloch, Mammon, and Beelzebub. They consider themselves to be the Princes of Hell, as they were Satan's most loyal followers before the Fall. Only Seers and angels can see the mark. To the average person, his eyes look normal."

Feeling sufficiently full from the chili I'd devoured, I reached out to place it on the nightstand, only to wince as another wave of pain spread through my upper torso. Michael stopped me in mid-motion, putting the bowl down for me. My lack of mobility annoyed me to no end.

"So what do you suppose we're gonna do for the next ten days that I'm stuck in this bed?"

"I thought you'd ask me that," he replied, reaching for the floor by the foot of the bed. He held up a plastic bag and dropped it next to me on the bedspread. The thing was nearly bursting with books of all sizes.

I lifted an eyebrow at him. "You sure know how to thrill a girl."

Michael rolled his eyes. "It's more enriching than T.V. Besides, there's some good stuff in here that you might find...therapeutic."

He glanced at the closed drawer of my nightstand, frowning a little. I couldn't blame him. My alcohol dependence was unhealthy and I knew it, but so far I hadn't found a better way to cope with the nightmares. Couldn't afford the therapy, and the very thought of Alcoholics Anonymous intimidated me.

To distract myself from this notion, I picked up a thin green book with a familiar title, reciting the first stanza of "Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night" from memory.

"A Dylan Thomas fan, I see," Michael said with a grin. "Maybe you're not such a heathen after all." I fought the urge to make a face at him and pointed to the bookcase on the left side of my bed that was piled high with books: poetry, classic literature, contemporary novels, and pretty much anything I'd been able to get my hands on.

Before he could respond in an undoubtedly smartass way, I spoke. "Don't you have somewhere to be? You are an up-and-coming rock star, remember?"

I paused, considering my words. "Wait, are you still going to live the way you did when you thought you were human?"

"I thought it over and decided it would be the easiest way to coexist here on Earth. Hiding in plain sight, I suppose."

He grabbed the remote and shut off the television before scooping the book out of my hands, which confused me.

"Relax. I'll read it for you. I've been told I have a soothing voice."

"Somebody lied to you."

Michael sighed. "I'm beginning to regret our arrangement already."

"Join the club. We have milk and cookies, and go on cookouts every Friday."

"Jordan?"

"Yes?"

"Hush."

After Michael read through most of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, I fell asleep. The nightmares came, but I only woke up once during the night. Michael had slipped out of the apartment by then. It was harder to fall asleep the second time, but I managed.

I woke when I heard movement in the kitchen. Groaning, I buried my head beneath the pillow until my body stopped throbbing with pain. I ventured to take a peek. Michael had kindly left the bedroom door open, and I could see him laying plastic bags full of groceries on the counter. Almost immediately, my mood perked up. He'd bought me food? Hell, maybe I could get used to this.

My dry throat begged for water so I obliged, draining the rest of the glass that had been sitting on the ever-crowded nightstand. I cleared my throat loud and calling out "Hey" to Michael.

He glanced over at me. "Morning."

"Morning. Is it weird that I have a hard time picturing you in a grocery store?"

He gave me a cryptic smile. "There's a lot you're gonna have to get used to with me. Anyway, roll over. I have to make sure you didn't bleed through the bandages during the night."

I turned over, propping my back against the headboard. I'd ditched the ruined button up shirt for a dark purple one—man-sized so I wouldn't be exposing too much. Sure, he was an angel, but I couldn't help wanting to be modest around him anyway. Maybe because he was my friend now. Thankfully, the wound was high on my chest, so I could still wear a bra underneath.

I started to unbutton the shirt myself but he told me not to since one of my hands still had a magnificent bruise across the knuckles. Lucky me, though, because it didn't hurt that much any more. The purplish skin had grown stiff, but I could tell it was beginning to heal, as was the circle of bruises around my throat. With Raphael's continued treatments, they would fade within days.

Michael waved his hand in front of my face, making me jump. "I asked you if you were hungry."

Damn, I hadn't realized how hard I'd been thinking. He'd finished checking the bandages without me even noticing. "Yeah."

He tilted his head a little. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"You're chewing your bottom lip like you do when you're trying not to frown."

I stared at him in shock. "How could you have possibly noticed that about me? We've known each other for like what? Three days?"

Michael merely shrugged. I shook my head. "Go get me food."

After a moment, I added the word "please" and Michael cracked a smile. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you say that."

"Don't get used to it."

"Always a charmer, aren't we?" With that, he loped off to the kitchen. I watched him go with a strange sort of bemusement. I couldn't understand how Michael rolled with the punches the way he did. My personality was naturally cranky, but for some reason he didn't seem to mind. I wondered if the patience came from being an angel.

Somewhere during my musing, I caught a whiff of how I smelled and nearly gagged. My body had been in such a delicate condition that I hadn't been able to shower since the incident. Unacceptable. I tossed the covers back and set my feet on the floor, firmly resolved to fix this problem. My legs burned with pain after I stood up and several ligaments cracked, but it wasn't too bad altogether. Huzzah.

I shuffled my way over to the dresser in front of the bed and gathered some undergarments from the corner of the drawer. Really needed to wash my clothes soon. Maybe I'd guilt my new bodyguard into doing them for me. I managed to reach the bathroom without toppling over or anything when Michael called from the kitchen.

"What kind of food are you in the mood for?"

"The edible kind." I yelled back. "It'll have to wait until after my shower."

A pause. Hurried footsteps. Michael appeared in the doorway with a frown. "Wait, what?"

I pointed at the tub. "Me. Shower. Now."

"Jordan, you really shouldn't be moving around that much. Your stitches might tear. Can't this wait a little longer?"

"The day I can't wash my own ass is the day I don't need to continue living," I said, flipping on the faucet. Water rushed into the tub—a relaxing sound in itself.

He sighed. "You have a point. But don't take a shower. You shouldn't be standing for any long period of time. Take a bath and don't let the water soak into your wound. I'll be out here if you need any help."

I paused. There was just no way I could let that one go. "Would you like to help me bathe, Michael?"

To my amusement, he cleared his throat and wouldn't meet my eyes. "Not what I meant."

"Honestly, it would make the entire experience more bearable." I could feel the grin taking over my lips and didn't fight it. Hell, it was the most fun I'd had in a while. Apparently, the new Michael could get flustered. Interesting.

He shot me an accusing look. "You really are shameless, aren't you?"

Was it my imagination or was he blushing? Ha! "It's all part of my charm."

Michael shook his head and shut the door without replying. I allowed myself one small giggle before adjusting the water's temperature and shedding both my clothes and the bandages.

As the tub filled, I took a good look at myself in the mirror. There was really only one word for what I saw: yikes. The stitches were still visible on my chest, where ugly mounds of light brown flesh had gathered around the wound. Whenever they came out, there would definitely be a large, jagged scar in its place. A ring of bruises marred my neck and a sizeable one peeked out from beneath my hair where my head had hit the wall in the alley. I felt another surge of anger towards Belial. It was one thing to hurt me emotionally, but the bastard had physically marked me. Gabriel said there was no known way to destroy a demon soul.

I was sure as hell going to find one someday.

With my hair down I looked a lot like my mother. She had been from Madrid while my father was black, origin unknown. That was just about the only thing I knew about my father. He'd left before I was born. As for my mother, she was an entirely different story. One I didn't like to revisit often.

After the tub filled, I took my sweet time lowering myself into the smooth porcelain and soothing hot water. My injuries stung, but it was heavenly after I settled in. I lay my head back and just went still. Got to enjoy the little things in life.

My thoughts started to drift as I lay there, making sure not to let the water hit my chest wound. How long would Michael stay with me? Is this how cohabitation worked—a constant exchange of banter between two people? Or was our situation unique? Hell if I knew. The last relationship I'd been in ended in tatters. We'd never even made it to the moving-in stage. How did people do this on a regular or even permanent basis? Then again, who was I to complain? I had an archangel at my beck and call. You'd think I would be more grateful. Then again, attention from anyone, especially men, made me defensive. Stupid, but true.

I drained the tub and climbed out, drying off slowly on account of my stiff limbs. The underwear took an annoying amount of time to put on, but I managed. Finally, I wrapped myself in a thick navy robe and called for Michael.

Once more, I sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the opposite wall as Michael sat in a chair he'd gotten from the kitchen and redressed my chest. I kept the robe bunched around my waist, hiding everything at navel level and lower. He hadn't been this close to me before we'd known each other so I started noticing little things about him, like how he smelled. His scent was a mix of Old Spice deodorant and some sort of sweet aftershave. Unlike Gabriel or Raphael, his fingertips were rough from playing the guitar. I'd never noticed how large his hands were up until now.

"Something on your mind?"

I glanced at Michael. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's been five minutes and you haven't insulted me yet. I'm getting worried." His green eyes sparkled with amusement.

I scowled. "It's not all about you, y'know."

He chuckled. "My fault. Still, what's on your mind?"

I searched for something to say because it wouldn't be appropriate to admit I'd been thinking about the way he smelled or how big his hands were. "Not much. I was just thinking how long it's been since I've had someone around all the time."

"No boyfriend?"

I winced. "Once. Terrell Molding. It...ended badly."

"What happened?"

"We had been dating before the incident with Mr. N. As you can imagine, things got rough afterward. I knew I couldn't tell him what I'd seen because he wouldn't believe me, so I pushed him away."

"That must have been hard for you." His voice was soft with sympathy rather than pity. A small part of me felt relieved by that.

I shrugged and then winced because it still hurt. Gotta stop doing that. "I got over it. It wouldn't have worked out in the long run anyway."

"What makes you say that?"

"He wanted the American dream: a beach house in Hawaii, a white picket fence, two kids, and a dog. Despite everything around him, he still held on to the illusion that people are good and life is sweet. We were from two completely different worlds."

Michael was silent. "I don't think that's the problem."

"What do you mean?"

"It's still the same world, but you two just saw it differently."

"I guess that's true."

"Now that you've gotten your life back, will you try to make things work with him?"

That caught me off-guard. "W-Well, I didn't really consider it, no."

"Why not?"

"Who are you? Dr. Phil?"

"Jordan, for once, just answer the question."

"I...I never felt like I was good enough for him, alright? He was on track to become a pediatrician and he came from a large, successful family. I couldn't stand the thought of going home to his family in California with my background."

"Background?"

"I already told you what happened to my parents. I didn't even go to college. His whole family comes from a prestigious line of African descent and I'm mixed. They weren't very happy with that."

"Why should they matter at all if you loved the guy?"

"No one ever said I loved him." My voice was small and defensive when I spoke. I hated that. He didn't speak at first—just finished the last bit of my bandages and tugged my robe closed.

I shook my head. "I guess that's a pretty stupid reason for not trying, hm?"

"Want to know what I really think?"

"Knock yourself out," I said, avoiding eye contact because it made me feel too vulnerable.

Michael leaned forward in his chair and brushed a lock of hair behind my ear to catch my attention. "I think you're way harder on yourself than other people are, and you shouldn't be because there's nothing wrong with you that's beyond saving."

Before I could reply, he stood up and offered me his hand. "Now come on. Your food's getting cold."

Chapter Ten

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Did I stutter?"

I had been expecting a right cross. Instead, I got kicked in the stomach.

My body crumpled like a paper doll. I couldn't help clutching the injured spot with both hands, as if that would dull the pain. It wormed up from my abs to my chest, blossoming outward to my limbs. Still, I couldn't stay in the same place or he'd hit me again, so I threw myself to the side as he tried to trip me. I came up on one knee and brought both forearms up as his right leg came down, heel first. I blocked the blow and punched him in the back of the knee.

Jared hissed and danced two steps backwards, hopping on one foot. "Damn. Good hit, Jor."

"Thanks," I rasped, rubbing my midsection. I'd be bruised later. Michael wouldn't like that. Then again, that was why I hadn't told him about this little session of mine.

Jared offered a hand and I took it, grateful as he pulled me to my feet. After a moment, I could breathe normally and returned to a defensive stance.

A couple people had stopped to watch us. I shot them hard looks, which made them wander off and pretend like they hadn't been staring. I understood them, though. It wasn't every day that a big black guy and an average height mixed girl with a bandaged chest and scars trained in a gym. Though I suspected they wanted to make sure he wasn't wiping the floor with me, which he was.

Jared was a fourth-degree black belt. I hadn't even had official martial arts training. Everything I knew about self-defense, I learned from him shortly after I moved to Albany two years ago. We met at the gym, and since he knew I couldn't afford lessons, he took pity and taught me whenever he had free time.

His brown eyes wandered down my upper body and he paused, giving me a concerned look. "Need a break yet?"

I wiped the sweat off my forehead. "Nah. Maybe in about ten minutes or so. What's the verdict so far?"

He relaxed his 6'3'' frame and I knew I was in the clear for at least another five minutes. Jared wasn't the type to attack without warning. "Your reaction time has taken the biggest hit, if you ask me. The advantage you usually have over me is speed, and that's nowhere present from what I've seen. For instance, when you raise your arms to block, it's not very solid. I could break through it if I wanted to."

I winced. "Got it. Anything I can do to fix that?"

He shot me a disapproving look. "Oh, I don't know, bed rest like your damn doctor recommended?"

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Mom."

Jared sighed. "Fine. If you swear up and down that you want to improve...yoga."

"Yoga."

"Yes, yoga."

"Can you really see me in a pair of tights bending myself into a pretzel?"

He rubbed his goatee, adopting an amused look. "Y'know, it's not a bad mental image."

I flipped him off and he laughed. "I mean it, though. It'll get you limber without stressing your body out too much."

"I'll take it into consideration. Now let's go again."

He sank into a defensive position. I launched myself at him, aiming kicks at him since my upper body strength had taken most of the damage from Belial's attack. Jared blocked my blows with expert ease, hopping out of the way when I tried to trip him. I aimed a chop at his throat when I found an opening, but he grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm, throwing me over his shoulder. I hit the mat with a solid thud, groaning as pain flooded up my spine in a startling rush.

Jared stood over me with a neutral expression. "You okay, tough guy?"

I waved a hand to dismiss the comment. "Sure. I'll let you know when my dislocated vertebrae pops back into place."

He chuckled, but then the grin disappeared when he spotted something over my head. "Uh, were you expecting company?"

"No. Why?"

Jared pointed. "Because there's a tall guy heading this way who looks like he wants a piece."

I tilted my head up to see Michael storming down the aisle between the mats with a death glare aimed in my direction. Great. Busted.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded when he was within earshot.

I sat up, rolling my shoulder to make sure it hadn't popped out of alignment when Jared tossed me. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"You told me you were going grocery shopping."

I glanced around. "Hm. Must've gotten lost on the way there."

Michael closed his eyes and I swore, it seemed like he was counting to ten. Instead of hurtling another pissed-off comment in my direction, he turned to Jared and stuck out a hand. "Sorry. I'm Michael. I'm attempting to be her at-home assistant."

Jared shook his hand and then glared at me. "You failed to mention that, Jor."

I stood, bending down to touch my toes. In top form, I could press the pads of my fingers to the floor, but in my current state, I could barely brush the ground. Shit.

"You didn't ask."

Jared sighed. "Yep. Under the bandages, you're still the same hardheaded moron as always. Guess I'd better get out of here."

He started to leave, but then pointed at me with a stern look. "Don't call me until you're cleared with him, y'hear?"

I saluted him. "Sir, yes, sir."

Jared shook his head and headed towards the locker room. Michael rounded on me as I grabbed my water bottle from my corner of the mat. "How long have you been doing this behind my back?"

I drank about half the bottle before answering. "Why? It's only going to make you madder when you find out."

"Jordan, I told you that you would have to take it slow for a while. Forcing your body to recover is only going to make things worse."

"I'm not forcing anything. I'm preparing."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "For what?"

"For whatever the hell is coming for me next. I don't want to get my ass handed to me again, thanks." I turned away, heading towards the locker room as well. Usually, I'd take a shower because the gym here had pretty nice facilities, but the stitches couldn't be under a showerhead until my skin healed. I'd have to head home and take a bath.

Michael followed me. "So what? Do you not understand the concept of a bodyguard?"

"I don't want to be saved. I can take care of myself."

"Yes, because it worked so well last time."

I whirled on him, poking a finger in his chest. "Don't go there. You're not gonna like where it ends."

"And where is that? A hospital? Because that's exactly where you're headed at this rate."

I threw up my hands. "You don't understand anything, do you?"

"No, I don't. So explain it to me."

"This isn't the time or the place, okay? Let me get my crap and then you can continue lecturing me on the way home. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," he growled.

I stalked into the locker room and let out a groan of pure frustration. My anger distracted me enough that I couldn't remember the combination to the lock, so I just stood there and pressed my forehead against the cool metal, trying to calm down. I hadn't wanted him to find out. I really hadn't. He was supposed to be at band practice all night, so I'd snuck out of the apartment for a quick lesson. He must have gotten back early. I was never going to hear the end of it.

"Man trouble?"

I glanced to my right to find a blonde girl looking at me with a mix between amusement and sympathy. I let out a snort.

"You have no idea."

One frosty, silent bus ride later, Michael and I arrived at my apartment. I took the longest bath possible to avoid the upcoming argument and redid my own bandages. They weren't as neat and perfect as when Michael or Raphael did them, but they did the trick. The time alone gave me a moment to cool off and at least attempt to act like an adult.

A succulent smell greeted my nostrils when I left the bedroom. Something with tomatoes and broth. My stomach growled comically loud in response.

Michael stood in front of the stove where a big silver pot sat. He ladled some kind of soup into a bowl. Even though I was sort of mad at him, I still wanted to eat the food he'd made.

"Is that for me, or do I have to apologize first?" I asked.

"The great and powerful Jordan Amador knows how to apologize? I'm shocked."

I contemplated kicking him in the shin. No. I was going to be mature about this if it killed me. "Well, if you get down off your high horse, maybe you'll be able to hear it."

"I really should have believed you when you said you weren't a people person."

"Yup."

Sighing, Michael handed me the bowl. I dug up a spoon from the drawer before heading to the kitchen table to eat. The soup was indeed tomato-based, but I tasted a hint of basil among the shrimp, clams, and mushrooms in it. I hadn't tasted anything this good in months. Maybe I should apologize.

Michael sat across from me and we both ate in stagnant silence. When the last bit of soup disappeared, I decided to make the first move.

"How'd you find me?"

"Your phone went straight to voicemail, so I checked the grocery store and the surrounding area. When you didn't turn up, I thought about where you might go to blow off some steam. Then I remembered you had a gym membership."

"Am I that predictable?"

He allowed a small smile to grace his lips. "Only to me."

I glared at him. "Ego isn't a good look on you."

"Thanks, that's sweet." The amusement bled out of his face, leaving it serious but with a softer look than before. One thing I did like about Michael is that he didn't seem to hold grudges, even when I was in the wrong. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud.

"So what's really going on here, Jordan? You know it's dangerous to put that much strain on your body."

"I don't think it's something I can explain to you."

"Try me."

I lowered my gaze to the table. "Look, can we just drop it for now? I'm not really in a sharing mood."

"Fine," he said, and the annoyance in his voice made me feel guilty. "There's another reason I was looking for you. There was an incident this morning that I think we should look into."

"What's that?"

"A local museum was robbed. The thief took nine different pieces and killed two guards, injuring a third."

"I'm assuming there are ghosts involved."

Michael shook his head. "No. This has the mark of a demon on it."

A chill trickled down my spine. I met his eyes, hoping he hadn't seen me shiver. "Which demon?"

"I don't think it's Belial," he replied in a gentler tone, and I relaxed a bit. "But I do think it's something we should investigate, in case there's something bigger in the works."

"What makes you think it's a demon's work?"

"The items that were stolen are part of a new exhibit of cursed weapons. Scythes, sickles, machetes, spears, you name it. Most of them were imported from Europe. Some things can gain power when they are the cause of several deaths. You've probably heard of myths like James Dean's car or the Hope Diamond, right? If an object is directly responsible for a large number of deaths, eventually it can become powerful enough to harm even an archangel. We can't let them get out of the city, or any of the angels stationed on earth are in danger."

"So what's the plan?" I asked.

"I think we should talk to the injured guard and see what he has to say about the break-in, and then find out if anyone tried to fence the stolen property."

I eyed him. "That sounds like something only the angels would need to do. Why do you need me?"

"The questioning I can handle, but talking to someone who fences stolen valuables isn't my department. Demons in that bracket won't talk to me, but they might talk to you."

"So I'm a honey trap, then?"

He paused and then flashed me a winsome smile. "If you don't mind."

"As long as I don't have to wear heels, I'm fine with it. When is this going down?"

"We'll talk to the guard tonight, just to make sure the demon doesn't try to make a move. I've ordered someone to watch over him, but better safe than sorry. We can start looking for potential criminals once we're sure the demons are involved."

Michael and I both stood, gathering our respective jackets. "Now there's a phrase I don't hear often enough in my life."

The archangel held the door open for me with a grin. "Welcome to my world."

Chapter Eleven

As we strolled into the hospital, I couldn't help thinking about Maroon 5's "Harder to Breathe" because I was having a difficult time staying calm. I had been kidnapped and beaten senseless by an agent of Lucifer, and yet the white coats the doctors wore scared me just as badly. The men who had taken me from my mother wore those same damned lab coats. Every time I saw one, it awakened a dormant fear inside me—fear that I'd be dragged away from someone I loved again, fear that I'd be placed into the waiting hands of another horrible person. It would never truly go away.

Michael's shoulder bumped mine, which shook me out of my thoughts. I glanced at him. "What?"

"You're frowning."

"Am I supposed to be smiling right now?"

He faced forward, looking at our reflection in the elevator doors. "No, but you look like you're about to bolt at any second."

I watched the digital numbers change one by one as we rose up to the right floor, fiddling with the rosary in the pocket of my leather jacket. Somehow, the beads had a calming effect on me. "I'm fine."

"Hard ass."

A tiny smirk touched my lips. "Stop thinking about my butt. You're an archangel."

He grinned, but didn't reply.

The elevator bell rang and the doors slid open, revealing the shiny linoleum floor and baby blue walls of the recovery wing. I took a deep breath and followed the archangel out, resisting the urge to readjust the fake press badge clipped on my lapel. Imitating the press was much less dangerous than imitating a police officer or federal agent. It had been Michael's idea. I suspected he had been watching Supernatural recently. It amused me to no end, especially considering the fact that he was a dead ringer for Jared Padalecki.

We walked down the hallway towards Robert Sterling's room with confident strides. However, I noticed something odd along the way.

"Where are the angels you asked to keep an eye out on him?"

Michael came to a stop in front of Sterling's room, frowning. "Good question. I called them on the way here and they said everything was quiet."

"Am I the only one getting a rotten feeling right now?"

"No, you're not." He glanced down one end of the hallway while I examined the other. Among the doctors and nurses, I spotted a brunette woman in pink scrubs walking towards us. Our eyes met and she stopped about ten feet away. Her face went blank. I had seen that look before, but not on a person. It was the look of a big cat right before it struck—pupils dilating, nostrils flaring, lips parting to reveal its fangs.

"Michael."

He followed my gaze and his spine straightened like a yardstick. He pushed me behind him as the demon walked towards us in a slow, hip-swinging stride with a sly smile on her lips.

She stopped less than a foot away, staring up into Michael's face. "My, my. Humanity looks good on you, archangel."

"You have ten seconds to get in that elevator and leave this place," he said, and the look in his eyes was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Rage, pure and simple.

"And if I don't?"

"You'll leave in a body bag."

"Ooh. Pretty sexy talk coming from you. Sure you can deliver on that?"

"Five seconds left."

"Sounds tempting, but I'm on a deadline. The guard bites the big one so you idiots can continue scrambling around in the dark. I thought this would be a boring job, but since you brought your little pet along—" Her brown eyes settled on me. "—I think we're gonna have a good ole time."

"Time's up. Decide."

"Gladly."

Her left arm swung so fast I almost didn't see it. She drew a silver dagger from the small of her back and slashed Michael's chest. He caught her wrist and swung his large fist at her head, but she ducked. She wrenched her arm free and dropped into a back roll. When she came up, she held a .9mm Glock.

"Gun!" Michael called out to the hospital staff just as the demon opened fire. He shoved me into the room opposite Sterling's.

I slammed the door shut as gunshots echoed through the hall, kneeling to make myself less of a target. There was no one in the room except me, so I didn't have a panicking person to talk down, but there was still an armed rampaging demon right outside my door and my gun wasn't handy. Perfect.

I pressed my cheek to the door and closed my eyes, listening to the commotion and trying to ascertain what was happening. I heard frantic shouts and footsteps, and the shots weren't heading towards the elevator and the stairs. She wasn't trying to get away. This demon was hellbent on completing her mission, which meant she'd have to get Michael away from Sterling's room. The best way to do that was threatening the innocent.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, scaring the shit out of me. I fumbled with the device, relieved when I noticed it was Michael.

"Are you okay?"

"That's a dumb question."

"No, smart ass, I meant are you hit?"

"No. What's the plan?"

"She's trying to draw me out. That means she's gonna head for you."

"I figured."

"Got any weapons on you?"

"Just the rosary," I said, crawling towards the empty hospital bed and checking to see if I had anything to work with in the meantime. Nothing but a damned bedpan.

"They called security, but it'll take at least ten minutes for the cops to get up here. Here's what you're going to do: lock the door and stand beside it. The second she kicks it down, hit her with everything you got. That should distract her enough for me to take her out."

"Got it. And one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Don't let her kill me or I'll haunt the hell out of you." I hung up and grabbed the thankfully empty bedpan, pressing my back against the wall next to the door. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, trying my best to remain calm. Silence permeated the air. I watched the light beneath the door until a shadow fell across it. Showtime.

The door cracked in half when the demon kicked it, sending splinters flying in all directions. I swung at her face with the metal bedpan, landing a blow on her forehead. Her head snapped back. It gave me a couple of crucial seconds. I swatted at her right hand, knocking the gun across the room. She recovered with a vicious backslap that sent me careening backwards toward the hospital bed sans my trusty bedpan.

"Mm, you've got some bite to you, human," she smirked, marching towards me with deadly intent. The dagger glinted in her hand as she raised it. I waited until the last second to duck. The blade bit through the thin mattress. Just as it did, I kicked at her right knee. She screamed as it dislocated her kneecap, crumpling her to the ground.

"You little bitch!" She tackled me, straddling my body as soon as it hit the floor. She slammed my head into the linoleum. I cried out as pain lanced through my skull. She tried to stab me but I grabbed her arm, stopping it mere inches from my throat. She bore down harder and the tip of the dagger crept closer. My muscles strained and my entire body broke out in cold sweat. I used every ounce of strength, but it wasn't enough. I couldn't hold her off any longer.

A shadow fell across the demon's face. She glanced up for a split second. Michael stood in the doorway. He kicked her square in the temple and she smashed into the adjacent wall. The sheer force knocked her out like a light, and the dagger clattered to the floor next to her.

Michael offered me a hand. I accepted it, rubbing my neck as I stood. "Cutting it a little close there, pretty boy."

"Sorry. My timing was off. Are you okay?" He pushed my hair back, examining my cheek where the demon had hit me. The skin ached, meaning I probably had a bruise on its way.

"I'll live. You, on the other hand..." My eyes found the oozing cut the dagger had scored across Michael's chest, from his hipbone to just below his right pectoral, exposed by the tear in his t-shirt. Blood had seeped into the cotton, painting the white dark red. I hadn't seen that much since Belial stabbed me. It made my stomach clench.

"It's shallow. I'll be alright," he said, brushing past me to the floored demon. He knelt and picked up the dagger, his green eyes roving over the weapon.

"This is one of the missing items from the museum. Looks like we've got our confirmation of the demons' involvement."

"Do you think she's the one from the break in?"

"Maybe."

"Why just maybe?"

He shook his head. "This doesn't smell right. If she did this on her own, she wouldn't feel compelled to kill the guard. She could just fence the stuff, take her money, and leave town. Coming back to eliminate the witness means he saw something they didn't want him to. She's under orders."

The elevator bell rang. I heard several authoritative voices—the police. Michael cursed under his breath and dropped the dagger next to the unconscious woman.

"She's in here!" He called out. The police rushed in, checking to make sure we were both okay before surrounding the demon. They cuffed her and dragged her out of the room. They took our statements and gave us contact numbers for future involvement in the case. As expected, the dagger was taken into custody as evidence for the heist.

The doctors and nurses on the wing went back to taking care of the startled patients in other rooms. They checked on Sterling, who agreed to let us see him provided that we cleaned up a bit. One of the nurses began dressing Michael's cut but got called in to help a patient who had started coding. She seemed conflicted so I showed her my card proving that I was First Aid certified. Satisfied, she left it to me instead.

I hadn't seen Michael without a shirt before. It sounded absurd, but I felt a bit nervous as I mopped up the blood that had dripped onto the waistband of his jeans. I never saw him work out, but his muscles had the kind of definition that suggested he lifted weights and played sports in his spare time back when he thought he was human.

"Well, this is a role reversal," Michael said, breaking up the tense silence.

I tossed the soiled gauze aside, reaching for the Neosporin. "Don't get used to it. I have lousy bedside manner."

He chuckled and it sent vibrations all the way up my arm as I rubbed in the ointment. It made me shiver. I prayed that he didn't see my reaction. "No argument there."

"All kidding aside...you mentioned that these weapons can hurt angels. Will you be able to heal this yourself?"

His expression sobered. "I won't know until we get home. Can't heal myself here. Too many witnesses."

I pushed his arm a little higher before I pressed the bandages on until the wound was covered. I then taped them down as neatly as I could. "Here's hoping for the best. Any other aches and pains, Mr. O'Brien?"

"No, Nurse Amador, I'm fine. Thanks."

"You're welcome." I started to back up but he caught my shirttail, tugging me closer. He touched the side of my face. A streak of nervousness shot through me until I felt a cool tingling sensation on my skin. He was healing the bruise. It hadn't quite shown up on my brown skin just yet so no one would notice. I tried to focus on this thought, and not how I could still smell his cologne from this close, or how nervous I felt with him shirtless and only inches away. Calm down, woman.

I cleared my throat as his fingers fell away from my cheek. "Thank you. Let's go talk to Sterling and get the hell out of here."

"Amen." He stood and pulled on his jacket, zipping it up to hide his bare chest. I felt a small amount of disappointment at the sight and then promptly ignored it.

There was a nurse checking Sterling's vitals when we walked inside. She told us to keep it brief and make sure not to agitate him before she left.

He looked to be over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a bit of a beer gut. He had started to go bald on top, but everywhere else the hair was brown and curly. Relief spread across his face when he saw Michael.

"Hey. Talked to the cops?" he asked with a hint of a Boston accent.

Michael nodded. "Yeah, they're gonna leave someone on this floor for the next couple days, just to be safe. Can you tell us what you saw at the break-in?"

Sterling shook his head. "You're not gonna believe me."

Michael offered the guy a smile. "Try me. I've seen some weird stuff in my time, and so has she."

He nodded to me. I stepped forward, not wanting to be impolite. "I'm Jordan. Nice to meet you."

Sterling raised an eyebrow. "You're the girl who helped catch that bitch?"

"Guess you could say that."

"Thanks. I owe ya one."

"No problem. So what did you see?"

"Three of 'em. Two men and a woman. Highly trained. See, it was my birthday and so a couple of the guys stuck around to keep me company since I got stuck with a graveyard shift. We were playing cards, shootin' the shit and whatnot, when the security feed went offline. The whole system just crashed. At first, we thought it was a blackout, but then when we went to go check, the lines were cut. They took out my buddy Jim when he went to check the electricity. Brooke and I went to check on the exhibits, and that's when we found the other two. My superiors tell us we're supposed to hang back and try to contain the situation without engaging, but we thought we might get a raise if we caught these guys on our own. Brooke went in with his nightstick on the guy. He..."

Sterling closed his eyes and his voice wavered. "...didn't make it. I thought I had the girl on the ropes, so I hit her with my taser. She laughed it off like it tickled or something. Threw me against the far wall and then shot me in the shoulder. They were about to finish me off when the cops showed up. When the uniforms saw me on the ground, they opened fire. None of them were close enough to see, but I was. The bullets...they hit. I saw the blood. But it didn't stop them. They just left."

He glanced at Michael. "Of course, the cops said it was the shock from all that pain that distorted my vision. Made me remember things wrong. Maybe that's true. But I still ain't gonna forget it any time soon. Print whatever the hell you want in your article. I don't care either way. I've still gotta bury my friends."

I laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I've seen someone I care about die, and it's not easy. Make sure you get some help, okay?"

He nodded. "You guys had better beat it. I could use some sleep."

"Alright. Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Sterling. Stay safe."

We waved to him and the nurse before leaving. There was an older lady doctor in the elevator when we walked in. She studied the looks on our faces before speaking.

"Long night?"

Michael and I answered in unison: "You have no idea."

The fight with the demon left me drained, so Michael dropped me off at the apartment to rest before getting ready to track down the fence.

Unfortunately, Michael's theory proved true. He couldn't heal the cut with his energy, meaning it would remain until his body naturally repaired itself. Definitely a bad sign. We'd have to find those weapons and quickly if we wanted to keep the other angels safe.

I hopped in bed with a novel and read for a while. I didn't remember falling asleep, but apparently Frankenstein had enough dark charm to send me off for a short nap. Judging by the dim streetlight peeking in through my window, I guessed it was sometime after seven o'clock. An eerie sort of twilight had fallen across my room and the young white boy standing at the foot of my bed.

"Whoa!" I shouted. "Who the hell are you?"

The boy blinked his large brown eyes at me. "Jacob."

I tried to breathe normally and tilted my head so I could see next to my bed. The boy had no feet. Ghost. A huge sigh escaped me. I let go of the gun and slid my hand from beneath the pillow.

"Well, congratulations for scaring the crap out of me, Jacob," I told him, pressing a hand to my chest as if it would help my heart stop racing.

Jacob gave me an apologetic look. "Oh, um, I'm sorry. I dunno why I came in here. I just sort of...did."

"You're a ghost, kiddo. You didn't find me on purpose. It's sort of like an instinct."

His eyes widened. "I'm...dead?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm sorry."

He stared at the floor for a handful of seconds before lifting his head to look at me. "Why am I still here, then?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but the front door opened and Michael stepped inside. It took him about three seconds to spot the boy by my bed. He rushed over, his brow furrowed in a frown.

"Who's the kid?"

"This is Jacob. He's a ghost."

He sighed, which was odd. Did he honestly think a child would hurt me?

"Have ghosts ever followed you home before?"

I shook my head. "No. They always see me on the street."

"Right." Michael knelt so he could be eye-level with Jacob.

"My name is Michael. I'm an archangel."

Jacob's face brightened with surprise. "Really?"

Michael chuckled. "I know. I don't look like one, but I am. You need my help if you want to pass over to the next world."

"Hey, he was my ghost kid first."

He looked at me then, genuinely shocked. "Jordan, you don't have to do this any more."

"I know that. I actually want to help him. This ability isn't going to go away, so I might as well use it."

Michael studied my face. Then he smiled. "Alright."

If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought he was proud of me. Good thing I knew better. I tossed back the covers and stood up, ignoring all the parts of my body that complained, and set about searching for my notepad. "Okay, Jacob. Why don't you tell me the last thing you can remember?"

"Well, I was outside some sort of building. It wasn't an office or a skyscraper. It looked sort of like a hospital."

I nodded, having found a pencil and my worn notepad, and started scribbling what I knew so far.

Jacob

Appears eight or nine years old

Caucasian

Brown eyes

Brown hair

Remembers hospital or building that looked like one

"Do you remember how far you walked to get here?"

The boy shook his head. "I lost track of time. Something just told me to walk away and when I finally stopped, I was here. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Your memories will start to come back after a while."

"What happens then?"

"We'll find out what your final wish is and you'll cross over to the other side." Michael jumped in this time.

Jacob still appeared anxious, not that I blamed him. "What if I'm not ready to go yet?"

I glanced at Michael and he understood the look. "It's natural for you to be worried about crossing over, but I promise it's a better place to be. You won't have to worry about anything ever again, and you'll be loved for all eternity."

Jacob's shoulders relaxed. "Okay."

"Follow me." I headed towards the kitchen. My laptop lay on the table. Its blue light occasionally glowed in the dark, beckoning me to find my answers. Michael flipped the light switch on and automatically began clearing away dishes and leftover food. Strange behavior, since his own home had been a pigsty.

After everything on the computer had been set up, I went about my normal researching route. My initial information gathering always started with a document I had compiled of local hospital morgues. I could weed out some of them, considering the fact that Jacob had gotten here on foot. The kid didn't remember how far he had walked, but I couldn't imagine it had been more than half an hour. Even without his core memories, he would have noticed if it took an hour or more to "find" me.

The hardest part of my cases was locating pictures. Jacob was a child so he wouldn't have any ID even if we found his body. The best course of action to take would be to call the hospitals and ask if anyone with Jacob's description was in their morgues. Hopefully, something would turn up.

"What happens now?" Jacob asked.

I brandished my cell phone. "The fun part of my job—phone calls."

Michael sat a mug of fresh instant coffee in front of me with a sympathetic smile. "Happy hunting."

"Thanks." I took a deep sip of the delicious beverage and dove in.

An hour later, I set the phone down and stretched my back with a miserable sigh. All those numbers and I still hit a dead end. At the very least I knew one thing—Jacob had not 'woken up' outside of a hospital. The morgues were still open, and none of them had a kid with his name or description. Most of them told me to call back the next day to double check. I'd most likely end up doing that just to be thorough, but the chances of finding anything were slim.

"Alright, so if you didn't 'wake up' outside of a hospital, where the heck were you?" I muttered to myself, peering at my laptop as if an idea would spring from the screen. Jacob stood to my right, chewing his bottom lip.

"I wish I could tell you something more helpful," the boy offered. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. You have to walk up some blind alleys before you find where you're going. I've got an idea—why don't you go in my room and watch some TV? Maybe something on the local channels will jog your memory. Michael, would you turn it on for him?"

"Sure." He followed the boy back to my bedroom. I drummed my fingertips on the tabletop, trying to figure out another angle to look at this case. The newspaper stands were closed by now, but I could still check the obituaries online. They wouldn't be up to date just yet, but most of the names present would be recent. I connected to the local website and searched again. I found a couple of Jacobs, but they weren't children. Well, no one ever said this job was easy.

"Hey." I tilted my head back to find Michael smiling down at me. "Any luck?"

"Nope. Shame, though. Cute kid."

"Yeah," he said with a regretful smile.

I straightened up and closed the laptop, sliding in my seat so I could look at him. "Why did you seem so agitated when you came in? Is there something you're not telling me?"

The smile disappeared, replaced with a neutral expression, and he didn't answer. Not a good sign.

I pressed on. "Is there something you're not supposed to tell me?"

Michael ran a hand through his hair, brows furrowing. "Not exactly. I'm just...worried. Jacob isn't dangerous, but I don't like that he came into your apartment instead of finding you on the street like the other ghosts. It bothers me."

"Why? You know Gabriel blessed this apartment. If he were a threat, he wouldn't be able to get in, remember?"

He plopped down in the chair next to mine. "I know. I guess this whole thing with Belial made me paranoid. And it doesn't help that there's a rumor of another major player in town."

"Agreed," I admitted. "But as long as I'm in here, we can relax a little."

He smiled. I cocked my head to the side. "What?"

"I think that's the first time you've said 'we'."

My eyes widened a bit. How the hell did he notice stuff like that? He just kept catching me off-guard.

"Lighten up, Jordan. You don't have to be dark and tormented all the time."

I squirmed in my seat, avoiding eye contact. "I'm not very good at being anything other than grumpy."

He rose from his seat. "That's what I'm here for. Maybe some of my traits will rub off on you."

"...I'm going to ignore the sexual connotations of that sentence just so my brain won't explode."

"How deep in the gutter does your mind have to be to think that sounded perverted?"

"...I refuse to answer that question."

"Just help me clean up the kitchen, will you?"

"I don't know. Will anything 'rub off on me'?...don't you dare throw that dishrag at me."

Afterwards, we went to my room to check on Jacob. To my surprise, he was floating cross-legged over the bed, turning those large eyes on us as we entered. Most young ghosts couldn't figure out how to do that.

"Did anything come back to you?" I asked. He shook his head.

"Well, Michael and I need to go somewhere so why don't you stick around until we come back?"

"Okay."

I swiped my leather jacket from the closet and shut the bedroom door behind us. "Alright. Let's go hunt us some demons."

Chapter Twelve

I didn't know much about the Albany criminal underbelly, but I had assumed deals went down in dive bars and smoke-filled billiard halls. The notorious Julius Fenton did not reside in either of these places. Instead, he was a manager at the Build-A-Bear workshop in Crossgates Mall. I wish I was joking.

Michael circled the inside of the mall as my back up. Fenton would be able to sense him, but we had heard that he worked both the angel and the demon circuit, so for the right price he would sell us the information. It wasn't exactly against the rules for demons to be stoolies, after all. Sin was sin. Didn't matter who they betrayed.

The mall closed in an hour, so I straightened my shoulders and walked into the shop, keeping an eye for anything suspicious. Cute little girls and boys tugged their mothers and fathers by the hand, their new best friends ready to be stuffed and clothed. It felt too weird for words.

An Asian boy in his teens smiled at me as I walked up to the register. "Hi. How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if your manager, Mr. Fenton, was in?"

"Sure, he's in the back getting ready to close up. I'll grab him for you."

"See," Michael said from the link in my ear. "Was that so hard?"

"Your sarcasm is really not helping me," I muttered, tapping my fingers on the counter as I waited. We had borrowed the miniature microphone and ear bud from one of Michael's cop friends. It made me feel like I was in an action flick, waiting for Arnold Schwarzenegger to burst in and beat up the bad guy. I watched way too many movies.

The boy returned with an older Japanese fellow with grey hair and deep frown lines in his forehead. Furthermore, he didn't have the same uniform as the kid. His navy suit was expensive and pressed to perfection. Not what I expected. Then again, were demons ever predictable?

His brown eyes widened as he spotted me. "What can I do for you, young lady?"

I took a deep breath. "I wanted to talk to you about a specific order for an important client."

He searched my face for a long moment and then waved a hand. "Sure. Come with me. I'll just be a moment, Kevin."

I followed him to his office in the back, wiping my sweaty palms on the legs of my jeans as I went. No one jumped out to grab me. That was definitely a first.

He closed the door behind us when we reached his office and took a seat, eying me. "So you're the Seer."

I didn't know how to respond, so I waited for him to say something else.

He tilted his head a bit and continued. "Thought you'd be taller."

I bristled. "I'm average height, thank you very much. Should we get down to brass tacks?"

Fenton spread his hands. "What do you want? Clearly it's not to take me in, or you'd have brought the pretty boy with you."

"Okay, I changed my mind. Shoot him," the archangel said. I almost smiled. I was the only person allowed to call him that, apparently. Instead, I kept my face blank. "We want to know if someone tried to fence the museum items stolen yesterday morning. We're prepared to make a generous offer if you cooperate."

"Oh? Have the archangels gotten so desperate that they would directly fund an illegal operation?" He folded his hands on the desk and tapped his thumbs together.

"I wouldn't put it that way. More like choosing the lesser of two evils."

"How so?"

I shrugged. "Well, they could either pay you, no muss, no fuss, or kidnap you and torture the information out of you."

Fenton tossed his head back, letting out a bark of laughter. "An angel? Torturing a demon? I'd like to see that."

"He keeps this up, and he might," Michael growled in my ear. I bit my lip to stop a second smile. The grumpy Peanut Gallery was not making this any easier.

"The offer's on the table. What d'you say?"

The demon dug his pinky finger inside his ear, giving me nothing but a cool look for a handful of seconds. "Well, my pockets are a bit light these days. Ten thousand bucks and I can give you what you need."

"Which is?"

"The occupation of the person who ordered the break-in. I'm not exactly in the know these days, but I do keep my ears open."

"So they didn't try to fence the weapons to you?"

"Nope. Didn't try with any other of the low level fencers in town either. They want the stuff here in Albany for a reason."

"And that would be...?"

He smirked. "Money first, jou-chan."

I scowled at the term. I'd watched enough anime to know what it meant—the equivalent of "young missy." I dug into my jacket for the already-signed check from Gabriel. I wrote in the amount and handed it to him. He took a moment to verify its validity and then spoke again.

"Word is that there's an archdemon in town. Not sure who yet. He or she has plans to bump off the pretty boy to give our side the advantage. All I know is they're a doctor."

"What kind of doctor?"

"Don't know. Don't much care. None of my business anyway."

"We just paid you ten grand for some vague crap that anyone could have said. You've gotta give me some kind of details."

Fenton's eyes narrowed and Michael chimed in. "Easy, Jor."

I tried again, keeping my voice level. "Is it Belial?"

"No. He's still down below after you and the angels smoked him."

Some of the tension in my back relaxed. I was safe for now. "Do you know when any of this is going down?"

"Before the week's out. I'd be careful if I were you, jou-chan."

"Thanks." I cocked my head to the side, murmuring into the mic. "Anything else you need me to ask?"

"No. That's good enough. Let's not test our luck."

I left the office, letting out a relieved sigh as I exited the shop. Michael met me at the food court and we headed outside into the cool night air.

"Is it really okay to pay off a demon? Sounds sketchy even to me."

Michael clucked his tongue. "O, ye of little faith. It's not a normal check. It's got a microchip with a tracker inside it. The second he goes back to his lair to store it with all his other ill-gotten gains, a strike team'll take him out. He won't go away forever because he's got good lawyers, but it'll keep him off the streets for a while."

"Impressive. So what now? All we've got is confirmation, no real details."

"I'll start digging to see what I can find on his doctor claim. In the meantime, we'll help Jacob cross over tomorrow."

"Busy week."

"Isn't it always?"

He nudged my shoulder, giving me a fond look. "You did good in there. Maybe you should've been a cop instead of a waitress."

"Nah. Outfit's too uncomfortable."

Michael raised his eyebrows in surprise. "When were you in a cop uniform?"

I flashed him my most mischievous smile as I flagged down a taxi to take us home.

"A lady doesn't kiss and tell."

Jacob was exactly where we'd left him when we got back to my apartment. His eyes found mine when I walked in the bedroom, tossing my jacket on the bedspread.

"Any luck with your memories?"

The boy shook his head. "Sorry."

I sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing the remote to turn off the TV. "Well, there's no rush. Hopefully we can get more things done in the morning. In the meantime, you're welcome to stay here."

He adopted a curious expression. "What will we do until then?"

"We'll make Michael read stuff to us."

With that, I turned to the angel who was currently giving me a dirty look. "Right?"

Michael smiled, but I could tell I'd annoyed him. "Why not?"

Inwardly cackling, I climbed onto the bed. Jacob hovered next to me, seeming interested in the books Michael removed from the bag.

"Any requests?"

"Hmm...why don't we start with the Odyssey?"

"Do you have any idea how long that is?"

"Guess you'd better get started then, huh?" Defeated, Michael seated himself on the side of the bed and cracked open the book. I settled in, closing my eyes as he began reading. Some small part of me couldn't help but think: I could get used to this.

Thunder roared overhead, shaking the bedroom walls like an earthquake. Rain smacked the windowpanes and the glass trembled. They weren't the only things shaking in this room. Darkness pervaded every inch of my vision, but I could feel—and what I felt now was unlike anything else. Heat, firm skin, thin cotton sheets, and strong muscles.

Soft lips devoured my throat, climbing higher to the spot where my jaw met my ear. Strong arms wrapped around my back, holding me upright and pressing me against a man's smooth chest. His hands stroked the length of my spine. Shivers rolled down my skin. I buried my fingers in his hair. I couldn't see him, but something about his touch felt familiar. I wasn't afraid. In fact, I felt safer in his arms than I ever had in my entire life.

He grabbed my waist and rolled us over, crawling above me. His lips found mine in the dark and the kiss sent shuddering waves of pleasure down my body. My hands slid up to his shoulders and wrapped around the back of his neck. My thighs parted. Then, complete and utter bliss. Even without sight, we somehow moved together as one. Seconds before I reached the edge, lightning split the skies, giving me a brief glimpse of the man above me. Brown hair. Full lips. Green eyes.

Warmth brushed my cheek. I stirred, tilting my face away from it. It was probably just sunlight. Which meant it was morning. Boo.

I lay motionless on my left side, unwilling to move a muscle since my bed was so warm. Surely I could grab another hour or so of sleep. I curled my legs in a bit to get more comfortable, but frowned when I felt them touch something foreign. Not a book, which happened sometimes. This 'something' was warm and alive.

I cracked one eyelid open and found myself staring Michael in the face. He was lying next to me, eyes closed, with the book resting below his chin. That wasn't the most pressing thing, however. Sometime during the night I'd scooted closer, and his hand rested on the curve of my hip, almost possessively. Each time he exhaled, it spilled hot air across one side of my face. I stared at him for a minute, trying to figure out how to react. Then the dream rushed up to the surface of my mind like a tsunami. I felt my entire body tense as I realized who the man in it had been. Son of a bitch.

Michael made a small sound in the back of his throat and opened his eyes, looking right at me. Neither one of us moved. I ventured to fill the awkward silence first.

"Um. Hi?"

The archangel smiled in a sleepy fashion. "You always know the appropriate thing to say in social situations."

"I am human, after all."

"I keep forgetting," Michael said, sliding his hand away from my waist as if it were nothing unusual. He rolled over onto his back and yawned, stretching his tall frame. I ignored the admittedly nice view and instead forced myself to sit up, wondering where Jacob had gone. The thought didn't last long, because all I could think about was the fact that I just had an incredibly dirty dream about an archangel and then woke up accidentally cuddling with him.

"Jordan?"

"Huh-what?"

He gave me a confused look. "I asked if you were hungry."

Apparently not for food, a little voice cackled in the back of my head. I promptly told it to shut up and just nodded. He stood and left the room in search of breakfast. I watched him go and concluded that I was definitely going to Hell.

The clock read half-past noon, confirming that we'd stayed up for most of the night reading Homer. I couldn't remember which one of us had fallen asleep first. That was when it hit me.

I didn't have nightmares last night.

For a moment, I just sat there with my mouth slightly agape. For the first time in two whole years, I'd slept through the night without waking up bathed in sweat or crying. For the first time in two years, I hadn't needed the strong whiskey in my nightstand to help calm me down enough to rest. Why now? Was it because of Michael?

"Jordan?"

I glanced upward to see Jacob standing in the doorway. On reflex, I smiled at him so he wouldn't worry about how I had looked a second ago.

"Hey, kid."

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, everything's fine. I think today we'll take you around the city to see if you recognize anything."

He nodded, and then wandered back towards the kitchen. I slid to the edge of the bed and stood, stretching. By now, my right hand no longer hurt and the stiffness in my neck had decreased significantly. I could feel the bandages beneath my shirt shifting as I moved. Michael would have to change them soon. That would be especially interesting after that vivid dream.

After choosing an outfit from my closet, I started to shove the hangers back towards the rear, but then my hand touched something covered in plastic. Strange. I hadn't gone to the dry cleaners in a while.

I pulled it out. It was Mr. N's duster. I thought I had lost in the alley when Belial attacked me. Pleased, I stripped off the plastic and ran my hands over the clean fabric, fingertips brushing over the places where the sleeves had been sewn back together. Something warm unfurled in my chest. Somehow, this was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.

Still, seeing it made me feel too vulnerable so I placed it back into the closet and gathered my undergarments to go take a bath.

Twenty minutes later, just when I finished putting my underwear on, I heard Michael knock on the door and open it before I could grab my robe.

"Hey, I—" He stopped in mid-sentence.

I picked up my robe from the floor and slid it on, facing him.

"Yes?"

"Jordan...your back. Why didn't you tell me?" He shut the door behind him and motioned for me to turn around.

I sighed, allowing the soft wool to slide down enough to expose my lower back. Along the base of my spine were faded brown scars—some long and thin like string, while others were thick and twisted like snakes. Michael hadn't seen them when he wrapped my chest because I'd made a point not to lower the robe enough for him to notice. I knew he'd ask about them.

"Belial didn't do this, did he?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Then who?"

My voice came out soft. "Aunt Carmen."

He took in a sharp breath. I shivered as his fingertips traced the nastier looking ones closer to my backbone. "She couldn't hit me where people might see. Didn't want someone to call the cops on her."

"Jordan..."

I shook my head and pulled the robe up, tying it. "No. I'm tired of talking about me. I want to hear something about you for once."

My eyes found the silver chain around his neck with the tiny padlock still intact. "When did you get that back?"

Michael seemed like he wanted to argue, but he merely sighed. "Raphael fixed it. He's always been good with his hands."

"Is he the one who sewed up my duster?"

"No, that was me. I figured you'd want it back, since he meant so much to you."

Again, a warm spot filled my stomach. How could he stand to be so sweet to me all the time? "Thank you. Seriously."

"You're welcome."

I gestured to the necklace. "Where did you get it?"

His green eyes flickered with an unknown emotion as he wrapped a large hand around the padlock, almost as if it were a reflex. "I bought it from someone not long after I lost my memory."

I sat down on the edge of the tub and motioned for him to continue. Michael grabbed the First Aid kit from the sink and pulled up the folding chair that had been pushed into the corner, rewrapping my chest as he told me the story.

Michael hated clothes shopping, but felt it was a necessary evil after the incident. The police had recovered his wallet and Visa card, meaning they'd also found where he lived. Turns out the same person who robbed him and knocked him out also emptied out his apartment. After a long call with the bank he got the identity theft straightened out, but that still left him needing to buy all new furnishings and clothes. He hadn't been able to find out where his substantial savings had come from since he didn't have a job yet. He assumed he was an orphan who had been left an inheritance and left it at that.

After getting turned around a couple times, he located the men's sections and started shifting through the endless sea of blacks, blues, and browns. The entire situation seemed humorously absurd. He had no clue who he was so what sort of clothing defined him? Jeans? Slacks? Shorts? Pin-striped suits?

"Can I help you, sir?"

He heard a female voice from behind him. A woman selling men's clothes. Well, of course. He prepared to tell her to leave him alone, but ended up rooted in the spot like a moron. This girl was flat-out gorgeous. He didn't even notice what she was wearing, because her smile blew the rational part of his brain right out the back of his skull. Dark brown hair, grey eyes, long lashes, smooth ivory skin—he wondered if it was even legal to let girls like her out in public.

After a moment he realized he hadn't answered her question, so he cleared his throat and offered her a smile. "You can start by not calling me sir."

She chuckled. "Sorry. I'm supposed to say that to everyone. What are you looking for?"

Michael threw up his arms. "To be honest, I have no clue. I'm supposed to be getting a new wardrobe, but I have no idea where to start."

"Well, don't worry. I'll definitely help you get there. My name is Diana."

She offered a slender, manicured hand. He shook it. "Michael."

No matter how many times he said it out loud, it felt weird to him. He supposed it was because he didn't have any physical recollection of someone saying his name: no mother, no father, no teasing children at school, no over-zealous big brother hanging the syllables over his head in an obnoxious way. It was just a name. Like he was just a man.

"Michael. I like that name. Were you named after anyone in particular?" She asked as she pushed aside a few suit jackets.

He brushed his fingertips against the sizeable bump on the back of his head.

"Honestly, I don't know."

"Well, there's your problem right there. How can you know where you're going when you don't know where you've been?"

Her question stopped him in his tracks. "What do you mean?"

"I'd have trouble trying to pick out a wardrobe too if I didn't know who I was already. I mean, think about it. The stuff that happens to our parents and to us when we're young are what make us what we are. Now, most people don't think there's much to a name, but I think it sets a sort of precedent." She tossed a couple of jackets over his arm. He watched her, enraptured as she continued to explain.

"There are some names that have a destiny like...Butch. With a name like that, you have to grow up to be a bodyguard or an athlete. Guys like Calvin and Theodore have to be those well-groomed guys in those sweater vests you see all the time. The Georges and Marks of the world have to be engineers and scientists or bankers and lawyers." Four dress shirts: two light blue, one black, one light green. She pressed three white into his hands before smiling that nuclear smile again.

"But you got lucky. Michael is one of those names that can mold to meet any need."

"How so?"

She shrugged, beckoning him to follow her to the pants section. "Think about all the Michaels in the world. You've got Michael Jordan, famous basketball player. Michael Jackson, King of Pop music. Michael Buble, fantastic crooner. Michael Phelps, Olympic bad ass. And if you want to forget about all the pop culture, there's what the name itself means."

"What's that?"

Diana handed him a pair of shoes, dropping her voice as if she were telling him a secret.

"God-like."

"That's a bit of a stretch for me, don't you think?"

She shrugged, grabbing two felt boxes with cufflinks in them and a silver necklace with a tiny padlock around it. "I don't know. If you're anything like God, then I certainly don't mind going to Heaven."

He laughed. "I think you're giving me way too much credit."

"Maybe so," she chirped. "Take these jeans and shirts and try it all on. See how everything fits and let me know when you're ready for check out." She gave him an encouraging push towards the changing room. A peculiar girl, to say the least.

Thirty minutes later, he had a respectable pile of clothes that fit and started counting out all the bills to pay for the stuff. Diana rang up the items with smooth, practiced movements, humming under her breath as she went. He didn't know the tune, but he knew it would probably stick with him for the rest of the day.

"Your total is $440.50."

He glanced back down at the money his hands. "I'm a little shy of that. Do you think you can take a couple things off?"

"Sure. What do you want to put back?"

"Maybe one of the cufflinks. The necklace too."

She pouted. "Oh, keep the necklace. I think it would look good on you. Besides, I think you need it."

"What makes you say that?"

She leaned in, running a fingernail across the shimmering silver. "Well, my mom told me people who don't know themselves can have their hearts stolen easily. This necklace has a padlock on it so it'll protect you. You'll always have a little reminder to keep your heart safe."

He smiled. "That's very corny, you know."

"I know."

"Alright, keep the necklace and ditch the cufflinks."

Pleased, she removed the items from the list and he handed her the money. She bagged everything for him and left the necklace out, surprising him by taking it out of its little velvet case and slipping it around his neck. She looked at the finished product with a satisfied grin.

"There. You're all set."

"Before I go, tell me something."

"Sure."

"What does your name mean?"

Her grey eyes widened, seeming luminous in the bright lights overhead. "I...don't actually know. I've never looked it up before."

"Oh? Alright, how about I come by tomorrow and I'll tell you what your name means? No cheating and checking online tonight."

She studied him for a good long while until he felt worried she would blow him off but she finally nodded. "Okay. My shift is over at six. Don't be late."

"I won't be. Thank you, Diana."

She winked at him before turning back around. "Have a nice day, sir."

I watched as Michael pulled away from me and closed the small, transparent box holding my First Aid supplies. "And? What happened when you came back the next day?"

Michael stood up and placed the kit back underneath my sink. "She wasn't there."

I frowned. "Why? You two seemed to have hit it off pretty well."

"She was killed in a hit-and-run the night before." His voice was so quiet I barely heard it over the sound of the water rushing from the faucet as he washed his hands.

I closed my eyes. "I'm sorry."

Michael shook his head, leaning forward to put the finishing touches on my bandages. "It's alright. I'm glad to have met someone like her at all, even if our time was short. Before then, I had no clue where I was going or what I was going to do. She helped me take the first step. That's why I don't judge humans as harshly as I once did."

"Although..." His eyes wandered down towards my back. "Sometimes it's hard to resist the urge."

"I can't imagine anything tempting you, Michael."

When he met my eyes this time, it felt different. I couldn't have explained it if someone asked me to but it just...was. For a couple of seconds, my view of Michael trickled from angel to human being all from one slight crinkle above his brow, a faint tilting of his lips downward, the quick bob of his Adam's apple in his throat, and an emotion in his sea-green eyes that had no business being there. Worse still, my fuzzy mind worried my own eyes reflected the same thing.

"You'd be surprised," he murmured, before straightening up so fast that I swayed a little in my seat. The trance shattered around us, and the tension crumbled with it. For now, anyway.

"You didn't tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"What does Diana mean?"

He paused in the doorway, his shoulders tensing. I thought about apologizing for prying, but as my lips parted so did his.

"Divine. It means divine."

He didn't give me a chance to reply, just cleared his throat and raised his voice to a more normal tone. "You need to eat. I can take Jacob around town today."

"I'm going with you."

He sighed, flashing me a weary look. "I thought we agreed you were going to take it a little easier since the hospital fight."

"Look, I appreciate the concern, but I'm healed to the point where I can walk around without pain or stiffness. Besides, you're going to need my insight on this one."

"I can handle this one. You've already done enough. I'm supposed to protect you and you almost got your head smashed in by a demon. You need to stay home and get better."

"I know what you're trying to do, Michael. I'm a big girl. I can't just hide here all day. I have a life. I have sins to atone for, even if your boss says my soul is freed. I have to hold myself accountable for what I've done."

Michael narrowed his eyes at me. "And what if Belial is standing on the other side of that door?"

At the mention of the demon's name, a cold shock went up my spine. The skin on the back of my neck tightened as if he were behind me, laughing that dry laugh in my ear. I steadied my breath and stood, stepping closer to Michael and giving him a challenging smile. "Well then, I guess it's a good thing that you'll be there to protect me."

Michael studied me for a long moment, seeming to realize the aggravating truth of my words. He reached up and unclipped the necklace from his neck, thoroughly confusing me. "I was right, you know. You are stubborn."

I merely shrugged. This time, it didn't hurt. Hurray. "It's one of my best—what the hell are you doing?"

He gripped my left arm and wrapped the necklace around it until the chain stretched tight across the skin of my wrist, leaving the padlock to hang down near my palm. He then lifted it up and kissed it. The combination of his warm lips and the cold metal made goosebumps pop up across my skin before I could yank my hand away.

"What was that for?"

"I put a special mark on the necklace. I can locate it no matter where I am. As long as you're wearing it, I know where you are."

I stared at him. "...did you just Lo-Jack me?"

"Maybe. Now come on. We've got work to do, remember?"

Chapter Thirteen

This is not good.

My fingers wrapped themselves into fists and clenched, digging my nails into my palm. Breath came in shaky gulps that I tried to hide by clenching my teeth. The vibrantly green grass looked awful soft and friendly between the frayed edges of my black Reeboks as I tried in vain to get control of myself. What, you may ask, spawned this particular panic attack? We followed Jacob through town until he found where he'd woken up.

In front of a psychiatric hospital.

Lovely.

Michael tugged me aside and blocked the view of the cheerful white sign indicating the name of the mental hospital. Not that it helped. "Jordan, look at me. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I told him with a high, false laugh. "Doesn't everyone do their Lamaze breathing in front of an insane asylum?"

My joke didn't seem to make him feel any better. He gripped my upper arms and made me look up at his face. "You don't have to go in. You know that."

I shook my head. "My ghost kid. My job. I'll be fine, I swear."

"I don't believe you."

I unclenched one hand and patted him on the arm. "That's because you're smart."

Thankfully, the panic attack was only momentary. My breathing slowed. The cold sweat down my back evaporated. I felt the fear retreating into the depths of my mind.

Jacob had a worried look on his face, mirroring Michael's. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, kiddo. We're fine. Now that we're at your site, are you remembering anything else?"

"Yes. There was a lady inside. She had dark hair and glasses. I remember seeing her."

"There must be a children's wing here, right? Do you think this woman is the reason you didn't cross over?"

Jacob's nose wrinkled in concentration as he tried to remember. "Maybe."

"Was she a doctor? A nurse? A secretary?"

The boy shook his head. "She was in a suit, not scrubs. I don't think she was a physician."

"Hospital management, sounds like. Alright, I need you to concentrate and tell me if she had any outstanding features."

Jacob closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remaining silent for a long moment before replying. "She was kinda pale...her hair was really long and curly...and she had a white name tag that said Dr. Vulcan on it."

"Vulcan?" I said in disbelief. "Eh, maybe she's a Trekkie. Good job, Jacob." I scribbled the name down on my notepad and squared my shoulders, facing the sidewalk leading up to the white and somehow ominous building.

"Let's find your doctor."

The receptionist at the bottom floor front desk was young—maybe seventeen or eighteen. Probably some kind of intern. She looked up at us through red bangs as we approached.

"How can I help you?"

"We were hoping to see if Dr. Vulcan was available today."

The girl turned to her computer and started typing away, blue eyes scanning the screen. "Do you have an appointment with her?"

"No. I was hoping you guys did walk-in appointments," I said. Trust me, I wasn't an expert on psychiatric hospitals, but if they were anything like clinics then we may have been in luck.

The redhead did some more reading before answering. "Actually, she's just finishing up rounds. I can send you up to her office if you'd like."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, that would be fantastic."

The receptionist took down information for both of us and pointed us to the left wing of the building. My shoulders wouldn't relax as I walked through the pristine hallways with men and women in lab coats brushing past me. Michael wordlessly slipped his fingers between mine. Part of me wanted to protest because I usually didn't like being touched, but I didn't say anything because it actually helped calm me down. His hand was solid and warm and real. I needed that right now.

Dr. Vulcan had a nice corner office with a rear view of the estate. We sat in the plush leather chairs in front of her desk. I tried to keep my leg from bouncing up and down from nervous energy, but I couldn't until Michael laid his hand on my knee for a brief moment. Jacob wandered around the room, staring at the towering bookshelves along the walls behind me. Even I had to admit they were impressive. How had she managed to cram so many medical books in there?

After a moment, a blonde woman appeared, catching our attention. "Excuse me, Dr. Vulcan has asked to meet you on the bottom floor. Exactly what kind of help are you looking for?"

Michael glanced at me and I nodded, indicating that I'd answer. "I have someone who might have been through here before—a little boy named Jacob."

The woman nodded. "Well, she might remember who that is. Her files of past patients are in that file cabinet right there. I can send someone to open them for you, but he will need your information to gain access."

I turned to Michael, murmuring. "You take the kid to see her. I'll stay here and stall in case she's not the right one for his final wish."

He stood. "Be careful."

I saluted him. Michael and Jacob went out into the hallway and the blonde lady promised that someone would come by to help me in a minute. After sitting back down, I closed my eyes and took slow breaths, reminding myself that this was a completely different hospital and nothing horrible would happen to me here. Michael would help the kid cross over and then we could go home—the light at the end of my panic-ridden tunnel.

"Miss Amador?"

I whirled around to see a tall man in an expensive black suit standing in the doorway. Even more impressive than his height was the long ebony hair he'd pulled back into a ponytail going down his back. Thick-rimmed glasses obscured the color of his eyes from me as he smiled.

"You need access to the files, right?"

"Uh, yeah." I said, walking over to the cabinet and preparing to lie through my teeth.

He reached into his pockets, searching for the keys. "Would you mind answering a question for me?"

"Sure."

"Does this smell like chloroform?"

Before I could move, he withdrew a white cloth and pressed it over my face. A muffled scream escaped me, but I knew it wasn't loud enough to attract anyone from the hall. The tall man calmly wrapped his arms around me to keep me still as the drug took effect. My body went weak and rubbery as I slipped into unconsciousness. For the second time in my life, a psychiatric hospital would be the death of me.

How poetic.

My head throbbed. It felt like my brain was trying to hammer its way through my skull and into the outside world. A pained groan crawled out of my throat and escaped my dry lips. As I regained consciousness, I realized I was lying on a bed of some kind. The mattress had way too many springs in it so they poked my spine like needles. My eyelids fluttered for a second and a wave of nausea hit. I pressed my palm to my forehead as if it would help. That was when I realized the necklace around my wrist was gone.

"Sleep well?"

I heard a purring baritone voice from the corner of the white room. My eyes shot open. Ignoring the nausea and dizziness, I frantically pushed myself up to a sitting position. There stood the long-haired man who came to unlock Jacob's files. He leaned his lanky frame against the far wall, smoking a cigarette. The black suit stood out stark against the pristine paint behind him.

I swallowed hard and tried to get a bearing on where I was. No windows. The door didn't have a knob, either. From what I could tell, this was either an operating room or somewhere they put the patients who were a threat to themselves or the hospital staff. It was also rather small—no more than an eight by eight foot room, not much bigger than the bathroom in my apartment.

The man continued to watch me with a cool expression. The eerie patience on his face made me realize I hadn't replied to his comment. As if I really knew what to say to the man who had just kidnapped me. I went for the casual approach.

"You're not allowed to smoke in hospitals."

He chuckled deeply enough to shake his broad shoulders. I took a moment to analyze his weight and strength. Could I take him? Most likely, no. Would I try it anyway? Hell yeah.

"You're right, I suppose. Still, I can't help loving these things." He flicked the cancer stick to the linoleum floor and stomped it out.

"Humans come up with the most wonderful things to destroy themselves with."

A red flag popped up in my mind. Please God, no. "Pardon?"

The man walked towards me and fear wormed its way up my stomach, settling in my chest. He had a heavy presence about him that confirmed my suspicion.

"I'm hurt, Jordan. You don't recognize me?"

My whole body tensed. He leaned over the bed until our faces were level, placing his arms on either side of me. I had to ball my hands into fists to keep them from trembling. I looked into his eyes. They were a chillingly blue hue with reptilian pupils. I'd seen them before.

"Belial."

He tilted his head to the side, and a sheet of that fine black hair slid across the side of his face. It brushed my cheek and made me flinch. "Did you miss me?"

"Not particularly." I hated how afraid my voice sounded.

The demon smiled in a way I imagine a snake would at a mouse. "I suppose not. There's no need for you to be scared of me this time. If I was going to kill you, I'd have done it while you slept."

I licked my lips, mind racing to think rationally. "Like I believe that. Killing me while I was unconscious wouldn't be any fun. You'd want to do it while I was awake and screaming, right?"

His sadistic smile widened. "My, my. We are getting to know each other, aren't we?"

"If you're not going to kill me, then would you mind getting the hell out of my personal space?"

"Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?" He tilted his head so that our lips were almost touching.

I took a deep breath, preparing to deck him if he dared kiss me. "No, I just hate that cologne you're wearing. My ex-boyfriend used to wear it."

Belial's eyes widened like I'd surprised him. He stood to his full height, letting out another one of those creepy chuckles. "You really are an interesting girl."

Now that I had my personal space back, the tension slid out of my rigid spine. I rested my feet on the floor. Whatever happened, I needed to be off this bed. It was clear that the demon had designs on my soul, but my body was a whole different issue. Better to play it safe. Or as safe as I could with a creature from Hell that wanted me to be his pet for all eternity.

"I aim to please," I said. "Now get to the point. If you're not going to kill me, what do you want?"

The smile remained intact, unnerving the hell out of me. He could give the Joker a run for his money with that thing. "The same thing I wanted before, my dear. Your soul."

I glanced around the bare room. "I don't see another spear lying around. How are you going to pull that off?"

"Persuasion." To my surprise, he began unbuttoning his suit jacket, revealing a cobalt blue dress shirt beneath it.

I lifted an eyebrow. "No offense, but nudity is not going to win me over."

Belial let out an amused snort after he tossed the jacket aside, rolling up the sleeves to the shirt. "As appealing as that sounds, that's not what I'm going to do. I thought I'd give you a fair chance to fight for your soul. If you win, I'll let you go. If I win, you agree to go through a ceremony that will bind us together for all eternity."

There it was. He had a trap, a plan, and I'd played right into it by coming to this hospital.

I stood and crossed my arms underneath my chest. "Do you honestly expect me to believe a demon would keep his word? What makes you think I'd agree to something like this?"

"Because, dear Jordan, you are running out of time." His voice made a cold and slimy feeling glide down my spine.

"What do you mean?"

"Right now, my associate Mulciber is torturing your sweet Michael with the weapons she stole from the museum. She intends to kill him. If you want any chance of saving him, you will play my game."

All the blood rushed out of my face. I knew that name. Mulciber, the demon in Paradise Lost who had been responsible for building Pandemonium. The last time I'd seen Michael, he had walked off with Jacob to see Dr. Vulcan. Had that been Mulciber? At the very least, it explained her strange last name. Mulciber and Vulcan were both the name of a Roman god. Figures. An archdemon would compare herself to a god.

Belial smirked. "Do we have a deal?"

I answered him with a right cross, which struck him straight in his smug mouth. He rose to full height and touched the blood on the corner of his lips. He licked it away—a slow, intimate gesture that made me shiver. It was a silent threat, a violent promise, a precursor to something truly terrible.

"I'll take that as a yes."

I let a hateful smile form on my lips, trying to contain my rage enough to remember my self-defense lessons. "You like pain, right? Come a little closer and I'll give you all you can handle, you son of a bitch."

The demon nodded. "I sincerely hope you will."

Belial had height, reach, and weight on me, so I knew there would be no point in attacking him first. I needed to use his body against him. That would be the only way I could beat him and get to Michael. Still, the longer we waited the closer, he came to death. The cold fingers of fear caressed my stomach, but I ignored them. I told myself he was an archangel who could handle himself.

Belial left his arms at his side and began to circle me. I kept my eyes on his posture, waiting for him to betray any kind of movement, and mirrored him to keep him in my line of sight. His left fist lashed out, aiming at my face. I parried it, forcing his arm downward and hitting him in the chin with the back of my fist. It hurt, but not nearly as bad as it would later, for both of us.

He rubbed the spot, amused. "Not bad."

In a flash, he aimed a high sidekick at the left side of my chest. I brought up my forearm and blocked it. Pain crackled down the side of my arm, but it was better than getting hit in the face. The blow knocked me off-balance, giving him the chance to knee me in the gut. Quickly, I blocked it and thrust my palm upward, aiming at his nose. His head snapped back, allowing me a couple crucial seconds.

I slammed my one fist into his solar plexus and hit him with a powerful roundhouse kick in the same place. He stumbled backward, clutching the spot and trying to breathe. I darted forward to finish him off with a two-handed hit, but at the last minute he grabbed my wrists and whirled, slamming me into the wall behind him. The back of my head hit, stunning me. In an instant he pinned my hands, and stared down at me with a patronizing look.

"Give up?"

"Not hardly," I spat, sliding my right leg forward. I kneed him in the crotch. He hissed, loosening his grip on my arms. While he was distracted, I shoved my foot into his stomach and pushed him away, ignoring the painful bump I could feel rising on my skull.

Belial let out a rush of breath and nodded in my direction, seeming impressed.

"It seems I underestimated you, Jordan."

I shrugged one shoulder. "A lot of people do that."

"Very well. Perhaps I should treat you as an equal."

Uh oh. I didn't like the sound of that.

Belial unbuttoned his shirt a little more. "You do realize that I could just threaten everyone you've ever loved. I could make some grand speech about how they would die in horrible fashions: torn apart, drowned, strangled, stabbed. But that wouldn't work on you, would it?"

I focused on his seemingly harmless movements, waiting for the inevitable attack. "No, it wouldn't. There's no reason to think you wouldn't just kill them anyway after you have my soul."

Belial nodded, fixing me with his predatory gaze. "Exactly. So that argument would be useless to pursue. However, there is the question of Michael."

As soon as he spoke his name, I felt another wave of worry roll through me. How many minutes had we wasted? Where was he? Or was Belial just bluffing?

The demon moved so fast that I almost didn't see it. Left jab, right cross, uppercut, left hook. I moved in close so some of them would miss, trying not to make a sound as his knuckles grazed my upper arms. Before I could add space between us, he kneed me in the stomach and slammed his forearm into my back. I hit the floor. I stayed there for a second, trying to block out the pain.

"Do you see how weak he makes you?" Belial said with a sigh. "The mere mention of his name and your defenses drop. I find it rather upsetting, don't you?"

Once I could breathe again, I pushed up from the ground and faced him.

"What are you getting at, demon?"

He came at me again, this time trying to trip me. I let my body fall backwards and went into a back roll, coming up on my knees. He kicked at my face and I blocked, grabbing his foot to throw him off-balance. Mistake. He executed a perfect kick to the side of my head with his other foot. I managed to move mostly out of the way, but it still connected, knocking me onto my stomach again. I'd have a nasty bruise on my face if I got out of this mess alive, not to mention I'd accidentally bitten my tongue.

Belial knelt in front of me, watching patiently as I tried to shake off the pain.

"Deep down, you know what I'm talking about. You know that if you join me you will never have to worry about another person again."

I spat out a mouthful of blood. "What are you talking about?"

"I know you worry about the people at your job, your waitress friend, even your horrible aunt. You fear they will be targets because of your ability as a Seer. As much as you try to feel nothing, you are a compassionate woman, Jordan. You can never truly forget about them."

"You don't know shit," I growled, standing abruptly. I knew it was stupid to try to catch him off-guard but I didn't have much of a choice. He was wearing me out little by little, and time was slipping away as he talked. I poured it on with all my energy, using my agility to drive him backward. He blocked my blows with ease, acting as though he were humoring me.

"I know more than you think, my dear. Just as I know that you've figured out what's going to happen at the end of this fight."

Belial caught my right arm and punched me in the stomach. My body crumpled forward, leaving me almost limp in his grip. Pain exploded through my entire midsection and straight down my legs like bolts of lightning. He flung me backwards onto the bed and held my arms down, staring into my contorted face. He sighed and watched me writhe beneath him as if disappointed.

"You knew when you first hit me that it would end up this way, and yet you still fought. You foolishly reasoned that you could beat me even though you know I am five times stronger than you are. Why is that, Jordan?"

"Go to Hell," I managed to hiss through gritted teeth.

Belial grinned. "Still stubborn, I see. I'll let you in on a little secret."

He leaned down until his lips were level with my ear, making me shudder as his hot breath touched my skin. "There is a part of you that wants to give in to me. It was there when we first met in your dream, and it is still there even now. You may think me a monster, but if you were honest with yourself you would realize that my monstrosity just might be that thing you have been searching for. How long do you think you can hide the darkness of your soul from the archangel? How long before he realizes the sin you carry in your heart is not worthy of his love?"

The weight of his words made me feel raw and empty inside. In his own sick way, he was telling the truth. Just hearing it made me feel ashamed of myself. I shook my head, trying to free my arms from his vise-like grip, but it was useless. "And I suppose you're any better? I've read the Bible, Belial. Spoiler alert: you lose. So I'd rather let you beat the crap out of me than give you my soul."

His voice came out a whisper. "Even if I could help you find out about your mother?"

I froze. Belial lifted his face mere inches above mine, waiting for me to react.

"What about my mother?"

"You have spent your whole life loving her, and yet you know nothing about the last days of her life. If you agree to be mine, I will help you find out the truth about her and about the unfortunate man who saved your life. Isn't that what you want, Jordan?"

He sounded so terribly convincing. I slowly realized that I actually wanted to believe him. I knew that Michael and Gabriel had orders not to tell me about Mr. N, but maybe, just maybe, this demon knew about the both of them. Was the truth about my mother worth my soul?

I took a deep, slow breath and met those pale blue eyes. "What exactly would happen if I agreed to this ceremony?"

Something inhuman slid across his face. I'd seen desire before, and this seemed like a dark cousin of the feeling. For the first time, I truly noticed the demon beneath the handsome exterior, and it frightened me down to my core. His hands relaxed on my arms a bit, signaling the fact that he thought he'd finally gotten to me.

"It's quite simple. Just as your Michael can mark things, so can I. We would exchange blood and you would pledge your soul to mine. You will be my servant and I will be your master."

Belial lifted one hand and cupped my chin in a surprisingly tender gesture, his voice dropping to a seductive tone. "And believe me, it does not come without certain pleasures."

He kissed me and I let him. His mouth was hot and tasted faintly of blood, both mine and his—somehow just like I thought a demon would taste. After a moment or two, I broke from his rose-petal-soft lips enough to speak.

"If I do this, will you let Michael go?"

He dropped his mouth to my throat, kissing the skin as he began to unbutton my blouse. "The archangel is no concern of mine. He and Mulciber are on the basement floor where there are no cameras. It seems we both got what we wanted."

"Seems so," I murmured, shivering as he spread the cloth away from my chest. He tore off the bandages one by one, leaving little stinging patches on my chest. His eyes found the mound of scar tissue where the spear had stabbed me. Belial ran his fingertips over the stitches, tracing them down my bare stomach. He lowered his face and then his lips followed the line his fingers made while he unbuttoned his own shirt, exposing more ivory skin. He licked my navel slowly and then rose up enough to look me in the eye again.

"Is this everything you wanted?"

"Not quite," I whispered, trailing one hand down to the clasp of the bra. He watched hungrily. My fingers closed around the item tucked within the cup. I withdrew Gabriel's feather from the inside of my bra and stabbed Belial in the chest.

He screamed as it seared his skin, burning as if I'd placed a red-hot poker against him. I slammed my knee into his side so that he rolled off the bed and fell with him, landing on the floor astride his waist. He convulsed below me, writhing with pain and cursing me with every breath he could draw.

"Tell me how to get out of this room or I'll burn you alive," I demanded, shoving the feather in deeper for emphasis.

He cried out, gasping for air. "Lying bitch!"

I spared him a mean little smile. "I learned from the best. You weren't going to hold up your end of the bargain anyway, right?"

He glared up at me, his large hands closing around my waist and squeezing to the point of bruising. "I should kill you."

I jabbed him in the chest again. He growled in pain, letting me go. "Likewise. Now tell me."

"Keycard...in my left pocket..." he ground out.

"Move one inch and I'll shove this thing right out the other side of you."

I lifted up enough to slide my left hand into his pocket and found a keycard. Surprise, surprise. Demons were really honest when you threatened to burn holes through their chests.

"Stay on the floor. If you try to attack me, I'll make sure it stays in you this time."

I kept a careful eye on him as I removed the tip of the angel feather and stood up, making sure he didn't follow me. I slid the keycard through the slot next to the door and it popped open with a click. Belial spoke just before I opened it all the way.

"You just proved my point, you know," he rasped, pushing up on one arm to fix me with a spiteful stare.

"Your soul is as black as mine and you know it."

I glanced at him over my shoulder enough to send him an ice-cold stare. "I'll learn to live with it."

I closed the door behind me and didn't look back.

Chapter Fourteen

The basement floor was cold, damp, and empty. I had to swipe the keycard in the elevator just to get to it. Like I'd thought, there were hall closets and places used for storing medical supplies and patient files, but no one was on the floor except for me. It did not bode well.

However, I could hear some kind of commotion at the end of the hall coming from the last room to the right. The walls were concrete and hadn't been painted over, so they were dark grey, almost like a dungeon. My skin sang with tension as I crept closer to the room. I could hear something and it sounded like...chains.

The door was like the one I had encountered with Belial. Only a key card could open it. This one had a window, though. Dim white light poured outward. Well, I hadn't come all the way down here for nothing. Better take a quick look.

I pressed my right side into the door and slowly lifted up enough to see inside. What I saw made my mouth go dry.

Michael was chained to the far wall with what looked like the restraints used on patients in a hospital, except they were crusted over with some sort of red substance that may have been blood. His shirt had been torn off and deep gouges covered his formerly perfect skin. From here, I could see his bloody lip and a bruise marring his left cheek. God in Heaven, what had happened to him?

Just then, I heard a woman's voice so I eased over until I could see the opposite side of the room where Mulciber stood. She was breathtakingly beautiful, or would have been if she didn't have a completely sadistic expression on her pale face. Her smile was toothy and her eyes held the kind of malice you only saw in horror flicks. She wore a cream-colored tank top and navy skirt. Pretty good fashion sense for a psychopathic monster. Still, the thing that bothered me most was the object in her hand that looked like a hand-held sickle.

Mulciber hummed as she walked toward Michael, her lipstick glimmering as red as the blood on his chest. "Know where this one's from?"

Her voice was thick with a French accent. Michael summoned enough strength to spit in her direction. She clucked her tongue, shaking her head.

"You have such bad manners for an angel, mon ami. Anyway, this little number is responsible for forty-three deaths in Scotland—ten of which were children. They say every drop of blood it spilled is still soaked into the handle. It goes for about $20,000 on the market. Think it'll be more or less effective than the blade before it?"

Michael glared at her. "Enjoy it while it lasts, demon. It only makes Judgment Day that much sweeter when we wipe your wretched kind from this world."

Mulciber chuckled—a malevolent sound that gave me the creeps even through the metal door. "Your kind is so confident about the end of this war. It won't much matter if you win in the end. I promise you, archangel, that you will not leave this place alive."

He let out a bitter laugh. "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

She batted her eyelashes at him, lifting his chin with the curved part of the blade.

"Nonsense. I have faith in plenty of things. Like your little human pet, for instance."

Michael's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

"You silly fool. She's listening to every word we say. Isn't that right, ma cherie?"

The door whooshed open, spilling me onto the floor in front of them. Shit. I lay there for a second, cursing my carelessness while the demon laughed.

"I'm glad you could join us."

I pushed to my feet and balled my hands into fists, murmuring to Michael. "I'm sorry."

Michael didn't speak to me, instead addressing Mulciber. "She has nothing to do with this, demon. Let her go."

"Oh, but she does, dear Michael." Mulciber stalked towards me, placing a long-fingered hand on my shoulder.

"I've been trying all this time to get your little boyfriend to show me his wings, but he just won't cooperate. Perhaps you can provide him with some incentive."

She twirled the sickle in her hand. I suspected it was meant to intimidate me. Boy, was she in for a surprise.

"Sorry, but he hasn't shown them to me either. Looks like neither one of us are worthy."

"Oh, what a pity. I guess we'll just have to keep trying." She slid away from me and brought her arm up to slash him, but I called out to her first.

"What would it cost me to keep you from killing him?"

She paused, tilting her head at me in question. "Cost, ma cherie?"

"Everything with you demons seems to be about gaining something. What can you gain from killing Michael?" It was a dumb question but I had to buy us some time. She didn't know I had the feather, but I would have to get close to use it. If I tipped her off, she'd tear me to pieces. Either way, I wasn't about to let her cut him again. Not on my watch.

"Why, one less soldier to fight the war for good," Mulciber said casually as if she were describing the weather and not the destruction of God's Army. "With Michael gone, a less experienced angel will have to lead the forces. There can't possibly be a thing you possess that is worth more than that."

"So you're like Belial, huh? Just one thing in mind?"

She snorted. "Please. Belial is the most shortsighted of us. You see how easily I made a deal with him to get the angel while he just went for your pathetic little soul. I'll never understand why."

"Because I killed Mr. N."

Mulciber blew a lock of curly hair off her forehead, seeming bored. "Mr. Who?"

"The Seer who worked for God on Earth. Six foot two, black hair, blue eyes, scars on his hands, face, and neck. I killed him two years ago."

Her brown eyes expanded. "You did that?"

I nodded. A shiver ran up her body, ending in a long exhale. "Ma cherie, I could kiss you. That man was such a pain in my derriere. I met him at the psychiatric hospital in Jersey all those years ago. Part of me regrets never getting the chance to tear his lungs out and watch him suffocate."

The breath in my lungs evaporated. I managed to choke out, "Jersey?"

"Oui. You see, I am a traveling psychiatrist. I go from place to place and corrupt as many souls as I can in these hospitals because all they ever need is one little push. In Jersey, I had finally gotten my hands on a Seer, but that man came to visit and tried to keep her out of my clutches. I had been in charge of finding one in order to complete the abduction of an angel's body, but because he intervened, I lost her. What ever was that poor woman's name?"

"Jordan, don't," Michael whispered, his worried eyes fixed on my shaking shoulders.

"Catalina Amador."

Mulciber stared at me. "How did you know that?"

"She was my mother."

Michael shut his eyes and hung his head. Mulciber's face lit up with a fantastic smile. She clapped her hands together as if I had just told her Christmas was coming early this year. "I cannot imagine anything more wonderful than this! I have killed the mother of an archangel's human pet. Can it really get any more delicious?"

"Yes," I whispered, reaching a hand towards the surgical tray behind me where a machete lay. "It can."

She was standing too close to me to dodge as I snatched up the weapon and swung at her head. In my fury, I'd aimed high, at her smirking face—a foolish mistake that would certainly cost me. She froze, her wild black tresses hiding her features for a second, and then slowly turned back towards me. The tip of the machete had cut into her right cheek, leaving a trail of crimson down her chin that splashed onto her neck and collarbone. She now wore a thoughtful expression as she touched the wound, and then glanced at me.

"You are bold, Seer. Foolish, but bold."

I gripped the machete's worn wooden handle, my strength renewed at the thought of murdering this filthy creature with my own hands. "I get that a lot."

Mulciber lowered her stained fingertips, eying me. "Are you challenging me, ma cherie?"

Behind me, Michael struggled against his bonds to no avail, his voice an urgent hiss. "Jordan, don't—"

"You bet your ass I am," I shot back, ignoring him. I didn't need to hear a warning. I knew what I was about to do was stupid and pointless, but I hadn't come all this way to leave my mother's murderer in one piece nor would I allow this demon to kill the man who had taken such good care of me.

She twirled the sickle again. "Are you saying you are willing to die to defend the archangel?"

"It's not exactly on my To Do list, but yeah. I am."

She smiled then, seeming satisfied with my answer. "Very well. I will allow you the chance to die for your angel."

"Mulciber, let her go. You have what you want. You don't need to do this," Michael interrupted as she sank into a ready stance with her weapon.

She chuckled. "You're sweet, mon ami, but it's too late. Her fate is out of your hands."

I saw her high-heeled foot take one step forward and then she disappeared.

Seconds later, I felt her breath on the nape of my neck and the sharp pain of the sickle slicing down my back. I cried out, whirling and swinging the machete. She ducked my blow, kicking me in the stomach. I slammed against the opposite wall, smearing blood across it like a sickening mural. She could have killed me with that swing, but she didn't. She wanted to play with me, just like Belial, but this wasn't for keeps. She didn't have a fifth grade crush on me—she wanted to wear me down and tear me apart while Michael watched, helpless, powerless, and miserable. But I'd chosen this path. I wasn't going to die with a whimper, but a roar.

I pushed away from the wall, blocking out the pain from my injured back. Luckily, she hadn't sliced all the way through my shirt, but it was mostly trashed, exposing the scars. I'd have a new one if I made it out of this mess in one piece.

Mulciber wiped my blood off of her sickle, waiting for me to come to her. "You must tell me how it feels, ma cherie."

"How what feels?"

As soon as the last word left my mouth, I leapt for her, swinging. She blocked and I aimed a kick at her kneecap, but she spun around behind me. I turned again, bringing the machete up to block her next blow. My knees buckled under the strength of the hit, but they still held.

She smirked down into my face, still calm, still evil, still waiting. "To know that you are going to die and that God has the power to save you, but chooses not to. It must be excruciating."

I pushed her away from me with the weapon, pleased when the tip of the machete slashed a hole in the bottom of her shirt. Still didn't reach flesh, but at least I'd hit something.

"That's where we're different, demon. I don't lament the fact that He won't intervene. I dealt with that when I was a little girl."

"Then why do you fight? Why do you give your life for their side when they have allowed you to suffer as you have?"

"Because I know deep down that one day their side is going to send you packing with your tail tucked between your legs," I sneered.

She narrowed her eyes. I'd managed to bruise her ego. Bully for me. "That is going to cost you."

She attacked. I could barely keep up with her movements, frantically blocking as many slashes and hacks, wincing as sparks bounced off my skin. She aimed low and sliced into my right thigh. I managed not to cry out this time, instead using the opening to shove the machete into her left shoulder.

She gasped, shocked that I'd injured her, and grabbed the blade to yank it out, cutting her hand in the process. I backed off, circling behind her with a slight limp. Hot blood ran down my injured leg. I started to feel faint. She hadn't punctured my femoral artery, thank God, but I could tell the cut was deep. I wouldn't last long in this state. I needed to end this. She was still too far away to reach. If I ran at her with the feather, she'd run me through in a heartbeat. I'd have to lure her in somehow.

"I commend you, Seer," Mulciber said, her voice now cold rather than mocking. "No human has ever managed to injure me twice." She switched the sickle to her right hand, leaving her left arm motionless.

"I have grown tired of playing with you. Say goodbye to the archangel."

I couldn't help glancing at Michael. Through the fight, he had been watching with growing panic in those sea-green eyes. I felt rather selfish for making him be a witness to my death a second time. I could only hope he'd forgive me for my actions. However, something changed when he met my gaze. Mulciber stood only a few inches in front of him, and I understood what was about to happen seconds before it did.

Michael shoved both feet into the demon's back, catching her off-guard and catapulting her towards me unguarded. I didn't hesitate. I shoved the machete through her ribcage, beneath her right breast. She went rigid, choking. I twisted the blade a little, making sure I hit something vital.

"You were saying?"

Then, all at once, she smiled toothily at me and grabbed me by the throat. "Almost, but not quite."

I gagged as her pale, steely fingers cut off my air supply. She lifted me and shoved me against the far wall. My feet dangled inches off of the floor, my body weight making me suffocate even faster. She grabbed the machete with her left hand and yanked it out, splashing blood over us both, and let it clatter to the floor.

"I'm impressed, ma cherie. You and the angel are almost of a single mind. Too bad it is not enough to save you. All your faith is in vain."

The world had started to go black around the edges, but one word rang clear through my mind. Faith.

With one hand, I grabbed the demon's wrist, distracting her attention as I managed to wheeze out one thing.

"Faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen. Tell me if you saw this coming, ma cherie."

I withdrew Gabriel's feather from my back pocket and slammed it into Mulciber's chest. She screamed in pain, dropping me and crumpling to the floor. I should have demanded that she let Michael down but I didn't. I just kept digging the feather in deeper and deeper, watching her squirm with relish. She tried to claw at my arms, but I couldn't even feel the scratches. I wanted her to burn in fires hotter than any Hell. I wanted her to feel every second of pain she had caused me and my mother and Michael and the man I'd never known. Burn, baby, burn.

Her eyes rolled back into her head and that was when I knew she was dead. Her chest was a ruin of black where the feather had burned clear through to the bone, evaporating the space where her heart should have been. I leaned down until my mouth was level with her ear and whispered:

"Vaya con Dios, bitch."

I tucked the feather back into my pocket and limped over to Michael, who wore a grim expression on his face. I found a stool in the corner and picked up the sickle. I used it to saw through the chains connected to the blood-soaked restraints, talking to distract myself from the horror of what I'd just done.

"What are these things? Why can't you get free?"

"Demon's blood. She sacrificed one of her underlings to make them. Demon blood is one of the most powerful substances on earth. Even this body can be trapped by it. Only demons and full-blooded humans can break through the bonds, not angels."

Finally, I sliced through the second restraint and he fell, leaning his back against the wall for a moment to regain his strength. "How did she manage to trap you?"

"I was told she would meet us in the basement. Just as the elevator doors opened, I felt the presence of an archdemon. That's when he attacked me from behind with the restraints and Mulciber dragged me down the hall into this room."

I frowned. "He? Who's he?"

Michael's face got very cold. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

He slipped his arm around my waist and then closed his eyes, concentrating on something I couldn't see or hear. A great wind rushed through the room like we were at the center of a hurricane. It blew so hard that the stool in front of me clattered over on its side and went flying. To my surprise, it hit something invisible before finally smacking the far wall. Seconds later, Jacob faded into view with a sullen look on his face.

"That's not fair!" he cried, glaring at Michael.

I glanced between the two of them with shock. "What's going on?"

"Jacob isn't a ghost. He's a malevolent poltergeist masquerading as a ghost. He was hired by Mulciber and Belial to lure us here," Michael explained.

My jaw dropped. "But he's just a kid, I mean...why? Why would you do something like that, Jacob?"

The boy's face thinned out in anger, making him seem less like a child and more like a monster. "Why? Because human beings are the worst things in this world and in any world!"

"What are you talking about? I don't see how we could be any more ruthless than the demon you just helped try to murder someone," I spat.

Jacob's eyes narrowed. "When I was eight, my father murdered my mother right in front of me. He didn't care about anyone but himself. I loved her more than anything in the world and he just took her from me like it was nothing! The cops didn't believe my story so I waited until they all left and killed him in his sleep but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough for what I lost. I dedicated the rest of my life to getting back at humanity. They put me in foster homes and I killed those parents one after the other and made it seem like someone else did until some stupid housewife got lucky and pushed me down the stairs right before I could off her. My soul didn't pass over because I still want to cause as much pain and suffering as my father caused me. Does that answer your question?"

Christ. I'd met some pretty horrible people recently but this kid took the cake. That story had gushed out of him like blood, as if he'd been hoping to bring it up because he hated us so much. "So I guess you don't ever intend to cross over to one world or the other?"

"Not if I can help it," the poltergeist sneered, reaching for the sickle I'd dropped. Before I could move, Jacob ran at us.

I tensed for a fight, but Michael held out his left hand and spoke one word.

"Enough."

Jacob stopped only inches from us. Fear widened his eyes as his body began to fade away as if he were made of sand that the wind was blowing away. "W-What's happening to me?"

"I can't send you to Hell and I can't send you to Heaven," Michael said. "There's a place for souls who take advantage of their lives after death. It's called Purgatory."

Jacob thrashed and shouted curses at us in midair, but eventually his screams died down and he disappeared from sight.

"Geez," I mumbled, shivering. "Is he gonna be there for all eternity?"

"No. When Judgment Day arrives, he and all the other souls trapped there will be judged just like the rest of humanity."
"Maybe by then he won't be so angry."

He didn't reply. Instead, Michael moved closer, encircling me with his arms.

I stiffened, confused. "Michael, what...?"

"Shh," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything."

For some reason, the quietness of his voice and the simplicity of that one word made all the horrible events in my life come rushing back to me at once. I wrapped my arms around his neck and felt every ounce of fear, sadness, and anger that I'd brushed off in order to be strong enough to escape Belial.

For the first time in two years, I cried. I cried for my mother, I cried for the man I'd killed, I cried for Michael, and I cried for the life I'd never have. My legs wouldn't support my weight any more so we sunk to the floor. Michael said nothing, simply holding me. I couldn't remember how long we sat there, but he never let go as long as we did. Thank God for him.

Then, gradually, the tears stopped. Maybe it had happened because I hadn't truly dealt with any of what had been done to me recently, but I was glad to be done with it. Relief poured in around me like warm water—relief that I was alive and had saved the man I could arguably consider to be my best friend. I took a deep shuddering breath and lifted my head, wiping my face clean and smiling at the angel in front of me.

"If you ever tell anyone I cried in front of you, I'll make you wish you were never born."

Michael smiled back. "Your secret's safe with me. Seems like you saved my life again."

I shrugged, clearing my hoarse throat so I wouldn't sound like Carol Channing any more. "At least I didn't get stabbed in the chest this time."

He brushed his fingertips over the fresh bruise where Belial had kicked me. "At least."

"So does this mean you owe me?"

"I suppose so. What did you have in mind?"

"Can I...see your wings?"

Michael nodded, his voice gaining a little humor. "I think you may be worthy of it now."

He closed his eyes in concentration, and then the air around us stirred. His wings sprouted from his back and stretched nearly from one wall to the other. I could only stare in awe. They were beautiful. Gabriel's wings had a golden sheen over the white. Michael's shone as if someone had mixed silver and pearl together to create a new color.

"Michael, they're...amazing," I murmured. I resisted the urge to touch one just to make sure it was real, but I felt that might have been a little too intimate a gesture.

"Thank you," he said. When I looked back at him, I noticed our faces were far too close together and that my hands were still resting on his shoulders. That strange tension from before returned in full force, making me far more aware of his body and how we were sitting than I should have been.

"Jordan?"

"Hm?"

"I'm going to have to owe you another favor."

"For what?"

"This." He tugged me forward enough to kiss me. I should have been shocked and appalled. I wasn't. Everything that had been wrong with Belial's kiss seemed to have been righted by Michael's. His lips were soft and full and warm. He kept it chaste, no tongue, but made up for it by gently drawing my bottom lip between his and sucking. It couldn't have lasted more than a handful of seconds yet I felt time slipping into oblivion. My fuzzy brain tried to come up with a comparison of what he tasted like. I could think of no other word than euphoria.

Michael drew back first and rested his forehead against mine. I caught my breath and licked my lips, trying to summon enough strength to talk.

"You're going to get in big trouble for that, huh?"

"Definitely."

"Worth it?"

"So worth it."

With that, he grinned and stood up, offering me his hand.

"Let's go home."

Chapter Fifteen

"You two just can't stay out of trouble, can you?" Raphael sighed as he inspected the nasty bruise on my forehead.

I shrugged. "No good deed goes unpunished."

"Obviously. You've gotten in more trouble in one week than I've been in for a hundred years," Gabriel mused as he dabbed a cotton ball doused with rubbing alcohol on Michael's cuts. He didn't seem to find it painful, but maybe he was just being manly about it. Figures.

"Just lucky, I guess."

"Better lucky than smart," Gabriel said. I stuck my tongue out at him and he chuckled.

"I suppose we should thank you for at least getting rid of Mulciber for a while. There's no sign of Belial, either."

I froze. "Does that mean Michael has to leave?"

Silence fell. Michael's face was blank, but I noticed that his shoulders tensed just a bit.

Gabriel spared me a faint smile. "Normally, yes. However, considering you've angered Mulciber I think it's safe to say you'll still be needing his protection."

"Oh. Right." I felt a flush of heat across my cheeks. If Raphael or Gabriel noticed, neither of them said anything. Fabulous.

"That's two demons in one city. Maybe you need to move, Jordan," Michael said, his eyes sparkling as they met mine.

"Please. I'm not going to let two measly archdemons run me out of town. There'd have to be at least...four."

Raphael finished cleaning and treating my wounds, patting my shoulder. "With your luck, it'll probably happen."

He grinned as I glared at him. "Thanks for the confidence boost, Raph."

"My pleasure. Almost finished, brother?"

"Yes. He's got a hard head, after all," Gabriel replied.

Michael rolled his eyes. "If you have something to say, just say it already."

Gabriel finished wrapping the gauze around his chest and put it back in the First Aid kit before standing. "Be careful. That's all."

"I'm pretty sure we won't get in anymore fights any time soon," Michael told him, rubbing his bruised cheek with a rueful expression.

Gabriel's blue eyes twinkled. "I wasn't talking about fighting."

We both stared at him with wide eyes, but he merely nodded to both of us and followed Raphael out of my bedroom without saying another word.

The awkward silence started to grow so I sighed and flopped down on the bed with a groan. My eyes fell across Michael's neck—now noticeably empty.

"I'm sorry Belial took the necklace. I know it was important to you."

The angel shook his head. "It...couldn't be helped."

"Can you sense where he put it?"

"Not really. It's out of range. He must have thrown it away. Don't worry about it."

I paused. "But doesn't that mean you don't have anything to protect your heart any more?"

He met my eyes, a slow smile touching his lips. "Guess I'll have to risk it."

The eye contact felt far too intimate. I had to glance away. "Well, we're certainly not going anywhere for a while. Want to do some reading?"

"I had something else in mind," Michael said, sitting next to me. I swallowed, trying very hard to keep my mind out of the gutter.

"And that is...?"

He held up a DVD case. A Walk in the Clouds. Oh, thank Heaven. "Your less-than-subtle best friend Lauren insisted we should watch it."

I shrugged. "Eh. Put it on."

Michael got up and turned the TV and DVD player on while I stared at everything in the room except his rather muscular bare back. No sense in being immature. So we'd kissed. Big whup. Didn't mean I was going to act like a fifth grader about it.

I nearly yelped as Michael turned the lights off and crawled next to me.

"Just so you know," I said in a mild tone. "That kiss was a one time thing."

"Really? That's too bad, 'cause I have something for you."

Surprised, I couldn't help but glance over at him. He leaned across me, his face drifting dangerously close to mine. Instead of kissing me, he reached for something on the nightstand and brought it up to my face. It was a caramel apple.

"You're welcome," he murmured with a secretive smirk. Slowly, I took the apple and unwrapped it, bringing the delicious treat to my lips.

"Bite me."

Michael was strongly reprimanded for what was described as "fraternizing" with a human being. The Big Guy let him off with a warning since we didn't go past first base and it was understandable that we were both incredibly vulnerable at that point. Gabriel and Raphael knew about it afterwards and didn't make a fuss, but I sometimes caught them smiling at us without saying anything. I decided to just let it slide. Shit happens, whether it's demons having designs on your body or angels stealing smooches. It's not a part of life—it's just a part of my life.

However, there was a bit of good news to come from our messy business at the hospital. Gabriel got a tip from a demon stoolie that Mulciber and Belial wouldn't be returning to Earth for a period of time. Their boss was rather ticked off that neither of them were able to complete their missions. Mulciber didn't kill Michael and Belial didn't secure the Spear of Longinus. I personally found the thought comforting, but not after Gabriel reminded me this would only further their desire for revenge once they finally returned to this world. I enrolled myself in a riflery class as well as a martial arts one to get better skills for my next grudge match with Belial, assuming he has enough chivalry to challenge me to a duel again.

It turns out that Jacob had been able to enter my apartment because Gabriel hadn't made the blessing of my apartment specific to spirits, just demons. He refined it as soon as we told him what happened and apologized for not being careful enough. I tried to convince him it wasn't his fault, but I got the feeling he didn't believe me, God bless his heart. We were even anyway. He'd been the one who told me years ago that demons were susceptible to the feathers on an angel's wings because they were so pure that it burned them. I owed Gabriel my life and aimed to find a way to make it up to him someday.

Michael started training me in some of the arts Mr. N had been practicing, like how to ward off malevolent spirits and perform exorcisms if need be. He wasn't crazy about the idea of bringing me deeper into the supernatural world but he got better as the weeks passed. If anything, he felt more confident about me going to work on my own now that I knew how to defend myself from a demon attack.

Speaking of which, I finally got to go back to work, only to not do much the first day because the whole staff threw me a Welcome Back party. Lauren even brought her sweet little daughter Lily to see me. I couldn't believe how big she'd gotten. Michael had been right. Life had been passing by, whether I noticed or not.

Michael's band has been doing well throughout the city. He got gigs more and more often, and I actually went with him to many of them—sometimes just so he wouldn't worry about me and sometimes because I liked hearing him play. He even had groupies now. I found it utterly hilarious watching him try to slide past them to get to our table at the club. Maybe it was a little mean, but after all, I was only human.

BOOK THREE: THE BEAUTIFUL DESCENT

Thou wilt learn in time   
The truth, for time alone reveals the just;   
A villain is detected in a day.

-Oedipus Rex, Sophocles

Chapter Sixteen

"You're being stubborn, you know."

"I know."

"I thought we agreed on this issue."

"Seriously, Jordan, it's not a big deal."

"I beg to differ."

I crossed my arms beneath my chest and narrowed my eyes at Michael as he sat comfortably across from me in the booth. Truthfully, this setting danced on the border of ridiculous.

First of all, I couldn't even remember the last time I'd been out to lunch with a guy, and certainly not one this good-looking. The man certainly wasn't hard on the eyes, but by now I was quite immune to his appearance. Practice.

Second of all, I hadn't been outside of Albany in damn near forever. My life was oddly self-contained, maybe even confined, to my apartment, the restaurant, and the park. Sure, I'd been to the homes, workplaces, and graves of many ghosts, but none of them had been cause for me to vacate the city's towering structures. Clean air. Green grass. Critters. It was friggin' weird.

Third of all, discovering how my mother spent her last days before the demons got her murdered was the final nail in the crazy coffin. It would be worth the four-hour drive and the many weeks it had taken to save up to pay for food and gas. Except for some reason, Michael insisted on paying for this meal, even though we had arranged for him to pay for the rental car and hotel. Therein lay my current dilemma.

Our perky waitress Krystal appeared, smiling as she caught the tail end of the argument.

"Newlyweds?"

I adopted an insulted look. "He wishes."

Michael chuckled. "How can I not when you sweet-talk me like that?"

My eyes immediately rolled and she giggled before continuing onward. "Can I get you two anything else?"

"No, you can bring us the check."

The blonde waitress reached into her frock and withdrew the bill. I reached for it but Michael snatched it out of her hand, flashing me a challenging smirk. I kicked him in the shin.

"Ow!" He winced, rubbing the injured spot. "Why am I being punished for being a gentleman?"

"Because I'm not a lady, dammit. Now give it here."

"You paid for breakfast in Atlantic City. It's only fair."

"Since when has fair ever been a factor in this relationship?"

Krystal glanced between the two of us. "...are you sure you're not married?"

"If by 'married' you mean me hating him, then yes."

Michael rolled his eyes and handed her his Visa card. "Here you go."

"Thanks, I'll be right back." She walked away, shaking her head with an amused look on her face.

I sighed and leaned my head backward, trying to stifle my irritation. At least the meal had been good. I hadn't eaten pancakes in ages. Michael had offered to make them once, but I declined the offer because it was too damned domestic. Our arrangement had been going on for nearly two months now. It didn't need to become any more complicated.

"How far are we from our destination?"

"Not far. Maybe another hour's drive," Michael said, his voice less humorous this time. We didn't have much of a plan for when we arrived in New Jersey, but that had never stopped us before. We were nothing if not determined.

I sat up straight and regarded him with a bemused look. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sound worried."

His brows knit together in the beginnings of a frown. "For good reason."

His green eyes lowered their gaze to the spot over my heart where a faded scar lay hidden beneath my black t-shirt. I had gotten the stitches out, but the skin was still a light brown that didn't match the rest of my chocolate complexion.

Two months. It'd be two months in a couple of days. I tried not to think about it too much.

"Don't get your feathers all ruffled," I scolded. "We're being much more careful than we were before."

"Being careful is never enough. You know that," Michael replied.

I shrugged. "Being worried isn't going to help any either."

He seemed to take my words to heart this time, but it didn't matter because Krystal reappeared with Michael's debit card in one hand and a tray full of empty glasses balanced on the other.

"Thanks for coming out. Have a nice day!"

"You too." I slid out of the booth and stretched my arms above my head before patting the pockets of my grey duster to make sure everything was in place. Just when I turned to go, Krystal's tray started to slide out of her hand. Michael miraculously caught it in mid-air, saving the dishes from peril. He handed it back to the relieved girl, who sighed heavily and said:

"Thanks. You're an angel."

I laughed so hard that Michael had to shove me out the door.

By the time we reached the hotel, the day had wound down into sunset and the city seemed to swallow us whole. We'd have more time to take in some of the sights and local culture after I had a shower. The day was as sticky as the candy that would be passed out at the end of the month.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Michael opened the hotel door with his keycard, causing a blast of cool air to hit my face. Hurrah. The cream-colored walls and burgundy comforters were almost as inviting as that air conditioning so I shuffled inside with my suitcase and kicked the door shut. Michael gravitated to the queen-sized bed closest to the door since he was technically my angelic bodyguard so I dumped my stuff on the other mattress before collapsing face-first onto it. Michael let out a faint groan as well before silence enveloped us both. Once the sweat coating my spine dried, I rolled over and kicked off my Reeboks.

"How far is the place from here?" I asked.

"Ten minutes, or so MapQuest says."

"Good. Means we won't have to roll out of bed until noon or so tomorrow." The socks came off next. I wiggled my toes on the fuzzy white carpet and sat up on the edge of the bed. Michael was sprawled on his back with his long legs trailing onto the floor. The urge to giggle rose in my throat. When he wore khakis, he looked like an enormous brunette stork.

"Sounds like a plan. Might give us some time to take in the sights, too."

A frown tugged at my lips. "This isn't a vacation, y'know."

He shrugged, raking the hair out of his eyes so he could meet my gaze. "I know. But it wouldn't be the worst idea in the world."

I spared him a sarcastic smirk. "Yeah, because we all know what that idea was."

The archangel rolled his eyes. "One day you'll appreciate the sacrifices I make for you."

"Sure, I will. Dibs on the shower." He groaned as I unzipped my bag to get out my clothes.

"Oh, c'mon, I drove for four hours. The least you could do is let me shower first."

"I offered to drive and you declined."

Michael finally sat up, scowling at me. "I'm a guy. We have things about driving."

"Well, too bad. Ladies first." Having gathered my clothes, I headed towards the bathroom, but he called to me before I got there.

"I thought you said you weren't a lady."

I stopped and glared at him. The archangel had the most infuriating smirk on his face. I contemplated taking another shot at his shin.

"I am when it suits me."

The accursed smirk widened. "And when is that?"

I flashed him a very mean smile. "You'll never see it."

Before he could supply another snappy comeback, I slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. A few weeks ago, he might have talked me out of taking my shower first but I'd caught on to his methods by now. Sure, Gabriel was the most eloquent of the archangels that I had met, but Michael had a strangely compelling way of arguing. Hell, that was how he'd ended up accompanying me in the first place.

The hot shower left me in a much better mood than before. Maybe I had just needed the alone time. Michael was great and all, but I hadn't been close with an attractive male aside from Gabriel in a while. It took some getting used to.

I redressed in comfortable clothes—a plum-colored t-shirt and black Capris. It took nearly an entire minute of adjusting my hair before I realized I was preening. What the hell. I shot myself an annoyed glare in the mirror before stomping out of the bathroom in a huff.

Michael had stripped down to a white tank top, proof that he too felt a little hot under the collar. His eyes tracked my movement across the room, but he didn't say anything. That was a first.

The television spouted information about the weather and current events, which didn't surprise me. Michael would want to know what kind of environment we'd traveled into and if it was any better or worse than Albany. If we were lucky, though, we'd only be here for a few days. It all depended on whether the psychiatric hospital had held onto the full records of my mother's stay. I had called ahead and requested patient information but they needed me to bring legal documentation—in my case, a copy of my birth certificate—to confirm that I was her daughter in order to access the files.

"Shower's all yours," I said unnecessarily. Some part of me enjoyed pushing Michael's buttons and I couldn't tell if it was a good or bad thing. He stood, tossed me the remote, and began searching through his duffel bag for clothing.

"What's the plan for the rest of the night?"

I shrugged, eyes locked on the TV screen. Ooh, Castle rerun. Nice. "Order a pizza and sleep?"

His back was facing me but I could hear the smile in his voice. "Great. Something new and different for us."

Wonder if I could set his head on fire with my mind. Nah. "What would you suggest then, Mr. O'Brien?"

"We're in a new city. The least we can do is have dinner somewhere."

I paused. "Why does that sound like a date?"

Michael turned and arched an eyebrow at me. "Is there something you need to tell me, Jordan?"

I spared him a cold look. "Ha-ha."

He flashed me that million-dollar smile and I snorted, waving in the direction of the bathroom. "Stop flirting with me and go take a shower, pretty boy."

His soft chuckle lingered even after he disappeared into the bathroom. Stupid sexy angel.

Chapter Seventeen

We ended up wandering around town on foot just to save on gas. The slow pace wasn't as annoying as I thought it would be, now that the humidity had crept off into the night. This city had a relatively small population and it showed: the streets were busy with people, but the traffic and general noise was low. Music drifted through the air from a nearby club, punctuated by occasional cheering from whatever game was on inside the sports bars. Girls hung together in groups outside of the movie theater, giggling as cute boys walked past them. The environment felt comfortable, maybe because I'd become so used to the vibrant but sometimes impersonal city of Albany.

Plus, there was always the amusing pastime of people watching, which became especially fun when I went out with Michael. The archangel was somewhat aware of his effect on the opposite sex, but no more than that. He missed the longing glances sent at him from married women, the flirty smiles from single women, and the nervous snickers passed between teens and tweens. I found myself smirking at the hate-laden glances they sent me when we strolled by them. It was one of the unspoken benefits of being in the company of a good-looking guy.

"Hungry yet?"

Michael's voice jolted me out of my petty thoughts. I shook my head. "Nah. Maybe in another hour or so. Besides, it seems like we've got company."

I jerked a thumb backwards to the willowy blonde in a red sweater and black skirt who had been trailing us since we left the hotel.

Michael's dark eyebrows rose in surprise. "When did you notice?"

"About a minute or two after we left the hotel."

A slow smile touched his lips. "Would it be wrong to say I'm a little proud?"

I rolled my eyes. "I have been doing this whole ghost thing for two years, you know."

"Point taken."

The average person wouldn't have noticed, but we did walk a little faster. The back of my neck tingled as if I could feel her stare from here. The nasty business with Jacob taught me to be much more cautious around spirits. Fortunately, Michael had taught me a few chants that would hold an evil spirit at bay, but the potential danger still hung over me like mist—thick, almost palpable.

Crickets and frogs serenaded our entrance into the park. Like the main streets, there were people, but the place wasn't crowded. Most of the visitors had gathered at the shore of the placid lake. The cuter couples were skipping stones on the silver water and watching the ripples fragment the moon's reflection. Nice date spot.

Michael and I headed for a more secluded area along the winding trail lit by the occasional lamppost. Thick foliage enclosed us on both sides of the path, making the place seem much more private than public.

We stopped in front of a park bench and turned towards the specter. She continued towards us with a calm expression, her pale but pretty face betraying nothing.

I casually slipped my hands into the pockets of my grey duster, checking that the blessed rosary was still in place, before speaking up.

"Can I help you?"

She jumped, shock evident in her voice even through the light British accent. "You can see me?"

"We both can. My name is Jordan and this is Michael. We noticed you've been following us for a while."

The woman winced. "Sorry, it's just that...something told me to follow you."

"It's an instinct that all human souls have. You're drawn to people who can see ghosts. That's what Jordan is," Michael said.

The woman's shoulders relaxed and she let out a relieved sigh. "Thank goodness. I've felt so lost and alone."

"It's alright. We're here to help. What's the last thing you remember?" As I spoke, I rummaged through the inner pocket of my duster for the ever-present notepad and pen. Michael had a better memory than me, so he didn't need one. Higher brain capacity, I supposed.

"Well, I was standing outside of a restaurant. I think it was an Applebee's or something. I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there or how long I'd been there. Someone walked right through me and that's when I realized I wasn't alive."

"Do you remember your name?"

"Marianne."

I began my list.

Marianne

Appears to be in her mid-to-late twenties

Red sweater, black skirt

Blonde hair

Blue eyes

British accent

Woke up in front of Applebee's

"Anything else? Can you think of your last name or your address?"

She shook her head. "But there is this."

Marianne reached inside the sweater and pulled off a gold necklace, holding it out. Michael and I stepped forward, though not close enough for her to touch us, and examined the oval locket. On one side, there were the initials M.R. and below them, the initials J.A. On the other, there was a photograph of a very young Marianne and a Middle Eastern boy. They couldn't have been older than six or seven.

I wrote down a few more thoughts on the paper. "Alright. We'll start working on your case tonight and see what we can come up with. If we're lucky, it won't take long."

"What about them?"

"Them who?"

Marianne pointed behind us. Michael and I turned. My mouth dropped open.

There were at least ten ghosts standing behind us.

Holy shit.

They didn't seemed organized or menacing. There were six men, three women, and one child all dressed differently, but each with the same needy look in their eyes.

I cleared my throat, my gaze traveling from one specter to the next. "This isn't normal, is it?"

"Not in the least," Michael replied, his green eyes wide. Ghosts never tended to appear all at once. On average, I encountered one every two to three weeks in Albany. The odds that ten of them would gather in New Jersey around Michael and I were incredibly improbable. Then again, no one ever said my job made any sense.

"What should we do?" I asked.

Michael ran a hand through his hair—a nervous habit of his. "I don't think we have much of a choice but to try and help them."

A sigh escaped me. "I had a feeling you'd say that."

To them, I said: "Alright, folks, single file line. I need names and anything else you remember."

Fifteen minutes later, a third of my notepad was filled with the personal information of nearly a dozen ghosts. We wouldn't be able to help them tonight, so I sent all of them but Marianne away. Once they had gone, we walked back towards the front of the park.

"Well, that wasn't weird," I said, stuffing my notepad in my pocket. It was then that I noticed the rosary wasn't in there. I paused, patting myself down but it was nowhere to be found.

Michael stopped walking when he noticed what I was doing. "What's wrong?"

"I think I dropped the rosary back there. Wait here, I'll be right back." I jogged back up the trail, searching the gravel in the dim light of the lamps above me. When I reached the park bench a couple minutes later, I found it on the ground. Just as I stooped to pick it up, someone appeared in front of me.

I caught a look at his face and felt the blood drain out of mine.

"Terrell?"

My ex-boyfriend's dark brown eyes widened to nearly epic proportions. "Jordan? What are you doing here?"

"I...I'm here for family issues. What are you doing here?" I asked, hating that my heartbeat had tripled in the last five seconds. Unfortunately, his good looks hadn't faded in the least. His skin was a rich mahogany, teeth perfect and white, full lips softening his square jaw darkened by the presence of a goatee. His six-foot frame was encased in a navy suit jacket over a black shirt and blue jeans. I felt woefully unattractive in my comfortable, but unimpressive get up.

"Doctor's conference," Terrell said, the shock melting into a pleasant expression. "I'm here until Wednesday. Man. It's crazy seeing you like this. How long's it been?"

I shoved my hands in my pockets so he wouldn't see them shaking. "Two and half years or so."

"Sounds about right. Looks like they've been good to you." A sly smile tugged at the edge of his lips. The blood in my cheeks heated up.

I shuffled momentarily, trying to regain composure. "I was just heading out of the park so...it was good seeing you."

"Oh, come on, you're not using that weak line on me, are you?" he said, arching an eyebrow.

I winced. "What do you want me to say?"

"Jordan, it's been almost three years. The least you can do is let me buy you dinner so we can catch up."

Deep inside, I felt my resolve beginning to crumble. Damn him. This man was the only person on Earth I couldn't say no to.

"I dunno if that's a good idea..."

He paused. "Oh, wait. Are you seeing someone...?"

I shook my head. "No, but I don't want to make things complicated."

"It's dinner, not a week in Hawaii. Tomorrow night, the Dynasty, eight o'clock. Don't be late." With that, he flashed me another brilliant smile and kept walking. I stared after him for a long moment before turning around and returning to Michael and Marianne waiting for me. When I reached them, Michael was scanning the crowd with a slight frown on his face.

"Something wrong?"

He shook his head. "No, I just got an odd feeling all of the sudden. Ready?"

I thought about pressing him to explain what he'd felt, but decided to do it later. "Yeah. Let's head for the Applebee's and see if anything rings a bell for Marianne."

It didn't take long to get there, but luck still wasn't on our side. The staff didn't recall seeing anyone with her friend's description, but they let me have all the last names that started with A. We headed back to the hotel to begin the tedious search process to see if anything turned up.

Twenty minutes on Google proved fruitless until I managed to get lucky with the eighth name on my list of potentials. The guy in the photo's name was Jameson Micah Arlo. He'd used his middle name for the reservation. He worked at an orphanage outside the city limits. We couldn't call to meet with him because it was after visiting hours and all the kiddies would be asleep, so we'd have to arrange a meeting tomorrow. I gave Marianne instructions to meet us tomorrow in the afternoon. Like most ghosts, she felt worried about leaving our presence while we slept, but I assured her a walk the city might help her memory return.

With a groan, I toppled over backwards on my bed, eyes dropping closed. The cool cotton of the comforter felt great. Peace at last. Not that I'd keep it that way.

"So what was with the ghost party in the park?"

"That I don't know," Michael said. "I've never seen anything like it before. I left Gabriel a voicemail asking if he'd encountered something similar."

"I don't suppose it's Christ's Return, is it?"

He let out a small chuckle. "Ah, no. Trust me, you'll know when that happens."

A grin touched my lips. Well, he had a point. Revelation painted a much more vivid picture of the Rapture, after all. I wasn't the best Christian, but I did know the basics.

"Is there anything that could cause such a large collection of souls?"

Michael paused before replying. "Perhaps a holy item being discovered? Not something like the Spear—something that has more of a connection to mankind. The spear represented man's sin. It would have to be something...purer."

I sat up, the grin evaporating as a thought occurred to me. "And what are the odds it would appear the same time we're in New Jersey?"

His green eyes radiated the same concern as my brown ones. "Impossible."

A sigh escaped me. "For once, can I just have a normal week?"

Michael spared me a faint smile. "Apparently not. How 'bout I pick out somewhere nice to go tomorrow night to make up for it?"

"Can't. I have plans."

Up went the angel's eyebrows. "With whom?"

I pointedly did not look at him as I answered, choosing to sift through my suitcase for my nightclothes. "Terrell."

"Terrell? You mean ex-boyfriend, white-picket-fence Terrell?"

"The same."

"When'd you run into him?"

"When I went to grab the rosary in the park."

"Oh."

An awkward silence fell. I ignored it.

Michael took a moment before speaking again. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Funny how he echoed me having not been there when it happened. "It's dinner, not a honeymoon in the Bahamas. Wasn't my idea in the first place."

"But you still agreed to go."

I shot him a sarcastic look. "Yes, I did, Captain Obvious. Is there a problem?"

He stared back at me for a second before adopting the phoniest smile I'd ever been graced to see on this Earth. "Nothing would make me happier than to see you two together."

I shook my head. "You're an awful liar, Michael."

The angel cleared his throat, seeming a bit embarrassed. "In all seriousness, I am actually thinking about your welfare. You two do have a pretty rough past."

I gathered my clothes up, heading for the bathroom. "I'll be fine, trust me. If I were impressed by knights in shining armor, I would have fallen for you."

He frowned at me. "Ouch."

I batted my eyelashes at him. "Sticks and stones, Michael. Sticks and stones."

Chapter Eighteen

Something tickled down my chest. I couldn't see it. There was cloth over my eyes—a blindfold. I should have panicked, but I felt oddly calm. I was lying on silken sheets that cradled my body as if they were alive. Weird.

The mysterious object brushed over my throat. I shivered, reaching up to undo the blindfold, but a soothing male voice stopped me.

"Not yet."

I felt compelled to listen to him, so I lowered my arms and lay motionless. The air stirred over my face and then I felt it again—across my forehead, over my nose, past my lips. I realized after a moment that it was a feather. Its delicate ridges dipped past my collarbone and caressed the scarred flesh on my chest; a soothing gesture. Moments later, I felt the warm breath of someone's mouth and then soft lips. The kiss lasted only seconds, but it felt longer. My mind was spinning from the simple pleasure of it.

The man withdrew. I reached up to undo the blindfold as he cupped my chin, stroking my skin. My eyes opened, focusing slowly. As they adjusted, I could see the silhouette of wings stretching wide from the man's bare back. But there was something wrong. His wings weren't silver but midnight black, and the tips were singed as if they had been held over a flame. The man's face faded into view and it was one I knew very well: alabaster skin, long jet black hair, serpentine smile, and eyes so pale blue that they were almost white, making the thin pupils at the center seem even more reptilian.

Belial smiled that cold smile as he closed the inches between us. "Did you miss me, my pet?"

My lungs filled with air and I screamed.

I awoke with a jolt, panting, cold sweat dripping down my spine like icy fingers, reaching for my mouth as if I could still feel the demon's lips. Shit.

I heard Michael stir in his bed, awakened by my gasping. It took him only seconds to notice I was not in good shape. He tossed back the covers and hurried to my side, his voice still gravelly from slumber.

"Jordan, what's wrong?"

I just shook my head, still not coherent enough to talk. He reached out to touch my shoulder.

"Geez, you're shaking."

I swatted his hand away just as his fingertips brushed my skin. "Don't! Don't...touch me."

"Alright, I won't. Just tell me what you saw."

I kicked the covers off my legs and walked over to the mini-fridge on the floor, wordlessly opening it. Michael spoke from behind me.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting a drink. What does it look like I'm doing?" I snapped, slamming the door shut after I found a comically small bottle of alcohol.

He stepped close to me, trying to take it out of my hands. "You don't need it."

"The hell I don't," I growled, tightening my fingers around the neck of the bottle. When he couldn't pry it away, he grabbed my shoulders and held me still.

"Jordan, look at me."

Finally, I stopped trying to wriggle out of his grasp and met his eyes. There wasn't irritation or impatience in them—just concern. He spoke again, his voice quiet and measured.

"You don't need it."

Something painful welled up in my chest, but I ignored the sensation as best as I could. Seeing me cry once was enough. Instead, I threw up my hands.

"What do you want me to do? I can't deal with this shit every night."

Michael watched me before touching the side of my cheek, brushing the hair out of my eyes. "Then let me do my job."

Gently, he took the bottle and set it on the table behind me, tugging me forward enough to wrap his arms around me. Part of me wanted to resist and argue with him more, but the other part wanted to sink into him and forget the horrible dream as quickly as possible. In the end, I just stood there—neither hurting nor helping the situation. After a few deep breaths, my heart rate slowed and the adrenaline drained out of my tired body until I was back to my normal, cantankerous self.

"I don't think hugging me is part of your job description."

He was tall enough that I couldn't see his face with my own pressed to his shoulder, but I could tell he was smiling by his tone. "Last time I checked, hugging wasn't a sin."

A tiny smile found my lips. "Obviously you're doing it wrong."

Feeling admittedly better, I pushed away from him and sank back onto the bed, tugging out the loose knot I'd tied my hair up into so I could run my fingers through it. Nervous habit.

Michael sat next to me, but didn't touch me this time. I appreciated it.

"What did you see?"

I couldn't help but wince. "Belial."

"It's not the first time, is it?"

I shook my head. "Ever since the fight at the psychiatric hospital, I've had nightmares about him. Still, this one was much more...vivid."

A cold shudder rolled up my spine as I thought about him kissing me, how he had manipulated me into thinking he was someone else. Bastard.

Michael let out a long breath, leaning his arms on his long legs. "I know it sounds corny but...you know I'd never let him hurt you again."

I nodded, fingers combing through my hair until it was untangled enough to fit back in a ponytail. "I know."

"Is there anything you want me to do?"

A thought popped into mind—something I'd forgotten about for a while—that time he and I had fallen asleep in bed together and I didn't have nightmares that night. Somehow, his close proximity seemed to cancel my bad dreams. Why, though? Maybe I'd ask Gabriel about it.

"No," I said out loud. "I'll be alright."

A tiny voice in my head whispered that I was an idiot, but I told it to go die in a fire. Our relationship had crossed so many lines at this point, and there would be no reason to keep at it. He was an archangel, for Christ's sake, not a teddy bear.

I climbed into bed and flopped down on the pillow face up. Michael took the hint and went back to his own, hesitating before getting in.

"Good night, Jordan."

I sighed. "Let's hope so."

I expected to wake up in a cold sweat, buried underneath the fluffy white comforter, but something was different. There wasn't a damp imprint of my body on the mattress. Quite the opposite, actually. I felt warm. Inexplicably so.

There was a firm weight down my back and along my waist that seemed to keep the cold of the hotel room at bay. Even with my mind barely conscious, blind pleasure filled me. I felt...safe. Not really a familiar sensation with my lifestyle.

A contented sigh slipped past my lips. I snuggled deeper into my comfortable spot, reaching over my waist to pull the covers in tighter so I could make myself a cocoon. I touched something smooth. Not the blanket. Firmer. Confused and still mostly asleep, I tried to stretch but my heels brushed against a pair of rather large bare feet. A muscular chest met my spine, melting into it perfectly. Definitely male.

Wait, what?

My eyes flew open. I sat up in my bed to find Michael lying asleep next to me with one large arm draped across my hips.

I scrambled backwards in a flustered panic, remembering it was only a Queen-sized bed seconds too late. I tumbled off the edge and hit the floor, which knocked the wind out of me. However, the enormous thud woke up the intruding archangel.

"Jor?" he croaked in his ultra-deep morning voice, peeking over the edge of the mattress.

I stood up in a flash and shrieked, "What the hell are you doing?"

He frowned. "Making sure you didn't crack your skull?"

I ground my back teeth. "Not that, jackass. Why are you in bed with me?"

Michael raked the hair out of his face so he could see me better. "Oh. Jordan, you were tossing and turning the entire night. I couldn't keep waking you up or you'd never get any rest—"

"—so you just thought there's no harm in crawling in bed with me? Have you lost your mind?"

He continued looking confused. "We've shared a bed before. What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal? You had my permission when that happened."

"I was just trying to help."

I pressed my fingertips against my temple. A headache was forthcoming. The hot blood rushing through me felt liable to pop out of my neck at any second. "I'm not a child. I can handle a few bad dreams by myself."

Finally, he got irritated. "So what? We're just going to pretend like you weren't about to start drinking last night because the nightmare freaked you out so badly?"

"Sounds good to me."

He shook his head. "Denial isn't going to help you get better. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable and invaded your privacy, but I didn't know what else to do. You were in pain."

"Fine. Let me enlighten you. Life is pain. I'll get over it."

He glared at me. "So if the same thing were happening to me and I told you to just back off and forget about it, what would you say?"

That shut me up for a couple of seconds. He had a point. Sort of. Not that it mattered because he was clearly missing the big picture. "Michael, you've been on earth long enough to know that there are some lines you just shouldn't cross. Last night was one of them. If you don't see that, then we have nothing else to talk about."

I stalked off to the bathroom, not answering when he called after me. The door slammed shut between us—louder than a gunshot. I stood in the middle of the room and wrapped my arms around myself.

I still felt warm.

Damn him.

Thirty minutes later, we were both dressed and out the door to head to the psychiatric hospital where my mother's records would be. I didn't expect to find much—after all, it had been eighteen years. I was lucky the hospital was small enough that they hadn't deleted the files. The backups were our only shot.

"Can I ask you something?"

"No."

Michael ignored me and continued anyway. I was still a bit mad at him but at least he hadn't tried to bring the argument up again. "How come you didn't do this sooner?"

I thought about blowing him off, but telling him the truth at least kept my mind off our spat. "I wasn't able to leave my aunt's place until I was sixteen. I'd gotten a job at fourteen and hid money around the apartment. When I had enough, I ran for it and hitched a ride to the first thing smoking out of Jersey. An old woman drove me to Albany and that's where I decided to set up shop. Her name was Selina Lebeau. She let me rent the room above her candy store while I got another job. Took me forever just to be able to afford basic household stuff. Got lucky one night at the restaurant when I met Lauren and she helped get me a full time job there. I just couldn't save up enough to get back to Jersey, no matter how hard I tried. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged one shoulder, concentrating on the road ahead rather than looking at me. "She's important to you. I knew there had to be a reason why you hadn't done it before now."

Further talk was hindered by the fact that we'd pulled into the parking lot of the psychiatric hospital. Like last time, I felt the creeping sensation of a panic attack coming on: muscles tightening, pupils dilating, cold sweat, and rapid breathing. I gripped the side of my car door and closed my eyes, breathing in and out slowly until the symptoms faded. This time, there would be no faceless men dragging me away from my mother, nor would Belial or Mulciber be waiting for me. I had to believe that with all my heart, or I'd never get out of this car.

Finally, I opened the door and stepped out, squaring my shoulders and doing my best not to wince as I looked up at the sparkling white hospital, stark against the bright green grass and the vibrant blue-sky overhead. Cheerful place. I wasn't buying it.

The automatic doors whooshed open, sending a blast of frigid air against my skin. I shivered and glanced about the lobby. Pristine baby blue walls, linoleum floors, and framed pictures of smiling people. It felt oddly like walking into an eye doctor's office.

I brushed the thought aside and walked up to the front desk where a black guy sat with a phone tucked against his shoulder. He smiled when we walked over, lowering the receiver.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes. We have an appointment with a Dr. Reginald," I said.

He faced the computer in front of him, typing in a few things. "I see. I'll send a call for her. Make sure you have your paperwork ready. Please have a seat over there."

He pointed to the plush navy chairs in the carpeted waiting room to my right. I withdrew the paperwork that had been folded up in one of my inner pockets and sat down. Michael took the seat to my left. Silence fell over us as the minutes crept by, punctuated only by a clock ticking on the wall and the typing of the male secretary. Anxious energy began to build in my nerves. It wasn't until Michael touched my left leg that I realized I had been bouncing it up and down.

He flashed me a reassuring smile and leaned over a bit to murmur something to me. "If you don't stop doing that, I'm going to staple your foot to the floor."

A challenging smirk touched my lips. "Try it and die."

The angel adopted a haughty expression. "Is that a threat, mortal?"

"I most certainly hope it is."

"I could take you blindfolded with one arm tied behind my back."

I arched an eyebrow. "Is that how they did it back in your time, Grandpa?"

"Ouch. That's a low blow."

I would have replied but then a short Asian woman in her forties walked over, offering her hand.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Reginald. Are you Jordan Amador?"

I stood, accepting her firm handshake. "Yes, ma'am. This is my friend Michael O'Brien. He's here for moral support."

She paused, pointing at him and then me. "Michael...Jordan?"

I couldn't help but smile a bit. I'd gotten used to people making that reference over the past couple months. "Yeah, I know. It's weird."

She grinned at my admittance. "Nice to meet you. If you'll follow me, we'll get started."

Dr. Reginald led us past the front desk and down the hallway of the employees' offices, meaning that all the patients were on the upper three floors. She opened the door to the stairwell and we followed her to the basement, which was even colder than the sub-zero first floor.

"Pardon me if I have a little trouble with the files," the doctor said, taking a set of keys out of her pocket. "It's very rare that we have past relatives coming in to find information about loved ones."

"It's fine," I assured her.

"May I see your information?"

I handed her the file containing my birth certificate. She scanned it briefly and handed it back to me, turning to unlock the door. Inside, the room was filled with row after row of file cabinets, all with elaborate letters and codes for organization. Must have been hell to have to catalogue things this way.

"Our recent patients' information is in our computers upstairs, but everyone who was at this facility from ten years ago or longer has hard copies. We keep them in case the state or federal government needs them." Dr. Reginald 's dark eyes scanned the rows until she recognized the one we needed to be on. We approached a worn out black file cabinet and she opened it, mumbling to herself as she looked through the folders' tabs. I chewed my bottom lip, but at last she found the right manila and pulled it out.

"Here we are. There's not much on there—just your basic profile and how long she stayed at this hospital," she said, handing it to me.

My hands shook the tiniest bit as I opened the folder, coming upon a grey document with my mother's name, former address, marital status, and so on. A picture was paper-clipped in the top right corner and it made my breath catch to see her face again. Morena, just like me. Staring into the photograph was like looking into a mirror of an older, much stronger reflection of myself. After a moment, I tore my gaze away from my mother's brazen brown eyes and instead read through the information.

"Wait, this says that she was never legally released from the hospital because she ran away. I thought my mother's body was found here?" I asked, frowning.

Dr. Reginald's brow furrowed as well as she stepped on my left side, since Michael towered over my right, and scanned the profile. "That's odd. If you want more clarification, you'd have to see if there's a police report attached."

She turned the page and I read it out loud: "Found three blocks away from psychiatric hospital with a deep laceration in her rib cage that suggest it was self-inflicted. No signs of struggle. The weapon was found in her chest cavity with her fingerprints and the prints of another unidentified dead man on it. Her male accomplice fled the scene. Male accomplice?"

Behind that page, I found a rough sketch of a dark-haired man in his late thirties with a thin scar over his right eyebrow and another peeking up from the collar of his shirt on the left side of his neck. I couldn't breathe.

It was Mr. N.

Beneath his picture, in an untidy scrawl, was a name.

Andrew Bethsaida.

Andrew Bethsaida was the name of the man I killed.

My throat tightened upon seeing his face again. I swallowed hard a couple of times before speaking to the doctor.

"Do you have a profile on this man?"

"He was brought in as a consultant later on during your mother's stay at the hospital. He specialized in schizophrenia, paranoia, and other psychological problems in people with multicultural backgrounds. However, if you aren't his next of kin then I'm afraid I can't divulge his personal information." She sounded regretful, as if she noticed the distraught look on my face.

"It's...okay. I just wanted to know. Would I be able to get a copy of this file?"

"Sure, I'll get that for you upstairs."

"Thank you. One more thing—is there a chance that she had any personal items put in storage here?"

Dr. Reginald paused, thinking about it. "Most likely, no. The policy is to keep a patient's things for about a year and then either donate them or throw them away. However, I did see something on the other page."

She flipped back to the first sheet and pointed down at the bottom.

"It says here that her personal belongings were forwarded to this address."

"God," I whispered.

Michael touched my shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"That's the address to my Aunt Carmen's apartment."

Chapter Nineteen

"Are you sure you don't want me to go in with you?"

I heard what Michael said, but my eyes were fixed on the dilapidated apartment building, stretched tall and dank against the cloudy sky. Brick and mortar never seemed more daunting than on this place. Not even children scurrying back and forth on skateboards and scooters made it appear any less awful. The air here wasn't like that of the quaint part of Jersey that we'd left. This place smelled of cigarette smoke, filth from the nearby open manholes, and exhaust from old, overworked cars. A defeated atmosphere hung about, unwilling to dissipate as if it were some sort of permanent fog. There was no panic attack this time because I wasn't afraid of my aunt's home. I hated it.

After a while, I realized I hadn't answered him so I took a deep breath and unlocked my car door. "Yeah. I won't be long."

I didn't spare him a glance as I got out. Seeing his face would make me chicken out and want to stay there, or maybe beg him to drive me the hell out of here. I couldn't do that. My mom deserved better.

I walked across the cracked sidewalk and into the courtyard that split the building into two sections. The building itself had four floors and last time I checked, hers was on the second. Part of me prayed that she wouldn't still be living here but I knew my luck wasn't that good.

I ascended the stairs and walked to Room 234, raising my fist to knock on the door. My hand hung in the air above the faded forest green paint for a long moment until I worked up the nerve. Two knocks. Nothing. Three, this time. Nada. Four knocks.

The ancient doorknob turned. I stepped back and stared into the face of Carmensita Durante.

Her eyes were grey, but not the same kind of grey as a cloudy sky. They were dark and dirty like cigarette ash. Smoke curled up from the lit coffin nail clutched in her bony hand. She hadn't aged well. Her skin was yellowed from years of chain smoking and hung from her skull like a turkey's jowls. Her hair was all grey and pulled into a tight bun. Her clothes were simple as always: pink blouse with a scoop neck, black skirt, and faded blue slippers. The only thing that had changed about Aunt Carmen's demeanor was that she was shocked to see me.

"Hola, tia," I said, shoving my hands in the pockets of my duster. My fingers wrapped around the rosary self-consciously. Sure, she wasn't technically a demon, but there were plenty of times during my childhood that I thought her to be inhuman.

In mere seconds, the surprise trickled out of her aged face to be replaced with the same harsh stoicism I'd seen for years.

"Hola, chica. It's been a long time, no?"

"Yes, it has."

She tapped ashes from the end of her cigarette, crossing one thin arm beneath the other and taking a drag on the cig. "What do you want?"

I licked my lips, trying to figure out the most delicate way to ask. "I was at the psychiatric hospital looking for things about Mom. They said they forwarded the rest of her things to you. Can I take a look?"

Aunt Carmen stared at me for a long moment before blowing out a stream of smoke inches away from my left cheek. I didn't flinch. She grunted at me and opened the door all the way. "Fine. Come in."

I stepped inside and immediately shut down all my senses. Cigarette smoke permeated anything vaguely resembling oxygen in this apartment. To my surprise, a few things had changed. The old tan couch made of scratchy cotton had disappeared and a green couch sat in its place, though the usual stains and burn holes were there. A dirty glass table covered in magazines sat in front of it, reflecting images from the large TV propped up on a set of phonebooks nearby. The kitchen was to my right, but I could only see the fridge and part of the counter from where I stood. Past the den lay the bedrooms. I hoped she wouldn't make me go back there to see her husband Rico, provided that he was even home.

Aunt Carmen brushed past me and grabbed a small glass from the coffee table that had an amber liquid in it. I didn't even need to guess—Jose Cuervo. Her favorite kind of tequila. Such a charming woman.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to speak up. "Where are her things?"

She drained the glass and set it back down before answering. "It's been eighteen years, chica. Do you really think I kept them all? I sold all her valuable stuff and threw the rest out with the garbage."

Anger flared up my body so fast that I got dizzy. I clenched my hands into fists and reminded myself it was unwise to punch an old woman in the face, even if she deserved it. Instead, I just shook my head.

"Cold bitch," I spat.

Her bony hand lashed out and hit my right cheek, leaving a patch of my skin stinging. It made me flinch, but not stumble.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that in mi casa, morena del Diablo! I took you in when you had nowhere else to go, puta," she shot back, eyes narrowed to slits.

"Forgive me if I'm not grateful," I growled back. "But you weren't exactly Surrogate Mother of the Year. If it's all the same to you, I'd have rather been raised by wolves. They'd have been cleaner and nicer than you ever were."

She spat contemptuously at my feet. "You think that's funny, eh? What else would you have done if not for me? Found your deadbeat father? He didn't want you any more than your loca mama—"

I took a step forward, putting myself mere inches from her face. The anger boiled hot in my stomach and flowed down my arms like a scalding tidal wave.

"Don't you call her that again in front of me or I will break you over my knee like a twig, old woman. Now do you have anything from my mother in this shithole you call a home or not?" I snarled.

She didn't back down, just stared at me with scorn. "On top of the bookshelf there is a picture. You may have that," Aunt Carmen said, pointing to her left. Against the wall was a short wooden shelf where pictures of her children and other ancient magazines had been stacked.

I walked over and knelt, seeing a picture frame that had been turned over. I lifted it and found an 8x10 inch photo of my mother when she was close to my age. Even this horrible place couldn't lessen her beauty. Slowly, the rage subsided and I could think straight once more.

I picked it up and headed for the door. Aunt Carmen decided this was a good time to start in on me like she used to before I left.

"Go on, go! Leave the only family you have, selfish brat! We live like cucarachas in this place without enough food or clothes, but that doesn't bother you, does it? You aren't good for anything, niña. You never will be. You're gonna end up like your pathetic mama someday and I won't be there to even take enough time to spit on your grave."

I yanked the door open and walked out, only to find myself face to face with Michael.

"I told you to wait downstairs," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

Michael's face had a stoic quality to it that led me to believe he'd heard either most or all of our conversation. "Sorry."

I shook my head and turned my back on my aunt, beckoning the archangel. "Let's go."

"Just a second." To my surprise, he brushed past me and walked over to one rather surprised Aunt Carmen, offering his hand.

"Michael O'Brien. I just had to meet you."

She spared him a suspicious look, shaking his hand once as she eyed him. "You got something to say to me?"

Michael flashed her a stunning smile, the kind that made women weak in the knees, and tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he shook his head.

"Y'know, there were a lot of things I thought I'd say to you if we ever met, but I never thought that I'd say thank you."

My eyes widened. Aunt Carmen's did as well. "'Scuse me?"

Michael continued on in a calm, polite voice, though the smile evaporated into nothing, leaving his handsome face serious as a heart attack. The air around him seemed to fill to the brim with static. I could feel the waves of anger flowing out of him in my lungs, in the back of my throat, in the pit of my stomach, as if our bodies had melded into one.

"I said thank you. If it weren't for your cruelty, your cowardice, your selfishness, and your ignorance, then the woman standing behind me might not have come to be. It's not your fault that your mother treasured your younger sister more than you and showered her with love and praise. I know how that must have made you feel. You became bitter and resented the both of them, so as soon as the opportunity presented itself, you leapt into action to betray your sister. When the hospital called to hand custody of Jordan over to you, it was like Christmas morning, wasn't it? What better revenge on Catalina then to break her daughter beyond repair? But then something happened, something unexpected. That girl you worked so hard to destroy grew up and became the very person you hated the most. She is beautiful, kind, intelligent, and full of life. I've been around for a very long time, Mrs. Durante. Her kind of radiance is rare in this world. So I hope for your sake that you someday have enough sense to ask for her forgiveness because if you don't...there is a place waiting for you where they won't take as much pity on you as I have. You have a nice evening, ma'am."

With that, he turned around and walked down the hallway. Before I followed, I noticed the utter shock on Aunt Carmen's face mixed with a very human expression of fear, perhaps remorse. Served her right.

I caught up with Michael after a few paces, matching the stride of his long legs. We walked in silence towards the steps, serenaded by the crickets and car horns surrounding the dingy apartment complex.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know," he replied, descending the stairs with me at his heels.

I sighed, mostly because I knew I could never stay mad at him. "Thank you."

Just as we reached the last few steps, my shoe snagged on the rusted railing and I pitched forward. Michael whirled around and caught me in a blur of motion. For a handful of seconds, his large hands suspended me above him and I stared down into his face, breathless, my head fuzzy with thoughts it had no business entertaining. A slow smile touched those full lips and I felt the vibrations from his chest as he spoke since we were pressed so close together.

"You're welcome."

Chapter Twenty

"As a Seer, you don't possess what the average person would consider 'magic.' It's more a manipulation of energy through speech. When you acknowledge the true nature of something, you are able to unlock its abilities."

Michael paced back and forth in front of me as I sat in the grass on top of a small, secluded hill in the park. In the latter part of August, the heat slackened its moist grip on the city, leaving cooling breezes and pleasant atmosphere. I waited until he finished his small speech to respond.

"Now, in English, if you please."

He rolled his eyes at me, but grinned anyway. "Fine. In Layman's terms, you're going to be defending yourself through speech, not some kind of mystical mumbo-jumbo. I'm going to teach you how to channel your energy so you can protect yourself."

"See? Was that so hard?"

"Not as hard as it's going to be," Michael said with a sigh, plopping down in front of me. He crossed his legs and regarded me seriously with those green eyes of his.

"Gabriel has already exposed you to some of the language I'm talking about. When you invoke a spirit's crossing over, you're accessing a kind of verbal power. There are three basic versions: to heal, to defend, and to attack. For example, Raphael's greatest strength is in healing incantations, which is how he was able to bring your body back to life after you were stabbed. Gabriel's greatest strength is in defending, which you haven't seen yet, but trust me when I say it's impressive. My greatest strength is in attacking, but we won't get to that until you've had experience with the first two. It's dangerous if you try to utilize the energy untrained."

"What exactly will I be saying to access this power? Bible verses? Ominous Latin chanting?"

He grinned. "More or less. There's no need for the Latin, in actuality. It only works if the person has faith. There are hundreds of religions, but they all draw strength from the same source. Therefore, the one most relevant to you is Christianity, and since you understand the Bible in English, that's what you'll speak. The same would go for a Hindu Seer and so on. It's the belief that counts."

Michael scooted a little closer. "Close your eyes."

I did. "Now keep breathing slowly and tell me if you can feel what I'm doing."

I arched an eyebrow, though my eyes were still shut. "This isn't going to be one of those awkward moments that changes our friendship forever, is it?"

He sighed again. "Jordan."

"Sorry."

After I had been slowly inhaling for about fifteen seconds or so, I felt a strange sort of warmth surrounding me. It wasn't exactly physical—it simply felt as if the air around my body had risen in temperature. Then, something within my chest responded to the heat and sent wafting waves of coolness towards it.

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

"This is what I was talking about a moment ago. You've been emitting this kind of energy at an unconscious level and that's what draws the ghosts to you. It calls to them, like it does to anything that isn't purely human."

I opened my eyes. "Demons too?"

His expression hardened. "Yes, unfortunately. The Fallen don't have as many powers as the angels, but they did retain many of their old ones after the War in Heaven. It's why we've had so much trouble fighting them."

"So this energy I'm feeling now...is that why I can sense your emotions sometimes?"

He gave me a surprised look. "That's exactly why."

"So what does it feel like to normal people?"

"Since you're a Seer, you feel it directly. To them, it's more like a...mood. If I were to influence, let's say, one of my bandmates, they would feel a change in mood and wouldn't know why. It's not exactly a kind of control, although I could force that on them."

"And that's why the demons wanted your body."

He nodded. "The demons could incite rage, hatred, violence—any sin they could think of—over human beings. It'd be mayhem."

"Is there anyway to block it?"

"For normal people, no. For you, yes. You can draw your energy back into you and form a sort of shield. Here, I'll show you." He straightened his back and shoulders, resting his large hands on his knees.

"I'm going to try and influence you. When you start to feel it, try to wrap the energy around yourself as protection."

I shut my eyes again and reached deep down until I felt that odd cool sensation once more within my grasp. When the warmth tried to reach me, I concentrated on twisting the energy around me. It began to seep through the cracks so I raised my hand, which seemed to give my power more physicality. The heat receded after a moment or two, leaving goosebumps on my bare arms.

"Good. I'm impressed." Michael smiled, his voice genuine instead of teasing like usual. "From now on, we'll practice this every morning until you've got the hang of it."

I pouted. "Aw. When do I get to do the cool stuff like shooting mind bullets?"

He grinned again. "You have much to learn, young Padawan."

"If you start in on the Star Wars quotes, I am leaving."

"Fair enough. Now that you've got the basic feeling down, we can start on defense incantations. Before you say anything, you have to have drawn the energy around you, much like you did just a moment ago, and say 'In the name of the Father, I reject.' This causes a metaphysical barrier between you and whatever's coming at you. It's not going to be very strong the first time you do it, but the more you practice, the stronger the barrier becomes. Give it a try."

I cleared my throat, feeling vaguely silly as I repeated his words. "In the name of the Father, I reject."

After I spoke, I felt the cool, invisible energy crystallizing around me.

Michael nodded. "Good. If done properly, it can buy you enough time to fight back, retreat, or come up with another plan. You have to remember that it's not permanent. The only person who can sustain one for long is Gabriel."

"If he can do that, why didn't he form one to protect me when Belial attacked?"

"You can't form shields for others because the energy doesn't work that way."

"That sucks."

He smirked again. "Yeah, it does."

"Are you any good at shielding?"

Michael shook his head. "That's why I got my ass kicked by Mulciber."

A shudder went down my spine at the mention of her name. Evil soul-sucking bitch. I hoped she was rotting in Hell where she belonged. "Why didn't attacking her with your energy work?"

"The weapons she had been using on me were resistant to those kinds of attacks. They pretty much bounced right off of her. You have to understand that there's sort of a hierarchy of demons. Mulciber is among the most powerful. Belial is the so-called favorite of their little 'family,' but she's the brains of the outfit."

"What can you tell me about...Belial?" His name left my mouth like a whisper. Part of me still felt hesitant about saying his name, as if he'd hear it and appear. I may have been a brave fool at times, but I did not want to see him ever again.

The archangel paused, thinking. "Not much. You read Paradise Lost, right?"

"Yeah."

"It's pretty accurate on that account."

I shivered a little, rubbing my arms. "'Belial, in act more graceful and humane; a fairer person lost not Heav'n; he seemed for dignity compos'd and high exploit: but all was false and hollow; though his Tongue dropt Manna, and could make worse appear the better reason, to perplex and dash maturest counsels. Book II.'"

His eyes softened their gaze on me. All at once, I felt my shield crumbling because of my lack of concentration. Calming waves of emotion flowed out of Michael into me. For once, I didn't mind. I honestly needed it.

He opened his mouth to say something sympathetic, but I interrupted. "What can I use to attack?"

Michael shook his head. "Your power is too raw for that right now. It could be dangerous."

"To whom? You're an archangel," I pointed out.

"No, that's not why. Attacks take more energy out of you than defense or healing. If you use too much, you'll end up drained. I'd rather not carry your unconscious body out of the park," he added, arching an eyebrow.

I fought the urge to frown. "Alright, good point. Let's keep going with the defense, then. But the mind bullets had better happen eventually or I'm calling shenanigans."

"One more comment about 'mind bullets' and I'm taking away all your Tenacious D CDs."

"You're no fun."

"We're here."

Michael's voice interrupted my thoughts, and I realized that my mind had drifted off to memories of the past during our silent car ride back to the hotel. After we collected Marianne, we'd be heading to the orphanage for a meeting with Jameson. That would at least be a step in the right direction to solving the mystery of where all these ghosts had come from.

Speaking of which, the timid ghost was waiting for us outside of the lobby when we rolled up. She glided straight through the back door of the car without hesitation. Some ghosts picked up on the odd phasing thing quickly while others, often children, took some work.

I withdrew the directions I'd gotten out of my back pocket and read them aloud as Michael weaved his way back onto the main road, though Marianne's hovering above the seat behind me was awfully distracting.

Around twenty minutes later, we arrived at the orphanage—a large, four-story brownstone building settled on its own few acres of land outside of the city. There had been light rain earlier, so the ground was slick and the children weren't out in the playground out front. We drove into the parking lot around the left side of the building and got out. The plan was simple—we'd be interviewing Jameson pretending to be novelists while Marianne completed her final wish. It sounded a little creepy, but then again my job involved helping ghosts, so that was a given.

Thankfully, even with the disturbing deception, everything went smoothly and we helped her cross over. Still, I couldn't help feeling bad for Jameson, because he would never know how she felt about him.

"You okay?" Michael asked after we were both back in the car, strapping in for the ride back into town.

"Yeah, I just..." I took a deep breath. "It's a shame he didn't get to find out she was in love with him. It sounds like she carried it with her for a long time. I wish she had been able to tell him before she died."

He nodded, starting the engine. "Unprofessed feelings tend to eat at the soul. It's not healthy."

"Yeah. People really should just say how they feel."

Our eyes met. Silence spilled between us for a paralyzing few seconds before I cleared my throat and grabbed the directions from inside the glove compartment.

"Right. Let's get the hell out of here," I muttered, mentally chiding myself for letting such a stupid thing out of my mouth. Just as I retrieved the directions, the picture frame of my mother tumbled to the floorboard. As I scooped it up, my fingertips brushed against something bulky and rectangular in the back of the frame. What the hell?

I put the papers down and flipped the frame around, running my hands over the back until I found a thin seam at the bottom, so thin that I could only squeeze two fingers inside. When I pulled, a small leather-bound notebook no larger than the palm of my hand slid out.

"What is it?" Michael asked as I flipped it open. Inside, there was curly cursive writing on small sheets of tablet paper in Castilian Spanish, my mother's native language so it was only natural she would write in Spanish.

"I think it's a diary."

Michael leaned across the seat to see. "Your mother's? What's the date?"

I read the date at the top, though it took me a moment. She had taught me Spanish and English as a child, but I rarely spoke it so I was a bit rusty. "If this is right, then it's after they took her to the psychiatric hospital."

I turned more pages, finding that entry after entry, starting from the day they brought her in to the day the file said she died. A thrill went through me. This is what I had been searching for all this time. Answers.

Chapter Twenty-One

August 5th, 1993

I am no fool.

I know why I have been brought here. They can pretend all they want that they want to help me, to heal me, to save me from myself, but I can see right through their lies. I was only able to procure these bits of paper from them because they hope I will willingly divulge my innermost thoughts to them. Each night, I take one sheet and hide it for safekeeping. Thus far, they have not caught on. I am not sure if I will be able to keep my writings safe from them forever, but I have learned that there is always hope even in the darkness.

I don't know where to start. I am writing merely to keep myself sane. I don't expect to be able to see my precious Jordan again, but should you ever find this, my daughter, know that I love you more than anything in the world. I had hoped to explain these things to you when you were older, but I fear I will be gone before you grow up and so I will divulge them here.

The year you were born, my powers came to fruition. I developed the ability to see the dead spirits walking the earth. The archangel Gabriel came to me and explained the order of things. There are twelve bloodlines in this world that possess the ability of Seers—the bridges between humans and Heaven. This power passes down through the generations of the original Twelve Disciples: Simon-Peter, Andrew, James the Son of Zebedee, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew, James the Son of Alphaeus, Thaddeus, Simon, and Judas. Not every son or daughter of these disciples has the gift—only a select few receive them. It is usually those with souls that are pure and untouched by the ways of man. We are charged with the task of helping the spirits who are left behind to reach the afterlife. We are few, but we are faithful.

It is for this reason that the people in this institution have imprisoned me. My sister, Carmensita, bore witness to my ministrations helping spirits cross over and called the authorities to take you away. She did not receive the gift and so she did not know, or care, that I was helping the ghosts. However, this is not the only reason I have been brought here.

Long ago, Gabriel warned me that someday the demons might become aware of my existence. They are as cunning as they are cruel. This is why I left Spain to come to the United States. I decided to stay mobile—to live in a city for a certain amount of years and then move in order to keep my presence under the radar, as they say in America. I do not know which particular demon or entity has overseen my capture, but I will do my best to find out and escape this place. I will keep this journal safe and record what I have found periodically, should it prove useful for my escape.

August 8th, 1993

It has been three days since my imprisonment. I have learned little, but I have at least learned something.

The head doctor is called Dr. Vulcan. I did not deduce that she was one of them until she smiled at me and I could see the cruelty, the evil, the hatred in her eyes. Whenever I am in her presence, I feel trapped. She has not revealed to me the reason for my capture, but I suspect she wants me to play some part in a plot against humanity as well as Heaven.

During my daily sessions, they send in people to counsel me. This usually consists of asking me questions about my past in order to understand how I conjure up the so-called 'hallucinations.' They are just humoring me. I smile and give them nothing. It is probably not the wisest idea. I know that they will start to get nasty soon. I can feel it in my bones. But I will endure. I am an Amador and I am not afraid.

August 10th, 1993

The monsters have dropped their human masks and shown me their true faces. I will not detail the things they do to me because I will not give them the satisfaction of knowing they hurt me. I am stronger than that. I will endure.

Gabriel has finally contacted me through my dreams. We discussed an escape plan based on the small amount of information I have been able to gather. At this time, he cannot extract me because of the demons' numbers in this place. If he went for a direct assault, the demons would most certainly kill me rather than let me fall into the hands of the angels. He has learned this from experience. Instead, he said he will find another method, one that has less risk involved.

He also told me that he does not know why they chose now to abduct me, but that he will find out and he will find a way to free me. His kindness is what got me through their torture today. I do not blame him for being unable to help as of yet. The angels are charged with the safekeeping of both Heaven and Earth. They cannot put themselves out in the open because it is against the rules their Father made. But I have faith in Gabriel, in God, and in myself.

I will endure.

August 12th, 1993

The demons brought in a specialist today as their previous attempts to extract information have been fruitless. His name is Andrew. I do not think they know the truth, but I do. When he walked into my room this morning and looked at me with those dark blue eyes, I felt something.

Hope.

I cannot explain why, but I know this man is not here to hurt me. He did not ask me about my past or about my 'hallucinations.' He asked who I am. When I talked, he listened. He didn't write anything down. He didn't patronize me. He didn't look down his nose at me like the Americans do when they hear my accent. He is calm. He is steady. He is different.

Though I do not trust him fully, I have decided to cooperate somewhat. It may be one of their tricks, but if there is one thing I do trust, it is my own instincts. My powers only take me so far. I can only depend on myself in here and that will not happen if I have doubts.

Let us hope that I am right.

August 14th, 1993

The demons feel more confident with my cooperation and so they allow me more 'privileges' than before. I am not constantly restrained in my room. They allow me the luxury of a few books. It is almost an acceptable existence except for one thing. They will not let me see my daughter. I fear for her more than I fear for myself because I know the hatred my sister has for me and how she will project it onto Jordan. Jordan is a strong girl. I have to tell myself that every second I am here and not with her. I have endured unspeakable things in this place, but I worry she will endure worse. She does not deserve it. She never will.

Gabriel contacted me again and revealed that Andrew is on their side. They received word that the demons wanted someone to gain my trust to fool me into cooperating with them. He has been sent to monitor my stay here and unravel the secrets the demons are keeping. I do not know how successful he has been in this endeavor. I do know, though, that when he smiles, I feel safe. It is a strange feeling. Our time has been so short and yet I find myself relieved when he shows up for our sessions. It is foolish, but it is one of the only things that keeps me going.

August 15th, 1993

Andrew and I seem to have reached some sort of comfortable level now that I know he is not one of the demons' ploys. I have not met many charming men in my life, but he is one of the few. He often answers my questions with questions—a trait of both intelligent and infuriating men. When he's feeling generous, he tells me a little bit about his life.

Currently, he does not know about any other Seers in the states. Based on what I've heard, he is one of the most skilled Seers there has ever been. He has been helping ghosts cross over for nearly three decades, and he has had some vicious encounters with demons as well. He does not like to talk about the scars—especially not the one above his eye—and so I do not prod him about them, but I know he probably got them from protecting someone. However, beneath the charm, I sense there is more. He has no family and no ties to anyone because of his valuable abilities. He openly admits that coming to this hospital puts us both at risk, but he never backs down from a challenge. He is the one who told me that Dr. Vulcan, the head psychiatrist, is actually the demon Mulciber in disguise. The only reason he has been allowed access to the hospital is because he has mastered his powers to the point where he can pass himself off as a normal person.

When I asked him if he regrets his gift, he merely shrugged and said that it was a life, nothing more, nothing less. I told him that wasn't much. He smiled at me and said 'It's enough.'

Maybe it is.

August 16th, 1993

Is it possible to find light in the darkness?

August 17th, 1993

For the first time since I've been here, I was allowed to go outside. I had forgotten about the wind and how it feels in my hair and on my cheeks. I actually cried. Shameful. Andrew was the one who convinced them to let me have some fresh air. We were only allowed out for ten minutes, but that time alone made the shackles feel loose, almost nonexistent. Maybe this kind of serenity means my time here is drawing to a close. I do not know. What I do know is something inside me has changed, and not because of my imprisonment here. It is because of Andrew.

He gave me a rose today. I want to blame my happiness about this fact on the isolation and the desperation I've experienced in this little slice of Hell, but when he held my hand for that brief moment, I knew I had found myself again. Holding his hand reminded me of my former husband, Lewis, before he became a bastard, when we were young and in love. God help me. I am not capable of love. Or at least I thought I wasn't. It would be better for me to forget. I cannot.

He calls me Cat.

I wish I didn't love that about him.

August 18th, 1993

Something is wrong.

I believe that the demons are going to make a move soon. Today, they claimed that my behavior implicated signs of suicidal tendencies and so they placed a security guard in my room for 'safety reasons.' Furthermore, I did not have a session with Andrew today. They told me he had other arrangements. I cannot remember ever feeling so afraid. All I can think about is whether they have caught on to him and hurt him, or worse. I cannot escape by myself to look for him.

However, there was one ray of hope. When the men came in for my daily examination, they gave me a glass-less picture frame they said was from Andrew as part of my therapy—a photo that had been confiscated from my wallet. It was my senior portrait from high school. It seemed only for sentimental reasons, but just after they left I found a scrap of paper hidden behind the frame. I waited until nightfall when the guard left for a brief break and read it in the moonlight. There was no name, only a poem. It took me a moment to recognize it as W.H. Auden's "Song IX." I used to read his poems when I was learning English.

I do not know if this is a warning or a confession, but I know it is important and so I have kept it close by. I believe that whatever reason they have chosen to abduct me for is going to come to fruition tonight. I cannot explain why. It is just a feeling in my gut.

There is nothing left to do except wait. If this is my last entry, then so be it. I have led a good life. I have seen many wonders. I have laughed. I have cried. I have loved. I have...lived. Our Father gave us no greater privilege than that.

Catalina Amador

It took me a moment to realize that the car had stopped because we arrived at the hotel. My mind had been completely engrossed as I read the letters out loud. Silence filled the car, seeming to highlight the stillness that had come over me when I read the last one.

Then, slowly, Michael unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across, brushing his fingertips against my left cheek where hot tears had trickled down my face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I am so sorry, Jordan."

A faint smile touched my lips as I lowered the diary into my lap. "Why? It wasn't your fault."

"If I had been there...maybe I could have prevented this..."

I shook my head, wiping my eyes. "We could sit here all day talking about what we would have done if we had been there. The past is the past. There's nothing we can do about it now."

"That doesn't make it hurt any less." His voice held such regret that I wondered if the letters had upset him more than me. I closed the diary and touched his hand, finally looking into his concerned face.

"Michael...it's okay. All I wanted on this trip was to find the answers for myself. I've done that. It's not pretty, but it's what I needed."

He wrapped his fingers around mine, strong and warm, and nodded. "Okay."

After giving my hand one last squeeze, he opened the car door to get out. I unbuckled the seat and climbed out, gathering the picture frame, diary, and papers I'd gotten from the psychiatric hospital.

I needed something else to think about, and soon. There was so much information to absorb. Upon glancing at my watch, I realized I only had a short while before my...meeting with Terrell. That did the trick alright. The mere thought of which made my pulse double and my palms start to dampen. Damn him.

We went back to our room, which was considerably chilly due to our absence, and Michael sat on the bed while I stared intently at my suitcase and wondered if I should change clothes. I mean, it wasn't a date. No way in hell. So I shouldn't change. Or should I? I thought about calling Lauren to ask—since she was the only female presence in my life who knew things about men—but decided against it. It was a one-time occurrence, no need to change. Right?

"Are you okay?" Michael's mildly amused voice broke through my thoughts, making me jump a little.

"Hm?" I said.

He glanced at the suitcase. "You're been standing there for almost a minute with the weirdest looks on your face."

I cleared my throat and zipped the suitcase closed, trying to seem nonchalant. "It's nothing."

"Right." Michael reached down on the other side of his bed and withdrew his acoustic guitar—a gorgeous wooden one with a brilliant polish to it. He practiced three or four hours a day, and our trip was no exception. I stood in front of the mirror applying a bit more eyeliner while he began plucking at the strings and adjusting things accordingly.

"How long do you think you'll be out?" I caught on to his casual tone. He was trying way too hard not to sound interested. It was kind of adorable, in a way.

I hid a smile, picking up my comb. "A couple hours."

"Want me to order something?"

"Just for you. We're getting Chinese."

"Oh. Bring me back a Fortune cookie."

I paused, glancing at him. "You're an angel. Do you really believe in those things?"

Michael smirked. "Who says I believe in them? Maybe I just want to read the messages and add 'in bed' to the end of them."

I dropped my comb. He chuckled. I tossed him a dirty look and checked one more time to make sure my hair looked presentable before walking to the bed to get my duster. By now, I had started to recognize the melody he was recreating—a tune I'd heard on an old Guy Ritchie film. "Golden Brown" by the Stranglers. Good song.

"Call me if something comes up," I said, my hand on the doorknob.

He nodded, watching me with a rather guarded look.

"I'll be here."

Earlier during the day, I had looked up the restaurant to find it only about two blocks away, so there was no need to ask Michael to drive me. Besides, he already seemed displeased with my agreement to go—though he just wouldn't admit it—and I didn't want to put him in that position. I wasn't sure if his disapproval was a result of being protective, or if it was something more personal. Frankly, I didn't want to entertain either thought, so I walked down the street, careful to make sure I hadn't been followed by anyone dead or alive, until I reached the Dynasty.

The Chinese restaurant was tucked between a barbershop and a Subway and the inside was dim but with a quiet atmosphere. There were beautiful paintings on the walls of emperors and warriors and miniature chandeliers hanging above each table. The tables themselves were covered in forest green cloth that went well with the dark carpet. There was a short line at the front so I had to wait. Terrell was waiting for me at the center table. He smiled and waved when he saw me. My pulse skyrocketed. This was such a bad idea.

"Table for one?" the maitre'd asked, catching my attention.

I shook my head, pointing. "I see my party, it's fine."

He smiled. "Enjoy your date, ma'am."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "It's not a date."

He raised his eyebrows at the sudden hostility. I muttered an apology before I walked to the table. Terrell offered to pull my chair out but I declined, scooting up to the table on my own.

"You're early," I pointed out, having nothing better to say.

Terrell shrugged. "I had nothing better to do and I was honestly looking forward to this."

I felt my suspicion rising. "Why? Last time I checked, people usually aren't eager to see their ex-girlfriends unless it's for lascivious purposes."

He chuckled, sending a shiver down my spine. Damn that laugh of his. It was like having someone trace a finger down my back. He could advertise Old Spice commercials with that voice if he wanted to. "Lascivious? You've been reading, haven't you?"

"Guilty as charged."

The waitress came by and asked what I'd like to drink. I ordered tea and flipped open my menu, happy to find an excuse not to look at Terrell any more. The food was pretty standard for a Chinese restaurant. I always ordered the same thing anyway.

"Would you like to order your food now or do you need more time?"

I glanced at Terrell, who shook his head. "I'm ready if you are."

"General Tso's chicken, shrimp fried rice for the side, and Moo Goo Gai Pan," I answered, handing her the menu. Terrell gave his order as well, the same thing he always got even when we were dating—orange chicken and rice.

"I see your tastes haven't changed over the years," he said, dark brown eyes glittering in the dim lights.

I squirmed in my seat, resisting the urge to plunge my hand into my duster pocket to touch the rosary. It had become a nervous habit of mine.

"Guess not." Silence fell. Awkward R' Us.

"You look good, Jor." His tone softened, not so teasing this time around.

I felt my cheeks filling with heat. "Thanks. You too."

"And here I was thinking you didn't notice," he replied, grinning.

I finally felt comfortable enough to glare at him. His grin only widened.

"And there's that infamous glare. Still as scary as the last time I saw it."

"Thanks, I've been working on it." For the love of God, where was the food? I needed to stuff something in my mouth before I said something even stupider. Thankfully, she came back soon with the steaming piles of chicken and vegetables, though by now my stomach had turned into too many knots to truly enjoy the meal. He chose chopsticks while I stuck with a fork. Didn't have much practice with them as of yet.

"I don't get it."

Terrell glanced upward from his chopsticks, one thick eyebrow raised.

I shifted in my seat, spearing a steaming hot mushroom on my fork before continuing. "Why...are you being so nice to me? We didn't exactly leave on pleasant terms."

He didn't answer right away. He set down his chopsticks and folded his hands on the table like he used to when he had something serious to say. Seeing his old habits, his body movements, felt surreal, like slowly remembering the lines to a movie you've seen a hundred times.

"I've had a lot of time to think about what happened," Terrell said finally.

"At first, I blamed it all on you. The way you shut me out...it made me feel like we'd never really known each other and like you didn't respect me enough to tell me what was wrong."

His words made me wince because I knew everything he said was true. To him, I'm sure that I came across as a heartless bitch, especially since it had seemed to come from out of nowhere. In all honesty, it had. With Mr. N dead and my transformation into a Seer complete, I destroyed any remaining links to my old life. Unfortunately, Terrell had been part of the destruction.

"But as time went on, I realized that there were some things I could have done better. After you left, I didn't go after you. I could have tried harder to help you but I didn't because I was still angry. Seeing you again like this...it's got to be for a purpose."

I shook my head. "Not everything is like that, Terrell."

"Everything has its place, Jordan. You might be too afraid to admit it, but you know it's true."

At last, I met his eyes. His held a certain conviction in them. My poor little idealist. He'd never change.

"I'm not afraid of anything," I replied, my tone stiff and defensive even to my own ears. A small smile tugged at the edge of his lips.

"Why didn't you dress up tonight?"

"Why would I? This isn't a date."

"So a man and a woman who were once romantically interested in each other go to a restaurant to have dinner...and it's not a date?"

I cleared my throat, feeling a wave of heat rise to my cheeks. "Exactly."

Terrell shook his head. "That's what I'm talking about. You won't admit this is a date, or at least similar to a date, because you don't want to think about me that way."

"What way?"

The amused look on his face caved in to a more serious expression—one that made my stomach flop. "You know I didn't ask you out just to catch up."

I glanced away. "Don't know what you're talking about."

He sighed. "Fine. I get it. It's not like I expected you to leap into my arms or something. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't believe in coincidences. There's no way that we'd be in the same city at the same time in the same park if it wasn't for a reason. Forgive me if I'm an idiot for trying to make something of it."

Terrell lifted his right hand to signal the waiter. Guilt gnawed at my gut and I reached out, touching his left hand still resting on the table. "Wait."

He hesitated, giving me a considerate look. I exhaled. "I'm not trying to run you off. It's just...weird. I don't like thinking about what happened between us. It took me a while to stop worrying about you. I'm sorry."

Slowly, he smiled again and flipped his hand over so our fingers were intertwined. "Then, if you don't mind, why don't we just be honest and get through the weirdness together?"

That made me chuckle. "You always did have a way with words."

"Thanks for remembering."

"My pleasure." He squeezed my fingers and let go, returning to his orange chicken. Feeling a tad more comfortable, I ate the stray mushroom on my plate.

"So who's the guy?"

I coughed, nearly swallowing the mushroom down the wrong pipe. "Come again?"

He gave me an incredulous look. "I'm a doctor, if you recall. I can read people, and I'm getting a vibe off of you that you have a boyfriend."

I stared at him. "There is no way in hell you can know that."

Terrell shrugged. "Well, there's also the fact that you smell a little like AXE cologne, and as much of a tomboy as you are, that's not what you'd wear."

My shoulders relaxed. "Oh. Well if you knew that, why'd you still ask me out?"

He flashed me a grin. "I wouldn't be me if I didn't think I could steal you from him."

I rolled my eyes. "You wish. You're half-right. I have been traveling with a guy, but he's not my boyfriend."

"Good. That saves me the trouble of putting the moves on you."

I kicked him in the shin and he laughed. The room got a little warm when he did. Dammit.

"Alright, so why is your just-a-friend guy traveling with you?"

"I needed a little help covering the costs. Besides, he knew it'd be hard for me. I'm actually in town looking for information about my mother."

Surprise stole across his face. "What kind of information?"

"Anything I can find. There's not much, but I finally got the chance to visit the psychiatric hospital she was in."

He leaned forward. "Did you find anything?"

"A bit. They still had her profile. I had to go to my aunt's place to get the last of her things."

Terrell's handsome face darkened at the mention of Aunt Carmen. "I doubt that went well."

A bitter smile crossed my lips. "It didn't, but...at least the trip wasn't a total disaster."

"So when are you heading back to Albany?"

"Not sure. I have a couple more things to take care of, and then we'll go back in a day or two."

"Well..." he said, rubbing the back of his neck in a self-conscious sort of way. "If you're not too busy, I need an escort to this event tomorrow night. Black tie affair."

My breath caught in my throat. Shit. Talk about a blindside. I licked my lips and thought about it. Well, I could go. The only thing on my schedule tomorrow would be helping those ghosts we met in the park. I actually did want to go with him. I'd forgotten Terrell's ability to draw me to him. However, why was I hesitating?

At last, I shook off my thoughts and nodded. "I guess another night out wouldn't kill me."

"Great. If you need help finding a dress, give me a call."

I had to grin. "I also forgot what a metrosexual you are."

He flicked a bit of rice at me and I ducked, giggling. A nearby waiter gave us a weird look, but I ignored him. After all, this was the most fun I'd had all day.

From there, the not-date sort of glided along on its own. We talked about his job and how things had been going at the hospital he worked at. Working in medicine had always been interesting to me, but it wasn't something I could do. Granted, people's lives were as dependent on him as their afterlives were on me, but his job required so many hours and sweat and blood and tears. It had to be something he loved or it would run him ragged.

We also talked about his family, but only for a moment. I'd met his mother and father only once. It hadn't gone well. He had a younger sister named Grace, though, and she took a shine to me. He said she was doing well, much to my relief. Anyone with a family that judgmental needed all the luck life could get them.

An hour crept by before Terrell glanced at his watch and groaned. "I gotta get back. We start early tomorrow."

I spared him a sympathetic look. "Sorry to hear that."

He shrugged. "It's cool. Company's paying for this trip anyway."

Luckily, he had cash so we wouldn't have to wave down our almost non-existent waitress to pay the check. I didn't argue about paying for the meal because I knew it'd be fruitless. I could have talked Michael out of it, but not Terrell. He'd been born and bred a true gentleman, and therefore would never allow a lady to pay the check. I thought that was rather archaic thinking, but sweet in its own way. Not that I'd ever tell him or Michael that, ever.

Night had stretched out its limbs and painted the sky black, leaving Jersey to be lit by streetlamps and car headlights. The city itself seemed to be in motion. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, staring determinedly at his chest. If I looked into those dark eyes from this close, he'd surely steal my soul.

"Thanks for dinner. It wasn't nearly as disastrous as I thought it'd be."

He chuckled. "You're welcome. The dinner tomorrow is at seven o'clock sharp. What hotel are you staying in? I'll pick you up."

I told him and he copied it down into his Blackberry. We stood there in a brief awkward silence, trying to figure out the most appropriate way to say goodnight. I had been considering the fail-safe handshake, but he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, voice soft in the cool air of night.

"Night, Jordan."

I watched him walk away towards his car, and the lingering sensation of his lips on my skin didn't leave until he pulled out of the parking spot and disappeared down the road. My hands fumbled for my cell phone as I shuffled down the sidewalk and collapsed on a nearby street bench, praying for the person on the other end to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Tell me I'm an idiot for going on a date with my ex-boyfriend."

A pause. "What ex-boyfriend?"

"Terrell."

Another pause. "No way. Tall, dark, handsome, pediatrician, cut-like-Morris-Chestnut Terrell?"

I palmed my forehead. "Do I know any other Terrell's, Lauren?"

"Hey, I had to be sure. What the hell is he doing in Jersey?"

"Medical conference. We bumped into each other at the park and he asked me to dinner. He just left."

Lauren let out a rush of breath. "Damn, girl. How are you holding up?"

"He just kissed me on the cheek. This is the first time I've breathed in like two minutes."

"I figured as much. I don't get it. I thought the two of you didn't leave on good terms."

"We didn't but...I don't know, Lauren. It seems like he's not mad anymore."

"Well, two years is a long time to think about your relationship," she admitted. Then, all of the sudden, her voice became rather indignant.

"Wait a minute, I thought you took Michael McSexy with you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Would you stop calling him that?"

"I'll stop calling him that when it stops being true," Lauren asserted in an irritated tone. "Anyway, is he or is he not with you?"

"Yes, he is. And that has nothing to do with Terrell," I shot back.

She groaned. "Is it really so terrible that he's sweet on you, Jordan?"

I raked a hand through my hair, trying my best not to sound exasperated. "I've told you before that it wouldn't work out. It's too complicated."

"Oh, and hooking up with your ex who lives in another state is not?"

She had me there. Dammit. "I'm not saying that's what I want."

"Then what do you want?"

Her question stopped me in my tracks. "I don't know. I honestly don't."

She paused again. "Well, now's a perfectly good time to find out. You know I only want what's best for you. This sort of chance doesn't come along every day."

"I know," I said. "But how the hell am I supposed to find out what I want?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you. All I can say is sleep on it. Maybe tomorrow morning you'll wake up with an answer."

"I hope so. Thanks."

"My pleasure. Talk to you soon."

"Bye." I hung up and pressed the phone to my lips, thinking. She'd been right. If you asked me yesterday, I would have said I'd never think about getting back with Terrell. Today, however, being with him and feeling so at home around him made me reconsider a few things. On the one hand, he knew nothing about my ghost helping, the death of Mr. N, or the demons gunning for me. Being with him would put him in grave danger. On the other hand, he wanted a home, a family, and a life. A long time ago, I had wanted the same thing. We were leagues apart, and yet somehow still reaching for similar goals. God help us.

My feet felt heavy as I dragged myself into the closest bar and plopped down on the stool, signaling the shaggy-haired bartender with a ring in his eyebrow. He raised said eyebrow at my expression.

"Long day?"

"You have no idea."

Walking home with five Heinekens coursing through my system proved amusing. I swayed so much on the sidewalk that at one point I gave up and played an imaginary game of hopscotch. The funny looks I'd gotten were plentiful, but I was in too good of a mood to care. Thank God our room was on the bottom floor. Not sure if I could handle stairs in my state.

After dropping the card once or twice, I managed to slide it in and kicked the door open with my foot. Michael immediately glanced over at me from the foot of his bed. He wore a grey tank top and faded blue jeans. Some part of me loathed how good the archangel looked day in and day out. For once, I'd love to see him disheveled, even the slightest bit.

"I thought you'd be back hours ago. Where'd you go?" He asked, tossing aside the book he'd been reading—Proven Guilty by Jim Butcher, I noted somehow—and standing up.

I hesitated letting go of the door since it seemed to be the only thing keeping me upright. "Bar down the street from the restaurant. They serve really good tequila shots."

The archangel's green eyes enlarged as they raked over me. "What?"

I flashed him a grin and shoved the door shut with my heel. "Kidding. I don't drink tequila. Had some beers. No biggie."

Michael sighed, sweeping the dark hair off his forehead and giving me a critical once-over. "Great. How many beers is 'some'?"

"Five. I'm not drunk," I insisted, poking him in the chest. It felt so very nice and warm that I leaned into him. All at once, my knees gave out, and he made a small noise of surprise, catching my arms so that I wouldn't slide down onto the floor.

"Sure you aren't," he grumbled as I snuggled the side of my face against his broad chest. So many muscles and yet I never saw him go to the gym. Damn perfect angel.

"I guess I can just yell at you in the morning, since you're not gonna listen to me now. In the meantime, you need to sleep this off." He scooped me up in his arms, bridal style, and carried me towards my bed. Being in his arms was comfortable. When he got to the mattress, he balanced my entire body in one arm and pulled back the covers. Even I had enough clarity left to be impressed by it.

Michael deposited me on the bed and began to pull back, but my arms were stubbornly locked around his neck. He paused, arching an eyebrow.

"You can let go now."

I shook my head. "Mm-mm. Comfy."

He let out a nervous chuckle, settling his knees on either side of me so he wouldn't have to hunch his six-foot-one frame over my body. "Could you try using words with more than two syllables?"

I exhaled, pressing the side of my forehead into his neck. Like his chest, his skin felt warm and smooth, with the light scent of whatever soap he'd used in the shower. Some sort of AXE brand, like the one Terrell said he could smell on me. I preferred the Old Spice Michael normally wore, but it worked for him.

"You think I'm an idiot, huh?"

Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. "Sometimes."

"No, I meant about seeing my ex. I shouldn't have seen him. Can't have him anyway. Not good enough. Besides, nobody wants to date a crazy lady who sees ghosts." My voice grew softer with every sentence.

Michael let out a small sigh, but I could hear the smile. "You never know. I hear the crazy ones are the most fun to date."

At last, a grin found its way to my lips. "Like you'd know."

"Well, I was human for a long while."

I let my head drop to the pillow, filling my vision with Michael's smirking visage. "You ever sleep with anyone?"

His eyebrows shot upward in surprise. "No, I...didn't get into a relationship. I didn't think it was a good idea. I couldn't remember who I was and I doubt many girls would understand that."

An interesting thought materialized in my head. "Was I your first kiss?"

He watched me with a careful expression. After a moment, he closed his eyes and his voice lost its emotion.

"I think you should get some rest."

"Why?"

"Because it's late and I don't think it's very healthy for me to be around you like this. I might end up breaking rules that are in place for your protection," he whispered, eyes smoldering with something that made shudders trickle down my back. Normally it would have made me nervous, but tonight I wasn't. What I saw in Michael's eyes was the opposite of what I'd seen in Terrell's. Terrell wanted me because he thought I'd be a good wife and mother. Michael wanted me because...he wanted me. No ulterior motive or future plans. He knew we'd be screwed up if we tried to have a relationship. I knew it too. The only problem was that neither one of us seemed to accept that fact just yet.

Evidence of the latter began to rise as I lifted my face enough to brush a small kiss on the corner of his lips. "What if I don't want you to protect me?"

Michael let out a long exhale. "Jordan."

I didn't know if the alcohol made me do it or if it was my own selfish desire, but I kissed him again and he didn't move away or tell me to stop. God. His lips were so soft. The tension that had been there when he laid me down returned to his back and shoulders, which I felt coiling beneath my fingertips like mattress springs. We stayed pressed together for a long moment until he let out a low sound—a groan of pleasure—and slipped his tongue past my lips. Just like that, I felt something metaphysical between us snap, and then my entire body became engulfed in an almost palpable heat. It ate at my skin like fire devouring a log, dizzying, torturous, and amazing. All at once, I realized it was his desire. He'd been holding it back from me. I'd never known just how powerful his feelings were when they manifested into physical forms.

His fingers wrapped around my forearms and lowered them from around his neck, pinning them against the pillow on either side of my head. He sighed into my mouth—a warm rush of breath—and broke the kiss, his voice several octaves lower for reasons that made goosebumps roll over the skin along my throat.

"Sleep."

He let go of my arms and climbed off of the bed. My eyelids began to droop almost immediately. I didn't fight the creeping darkness. As my mind started to drift, I could just barely hear Michael's voice—low and soft in the quiet room.

"The angels are stooping

Above your bed;

They weary of trooping

With the whimpering dead.

God's laughing in Heaven

To see you so good;

The Sailing Seven

Are gay with His mood.

I sigh that kiss you.

For I must own

That I shall miss you

When you have grown."

"A Cradle Song" by W. B. Yeats. With that, he disappeared into the bathroom. I fell asleep just as the spray of the shower reached my ears.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Morning didn't arrive gracefully. It slapped me in the face with an open palm, or at least it felt like that on account of the massive headache reverberating through my skull. I groaned and pressed my face into the pillow, blindly hoping its coolness would soothe my pain. No such luck.

A handful of minutes rolled by before I felt well enough to lift my head. Inch by inch, I withdrew from the pillow and tilted my face to look at the other bed. Michael wasn't in it. The clock read half past noon. Where had he gone?

Suppressing another moan of pain, I forced myself to sit up and ran my fingers through my incredibly mussed black hair so I could see. I shuffled over to the table against the far wall and found the Advil. Three pills would do the trick, or at least make me numb enough not to care. I drank some water from the sink to get them down and eyed the tepid water with distaste. Ice dispenser down the hall. Field trip.

My clothes from last night were still on, so I just slipped on my shoes and stuffed the keycard to the room in my pocket before leaving. The yellow-tinted hallway showed no signs of life. People in New Jersey liked to sleep in. My kind of town.

As I walked closer to the area where the ice dispenser and vending machines were, I could hear a familiar male voice. Confused, I peeked around the corner and spotted Michael facing the wall opposite me, speaking into his cell phone. The reception in the rooms was awful so he had to make calls out here. Good sense told me to go around the corner and tell him good morning but his next sentence stopped me.

"I know He wants to see me, brother. What was I supposed to do? She was drunk."

My heart nearly skipped a beat. Wait, what was he talking about? I flattened myself against the wall and tried to remember last night. I had a few beers and went back to the hotel room. Michael had carried me back to the bed. We had a little chat and I...kissed him. Christ.

I palmed my forehead, feeling the blood rush out of my face. Idiot. Lauren had told me before that I got a bit slutty when drunk, and obviously she'd been right. Now the Big Guy wanted to have a little discussion with Michael all because I couldn't keep it in my pants for one night. Shit.

My attention reverted back to the phone call. Gabriel's calming voice wafted to my ears. The call wasn't on speakerphone, but the volume was relatively loud.

"I don't blame you for that, Michael. You know I don't."

"That makes one of you. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"It's a test, Michael. One that you should take very carefully."

"She's not a test, she's a person. You know that better than I do."

"Of course I do. Your situation is the test. All of the angels here on Earth have dealt with the desires of man except for you. It's something we have to overcome. You will do the same in time."

I heard him sigh in a frustrated sort of way. "That's just it, Gabe. I...part of me doesn't want to overcome it. Part of me wants what I know I can't have. What can I do about that?"

"I can't give you a definite answer, brother. However, ask yourself this question: which part of you wants her—the angel or the man?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't know."

"When you do know, you'll have found the solution to your problem."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Please do. Remember, this isn't just about the two of you. Your duty as Commander hangs in the balance as well. As much as you care for Jordan, you can't forget that. Your heart's never steered you wrong before. Listen to it."

"Yes, brother. I will."

"Good. Take care."

I hurried back down the hall and slipped inside the room, heart hammering in my throat. No. This wasn't the time to have a freak out. I slowed my breathing bit by bit and squared my shoulders. Gabriel was right. Michael wasn't just a charming bodyguard. He was Commander of God's Army in Heaven. He would exist forever in that role and there was nothing either of us could do to change it. It didn't matter how I felt about him. I wouldn't be responsible for him jeopardizing his mission. We both had a job to do in this world and we were damn well going to do it.

The door opened and Michael appeared just as I began gathering my clothes to go take a shower. "Oh, you're awake. I thought I'd have to scrape you off the mattress to get you up."

"We have a lot of stuff to do today. Figured it was time to get moving." I kept my voice professional and without emotion.

He shut the door and brushed past me. I nearly stumbled trying to make wider space between us as he passed by.

Michael blinked at me, confused. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be out in a little while." Without another word, I shut myself in the bathroom. Well, that had gone well. I just needed a stuttering problem and Tom Cruise and I'd be all set.

Today was going to be a long day. Definitely, definitely going to be a long day.

"So where exactly are we meeting this guy?"

"Just through here," Michael replied, beckoning me as he found the right alley. The rain had finally left the city alone, but the concrete was still slick underfoot. I was happy to be wearing my Reeboks. I felt sorry for the ladies strolling around in pumps today. It was hard enough to stay upright in tennis shoes.

"Gabriel said that our contact would meet us outside this bar around three o'clock."

I hopped over a partially disintegrated cardboard box, breathing in through my mouth as we passed by the overflowing dumpsters on both sides of the brick walls. We came to stop in front of the knob-less metal door that led to a local dive bar.

The ghosts we interviewed earlier today had revealed startling news. Several of them were not from New Jersey, which didn't sound that shocking at first until we found out they were from across the country—one even hailed from Michigan. Two others were from Illinois. They all said the same thing: they felt compelled to walk to New Jersey, to where we were, but they couldn't explain why. Their needs to cross over had been pushed to the background of their residual minds. Gabriel and Michael agreed—there was a holy item involved.

"If that's true," I said. "What are we bargaining for this information? Nothing important, I hope."

"Not that I know of. Gabriel told me this particular demon doesn't want money or power or any of the usual bribes." He started to say more, but the door flew open and a tanned, spindly man strolled towards us. His head was shaved bald and he had a long, narrow nose with brown-blonde eyebrows, giving his face a severe look in the afternoon sun. Other than the frown lines in his forehead, he didn't seem all that intimidating, especially since he wore an unbuttoned black dress-shirt, white t-shirt beneath it, and jeans. He didn't bother checking the alleyway since it was long and hidden from the main roads on both sides. Secluded. Dangerous. Sounds like somewhere a demon would like.

"I'm guessing you're my contact, right?" the man said, revealing that he had a thick Australian accent.

Michael's face had become unreadable. "Depends. What kind of information are you selling?"

The demon smirked. "We don't discuss that until we discuss my fee."

Michael cocked his head to the side. "What exactly is your fee?"

The man rolled his neck, the thin smirk elongating. "A fight."

Michael stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing like a good scrap every now and then. I don't really get one of good caliber these days. Humans are all soft little meat-jackets. Ya look like ya can put up a good one, for an angel," he added, his upper lip curling with a sneer.

Michael's jaw twitched, but he didn't say anything rude. "We don't have time for this. There has to be something else you want."

"Well..." The demon's blue eyes fell on me and an unpleasant light flickered in them. "If ya don't want to fight me, let me give ya girl here a kiss."

In an instant, my spine stiffened. I sent him a nasty glare. "Trust me, you don't want any of this, pal."

He grinned. "I'll be the judge of that, love."

The demon reached for me. I went for the gun holstered at the small of my back, intending to draw and maybe blow off one of his toes, but Michael appeared between us in an instant.

"Touch her and I'll feed you that hand finger by finger," the archangel growled.

The demon laughed, an arrogant bray that echoed down the empty alley, and stepped back with his hands held up in surrender. "Now that's more like it. Gimme a good fight and I'll give ya the information. Deal?"

"Deal." Michael shrugged out of his leather jacket and tossed it on the ground behind him, leaving him in a cream long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and boots. Except for his height, he didn't seem all that scary until I noticed the murderous expression in his eyes.

I touched his arm, murmuring his name, and he glanced down at me. "You're not fighting for my honor, y'know. Calm it down, pretty boy."

His shoulders relaxed a little bit at the use of "pretty boy" and some of that righteous fury drained from his face.

"I know."

"Good. Now be a dear and wipe the floor with this moron."

Michael spared me a wicked but dazzling smirk. "Will do."

The archangel straightened his posture as he turned to face the demon, who had shed his wrinkled outer shirt. He spread his legs in a wide stance and raised his fists to chest level.

"So who, exactly, do I have the honor of fighting today?"

Michael went with a side stance. "Michael."

"Mm. I thought it was you. The pretty one."

Michael's jaw twitched again. I pressed my back to the wall, safely out of range of either man. I didn't want to be anywhere near this demon when the archangel snapped.

"I'm not sure if you'll be much of a threat without that fancy sword of yours, but let's see what you've got." The demon rushed him, turning into a t-shirt-clad blur, but his speed meant nothing. Michael brought his right foot around in a perfect spinning side kick—which struck the demon right in the nose and floored him in half a second. My jaw dropped. So did the demon's.

He sputtered on the ground as blood blossomed from his nostrils down into his mouth, blue eyes wide with shock.

Michael lifted an eyebrow, his voice flat. "Was that an acceptable answer?"

The demon spat blood onto the ground and grinned, wiping his mouth clean with his forearm. "Ain't that a bitch? First blood goes to the angel. Looks like Luka's got his work cut out for him."

"Maybe Luka should stop referring to himself in the third person before he gets kicked in the face again," I said with a sweet smile.

He tossed a dirty look in my direction, which made me smile wider, and scrambled to his feet in an attempt to regain at least an ounce of dignity. Too late for that.

All at once, the demon seemed to change as he faced Michael this time. He rolled his shoulders, causing a few ligaments to crack, and resumed the stance he had before, but it was slightly different—more solid, more balanced, and definitely more serious.

He darted forward. Michael met him in mid-stride, blocking a vicious punch aimed at the angel's throat. Michael grabbed Luka's wrist with one hand and seized him beneath the arm, whirling and throwing him over his shoulder.

The demon twisted his body in mid-air and landed in a crouch—a movement that looked eerily inhuman. In an instant, he lunged towards Michael again, this time leading with a side kick that shoved the angel back into the brick wall behind him. Luka immediately closed the distance between them, sending a flurry of punches at his face and upper torso. Michael dodged to the side and kneed Luka in the stomach, hard enough to gain room to move away from the wall.

Luka flew into a series of kicks that were so fast I had trouble following them—front kick, crescent kick, a high one aimed at the shoulder, another aimed low at the knees—and Michael avoided them with liquid grace, blocking the ones that were too fast to dodge.

Luka finally managed to catch his left foot behind Michael's right ankle and jerked him off-balance, wrapping an arm around his neck to choke him. Michael threw his head backwards, knocking it against Luka's already damaged nose, and elbowed him in the gut. Luka collapsed against the wall and shook off the momentary pain, his face white with anger. Michael wore a placid, almost serene expression, maybe because he had the demon on his last legs. Luka spat out another mouthful of blood from his ruined nose and closed in, his muscles coiled tight with tension.

He faked a high kick, causing Michael to jerk backward involuntarily, and kneed him in the groin, grabbing a handful of the angel's hair and forcing him to his knees. Luka threw his arm around his neck and squeezed. Michael dug his hands into the demon's forearm, struggling to get free. I took several steps forward without noticing, my hand reaching for my gun.

Then, Michael grabbed Luka's right hand and broke his thumb. The demon screamed in agony, letting go. The archangel grabbed him by the arm and slammed into the concrete face-first, forcing him into an arm lock.

"Yield," Michael ordered, shoving his knee into the demon's spine so he couldn't get up. Luka let loose an unearthly growl, glaring daggers at the angel over his shoulder.

"You son of a—"

Michael tightened his grip, causing another stream of curses to leave the pinned demon. "I won't tell you a second time."

"Alright, ya bloody bastard! I give!" Luka snarled. Michael narrowed his eyes before slowly releasing him and taking a couple steps back. Luka rolled over and cradled his injured hand.

"Great. This'll take weeks to heal. I s'pose I owe ya an apology, but I can't exactly offer ya a handshake."

Michael nodded once. "For what it's worth, your form was excellent."

Luka snorted. "Don't need your compliments. What is it ya wanna know?"

Michael exhaled and the tension in his body finally relaxed. "Jordan and I have been observing extremely unusual soul traffic in this city. We encountered a large group of ghosts in the park, some from completely different states. They have no recollection as to why they traveled so far or why they felt compelled to come here. We believe that a holy item is involved."

Luka paused. "There's been rumor that the boss has something new in the works. Not quite as grand as stealing an angel's body, either."

I made a scornful noise in the back of my throat. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that."

Luka switched his gaze to me instead. "He said he wants to create something, rather than take what was never his to begin with. Ya can quote me on that. Ya said something about the ghosts being drawn to one spot, right?"

"Yes."

"Well right there, you're lookin' at something small. The larger holy items affect the living and the dead. If it's only affecting the ghosts so far, it'll be something that's connected to death. Most likely, it's something like the True Cross."

I gaped. "The Cross Jesus Christ was crucified on?"

Luka nodded. "The very same."

"But I thought it was never recovered."

"It wasn't. But that don't mean someone didn't find a piece of it."

I glanced up at Michael, who wore a deeply worried expression. "Is that really possible?"

"Perhaps. Last I heard, the True Cross was destroyed in order to prevent either side from utilizing it. However, I did not oversee its destruction. It was entrusted to one of the twelve disciples. If he was not careful enough, a piece may have survived."

Michael nodded to Luka once more. "Thank you for the information."

Luka shrugged. "Thanks for the fight. It's been ages since I've gotten my ass handed to me. Pretty refreshing."

I lifted an eyebrow. "Are all demons psychotic, violent perverts?"

Luka tossed me a feral grin. "Only the lucky ones. Later, love."

He knocked twice on the door to the bar and it opened, leaving us alone in the alley to absorb what he'd told us.

Michael scooped up his leather jacket and said nothing, instead heading back the way we came. It wasn't until we reached our hotel room that he spoke. "If Luka was right, then we're going to be on high alert for an attack. Satan does not directly interfere on Earth, and that most likely means he'll be sending Mulciber or Belial along to do his dirty work."

I rooted through my suitcase for the small First-Aid kit I'd packed. "And if all of this is going down in New Jersey the week we just so happen to be here, then that probably means it has something to do with me, doesn't it?"

Michael sighed. "Probably."

"I figured as much." I walked over and pushed him so that he sat down. He stared up at me in question. I pointed to his left cheek where a small cut lay beneath his eye.

"You're injured."

"It'll heal by itself."

"Not if it's infected. Hold still." I poured a bit of alcohol on a cotton ball and pressed it to the wound. He winced a bit. Maybe he'd been sucking it up.

"That was pretty impressive. Remind me to never pick a fight with you."

"Not that you don't do it anyway."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, don't even go there. You give me lip all the time and yet you threatened to dismember a man for touching me."

He scowled, looking away as I opened a Band-Aid. "That's different."

"Sure it is." I pressed the Band-Aid to his skin and dusted off my hands.

"Any other injuries I need to know about?"
"Not sure." Before I could say anything, he yanked off his shirt and walked over to the bathroom mirror. I cleared my throat and concentrated on putting the small pack of cotton balls neatly back into the First Aid kit. If I ignored the shirtlessness, maybe it wouldn't affect me. Maybe.

"Mm. Doesn't look too bad," Michael noted. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him touching a couple of bruises on his perfect washboard abs. Er, his abs. Pay attention, Amador, he's talking to you.

"He was tougher than he looked."

"Well, if he actually lived in Australia at some point, he had to learn how to fight. Everything on the continent tries to kill you." I closed the kit and setting it aside to dig deeper in the suitcase. Later tonight would be my second not-date with Terrell and I had packed an outfit in case Michael and I went to dinner somewhere nice. Or so I thought.

When I got to the bottom of the suitcase, I didn't find a modest burgundy dress with sensible straps and a high neckline. What I found instead was the slinkiest, revealing-est, attention-getting-est black dress I had ever seen in my life.

"What. The hell. Is this?!" I seethed. The Neiman Marcus tag was still on it. I had never set foot in a Neiman Marcus store in my life. But I knew someone who did. Someone busty, Korean, and annoyingly forward.

Michael gave me a confused look. "What's wrong?"

"This is not the dress I packed. This is the kind of dress you wear when you want to get molested on the ride home from prom!" I shouted, shaking the dress with emphasis.

Michael coughed, attempting to hide a chuckle, and walked over to examine it. "How'd it get in there?"

"My ex-best friend. She must have repacked my suitcase before we left," I grumbled, tossing the offensive article of clothing on the bed in defeat. I didn't have enough money left to get a different dress and I wasn't going to ask Michael for any. He'd done enough for me already. Meaning I'd have to squeeze into this thing and be Terrell's arm candy for the night.

"What exactly is the problem anyway? Why do you even need a dress?"

I hesitated. I forgot that I hadn't told Michael about the not-date tonight. Fantastic. "Oh. Terrell invited me out again tonight to escort him to some black tie affair."

Michael stared at me. I fidgeted. "Stop that."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yes you are. You're mentally judging me."

He frowned. "How would you know that unless you subconsciously knew you were doing something unwise?"

I crossed my arms beneath my chest. "I don't have to answer that question. It's not a big deal. It's one stupid event. We'll be leaving Jersey soon enough and it won't matter anyway."

"You heard what Luka said. Something is going to happen soon. Do you really want to be out on your own tonight when Belial or Mulciber could be hiding around any corner?"

I glared at him. "I can take care of myself, Michael."

"No one's asking you to!" he yelled, making me jump. The angel turned away, raking his hand through his hair with a haggard sigh.

"Look, Jordan, you're not alone any more. It's my job to protect you while I'm here and I can't do that if you keep pushing me away."

"That's the problem, Michael," I shot back. "You have more responsibilities to your boss than you do to me. You taught me how to defend myself, how to heal myself, and that should be good enough. You can't keep babysitting one little human when you have an entire cosmos to worry about."

He faced me again, those green eyes boring into mine as if he could see straight through me. "Are you saying you want me to leave?"

My chest tightened. I hadn't expected him to say that. I bit my bottom lip, glancing away. "That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Since when have I ever known what the hell I mean?"

He touched my right cheek, making me face him. "You do when it counts."

Staring up at him, shirtless, vulnerable, and wounded, I felt like I couldn't breathe. He had a knack for picking my walls apart brick by brick. It bothered me.

He took a step closer, casting a shadow over me.

"Stop," I mumbled, fixing my eyes on the floor. He brushed a lock of hair behind my ear, sliding his warm hand to lift my chin so I'd have to look at him.

"Stop what?" he murmured.

"Looking at me."

"Why?"

"That's how Terrell used to look at me before we kissed."

His lips parted to say something but I pushed past him, gathering up my duster from where it lay on the bed next to the dress.

"Get dressed. We have more ghosts to help."

Chapter Twenty-Three

In the three hours before I had to be ready for the event, we managed to cross two of the ghosts over to the other side. They were both locals of the area and had relatively simple final wishes. It didn't do us much good, though, because we found another two ghosts not soon after—one of which had come from Canada. Michael called Gabriel again and he told us he would meet us at the hotel later tonight to discuss what we were going to do. Thus far, the plan would involve trying to find the sliver of the True Cross—whether the demons had gotten their hands on it or not. I didn't like that plan. We needed a new one. There was no telling what they could do with that kind of power.

The silence in the hotel room was thick, stifling, and uncomfortable when I came out of the bathroom in the slinky dress. Luckily, the back didn't dip down low enough to expose the bra band or the scars. Through the grace of God, I had managed to work the tiny blow dryer attached to the wall so my black hair was fluffy and glossy around my shoulders. I never wore it down except for special occasions. Lauren said it made me look girlier, which was why I rarely did it.

I could feel Michael's eyes on me like twin points of heat on my spine as I slipped the rosary around my neck. He had every reason to be upset with my leaving, and I knew that, but it didn't change my decision. To be honest, I didn't want to go all that badly. I merely wanted to close the chapter on Terrell in the most definitive way I knew how. This way, we would have a real goodbye instead of me running out of his life like a coward.

"The dress looks good." Michael's voice was measured. I could only imagine what he actually thought, and thinking about it made me even more uncomfortable than I already was.

"Thank you."

"So I don't suppose I need to repeat the fact that this is a bad idea."

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. "Nope."

"Good to know." His tone overflowed with irritation. I thought about explaining the closure issue to him, but I'd feel silly saying it out loud. Instead, I put the finishing touches to my eyeliner and capped it, tossing it in my purse.

"Are you done?"

"I suppose I am."

I zipped the purse in one quick motion. "Y'know, this passive-aggressive shit is getting kind of old, Michael."

"Is it? Would you prefer the direct approach?"

I crossed my arms beneath my chest. "And what's that?"

Michael stood, walking until he towered over me, though not as much as usual because I was wearing high heels. "I could make you stay here if I wanted to."

I shrugged, feigning indifference. "Go ahead, big man. No one's stopping you."

He snorted, shaking his head. "Always have to have the last word, don't you?"

"It's one of my best traits," I sneered, snatching up the purse and heading for the door.

He called after me. "I thought the dinner wasn't until seven o'clock."

I paused with my hand on the doorknob. "It's six-forty-five. I'm gonna need a drink before the night's over. Don't wait up."

I slammed the door behind me, heading for the back of the building that led out into an alley and down to a local bar. The night air was cool rather than cold, soothing the tension flowing through my skin. I kicked the door shut and exhaled, standing in the dimly lit alley and trying to figure out why I had a lump in the back of my throat. We had a fight. Big deal. It was perfectly normal. Okay, that was a lie. Most people wouldn't manage to piss off an angel who was trying to protect them. I needed to apologize when I came back. He liked chocolate. Maybe I'd get him a Lindt bar as a peace offering. Hi, honey, sorry I made you mad by running off to a party with my ex-boyfriend to avoid thinking about how you're getting under my skin.

I choked on a laugh at that last thought. "He's gonna kill me for this."

I began walking down the alley, my heels clicking a funky staccato down the corridor, when I felt an itching tightness between my shoulders as if someone were watching me. I glanced behind me, only to be greeted by darkness and the distant wail of sirens. I turned and kept walking, this time a little faster, but the same tense sensation continued. I stopped.

All at once, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I no longer had the sneaking suspicion that something was watching me—I knew it. Cold sweat gathered on the small of my back and the itchy sensation of fear mixed with adrenaline hummed beneath my skin.

As if on cue, I heard a low growl seeping outward from the dark corner of the alley behind me. Probably a stray dog. No need to panic.

Squaring my shoulders, I turned around with a harsh expression on my face, prepared to out-stare the animal, and simply froze in place. The pair of eyes glaring at me from the shadows were a bright, almost hellish red. Last time I checked, dogs didn't have glowing eyes.

Its claws scraped against the concrete as it approached and finally walked into the dim light overhead. I had been half-right. The thing was shaped like a dog, but it was unlike any canine I'd ever seen. On all four limbs, it had to be at least four feet tall and was covered from head to toe in shaggy black fur. Saliva dripped from its open jaws in globs, framing the razor sharp fangs. It almost distracted me from the acrid smell of sulfur that permeated the air and the steam that appeared to be rising from its very skin. There was no doubt in my mind that this thing had been sent specifically for me. I was damn sure it was not of this world. I'd fought one of these things before.

It was a hellhound.

I swallowed to wet my suddenly-dry throat as the muscles coiled around the beast's shoulders when it prepared to attack. Well, being scared wasn't going to do me any good. Tossing off the cumbersome purse around my shoulders, I clenched my hands into fists and drew my energy out from where it rested inside me. My mouth formed an unpleasant smile.

"Alright, Scooby. Come get some."

Snarling, the beast lunged straight for me in a deadly arc.

"In the name of the Father, I reject!"

The hound smashed into me with what felt like the force of a Mack truck, taking me right off my feet. I slammed into the ground on my back, hands blocking my upper body. The shield had worked. The creature snapped at me with its huge jaws, but an invisible force kept it from touching me. Still, it had me pinned beneath its huge body and the shield wouldn't hold forever. I needed a plan and fast.

Grimacing, I summoned as much strength as I could and shoved my arms up into the thing's face. The shield forced it several feet away from me. The hound scuttled against the ground to get back on its feet. It gave me a couple of seconds to think. I needed to be on the offense.

I split my shield into several shards the way Michael had taught me and threw out my hands.

"Strike!"

One shard flew through the air like an arrow just as the creature raced towards me. The attack sliced down the right side of its body, spilling black blood onto the ground, but it kept coming. I threw myself to the side too late as it jumped at me. Its claws scored deep scratches across my right arm. Pain lanced through me as if I'd been burned with a red-hot poker. Shit!

The hound regrouped, rushing me again. I threw another two shards at it, this time slashing its left front paw and part of its spine. The beast stumbled as it ran but still crashed into me. I hit the ground again, knocking the air out of my lungs, too stunned to put up another shield. The hound snapped at my face but I rolled, crying out as one of its paws grazed my stomach before I could get away.

I felt something wooden beneath my shoulder. I glanced downward at the pile of trash I'd fallen into and found a broken broom handle. As the hellhound prepared for its final attack, I ripped the cross off my neck and shoved it into the tip of the splintered wood. The hound leapt, razor-sharp teeth aiming for my throat. I thrust the handle up into its massive chest.

The improvised stake pierced its shaggy hide and a sharp hissing sound emitted from where the cross buried itself in its insides. The hound convulsed in its death throes, still trying to bite me. My arms were too busy holding the stake to stop it from biting one side of my neck. I cried out again as its fangs scraped my skin, spilling blood. Just when I thought it would tear out my throat, two impossibly strong hands wrapped around its jaws and pulled them apart until I heard the loud snap of its skull cracking.

The great creature went limp and collapsed beside me, dead. In seconds, it disintegrated into ashes, leaving a steaming black stain on the ground. Michael reached down and helped me up, his face losing its righteous fury to give way to concern. It wasn't until I was standing unsteadily on my feet that I realized he had rushed out of a shower to help me. He was clad only in a towel. Huh. Interesting.

"You're hurt," he said, green eyes raking over my form.

I managed to shrug. "You're naked."

Ignoring me, he tugged my uninjured left arm across his shoulder and carefully walked me back inside. Naturally, the gouges didn't start hurting until we got in the rear entrance of the hotel, on account of the air conditioning. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving me shaky and scared shitless. Still, I managed to keep it together as Michael slid the key card in the door with his left hand, his right still wrapped securely around my waist to hold me steady.

"How'd you know I was in trouble?" I asked.

"I felt the hellhound's presence. Whenever something with energy from Heaven or Hell is on Earth, the angels sense their presence," Michael told me. The door opened and he helped me inside, kicking it shut and hurriedly settling me down on the bed. He grabbed one of the fresh white towels on the sink and wet it. He knelt in front of me and began cleaning the wounds.

"You never did explain that to me properly. I thought creatures from Hell couldn't appear on Earth."

"They can't. Hellhounds are usually just stray dogs that the demons use their influence over to corrupt them into monsters. It's sort of a loophole." He pressed the towel a little harder into my neck, causing me to hiss and his brow to furrow even deeper.

"I'm alright," I asserted, taking the cloth from him to mop up the blood. It seemed almost a shame for all that pure white to be marred with crimson.

He frowned at me. "How are you anywhere near alright, Jordan?"

I shrugged again, regretting it as the claw mark on my shoulder stung. "You taught me well, after all."

Michael shook his head. "Don't try to change the subject. I shouldn't have let you go out on your own. It was stupid of me."

It was my turn to frown this time. "What? Am I your pet? You don't run my life, Michael."

His gaze hardened. "That's not what I meant. You told me before that you'd be careful and now look at you. You almost got eaten by a hellhound all because you wanted to go on a date with your ex-boyfriend."

I pushed his hand out of the way when he reached for the towel, standing up. He stood too, appearing worried that I'd topple over from blood loss but I didn't. My anger had somehow given me enough strength to glare up at him.

"It wasn't a date—it was a meeting. Besides, why should you care?"

"Last time I checked I was your emotional support," he retorted a mildly sarcastic voice. "I can't perform my duties if I don't know the whole story."

A tired sigh escaped my throat. "What do you want me to say? I don't know how I feel about him any more than you do."

"Then why are you pursuing this relationship at all?"

My mouth fell open. "You—you're the one who asked me if I would ever consider getting back with him! Are you really giving me lip after you suggested it?"

Michael's face became stubborn. "Oh, great. So you ignore everything else I say to you except when it comes to this guy. That makes a lot of sense."

"This isn't about you, Michael."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "On that we agree."

His words stopped me. I had another angry retort prepared, but something stopped me. It was the way he said that last sentence and how waves of irritation seemed to pour off of him like a warm cloud of cologne that made me realize a startling truth.

"Michael...are you jealous?"

Silence spilled around us. Then, slowly, his expression began to recede from angry into something much harder to place. The frown disappeared and a very strange smirk touched his lips as he ran a hand through his dark, damp hair.

"Jealous, huh?"

He walked towards me. Normally, Michael was an open book of emotions: happiness, sadness, humor, compassion—all of them he wore on his sleeve like badges of honor. This walk I had not seen before. There was something in his body language that made my throat dry and my palms sweaty. He stalked towards me with the grace I only saw on National Geographic channel in the powerful movements of a lion on the plains of Africa—a predator closing in on the helpless prey.

Unfortunately, I didn't have a plain to run around on, so I backpedaled until my bare back pressed into the wall, the towel slipping from my slackened grip and onto the floor. My pulse skyrocketed when he stopped mere inches away, staring down at me with an unfamiliar heat in his gaze. The angel had vanished and the man stood in his place.

"My purpose on this Earth is to serve my Father and protect mankind from evil. It might not seem obvious, but I'm continuing my mission through protecting you, Jordan."

He lifted an arm and pressed his palm against the wall to the right of my head, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "In order to do this, I've had to train myself not to feel the same human emotions that you deal with on a daily basis—greed, gluttony, wrath, sloth, pride, envy, and lust."

When he said lust, the other arm rose to parallel the first on the left side of my head, effectively trapping me. I couldn't look away from the intensity in his eyes. Words died in my throat—words that should have gotten me out of this dangerous situation. Distantly, I realized Michael wasn't using his influence on me. This was the sheer power of his presence.

"So when you ask me if I'm jealous, you already know the answer because part of me is human. What you should be asking me is why I'm jealous, considering I have no right to be. Terrell is a good man. He could give you a comfortable life, keep you safe, and treat you well. I should want that for you. I should be willing to step back and let you live your own life. I should remember my place as an archangel under God's direct orders. Why do you think I can't do that, Jordan?"

I swallowed, imploring my lungs to fill with air enough to answer the question, though for the life of me I couldn't keep from stammering. "I-I don't know."

His face drifted close enough that I could smell the faint scent of his shampoo and the sweet spice of his aftershave, close enough that I could feel the warm air from each breath across my neck, close enough that goosebumps rolled over my arms from the thrill of being so near a handsome, nearly naked male body.

"I think you do know. You know exactly what I'm thinking right now, because you're thinking the same thing, even if you don't want to admit it to yourself."

I closed my eyes in an attempt to regain composure. "We should...probably patch me up. Don't want to die from blood loss."

"You're right. Hold still." Confused, I opened my eyes again to see him leaning towards the claw mark the beast had left on my collarbone, seeming as if he were going to kiss it. I pressed my palms against his chest to stop him, regretting it as my fingers came in contact with his firm skin.

"What are you doing?"

"It's faster if I use my healing energy."

"Y-Yeah, but when Raphael did it he used his hands," I insisted.

He smiled that secretive smile again. "True, but you made me angry. Consider this your punishment."

Before I could say anything else, he lowered his mouth to my collarbone and kissed the torn skin. I hissed, flinching as it stung, but then something else happened. The cut tingled as if he'd poured rubbing alcohol over it, grew cold, and the skin re-knit itself as if it had never been damaged. No more blood, no more pain, no more mess. I hadn't been awake to experience this kind of rapid healing the first time. During our sessions, Raphael had merely run his hands over the wounds and they gradually closed up. Michael's method was nothing like his, probably for good reason.

There were three areas of scratches left on my body: the ones on my neck, the ones of my upper stomach, and the ones on my inner right forearm. My heart thudded inside my chest like an animal trying to escape its cage, but I had been trapped. Michael lifted my arm in one hand and trailed his lips across the delicate skin, sending goosebumps all the way to my fingertips. I could feel tremors going up my spine from the sensations and from the knowledge that he was doing something so intimate on purpose—dragging my very human desires out from depths of where I'd locked them in my mind. Damn him.

Now that the wounds on my arm had disappeared, he reached for the knot at the base of my neck that held up the dress. I panicked, afraid of what would happen if I let him. I caught his wrist, whispering his name. He held me with his heated gaze, his tone low and soft.

"Who don't you trust? Me or you?"

My lips barely moved. "Both."

"I'm not going to hurt you."

I shook my head. "That's not what I'm afraid of."

"What are you afraid of?"

I swallowed hard. "Not being able to stop."

A look went through his eyes that made my breath catch. "Let me worry about that."

He tugged the knot loose. I didn't stop him. The front of the black dress crumpled until the front lay a few inches above my waist, exposing my upper body clothed only by a black strapless bra. Michael's gaze could have burned a hole through solid steel and it was aimed at me. God help us both.

Time seemed to slow as he leaned over my neck and kissed the first scratch, sending waves of warmth through me that made my eyes flutter shut. He sighed and then inhaled the scent of my skin as if it supplied him with air to breathe. My knees nearly gave out as his tongue flicked across the second scratch, simultaneously agitating and soothing it. My hands came to rest on his broad shoulders, feeling the heat that seemed to permeate us both. One more left. Those soft lips caressed the third mark and made it disappear, leaving only the clean line of my throat for him to explore. He kissed over my pulse, the edge of my jaw, so carefully, as if he were sure I'd shatter from too much pressure.

I gasped as he lowered one hand to the dress and tugged it down several more inches, until the cuts on the upper portion my abs were exposed. Michael dropped to one knee and slid his hands over my waist, holding me still as his hot breath curled across my stomach. When his mouth passed over the wounds, my breathing became strained and weak. That same boiling metaphysical warmth from the last time we'd kissed flooded over me in a sudden rush, erasing whatever hesitance I had left. After the cuts closed and he stood to full height, I knew there was no turning back. Now or never. Now sounded very attractive.

Michael didn't hesitate either. In an instant, his body pinned mine against the wall and he kissed me, but it was different from before. This was a kiss. Eyes closed, lips parted, breath unsteady, tongue tracing a tantalizing line across my bottom lip. I had never in all my life been kissed like that, not by Terrell and not by any other temporary boyfriend I'd acquired. At first, his large hands cradled my cheeks to hold me still but the deeper the kiss became, the lower they sank. Down my neck, over my shoulders, brushing the sides of my bra, and finally settling on my hips. My knees were getting weaker and weaker by the second as his fingers drifted down into the crinkled half of the dress and just barely grazed my thighs.

Just when I thought I'd collapse, he wrapped his arms around the back of my legs and picked me up, raising me to his height. I ended up suspended in the air with Michael's lips trailing a line of heat down to the spot where my cleavage began. I honestly didn't give a shit about the consequences, especially not when I felt one of his thumbs caressing the delicate curve between my inner thigh and hipbone. My thighs acted on their own, encircling his waist, driving a muted hiss of pleasure from the both of us. The towel did him no justice. He was definitely the Commander for a reason.

All at once, there was a loud knock at the door.

Shit.

Michael moved first because I was too, ahem, distracted. He lifted his face enough to look me in the eye. I had to remind myself we had company because his gaze still held enough lust to eradicate all of my will power.

"I should probably answer that, hm?"

My voice was practically breathless. "Probably."

He seemed to think about it for a moment before sighing and lowering me to the floor. Finally embarrassed, I pulled the dress back up and fastened it, trying not to think about the fact that Michael watched me with a sort of defeated expression. I opened my mouth to speak, but he leaned down and kissed me, quick, firm, and luscious, before answering the door.

Gabriel stood there in all his cock-blocking blond glory with a dead serious look on his angelic face.

"Trouble. Follow me."

Michael barely had enough time to throw on his clothes. All I could do was toss off my heels and replace them with Reeboks before we followed Gabriel out the door. I didn't know if he had deduced what we'd been doing in our hotel room, but either way it didn't seem to matter. His brow was set firm in a frown—a look of determination I had only seen once, on a rooftop while he fought the demon Belial. Gabriel was always smiling, always serene, always kind. Seeing him like this scared me.

"What's going on?" Michael demanded, trying to catch up with his brother's quick pace through the lobby of the hotel. When we got outside, Gabriel stood still on the sidewalk and pointed to his left.

"Look."

I stared about, watching pedestrians walking up and down the streets. "Look at what? What are you—"

Then I saw them. People were walking in the same direction Gabriel was pointing, but that wasn't the strangest part. Some of them wandered into the streets and cars passed right through them. My jaw dropped.

There were at least fifty ghosts walking down the street.

"God...what's going on?" I whispered, eyes searching through the dead masses for a head count. I had been right. So far, I counted fifty-two ghosts.

"Something is calling to these spirits. I believe it is the sliver of the True Cross." Gabriel said.

Michael's jaw clenched. "I know for a fact none of the angels acquired it. Which means—"

"—one of the demons got their hands on it. We must move quickly. Follow them."

We jogged through the crowds, trying to catch up to see just where the ghosts were heading. Each one I passed had a blank, almost dreamy expression, as if their minds were far away.

"I don't get it," I said as I followed the angels. "Why would the True Cross Sliver attract so many spirits?"

"The True Cross is a bridge between the living and the dead." Gabriel said. "Christ gave up human life and died on that sacred wood so it is symbolic of humanity in both aspects. The dead are drawn to it because it is where he conquered death itself."

We rounded another corner. The ghosts had led us into the park. We followed the gravel path through the woods to the lake where an entire horde of ghosts gathered. There had to be over a hundred here already.

I squinted as we came down the hill. A man in a tuxedo stood by the edge of the lake with his back to us. I brushed through the crowd of ghosts, ignoring the cold sensations their forms rippled across my skin. With a start, I realized I knew him.

"Terrell?"

He turned. "Jordan? I was wondering where you were. You weren't at the hotel and you didn't pick up your phone, so I came here looking for you."

"Jordan!" Michael called.

I waved a hand at him to dismiss the worried tone in his voice. "Don't worry, I know him."

I turned back to Terrell. "Look, I need you to get out of here. It's not safe."

"Get away from him," Michael ordered, his hands balling into fists.

I glared at him. "Michael, this isn't the time for that. We've got bigger problems right now and I don't need you getting overprotective—"

"Jordan, listen to me. That is not your ex-boyfriend."

I stared at him. "What are you talking about? I've been seeing him all week."

Terrell wrapped one arm around my shoulders, cradling me against the front of his body, and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"And thus, I clothe my naked villainy with old odd ends stolen forth from holy writ, and seem a saint when most I play the Devil."

I recognized that quote. Shakespeare. "Terrell, what's going on?"

He kissed the shell of my ear and spoke again. "I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest with you...my pet."

A cold shock went through me. No. Impossible. Absolutely impossible.

"I want you to know that this façade was not the reunion I had planned for us, but it was suitable for my needs. If I had things my way, I would have taken my time in seducing you and getting you to trust me, but these aren't reasonable times and the Master grows impatient."

Terrell's normally warm voice had become bone-chillingly cold. It held a disgusting element of arrogance to it that he never had before. His words seeped into my skin like poison, filling my veins with a sickening feeling. It couldn't be. It just couldn't.

I shook my head, too numb to turn around and see his face, the face I had kissed a thousand times, the face that promised me the world, the face that wanted two kids and a dog and a white picket fence. "Can't be you. Two souls can't share a body. It's not you."

"You're quite right, Jordan. That is exactly why I killed him and took his body."

Just as he spoke, the tip of a blade pressed into my spine, right at the small of my back. The air left my lungs. I just stood there. My lips barely moved enough to form the words.

"You killed him."

The archdemon sighed in a melodramatic way. "He was necessary. I wouldn't have been able to manipulate you otherwise. It was tedious, but I spent our time apart studying his every move, his thoughts, his gestures, until I could copy them exactly. If it's any consolation, he died an honorable death. He would have made you proud, sweet Jordan."

Numb. All numb. Head spinning. Stomach churning. Eyes dim. Dead. My ex-boyfriend was dead because of me. I killed him. I killed Terrell. Blood was on my hands once again. So much blood.

"Jordan..." Michael took a step forward.

Belial jabbed the knife into my back, making me flinch and the angel freeze in place. "One more step and I'll split her in half. We only need her blood, not her life. Why else would we send the hellhound?"

Gabriel's blue eyes narrowed. "We?"

Belial chuckled. "Yes, we. You know I am nothing without my right hand man. Well, woman. Mulciber?"

The other demon approached from the edge of the woods to our left, walking calmly towards our little Mexican standoff as if it were nothing more than a picnic. Her new body came in the form of a Vietnamese woman with long, dark hair and brown eyes set in a round face. I was still too numb to care about her sudden appearance.

"My, my. We have quite the reunion going on tonight, do we not?"

"You have exactly five seconds to let go of her before I tear out your spine, demon," Michael growled, green eyes narrowed to slits. Gabriel whispered his name, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

"Such brave words, angel. We both know there is no way you can extract the girl without hurting her. Therefore, I can do anything I want while you just stand there like whipped puppies." She stroked her long fingers up and down my left arm. Goosebumps rose as her red fingernails began digging in, creating painful welts.

"What do you want, beast?" Gabriel spat, taking a step forward as well.

Mulciber's pale face broke into a triumphant grin. "Oh, I have what I want."

She reached into the pocket of her black Armani pants suit and withdrew a tinted glass vial. Through the light from an overhead lamp, I could see a tiny piece of wood no bigger than a needle inside it.

"Tonight is the fall of man and angel. Tonight, we will conquer life and death in one fell swoop. Tonight, we wage war against the Heavens and spit in the face of God. Tonight is all about revenge—sweet, glorious revenge. Starting with you, Seer."

She grabbed my chin, making me look at her face, nearly inhuman with rage. "You took my favorite body from me. By your hand, your arm, you took away my victory. And so I will take away yours."

Before anyone could move, she grabbed my left arm and shoved her palm against my elbow, shattering it. I screamed, convulsing in Belial's arms. He held me upright as my body lurched forward, weakened by the pain that shot through my upper torso. Bile rose in the back of my throat. Too much. I would pass out from shock soon.

With a wordless roar, Michael lunged at Mulciber, his fist cocked to pummel the daylights out of her. She tossed the vial to Belial, who let go of me enough to catch it.

"Do it!"

Michael tackled her off her feet, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her to the ground. Gabriel leapt for me, but Belial raised the blade to my neck, stopping him.

"Move another inch and I'll flay her jugular," Belial sneered, popping the vial open with his thumb. Gabriel met my eyes and a look passed through them that I somehow understood. He was going to try something. I needed to be ready. I pushed past the aching feeling of loss in my chest and blocked out the pain of my ruined arm, waiting for him to make a move.

Belial used the tip of the knife to slice a neat line across his cheekbone. He held the vial up to it so the blood would run inside. The sliver burned a bright white color, nearly blinding both me and Gabriel. Belial used the distraction to slash one side of my neck. Blood poured forth and he held it to the vial as well to let it flood over the sliver. He lowered the knife a fraction from below my throat, giving us an opening.

I elbowed Belial as hard as I could in the sternum and dropped to the ground, giving Gabriel the chance to kick him in the chest. Belial flew backwards, head over feet, and landed near the shoreline of the lake. The vial went flying into the midst of the ghosts behind us, spewing light as if it were a supernatural sparkler. As Gabriel helped me stand, I felt some horrible power building only feet away where the vial landed. What had they done?

The ghosts turned to face the vial and a huge pillar of light exploded upward, creating a maelstrom in their midst. Wind tore around them into a funnel and sucked their bodies into it one by one until they all disappeared. Then it expanded. The people who had been in the park scattered at the sight of the twister. Gabriel wrapped his arms around me, protecting me from the debris that slapped against us. It surrounded the area in a huge tornado as if acting as a barrier to the outside. I had seen tornadoes before but this was nothing like them. It didn't move on towards another side of the park. It stayed where it was, trapping us inside the dangerous torrent.

I peeked through a gap in Gabriel's arms to see a man standing where the spirits had once been. He was naked and easily over eight feet tall. His skin was deathly pale and his hair was black and slicked back from his face, the cheekbones sharp, nose narrow, brows thick. I couldn't see his eyes because they were closed, but I knew he wasn't human. Gabriel unwrapped his arms from around me, his face slack with shock.

"What...what is that thing?" I whispered.

Its eyes opened and they were opaque with no irises, no sclera, nothing but twin orbs of black. Seconds later, wings stretched from its back but something was horribly wrong. The archangels' wings were white with sheens of gold, or silver, or bronze over them, but this creature's were blood red and singed at the ends.

"It can't be. This shouldn't be possible," Gabriel murmured, the blood draining from his face, leaving him damn near as pale as the thing in front of us.

Behind me, Belial chuckled. I whirled around, drawing my energy around me in case he decided to attack, but he wore a joyous expression, his hands spread wide.

"Thank you, Jordan. You have handed us the victory once again."

"What are you talking about, demon?" I snarled.

"We have tried for centuries to beat the angels at your own game and every time, we have been unsuccessful. Arrogant though we demons are, we have come to one final conclusion. There is no equal for God's angels. And so, we decided to create one."

As if on cue, the false angel landed beside Belial, training its empty eyes on the two of us. Fear curled up through my stomach, washing away the agony from my broken arm. I had faced death before—twice, in fact—and yet it paled in comparison to the stare of this abomination.

Gabriel pushed me behind him, murmuring under his breath. "You need to get out of here."

"I'd love to, Gabe, but I don't think Naked McEvilGuy is going to let me make a run for it," I replied through a grimace.

He seemed to realize the truth in my statement, but he didn't like it. Neither did I.

"Very well. Draw up your shields. Things are about to get...messy."

"Messy?"

Before he could answer, the false angel lunged for me, one huge hand outstretched. Gabriel shoved me out of the way and its fist punched a gigantic crater in the ground, scattering gravel, dirt, and dust into the air. I scrambled backwards with my good arm, swallowing hard, but there wasn't enough time to react because Gabriel shouted: "Michael! Now!"

The archangel appeared behind me and raised his hand to the sky. "Celeste!"

Thunder roared and clouds materialized above us. The sky seemed to explode with activity. I shielded my eyes, just barely able to see a gigantic lightning strike hit the false angel. The sound of the electricity connecting with its flesh made my ears pop and the hairs on my arms stand to attention. When the bolt disappeared, there was only a huge plume of smoke coming out of another even larger crater.

I shook my head, holding out my hand for Michael to help me up. "No way it's that easy."

He set his jaw, stepping towards the hole. "It's not. But that's not what the bolt was for."

Some of the smoke cleared and the moonlight caught upon a long, silver object stuck in the ground. A sword. Its handle had beautiful patterns beaten into the metal, images depicting angels soaring and demons falling in their wake.

Michael plucked it out of the ground. I had read about it before in Paradise Lost. It was the sword that cut the side of Satan and helped them win the war in Heaven.

When his hand closed around the hilt, the metal shone brilliantly. In a flash of movement, a silver liquid flooded up over his arm, his shoulder, his upper torso, down his body to his feet until he was covered from head to toe. Seconds later, it solidified into a sleek armor, with patterns and markings that matched the sword. It was similar to the type of armor that Roman and Spartan warriors once had—separate pieces that were solid yet light enough for quick movements. He turned, looking at the sky.

Another huge gust of wind whipped through my hair. Dozens of angels, all different sizes, male and female, landed behind us: armed to the teeth with swords, spears, lances, and axes, their snow-white wings flaring. Among them, Raphael stepped forward, radiant in a dark bronze helmet and armor, and carrying twin short axes.

"Jordan, you should not be here," he scolded softly, brown eyes filled with worry as they fell across my injured arm and the blood dripping from my neck. I was panting and shaking so hard that I could barely manage to shrug my uninjured shoulder.

"So I've been told."

Sheathing his axes, he laid his gloved fingertips on my arm and throat. I felt coolness enveloping the damaged areas, soothing the pain until the gash on my neck vanished and I could move my fingers again. I flexed the muscles in my arm and winced.

"That is only a temporary fix. I will need more time to mend the bones completely."

"Assuming we survive this."

He flashed me a bitter smile. "Indeed. Get somewhere safe."

I shook my head. "They'll only chase me. Give me a weapon."

"I don't have time to argue with you."

"Whether I leave or stay, I'm dead," I replied, my voice hard with resolve. "I'd personally rather go out fighting,"

Raphael stared down at me for a long moment before handing me one of his axes, which took a moment to balance in my hands. He motioned to two male archangels behind me—a pair of dark-haired, olive-skinned twins.

"Ithuriel, Zephon, stay close to her." The two angels nodded.

Raphael joined Michael and Gabriel where they stood in front of the crater, weapons poised. Across from us at the edge of the lake, Belial had acquired his own suit of armor: not nearly as intricately decorated as the angels, but the black metal looked as frightening as the demon himself. He raised a hand and scores of demons trudged out of the lake. Their dingy armor, weapons, and burnt grey wings dripped water as they came to a stop behind him.

Mulciber came up beside him with her face bloodied and bruised from Michael's assault. It made a grim smirk touch my lips. She too had summoned a dark brown armor and a whip made of fire, flickering light across her filthy mahogany-colored wings. They weren't kidding when they said they wanted a war.

The smoke cleared and the false angel rose to its feet from a crouch. Patches of burnt skin sloughed onto the ground, exposing muscle and cartilage, but the damn thing still stood.

Belial lifted twin katanas above his head, smiling that serpentine smile that did not suit Terrell's face at all. "Well, Prince of Heaven's Army, doesn't this seem familiar?"

Michael's eyes narrowed from beneath the brim of his silver helmet as he spoke. "For proof, look up and read thy Lot in yon celestial Sign where thou art weigh'd and show how light and weak if thou resist."

Fury flooded across the demon's features in a rush. "Don't you dare spit those words back at me, you arrogant fool! You struck down my Master once with that sword and I will make sure you pay back every drop of blood."

Belial motioned forward with his katanas. "Rain Hell upon them!"

The war began.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The demons released a battle cry that shook the ground beneath my feet and hummed through my bones. They ran at us, weapons raised, armor gleaming in the moonlight, and every inch of my body tensed at once. I gripped the axe in my hands, and it seemed to grow lighter on account of the fresh adrenaline coursing through my veins. God help me.

The first wave of demons slammed into the front lines, surrounding me in a cacophony of noise: metal scraping metal, blades slicing flesh, blood splashing through the air. The two angels whom Raphael had assigned as my guardians flanked me, making a triangle facing outward so no one could sneak up behind us.

My eyes locked onto an approaching demon, a hulking man carrying a broad sword. He swung at me in a powerful but slow movement, allowing me the time to dodge and slice into his kneecaps with the axe. He screamed and collapsed to the ground, dropping the weapon. Zephon plunged his lance into the demon's neck, killing him. One down, hundreds to go.

Bodies wriggled and writhed around me on all sides, making it hard to concentrate, but I forced myself to widen my focus to anything wearing the wrong color armor headed in my direction. I parried a blow from another demon, struggling to hold off the sickle mere inches from my skin, and called out: "Strike!" My energy shard went straight through his forehead, killing him instantly, and I kicked him out of the way.

As I continued fighting, I could just barely hear the sound of the archangels fighting the false angel. Every time it struck and missed, the ground trembled like a miniature earthquake. Out of my peripheral, I spotted Gabriel floating overhead, his golden wings flapping to keep him aloft, his thin sword already black with demon's blood. He went into a straight dive and slashed at the false angel's right arm, slicing deep into its skin, but it was still too tough to cut through completely. The false angel batted him away with a vicious swipe, sending him spiraling into the air. It swung its massive fist down at the ground, where I noticed the glinting armor of Michael. I felt a sudden rush of concern, but the angel blocked the blow with his sword, shouting out attack incantations. Large wounds appeared on the creature's wide chest and blood spurted forth like a fountain, but still it stood.

Not far away, Raphael was locked in battle with Belial, swinging his axe as if it weighed no more than a pencil. Belial fought back just as fiercely, the sickening grin replaced with an utterly cold, murderous expression. But that wasn't what worried me. Where was Mulciber?

"Jordan!" I whipped my head to the right as Ithuriel called my name, his brown eyes wide as he pointed his rapier at something beside us. I followed his gaze and saw the tip of the flaming whip latching around the neck of one angel, throwing him into a group of others. It made a small clearing among the melee. Mulciber marched towards us with death in her eyes—a look that was meant for me and only me.

Ithuriel and Zephon stepped in front of me, blocking most of my body from view. Ithuriel sheathed his rapier and drew a bow from his back, loading it with three golden arrows. He released and they whistled through the air in a deadly arc. She flicked her arm and the whip slashed two of them in half, but the third hit the weak point in her armor at the shoulder. She flinched, grabbing the offending dart and throwing it to the ground. Blood dripped down her brown armor, but she kept coming.

Ithuriel kept shooting, stepping back to usher us to retreat as she got closer, slapping away the arrows as they came.

"Get ready!" He shouted to his companion, shouldering the bow and retrieving his rapier as she got within range.

She aimed for me, but Zephon blocked the blow with his lance, twisting the end of the whip around the blade and yanking. She flew forward and he punched her in the face, flooring her.

Hissing, she leapt back onto her feet, clutching her end of the now useless whip, and kicked his legs out from under him. He went into a back roll, coming up to grip his lance, but she jerked her wrist and the whip ripped it out of his grasp. It landed in the grass several feet behind her.

Ithuriel came at her next, his rapier raised, leaping in close to keep her from using the whip again. She used the handle to block him, moving almost too fast for the eye to see. Zephon joined his partner, armed with a blade that had been tucked in his belt as a back-up weapon. I continued fending off the demons that managed to break through to us, trying to keep an eye on their battle when I could. It wasn't until I heard their sharp cries of pain over the roar of war that something went wrong.

I turned. They were both on their knees, clutching identical shoulder wounds. A dagger had sprung from the handle of her whip—an obsidian-tipped blade. Judging by the pain on their faces, it must have been poisoned. She stepped towards me. Ithuriel reached for her, but she kicked him away, knocking him senseless.

Zephon grimaced, trying desperately to get to his feet. "Jordan, get out of here!"

I hacked and slashed at the demons in front of me, making a path for myself, but I didn't get very far. I didn't have enough ground to retreat to, and she was almost to me. I squared my shoulders and clutched the axe, raising it.

"Fine. You want me dead, bitch? Bring it."

Mulciber smiled sweetly back at me, her voice like poisoned honey. "Gladly."

She slashed at me with the whip. I shouted, "I reject!"

The weighted tip of the weapon ripped through my shield as if it were paper, but it gave me enough space to roll to the side, aiming for her already injured shoulder. She turned away at the last minute, making my axe miss and sink into the ground. I yanked it out of the dirt, wincing as my injured arm burned with pain, and faced her again.

"How adorable," she purred as she circled me, her hand twirling the handle of the whip. "I see the angel has taught you how to attack and defend. It won't work on me, my dear. I'm a new animal."

"On that we agree." I lunged forward and aimed for her head. Mulciber blocked me with her forearm and the blade sunk into the metal, crumpling it. Well, at least I'd hit her. She shot me an insolent glare, surprised that I'd at least managed to get through to flesh.

"Well done, Seer. I will play with you no more. It's time to die."

She aimed for my neck. I brought the axe up, but the tip of the whip wrapped around the handle. She pulled with inhuman strength, yanking it out of my grip. Shit!

I scrambled backwards, checking the ground for any loose weapons. Just as she raised the whip again, I found a discarded sword and blocked her next blow, wincing as sparks flew into my face, nearly blinding me. She laughed and kept coming, shouting above the sounds of dying all around us.

"What a piece of work is man!" Mulciber exclaimed, punctuating the quote with another powerful blow. My arm had begun to throb with pain from absorbing the strikes into the sword. It seemed to be getting weaker by the minute.

"How noble in reason!" CLANG!

"How infinite in faculty!" CLANG!

"In form and moving how express and admirable!" CLANG!

At last, she managed to hit my left arm with the whip. I cried out, dropping the sword. Wearing a nightmarish grin, she kicked me in the chest, sprawling me on the grass. I clutched the wounded spot, struggling to rise to my feet, but she tossed her whip aside and grabbed me around the neck. She slammed my head against the ground. Pain crackled through my skull.

I weakly tried to say, "Strike," but she wrapped those cold fingers around my throat and squeezed.

"In action how like an angel," Mulciber purred as she choked the life out of me bit by bit. "In apprehension how like a god; the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals."

I clawed at her arms, her face, getting blood and skin beneath my fingernails. My legs thrashed beneath me, trying to shove me upward, but I couldn't get out of her grip.

"Goodbye, sweet Jordan."

Darkness ate my vision and the last thing I heard was the sound of Michael calling my name.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I stood in a field of pure white that seemed to have no end, with nothing inhabiting it except for me and the two people standing in front of me. To the right, there was a tall man with black hair and azure eyes that met my gaze with a strange sort of serenity. My eyes followed the pattern of several faded scars that marred the right side of his neck and one that bisected his right eyebrow.

The woman beside him was much more familiar—about 5'8'', skin the color of coffee with cream, shoulder-length black hair that fell in curly waves about her oval face and chocolate eyes.

My mouth went dry. "It's you."

Catalina Amador and Andrew Bethsaida smiled at me then, speaking at the same time.

"Hello, mi hija."

"Hey, kid."

I felt as if someone had punched me in the gut—I couldn't seem to breathe or form words. Every part of me had wanted to see them again. There were so many nights when I thought of what I would say if I ever saw my mother or Andrew again. The only problem was that the words piled up in my tightened throat, jumbling like cars in a wreck on the highway. I swallowed hard and pushed past the lump in my throat.

"There are...so many things I've wanted to tell you..." I began, but my mother shook her head, a soft smile gracing her lips.

"We know what you're thinking, mi hija. We know you've missed us."

"More than you can imagine," I mumbled.

She reached out and wrapped her arms around me, solid, warm, comforting. Tears burned in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks in rivulets as I hugged her back, breathing in her scent, afraid that she'd disappear again. After a moment, she drew away. I turned my attention to the Seer by her side.

"Andrew, I—"

He shook his head when he saw the wounded expression on my face, removing his hands from the pockets of his black slacks.

"It's alright. I'm not angry with you."

My voice came out a near whisper. "I'm so sorry."

He sighed, giving me a look as if I were hopeless. "It wasn't your fault. You were young, and in danger."

"But—"

Andrew laid a gentle hand on my head, stroking my hair. "I forgave you a long time ago, Jordan. It's about time you did the same."

His words somehow jolted me back to realize our strange surroundings. "Oh, God. Am I dead...again?"

Andrew chuckled before answering me. "No, you're not dead."

A great exhale escaped my lungs. "Where are we, then?"

My mother answered instead. "Think of it as a world between worlds—a space suspended from time. We thought you could use some help, so we brought you here."

They started walking and I followed, wondering where we were going. The ground felt solid beneath me, but it didn't have a texture. It was like being inside a snow globe.

Just as I opened my mouth to ask her what she meant, they stopped. I nearly tripped when I realized we'd reached a cliff of some kind, where the ground gave way to an enormous gorge. I could only stare in awe.

There were millions of spirits, wispy and grey, floating through the chasm below us. The stream of ghosts stretched from as far as I could see in both directions. Some were holding hands, others gliding past alone with expressions of wonderment. No one seemed to be in a hurry; they all crossed my vision leisurely. No soul traffic. Good to know.

"What is this place?"

"This is where the dead cross over to Heaven for final judgment. Think the River Styx, but a little more pleasant," Andrew said.

I nodded, trying to wrap my head around the concept. "Why did you bring me here?"

They both turned to face me with mirrored serious expressions, so exact that they seemed as if they were one with each other. "There are quite a few people down there that you've helped," my mother said. "You're far more important than you think, Jordan. Seers are rare, and that makes you a very valuable woman."

"So there aren't others like me?"

"There are some, but they don't surface until their abilities have matured."

"Like you?" I asked.

"Yes. I had the same ability as you, though you were probably too small to remember."

"I thought so. Look, all of this is a relief to know, but shouldn't I be getting back? There's a war going on and we're not doing so well."

Andrew glanced at my mother and she nodded slightly in response. He squared his shoulders, the pleasant smile evaporating. I immediately missed it.

"Before we get to that, there's something we need to tell you. We wanted to wait until you were strong enough to handle it."

I swallowed, heart fluttering in my chest. "About what?"

My mother spoke in a gentle voice. "How I died."

I wrapped my arms around myself and averted my eyes to control the wave of loss that rolled up my body. No. I could handle it. This was the goal of my journey—to find out the truth. I needed to know what she had gone through for me, for herself, for the security of the world. I needed to know what they had sacrificed in the fight against evil because soon I would have to do the same.

Finally, I took a deep, shaky breath.

"Tell me."

Time had run out.

He knew how insane his plan sounded, but he had no other options. Tonight or never. With this in mind, he squared his shoulders and turned to face the door. Showtime.

The closet door opened and he walked into the long, white hallway of the psychiatric hospital. He'd never liked this place. It felt like being trapped inside a doctor's pocket; oddly appropriate imagery in itself. Straightening his grey duster, he made sure there weren't any spectators before walking over to the Fire Alarm on the wall, slipping on a rubber glove from one of his pockets. He yanked it hard and a bright blue ink sprayed onto his gloved palm, which would have identified him as the culprit had he not known it would happen. Immediately, a near deafening ringing sound filled the air. He tossed the glove in a nearby wastebasket and slipped back inside the closet seconds before the hospital personnel began pouring out of the patients' rooms. He had started a fire downstairs, hoping to set the alarm off earlier, but the building was old. He had little time and needed the place evacuated as soon as possible.

Soon, the hallway was filled with employees questioning one another about the nature of the alarm and heading towards the supervisor's office to find out what was going on.

"Are all the patients accounted for on this floor?" One male doctor asked the nurse by his side.

"I'll do a head count." She disappeared down the hallway. A couple of the other employees who had gone to Dr. Vulcan's office came back with news.

"She says there's a fire in the kitchen downstairs. The Fire department is on its way. We're going to have to evacuate."

The male doctor heaved a sigh. "Great. It'll be Pandemonium. Let's go."

The hospital personnel dispersed, giving him a chance to slip out of the closet.

"Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you were off today," one of the nurses said as he approached.

He flashed her a sheepish smile. "Had some last minute files to complete. What's with all the noise?"

She knocked on the reinforced metal door to Room P82, alerting the security inside to her presence, shaking her head and raking a hand through her curly brown hair. "There's a bit of a fire downstairs so we're gonna have to evacuate until the fire marshal shows up. I'm just glad this didn't happen during visiting hours."

"Yeah. Bad luck, I guess. Need any help?"

She paused. "Well, sure. You know Ms. Amador better than anyone here. Guess it wouldn't hurt for you to be the voice of reason while we get everyone out."

The door to the room opened and a tall blond man in white stepped out, light eyebrows lifted in question as the ringing alarm reached his ears.

"I thought I heard some racket out here. What's going on?"

"We gotta get everyone out of the building. Escort Ms. Amador outside. He'll accompany you."

The guard sighed, going back into the room for a moment. "Roger that."

His breath caught as Catalina Amador walked out into the harsh luminescent lighting of the hallway, highlighting her midnight hair and coffee skin. Even with tousled hair and bags under her eyes, she radiated pride and loveliness. Those entrancing brown eyes locked with his and widened in surprise. He managed a somewhat genuine smile in return.

"Hey, Cat."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, surprise evident even beneath her warm Spanish accent. The guard didn't allow him to reply; instead he nudged her forward with a large, pale hand. "Walk and talk, please."

She bristled and reluctantly complied, following the shuffling masses towards the short flight of stairs leading outside.

Andrew placed a gentle hand on the small of her back, leaning in slightly. "When we get outside, follow my lead."

Catalina's spine stiffened. "You can't do this. It's not going to work. It's too late for me."

His jaw clenched. "Don't say that. This isn't over yet."

They fell silent as the sound of feet on metal reverberated through the staircase. His pulse quickened as they reached the door and stepped into the cool night breeze. For a fleeting second, he almost forgot about the plan as he felt the New Jersey air closing in around them like a comforting blanket. This city always seemed more alive at night, at least in his eyes. Still, he steeled himself and reached down, strong fingers wrapping around Catalina's slender wrist.

In an instant, they were gone.

His hand on hers was rough and callused, squeezing to almost the breaking point as he pulled her after him. She nearly stumbled and fell on the damp grass, but kept running. They had only moments before the guards would notice their disappearance, and the security cameras would already be notified on the disturbance. At last they reached the wall that encompassed the entire facility, pressing their backs to it as they caught their breath.

Andrew reached into his duster and withdrew a folded up tarp, shaking it open and tossing it over the barbwire on top. He cupped his hands and she stepped into them, grabbing onto the top of the wall as he lifted her. She crawled on top and offered him her hands in return, straining as she hauled him up with her. She spotted the guard who had been monitoring her running towards them in the darkness with his taser raised.

"Freeze!"

Andrew grabbed her hand, shouting, "Jump!"

They leapt from the wall just as he fired, missing them by mere inches. They hit the ground and rolled down the grassy hill that led to a single street where an unmarked car was already parked, the engine running.

Andrew helped Catalina to her feet, ushering her inside the car before climbing in himself. The driver slammed on the gas the second their door closed, gunning it down the narrow passageway to the gate of the psychiatric hospital, where the guards had already been knocked out and the divider lifted.

"Where's Gabriel?" Andrew asked, turning around in his seat to look out the back windshield.

"He's waiting for us two blocks down the way at the helicopter pad."

"Fantastic," the Seer said with biting sarcasm, withdrawing the gun holstered on his waist and taking the safety off.

"That gives us roughly five minutes to get the hell outta dodge before the demons bring down the hammer."

A long howl cut through the air, raising the hairs on their arms with its chilling sound. The car screeched to a stop, throwing both passengers against their seats. Catalina struggled upright first, looking out to see what had stopped them. There, at the bottom of the street leading onto the city block, was a throng of hellhounds—each of them over six feet long and four feet tall, with steam pouring off their shaggy, matted fur.

The driver glanced back at Andrew with an apprehensive expression. "You were saying?"

"Well, no one ever said this was gonna be easy," he replied, counting the number of hellhounds and calculating how many shots he had in his magazine.

The driver nodded to the spot beside him. "Lift up the seat."

Andrew handed Catalina his gun and tore off the removable leather interior on the right side of the backseat, pleased to find two automatic shotguns and a box of shells in a secret compartment. He took them both out, handing one to Catalina and opening the box of ammo.

"You know how to use one of these?"

"I'm acquainted with handguns, not shotguns, but I'm a fast learner," she said, holding her hand out for the shells.

He smiled, though it was grim at the edges, and handed them to her. "Aim for their heads. Don't hesitate. Shoot straight, Cat."

She nodded. "I shall."

"Ready?" The driver asked.

Andrew readied his first shot, nodding to him with a determined smirk.

"Let's get some."

The car lurched forward at maddening speed. Both passengers rolled down their windows, taking careful aim. The hellhounds raced towards them, mouths open, fangs glistening, their roars slicing through the air. When they were only feet from the car, the Seers opened fire, immediately taking out the closest two beasts. The blessed bullets ripped through their furry hides. The beasts exploded into black ash.

One jumped up on the hood and the driver swerved, making the creature slide off and hit the pavement. Andrew whirled and shot at the ones closing in from behind, taking out another three. Catalina focused on the ones ahead of them, wounding two and killing another. Both seers took aim at the final two blocking the street as the car barreled closer. Just as they fired, the car hit a pothole, making them miss. Only one hellhound went down. The other dove for the front tires, puncturing one before the car ran it over.

"Shit!" The driver made a hard right onto the street. The entire car began to shake violently from the ruined tire.

"We can't make it there like this. I can probably get you one more block, but that's not a promise."

"I've got a back-up car waiting not far from here. Think you can get us there?"

The driver nodded, weaving in between cars. "Or die trying."

"Perfect choice of words there, Mr. Sunshine," the Seer said, reloading his shotgun as best as he could in the wildly swerving vehicle. Already he could hear the distant wail of sirens. He prayed that they were sending human policemen and not one of the fallen angels. He was armed for bear, not demon.

"Stop right up here, we can cut through the alleyway to the other car." Andrew pointed to an empty space just outside of a barbershop.

The driver raced through another intersection and screeched to a halt. Catalina opened her door and got out while Andrew paused to give further instructions.

"Now unless you want to be Alpo, I suggest you arm yourself and get the hell out of here. Thanks for your help," Andrew said.

"No problem."

The Seer slung the shotgun across his back and climbed out. Once again, he took Catalina's hand and lead her into the alley, which swallowed them in darkness.

"How far to the helicopter from here?"

"Not far. Gabe's got friends in high places, no pun intended," he answered in between breathless pants.

"Why couldn't he land the helicopter outside of the psychiatric hospital?"

Andrew shook his head. "Not enough space to land."

"What about my daughter?"

"Once we're at the next safe point, we'll send someone in to bring her to you." He tossed a grin over his shoulder at her.

"Didn't think I'd leave the munchkin hanging, did you?"

They both stopped at the end of the alley, waiting to cross the street to the next one.

"I don't recall you being very fond of children," Catalina said.

He chuckled, watching for cars. "Maybe so, but if she's anything like you, I suppose I could take a liking to her."

The comment made her pause, realizing the gravity of what he had done for her. "Andrew, I—"

He shook his head. "Don't get soft on me now, Cat. We're not outta this yet."

"I know, but—"

"Hey," he whispered, cupping one side of her face in his large hand and meeting her dark eyes with a determined look. "You don't have to thank me for this, ever. I've spent my whole life fighting for people who will never know I even exist. You're the only thing I have left to believe in—you and that little angel waiting for us. Okay?"

She nodded once. "Okay."

She pulled him closer by the lapel of his grey duster and kissed him with abandon, allowing herself to be lost in him, if only temporarily. He kissed her back with equal passion, only pulling away when he was sure that she knew exactly how he felt about her. Then he grabbed her hand and led her across the street to the next alley.

They ran faster as the sirens got closer, filling the alley with a shrill shrieking that sounded almost as demonic as their pursuers. At last, they came up on the last turn that would spill them into a side street where the car and its driver were waiting.

"C'mon, it's just around the corner!" He went around it first, but stopped dead in his tracks, making her stumble as she ran into his back. At the end of the alley stood a tall blond man, holding their driver above his head by the throat. He turned his head slowly, looking at the pair with lifeless blue eyes.

"If you value this man's life, you will throw your weapons over to me. Now."

Andrew surveyed the man, noting the long, thin blade held in his right hand. It glinted dangerously in the dim light spilling in from the open end of the alley. Behind them was a dead end. The police were closing in. They were trapped.

He turned his head slightly to look at Catalina, warning her with his eyes not to move or say anything, but to be ready. Something was off about this man—not demonic energy, but something. "Let him go, first."

"You are not in the position to give me orders," the man said, digging his thumb into the back up driver's pulse point and making him cry out.

Andrew took the shotgun off of his back, making sure to seem as harmless as possible. The nameless man nodded towards the dumpster beside him.

"Throw it in there. Make any attempts to harm me and I will kill this man, and then you."

"Charming fellow, ain't he?" Andrew muttered, walking over to the dumpster and tossing the gun in.

The man gestured to Catalina next. "Yours as well."

She threw in her gun, her dark eyes glittering with hatred. "How much are they paying you to help them damn this world?"

The man allowed a small smirk to touch his lips. "Enough."

With that, he let go of the man, who stumbled and fell. "Get in the car and drive away. If you attempt to come back and save them, I will slit your throat and feed you to the hellhounds."

The driver's eyes darted to Andrew, who shook his head. "Go. We'll figure something out. I can't have your death on my hands."

"I'm sorry," the driver muttered hoarsely, picking himself up and limping over to the car. He got in and drove away, leaving the alley dark with the absence of the headlights. In the few seconds of dark that they had, Catalina slipped Andrew's handgun to him from the small of her back. She edged over to the dumpster in case she would get the chance to retrieve the shotgun.

The man tracked her movements with his eyes, lifting the blade to point at her.

"Walk over here. The police will be here shortly to arrest your lover and you will return to the facility unharmed. If you resist, that will not be the case."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Come and get me."

The man cocked his head. "Do you doubt my intentions?"

"That's pretty apparent," Andrew snapped. The moment his eyes left Catalina, Andrew raised the handgun and fired at him. The man dodged his shots with unbelievable speed, darting over to Catalina and grabbing her by the neck. He pressed the tip of the blade to her heart, pinning her against his body.

"Fire one more shot and I'll kill her."

"Let her go," Andrew snarled, aiming at his head.

"Drop the gun."

"Don't you understand? They don't need her! Let them take me instead—I'm a Seer!"

The man shook his head. "You are not pure enough. The woman is what they want. Drop the gun."

"Don't," Catalina whispered. "They'll kill you."

Andrew shook his head wildly, gripping the gun tighter. " I won't let them take you, Cat."

"And I won't let you die because of me." The tone of her voice, the quiet serenity in it, and the calm look on her face told him all he needed to know. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

Her hand gripped the hilt of the blade and shoved it through her chest. It sliced through her body and plunged into the man's heart, killing him instantly. He dropped to the ground behind her and she fell to her knees, blood soaking her blue hospital shirt and turning it black.

"Cat!" He dropped the gun and ran to her, catching her before she could hit the pavement. He couldn't breathe. There was blood everywhere, even on her beautiful face. Her breaths were shallow and trembling and he knew she only had moments left.

"C'mon, stay with me, Cat! I can heal this, I know I can," he whispered, raising his hand above the knife. He poured every last bit of his energy inside her that he could, but the bleeding didn't stop. The wound was too severe. He didn't have enough power to save her and it killed him.

She smiled softly, watching him through half-lidded eyes as she lowered his arm.

"Mentiroso."

He almost choked on a sob, brushing the hair away from her forehead. "Why, Cat? I could have come up with another plan, I could have saved you—"

"You did save me, amor. I knew from the beginning that this would be the end of my life. It is ending on my terms, not theirs."

His head snapped upward as he heard car doors slamming in the distance. The cops had arrived.

She touched his cheek, making him look at her. "Go. You cannot let them catch you."

"Cat—"

"Go, amor. I will see you again. I promise."

He closed his eyes, ignoring the hot trails of tears streaming from them, and kissed her one last time, cradling her soft body in his arms. He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice so low that she almost didn't hear it.

"I'll hold you to it."

"Whatever happens...take care of Jordan any way you can."

"I will."

"I love you."

"I love you more."

Gently, he lowered her to the ground and folded her hands over her stomach, saying a quiet prayer for the passing of her soul, and then fled into the night.

When Andrew finished speaking, I didn't know what to say. In the end, I wiped my eyes, glancing at my mother.

"I guess we have more in common than I thought."

"Perhaps. I never intended for you to suffer the same fate as me, Jordan," she said, her brows wrinkled with worry. "I always wanted you to be happy and live free of the persecution we escaped."

I touched her arm, feeling a little stronger. "But I did. For the past few months, I have been happy. Between Lauren and the archangels...I have a family. It's not the one I always thought I wanted, but it's still exactly what I need."

A beautiful smile touched her lips just before she pressed them to my forehead. "Then my worries are at rest."

"Now," Andrew said, though he hesitated before breaking up the moment. "I hate to be Buzz Killington, but we've got a war on our hands, and one that you guys aren't exactly winning."

"I know. There's just got to be a way to defeat the false angel. Tell me you guys can help."

My mother shook her head. "Our souls have crossed over. We can never return to Earth. We can, however, offer advice."

"You can tell me how to kill it?"

"Yes and no. Think about it. What did it take to create the false angel?" Andrew asked.

I paused, remembering. "The sliver of the True Cross, my blood, and Belial's."

"So that, in essence, is a trinity of Christ, man, and angel, though fallen. Those are the greatest powers in all of existence. This tells us that violence alone will not destroy the false angel," my mother said.

"So you're saying we need to combat their trinity with our own kind of trinity?"

She nodded. I frowned. "But how? Gabriel said that we can't extend our defense powers to each other. We can only use them for our own protection."

"That's true, but there may be a way to bend the rules a little through you." Andrew stepped closer, touching my shoulder.

"When Belial stabbed you with the Spear of Longinus, Christ's blood was still on the tip. Do you understand where I'm going with this?"

I felt the blood draining out of my face. "You're saying that there is a small portion of the Son...in me?"

"Yes. It's very faint and it won't last forever, but it may be enough to allow you to join the archangel's powers together enough to form a trinity."

"What'll happen? Will we turn into some sort of Megazord?" I asked, growing anxious.

Andrew grinned, apparently getting the reference, but pushing past it anyway. "Not exactly. Your mother and I believe that you will become a conduit capable of connecting their powers together enough to destroy the false angel because each element represents a part of what created it. The attack comes from man, the defense comes from angel, and the healing comes from Christ. Use it well."

I hesitated, feeling the weight of their words, of my responsibility. "What if I fail?"

My mother met my eyes then. "What is it that Gabriel always tells you?"

"Have faith."

"That's all you need, mi hija. Go. We'll be watching over you always." She wrapped me in a hug one last time. I fought a fresh wave of tears when she let go. Andrew brushed a lock of hair behind my ear and kissed my forehead, sparing me another encouraging smile.

"Go get 'em, kid."

"Thanks. I love you," I whispered.

They began to fade from my vision, but I could still see them join hands and speak in unison. "We love you more."

Chapter Twenty-Six

I crashed back into my own body—my poor, broken, aching body. I could still hear the sounds of dying and slaughter around me, but it took a minute for all my senses to return. When my eyes focused, I saw Michael hovering over me. His eyes darted between my face and my chest, checking to make sure I was alive. He sighed—a sharp sound—and brushed his thumb across my cheek.

"Welcome back."

I coughed hard, shaking and rubbing my bruised neck ruefully. "How did you...?"

Just as I pushed myself up to a sitting position, my hand brushed something cold and wet on the grass. I shrieked as I realized it was Mulciber's bloody, severed arm and scooted away.

"Oh. Well, that explains it then."

"You were unconscious. It was...the longest four minutes of my life," Michael admitted, helping me to my feet. Four minutes. It felt like I had been with Andrew and my mother for at least half an hour. Then again, they did say it was a place suspended from time.

Mulciber—minus her right arm—was on her knees with Ithuriel and Zephon holding blades against both sides of her neck. To my relief, it looked like they'd healed themselves.

She sneered at me. "I should have snapped your neck."

I punched her as hard as I could with my good hand, relishing the groan of pain that escaped her as a result.

"Yeah," I said slowly, my voice ice cold. "You should have."

"This isn't over, Seer."

Michael stared down at her with hard certainty in his eyes. "Yes, it is."

He made one quick motion to the angels with his hand and then ushered me away. The sickening slice of her head being removed from her shoulders still reached my ears. Good riddance. Bit by bit, I could feel my strength returning. The instructions from my mother and Andrew rang in my ears. Time to end this war.

"Come on, we have to get you out of here," Michael said.

"I know how to kill the false angel."

He stopped. "What?"

"When I was unconscious, my mother and Andrew Bethsaida came to me. They told me we need to form a trinity in order to destroy it."

He shook his head. "That's impossible, we can't form one without—"

"A conduit, I know. I am one. They told me there is a trace amount of Christ's blood in me. It might be enough to help combine our powers."

There was an unearthly roar in the distance and the ground trembled. Michael glanced in the direction where Gabriel was fighting the false angel and then back at me. "I don't like this plan."

I couldn't help but smile. "It's all we've got right now."

He gave me a grim look, but nodded. "Alright. Just don't die. I'd hate to have to miss you."

"I wouldn't want to be such a bother."

Michael didn't smile this time, and I didn't blame him. He motioned for Ithuriel and Zephon, who had come up behind us after dispatching Mulciber.

"Follow me."

Michael picked me up and launched into the air, soaring over the heads of angels and demons alike until we reached the clearing where his brothers were fighting. Despite the dismal surroundings, the flight was breathtaking. His wings parted the sky with powerful movements. I wrapped my arms tighter around his neck, resisting the urge to touch one of his wings out of pure curiosity.

He landed us a good ways from the creature, calling for Gabriel's attention. The blond angel retreated quickly, commanding his soldiers to continue fighting in his stead. The false angel didn't seem to care. It attacked anything angelic within its reach like some sort of rabid animal.

"Am I to assume we have a plan?" Gabriel asked.

"Not the best plan, but it's better than nothing."

He stared at Michael then. "That's not very encouraging, brother."

"You don't know the half of it," he muttered, but pressed on anyway. "Jordan proposed using herself as a conduit to combine our powers and destroy the false angel."

Gabriel's eyes widened. "She can do that?"

"Here's the Cliffnotes version—I have a small trace of Christ's blood in me, and it should give us the power we need to kill the false angel," I said.

He frowned. "Should?"

I put one hand on my hip. "You got a better plan?"

He winced. "Point taken. How exactly are we going to pull this off?"

"I figure a three-pronged attack," I said. "Gabriel, you trap the false angel in the strongest shield you can conjure and keep it still enough for us to make a move. Michael will drive his sword into its chest to injure it. Raphael will use his healing powers. I think that should release the dead souls that give it its power. If I'm right, that'll cause all three elements to disengage."

"It might work," Gabriel said. "The only problem is that Raphael is fighting Belial, and I doubt he's going to let him just walk away."

"We'll take care of that," Ithuriel said, glancing at his partner. Zephon nodded. They stepped back and leapt into the air, flying over to the vicious fight between Belial and Raphael.

Michael touched my shoulder. "Do you know how to form this trinity?"

I hesitated. "More or less. I need to release my energy and meld it with each of yours to form a connection. It probably involves some form of physical contact to get it started, just like our healing powers."

I paused. "I always pictured my first foursome going a little differently."

Gabriel and Michael both sighed in unison, which made me grin. "Not now, Jordan."

"I'm here," Raphael's voice called out from behind us, making me turn. He was breathless and bleeding, but still in one piece. Michael scooped me up again and we launched into the air. The false angel was swatting angels aside like flies, covered in blood, dirt, and gore. The ground around him was littered with the dead and the dying.

After Michael set me down, I stood in the middle of the three angels, pressing one hand to Michael and Gabriel's armored chests while Raphael laid one hand on my back. I closed my eyes and reached down inside myself for the power that lay dormant, cajoling it to rise up between us. It felt like a warm, radiant light in my chest: comforting, soothing, and yet the most powerful thing I'd ever experienced.

The archangel's energy rushed in to meet with mine. They all mixed and blended and then hardened, as if three precious metals had been melted down and fortified into something unstoppable. At last, the connection solidified and our minds were on the same accord: vanquish.

The false angel spotted us and dove forward, reaching its monstrous hand for me, but Gabriel lifted his arm. An invisible force stopped it in mid-stride. The false angel let out a sickening roar of fury, struggling with all its might, but it couldn't move. Michael stepped away and unsheathed his sword, walking towards the false angel. White fire licked up the blade as he neared the creature. A spot in Gabriel's shield opened for him.

In the distance, Belial screamed "NO!" just as Michael plunged the sword into the false angel's chest. No blood came out, only a blinding white light, almost like the one that had been in Michael's body when Belial tried to overtake it.

Raphael stepped forward as Michael removed the sword, pressing his hand over the wound and closing his eyes in concentration. He murmured soft words in a Latin healing incantation. The false angel began to convulse in his invisible prison, its head flying back in a soundless scream. The light grew even brighter and shot into the sky like a beacon. All at once, the souls of the dead that the sliver had called to it flew from the wound in the false angel's chest. I felt it in my bones that they were now at peace and crossing over to the other side to see the Father. It was a beautiful sight.

When the very last soul left, the false angel evaporated into ash, nothing more than a black stain and burnt red feathers. Around us, all of the demons and angels had gathered to watch in wonderment, their battles forgotten as the light slowly faded from view, leaving us in the quiet embrace of night.

Belial rushed to the spot where the false angel had once stood, whispering "No" over and over again. He fell to his knees, his face anguished. I couldn't bear to see the look on Terrell's face. I took an unconscious step towards him, but Michael laid a hand on my shoulder.

"Jordan...I have to..." he struggled with the words.

I shook my head. "Please...there has to be another way."

"His soul left this world a long time ago," he whispered. "I have to put the body to rest."

I knew he was right. I knew it. But it still hurt.

Belial's voice was low and mournful as he spoke, and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes as I recognized the words he recited. Ash Wednesday by T.S. Eliot. God help me.

Michael lifted his hand and pressed it over my eyes, closing them. Seconds later, I heard the sound of the sword slicing through the demon's chest and the quiet thump of his body falling over. When I opened them again, Terrell lay fallen by the ashes of the false angel, his face strangely peaceful. I knelt and kissed his forehead, my voice hoarse.

"Forgive me."

"So...what happens now?"

I sat on my own bed in my apartment with Raphael at my side, finishing up the final touches on my new set of bandages. He had healed my arm completely, mending the bones to their former strength, though he advised me not to do anything strenuous anytime soon.

After Belial's death, the demons had retreated back to hell and all the corpses disintegrated into ash as soon as they left. The angels went back to their various posts on Earth. Gabriel and Raphael escorted Terrell's body back to his home and arranged it to look as if he'd died of more natural causes. Michael took the sliver of the True Cross to Heaven and then came back to take me home.

"Fortunately, the tornado chased away all the innocent bystanders, and thus there were no witnesses to the event. However, we have people on standby monitoring major video sites for any possible footage. We also have people in the New Jersey police department to help cover up the sudden 'weather anomaly' that will be reported by said witnesses." Raphael stood and put his First Aid kit back in his trademark leather bag.

Michael leaned against the doorframe with one hand pressed to his mouth, looking more solemn than I had ever seen before. Gabriel hovered by the bathroom door, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened.

"Good. I'd hate to have made up some sort of explanation for all this. A movie shoot. A LARP gone wrong."

Raphael sent a questioning look in my direction. "LARP?"

I smiled. "Never mind. What about the demons?"

Gabriel spoke up this time since it was a little more in his department. "It is too soon to tell, but I suspect their master won't be very happy with their failure. We won't hear from them in quite some time, until they come up with another scheme."

"And Terrell..." I let the sentence hang because it was too painful to finish.

Gabriel cast a sympathetic look on me, walking over and sitting to my right. "His family has already been notified. I assume they will contact you with information about the funeral."

I shook my head, my smile becoming bitter. "You don't know his family."

"Perhaps not, but...if it's any consolation, his soul is indeed in Heaven."

I looked up, shocked. "You...?"

"I checked for you."

A wave of gratitude rolled over me. "Thanks, Gabe."

"Of course." He kissed my forehead, standing up.

"Raphael and I need to get going. We will be in contact with you soon." He glanced at his brother and a look went between them that worried me. Neither of them bade the silent Michael goodbye. Something was going on. Something bad.

I waited until they disappeared out the front door before speaking. "What's going on?"

Michael looked at me then, seeming to be drawn out of deep thought. "What?"

"Don't pull that," I said, my voice confident and bold though I felt confused and scared on the inside. "I can tell when you're hiding something."

He sighed. "Jordan—"

"Michael, I nearly died today. I saw Andrew and my mother today. I saw someone I care about die because I was too late to save him. Don't keep anything else from me. Please," I added softly, walking over to him. He stared down at me for an instant and averted his gaze to the floor.

I touched the side of his face, like he had done so many times to mine, and made him look at me. "What's going on?"

"I've been reassigned."

My hand fell away like a dead weight and all the air in the room evaporated. "What?"

He pushed away from the doorframe and walked into the kitchen, pressing his hands flat against the counter until he was hunched over it, closing his eyes. "My Father has ordered me to do cases on my own, away from you, because it's too...dangerous."

"Dangerous how?"

He sighed again, his voice heavy. "You know how."

I touched my neck on reflex, getting a sudden sensory memory of his lips on my skin, traveling down my collarbone. Shit. He was right. I did know how. There was no doubt in my mind that if Gabriel hadn't interrupted us we would have ended up in bed.

"You can't contest this?"

"No, I can't. Orders are orders. To refuse them would cause Him to disavow me from my rank as an archangel."

My breathing started to hitch up, almost like I was having another panic attack. I wrapped my arms around my stomach to keep my hands from shaking. "So you're just gonna leave? No more protection, no more help with the ghosts?"

Michael shook his head. "Gabriel will be your new guardian. He'll look after you in my absence."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's fine then." My voice went cold on its own. I turned my back on him, storming into my bedroom.

"Jordan, don't do this, please."

I slammed the door, locking it and pressing my forehead against the wood as if it would push all of my memories out of my head. I'd been a fool. Had I really thought that I could cross those lines with him and not be punished? Did I really think I could have him to myself? The Prince of Heaven's Army wrapped around my pinky. Stupid, stupid little girl.

The doorknob jiggled and I heard him sigh. "Open the door."

"Go away, Michael. I can't do this right now." I tried not to sound as upset as I actually was. There was a thunking noise and a brief vibration that meant he'd either hit the door with his fist or his forehead. I couldn't really tell.

"I'm sorry. I am. I lost control. I should have been more careful of you."

I closed my eyes, steadying myself. "Just go."

Silence. Then, after a long moment, he spoke once more.

"Take care of yourself, Jordan."

His footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors until they were faint and then nonexistent. The front door opened and closed, swallowing me in silence. The second he was gone, I collapsed to the floor and buried my face in my knees, hiding my tears from no one but myself.

Stupid, stupid little girl.

I worked a six-hour shift the next day, getting home from the bus at around seven o'clock. I'd made lousy tips because, for the life of me, I couldn't muster a genuine smile. Good thing Lauren hadn't been there. She would have pulled me into the bathroom and grilled me with questions about what happened. Not that I could tell her anything. It was against The Rules.

My keys jingled as I took them out of my pocket. As I reached for the lock, my shoe hit something on the welcome mat. I glanced downward, surprised to see a medium-sized cardboard box with a UPS label. Confused, I picked it up, unlocking the door and carrying it all inside. I took the box to the kitchen table and sat down, reading the label on top.

To my absolute shock, the box was addressed to me from Aunt Carmen. What the hell could she possibly have to send me? Notes about how much she hates me? The souls of little orphan children? I tore off the masking tape and pulled the lid apart, going completely still when I saw what lay inside, cramming nearly every corner of the box.

Letters.

Dozens of them.

And all of them were addressed to me.

On the very top, there was a bright blue sticky note with one word on it in my aunt's handwriting.

Perdónome.

Forgive me.

My hands shook just the slightest bit as I set the note aside and dug into the piles and piles of letters with my name on them in an untidy script. I ripped the first one open and found it was a card for my 10th birthday. I sifted through all the envelopes, finding that each one came from a different address under the name Simon Patras, but they all were signed at the bottom of the cards with "A.B." It could only be one person.

Andrew Bethsaida.

She had been keeping them from me all these years, never letting me know that for over a decade this man had been sending his love and support.

My eyes felt hot. My hatred for her seemed to be at war with my gratitude. This was truly the only humane thing I had ever seen Carmensita Durante do, even if it had been years too late. Maybe Michael had put the fear of God in her after all.

It wasn't just letters, either. There were trinkets too: small stuffed animals with dusty fur, key chains with golden angels dangling from them, even a snow globe from Madrid. All at once, I understood. My mother had wanted him to take care of me in her absence, but since he couldn't do that due to being hunted by the demons, he sent me presents. He tried to reach me, to let me know that someone out there cared. God bless him.

I sat down and went through them all, putting the envelopes in one neat pile and the cards in another with the trinkets and stuffed animals in the middle. Maybe it was a good thing Michael wasn't around, because I couldn't seem to stop crying, though I was smiling through my tears. Even in writing, I could feel how much he cared about me—someone he had never even met.

The letters for my sixth through tenth birthdays were all simple and colorful, but the ones after that began to get serious. He didn't divulge his own whereabouts or the fact that he was a Seer. Most of them said that I need only know that he would look after me one day when I was ready.

"You may be asking yourself who I am or why I've been writing you, but just know that I want to make sure you are safe. That is what your mother would have wanted for you, and what I want for you as well. I know that right now things seem at their darkest, but there is an old saying: sometimes it's darkest just before dawn. There is a dawn for you, and me, and for us all. So hang a night light by your bed and wait for the sunrise, angel."

A.B.

A fresh wave of tears tumbled down my cheeks, but they weren't sad tears so I didn't mind. I wiped my eyes and took the letter to the fridge, clipping it on there with a magnet. I had fought in a war. I had nearly died three times in the past three months. I had been broken and beaten and bloodied. I had lost my mother, my lover, and the man who may have been my father figure if he had lived long enough. I had killed. I had suffered.

But for once in my life, I had love and no one could steal it from me.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

During the first month without Michael, I felt like a quarter rolling around in an empty piggy bank. My apartment felt hollow and I rattled around it, lost, aimless, and uncomfortable. I hadn't realized how much time he occupied in my daily life. During the day, I'd go to work and when I got out, he would wait for me. Ever since Belial abducted me, he never let me leave work to catch the bus by myself. I had tried and failed to convince him not to waste valuable money five days a week on the bus fare, but he never listened. On weekends, we went to movies and plays or walked in the park or perused the bookstores to collect literature I didn't have yet.

The silence killed me. I had my laptop open constantly to play music to combat the quiet. My weekends were spent sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee and reading. I deleted "Golden Brown" from my playlist and avoided every single sentimental love song I could just to stay sane.

My dinners went back to being simple: tuna salad, spaghetti, fajitas, and lasagna. I just didn't feel like trying new recipes yet.

Lauren immediately knew something was wrong. After a week of my unresponsive behavior, she dragged me into the bathroom at work and demanded to know what was going and where Michael went. I merely told her that we weren't seeing each other any more because his job took up too much time and he couldn't be with me. Part of it was true, after all. She believed me and offered her sympathy, promising to take me out to meet guys. I declined the offer. I wasn't ready yet.

The second month wasn't as bad as the first, though the urge to start drinking again got worse, so I started attending local AA meetings. Gabriel checked in on me every other week, sometimes by a phone call, other times in person. I never asked him how Michael was doing because I knew, to some degree. While flipping channels, I'd heard about some of his performances on the local entertainment news. The Throwaway Angels were making their way to the top. I didn't know how I felt about that.

The other problem was that my nightmares got progressively worse, and it wasn't just dreams about killing Andrew or Mulciber choking me to death. These dreams involved someone who knew my inner darkness and could bring it to life whenever I fell asleep.

I stood in a pure white field, much like the one Andrew and my mother had brought me to, but something was different. Wrong. In front of me stood a pane of glass that was a thousand feet high and a thousand feet across. On the other side, I could see the silhouette of a man walking towards it. I squinted, stepping closer to see. My breath caught as he came into focus.

Michael stood there, his beautiful silver wings flowing from his back, dressed in all black with the most mournful look on his face. He said nothing, merely lifted one hand and pressed it to the glass. I didn't understand why, but I did the same. I couldn't feel the warmth from his hand. The windowpane was too thick. God help us.

Then, slowly, the glass began to darken at the corners, spreading downward until it swallowed Michael's image in a rush of silver. It had turned into a mirror and behind me there was another man. A man in a suit with black hair on either side of his face and a serpentine smile.

I whirled around, a scream building in my throat, as Belial reached out and placed his gloved hands against the mirror, trapping me between them. He was so close that I could smell the metallic scent of blood on his breath.

"Poor, sweet Jordan," he whispered, his reptilian eyes swallowing my vision. "Without your angel, who will protect your heart?"

He let his gloved fingertips trail down the left side of my neck, resting the palm over the scar just above my breast. The demon leaned in, his lips brushing my ear and making me shiver.

"Will you give it to me or shall I take it?"

"You can chase me for a thousand years. You can hunt me wherever I go, threaten everyone I love, and take away everything I care about...but I will never...ever...give myself to you." My voice came out clear and harsh, almost brash, but it was the truth.

Belial inhaled sharply, dragging his hot tongue over my pulse. "I was hoping you'd say that."

His fangs pierced my skin and I screamed until I woke up.

As if the nightmares weren't stressful enough, Terrell's family had engaged in a legal battle about where and when to inter his body. Apparently, he hadn't specified in his will and his mother's side wanted to bury him with her grandparents, while his father's side wanted to bury him in their grandparents' graveyard. The only reason I knew about any of it was because of his sweet younger sister, Grace. Even after we broke up years ago, she never hated me like his mother did and so she called to tell me it would be a while before they got the issue settled. I tried to refuse the invitation, but she wouldn't take no for an answer, bless her heart.

When the third month rolled around, the depression slackened. I threw myself into work and put more energy towards solving cases. Ghosts poured in at a steady rate. I took extra care to carry my gun, rosary, and a couple vials of holy water with me in case one of the demons resurfaced, but there was no sign of them. Though I did develop an intense fear of cats. Every time I saw one, I hurried off in the opposite direction. Sad, but true.

I also started watching Food Network on a regular basis. I started simple with dinner entrees and then worked my way up to baking. By the end of the month, I could make cornbread, chocolate chip cookies, and banana bread from scratch. I let Gabriel and Raphael try some of them. After that, all of Gabriel's visits were in person just so he could try whatever new sweets I'd made that week.

By the fourth month, I still didn't feel busy enough, so I started looking into enrolling in Excelsior College for their Bachelor of Science program for restaurant management. After all, I couldn't be a waitress forever. Spending time at the restaurant made me realize how much I enjoyed cooking food and being around people while they ate. It would be a while before I'd be able to afford it, though. I made a folder for the pamphlets I found and wrote "Promises to Keep" on it.

It was the end of March before anything related to Michael cropped up. I sat in my kitchen, sharing half of a loaf of banana bread with Lauren after our shift at work. Lily was at the babysitter's, because Lauren needed to vent about her divorce over sweets. Our conversation had fallen silent for a few comfortable moments before she spoke.

"I need to tell you something, but first you have to promise not to get mad at me," she said after downing half her glass of milk.

I eyed her. "Go ahead."

"I bumped into Michael the other night."

The sudden mention of his name made my heart rate spike. "Oh."

She dropped her gaze to the table top, folding one corner of her napkin. "We went out for a drink."

The look on my face must have scared her, because she held up her hands in supplication. "No, no, not like that. He wanted to catch up, not go on a date."

I relaxed a little. Before he left, Lauren and Michael did get along pretty well so it made sense he'd want to talk to her.

She continued. "I asked him how things were going and he said he pretty much just writes songs, works at Guitar Center, and sleeps. Nothing in between. He's not seeing anybody, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't," I said, and she rolled her eyes at me.

"He asked me how you were."

"What did you tell him?"

Lauren shrugged. "That you were good. Busy."

The silence mounted. She folded the napkin into a limp little goose. After a while, she sighed. "Jor, he looked awful. Like he hasn't been sleeping or taking good care of himself. Around other people, he can hold it together, but I could tell he was miserable."

She met my gaze, her voice soft. "He misses you."

I closed my eyes. "Lauren..."

"I don't run your life. I won't tell you what to do with it because it's not like I know anything, I mean, I'm getting a divorce. But he's not the same without you."

She dug into her purse and withdrew a CD in a plastic sleeve, placing it on the table. "He did a cover of Eels' 'Beautiful Freak' that I think you need to hear. I cried for a week after I heard it."

"Look, I appreciate that you're concerned about fixing things between us. I really do. But some things just aren't going to happen no matter how much we want them to." My throat started to tighten. Emotions were welling up beneath the surface of my mind, threatening to spill out if we kept talking about him.

"Okay. I just thought you should know." She stood up, brushing crumbs off the front of her skirt. "I've gotta get going. Call me tomorrow."

"I will. G'night." She waved and left the apartment. I sat in silence, staring at the CD at my fingertips for a long moment. My mind told me not to listen. It would only open old wounds and smear salt into them. But my hand reached out and placed the disc in the laptop.

It whirred for a few seconds, and then I heard the polite sound of applause. He had recorded this at the Devil's Paradise, probably, during a live performance. I folded my hands over my mouth and listened to the first few lines.

His voice was heavy and had a rough texture that made shivers roll down my spine. There were some artists that had a polished, pop sound to them. Michael wasn't one of them. When he sang, he meant every single word.

I couldn't get through the entire thing. I stopped the recording and pressed my hands over my face, inhaling deeply. No. I wouldn't backslide when I had come so far. He had his life and I had mine. We would be fine without each other.

No more, no less.

The next day after work, I walked into my apartment, shut the door, and turned around, only to freeze in place.

Michael was standing in my kitchen.

My throat closed up and my entire body seemed to go cold from head to toe as it tried to absorb the shock of seeing him after six months of no contact. No phone calls, no visits, nothing. Part of me wanted to race across the room and catapult into his arms, to bury my nose in his shirt and smell that familiar scent, to have him smile at me and erase any negative thoughts my mind could conjure. But that was just part of me. The rest was hollow.

"Hey, Jordan." His voice came out soft, meaningful, and hesitant. The words seemed to jolt me out of my paralysis. I realized I'd been standing there staring at him for nearly half a minute. Lauren hadn't been lying. There were dark smudges under his eyes and his skin had an unhealthy pallor.

I let my face go blank and slid out of the duster, walking towards the kitchen table and draping it over the back of a chair. "What are you doing here, Michael?"

It was hard to concentrate on anything in the room other than him, but I managed as I went to the refrigerator and searched for the food to get my dinner. Chicken salad. Nothing special.

I heard him take a deep breath. "I have something to tell you."

I sat the Tupperware container of food on the counter. "And you couldn't tell me over the phone because...?"

He sighed. "Jordan, don't do this."

I slammed the door shut, whirling on him. "Don't. Don't you tell me what to do. You can't just waltz in here and expect me not to be upset."

Michael shook his head. "No, that's not what I'm talking about. You know I wouldn't have come here if I didn't have something important to say."

"What makes you think I even want to hear it?"

His green eyes narrowed just barely. "Because if you didn't, you would have thrown me out already."

The truth of his words slapped me in the face, rendering me silent. I crossed my arms, leaning against the counter with a cold expression. "Two minutes."

The angel set his jaw, but nodded. He turned his back on me and ran a hand through his hair—a painfully familiar gesture—then rested his large hands on the counter opposite of me as he spoke.

"Yesterday, Father called me to His side for council."

Shock crackled through me. From what I'd heard, direct conversation with God was an extremely rare occurrence. His orders were often sent out through the Son, not the Man himself.

Michael paused to let this information absorb before continuing. "When I knelt before Him, He only asked me one thing."

I couldn't help myself. "What?"

"Do you love her?"

My heart rate tripled. I dug my fingers into my arms, trying to keep myself from having a panic attack. It was stupid, really. Of course He knew. He was God. But I had never in my life thought that the thing hanging between Michael and me would receive acknowledgment from on high.

Eventually, I managed to calm down enough to ask: "And...what did you say?"

His voice was a mere whisper. "Yes."

I closed my eyes. It was true. Over the past six months, I had convinced myself that Michael had merely been struggling with his lust for me, but love...it was too scary to even think about. How could someone so pure and just fall in love with me? Didn't he see the scars? Didn't he know how bitter and jaded my soul had become?

When I opened my eyes again, Michael had turned around, his handsome face strained as if he were in physical pain when he spoke. "I have no right to love you, Jordan. I want nothing more than to disappear and leave you in peace."

"Who says I want you to?" I murmured, staring at the floor and rubbing the goosebumps that had appeared on my arms.

"You don't know what it's been like since you left. The dreams...God, the dreams..."

Michael stepped towards me, but I held out my hand, stopping him. "The truth is that I don't know what to do with this information right now, okay? It's not like He gave you a ultimatum or something—"

"He did."

My eyes snapped to meet his. "What?"

It was Michael's turn to look away this time. "He told me...that under normal circumstances, a human and an archangel would never again be allowed to be together. However, because you are a Seer, you aren't completely human. You're one of the anointed. Therefore, you could be with me if and only if you agreed to enter the Marriage of the Souls."

"Marriage of the Souls?"

"We would be bound together for life, both on Earth and in Heaven. But...in exchange for this, we can never..." he faltered.

I touched his cheek, making him meet my gaze like he had so often done to me before.

"Never what?"

His lips just barely moved. "Have children."

Those two little words sunk into my skin like liquid poison: thick, sickening, and deep. I slumped against the counter, my head pounding as I tried to understand what he'd told me. "That's some ultimatum."

He offered me a weak smile. "You can imagine I didn't get much sleep after He told me."

"I'll bet."

"Jordan, I won't ask this of you. I came down here to tell you because you deserve to know and to make a decision for yourself. I don't want this life for you. I don't want you to have to wait up nights praying that some demon doesn't get lucky and finally succeed in killing me. If you ask me to leave and never come back, I'll do it."

My voice was quiet. "Even though you love me."

He flinched. "Yes."

My breath came out in a long sigh. "Michael, you can't expect me to know what to say to you right now."

He nodded. "I don't. I'll come back tomorrow for your answer. This is an important decision and I want you to truly think about what you want, whether or not it removes me from the picture."

His head dipped slightly, as if he were bowing, a gesture so formal that it bothered me. His speech, too, was as proper as it was when he'd gotten his memory back. It made me realize that he was speaking as the angel, not the man. The angel who loved me. Me.

I couldn't find it in myself to say anything as he brushed past me, wrapping my arms around my waist in an attempt to calm myself. The front door clicked shut, leaving me in a deafening silence. Twenty-four hours to make the biggest decision of my life. Where to start?

I wandered into my bedroom and plopped down on the mattress, staring blankly into space as I tried to figure out what to do. His words echoed in my head until I felt dizzy so I finally resolved to do something slightly childish. I grabbed a sheet of notebook paper from the shelf and a pen, folding my legs so that I sat Indian-style on the bed. Time to do what I did in fifth grade when I had a crush and couldn't decide if I should tell the boy the truth—make a list.

On one side of the paper, I wrote: Reasons Why I Shouldn't Do It. Not very elegant or insightful, but it was effective enough. I chewed on the pen cap as I started to fill in the reasons.

He gets on my nerves

He's always right

He's too damn tall

I paused, scanning the page. Okay, so these were superficial. I was avoiding the real issues, the ones that scared me, the ones that actually made me want to say no to the offer. Slowly, I lifted the pen again.

He'll live forever and have to watch me grow old and die

I'll never get to be pregnant

I'll never get to have an ultrasound

I'll never have a baby shower

I'll never get to see my hair and Michael's eyes on our baby.

I'll never be alone again

The pen lowered and I stared at the paper, feeling a heavy weight in the center of my chest. Truth be told, I had never really thought about having kids until now. Sure, I liked them, but I always thought that I'd figure it out when I met Mr. Right. Did I want children? Could I handle having children despite my crazy lifestyle? Moreover, would I even want children if Michael wasn't in the picture?

Now came the even harder part. Moving to the other side of the page, I wrote: Reasons Why I Should Do It. There were only two things under this category.

Because I love him

I'll never be alone again

They were two tiny sentences, and yet just looking at them made my heart race as fast as it had when I'd found Michael in my kitchen. Somehow, seeing the words "I love him" made me want to freak out. I had loved people before—my mother, Lauren, Andrew—but none of them romantically. Terrell had been the closest I'd ever encountered to The One. He had been handsome, smart, and sweet, God rest his soul. No matter what I chose, I would always regret what happened to him because of me. Still, kind though he was, I never loved him.

Truthfully, loving Michael should have been more obvious to me. He made me laugh. He never seemed to grow tired of me. I didn't have to act perfect around him. He smelled wonderful. He cooked like a god. His music was amazing. His voice was soothing. When he smiled, I felt the world melting at the edges. Yeah. Pretty obvious.

I slumped back against the headboard, curling my fingers into my hair. Well, now what?

I debated on whether I should distract myself by reading or watching a movie. Another thought occurred to me, so I rolled over and grabbed my cell phone, searching through the numbers for one in particular. It rang about seven times and I almost hung up, but then the voice of an elderly woman with a New Orleans accent wheedled in my ear, making me smile.

"I was wondering when my monthly call was coming."

"Hi, Mrs. Lebeau."

"Oh, you stop that, child. Use my first name," she scolded.

I smiled wider, shaking my head. She never changed. I could still see her in my head even now—her perfectly-styled grey wig, her black-frame bifocals, and her cinnamon skin spotted with freckles across her weathered cheeks. Without her, I'd either still be in New Jersey or dead. I never forgot to call her, but I did forget how informal she liked things between us.

"Sorry, Mrs. Selina. Old habits die hard."

"Mm-hm. How've you been, cher?"

I cleared my throat, trying to keep my voice level. "Oh...y'know. The same. What about you?"

"Same as always," she chuckled. "Shop's doing well. Hired me some new blood. They cause as many problems as they solve."

"I'll bet." I hesitated. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"When your husband asked you to marry him...how did you know he was The One? The right one for you?"

"Hmm...that's a good question. It was so many years ago, but I recall the proposal like it was yesterday. Anthony and I had been together for a whole year before that night. We had just finished dinner and we were leaving the diner. It was raining. I'd forgotten my umbrella, so Tony lent me his jacket. We walked out into the rain. Halfway to the car, the heel of my shoe broke. Now, mind you, these were expensive shoes that he'd saved up a month's worth of paycheck to buy and the damn pavement ripped it right in half. I started to get upset, and he told me not to worry about it. I asked him why, why wasn't he upset since he had spent so much on them. He said that it didn't matter to him one bit, because he was prepared to spend the rest of his life with me and buy me any pair of shoes I could ever want. I'll never forget that moment. He knelt down, in the middle of a puddle, no less, and pulled out the ring."

"Weren't you scared?"

"Child, I was terrified!" She laughed, her voice soft around the edges. "I'd never thought in a million years that he wanted to spend his life with some little girl who owned a candy shop. He was a beat cop. I knew that if I married him, one day I'd lose him, and I did. But the thing is, my dear...his love was worth the risk of losing him. I knew he was the one because as frightened as I was...I still wanted to brave through the pain for him."

Her words set in, both affirming some things in my mind and stirring others. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

"No problem, cher."

"I'll talk to you soon."

"I'll be here." I hung up, staring at the lit surface of my phone for a long moment just before dialing another number. She picked up on the second ring.

"Hey," Lauren said, sounding energetic despite the fact that she had also worked for eight hours. I envied her in that regard. She always seemed bursting with life.

"Didn't think you'd be awake. You worked a long shift today."

"Yeah, I'm pretty beat. Listen, I know you have tomorrow off too, and I was wondering if maybe we could hang out. Y'know, you, me, and Lily?"

"Sure. She hasn't seen you in a little while and I'd love the company."

"Good."

She hesitated. "Are you okay? Your voice sounds kind of...hollow."

"I'm fine. I'll meet you at IHOP around ten o'clock, okay?"

"Sounds great. See you then."

We hung up. I sat the phone on the nightstand, my thoughts churning in my head. Tomorrow morning sounded nice. I had no idea what to do about tonight. How could I get to sleep with something like this on my mind?

Before I even knew it, I was on all fours on my floor, reaching beneath the bed frame for the bottle of whiskey taped to the bottom. I was a faithful member of AA, but I was still human. And I could really use a drink right about now.

I unscrewed the cap, holding the cold glass up to my lips, when I just went still. I stared at the amber liquid, the intricate patterns of the bottle, and felt a wave of disgust rolling up through my chest. No. That was the coward's way out. I remembered my mother's words, the ones she'd written on those papers so many years ago, and they were strong and firm with resolve.

I walked into the bathroom and poured the whiskey down the drain. After the last drop fell, I tossed the bottle in the trash and looked at myself in the mirror.

"I will endure."

"Lily! Would you give the Frisbee back to the dog, please? Thank you!" Lauren watched her overexcited daughter toss the plastic disc back to the begging black lab at her feet. We had been in the park for nearly half an hour, and she had managed to interact with every single animal in the vicinity. The kid was equal parts adorable and exhausting. After breakfast, the three of us caught a matinee kids' film, went bowling, had lunch, and came here to watch the sunset.

"She's going to be a vet someday," I said. "She is way too good with animals, even at her age."

"Ha, forget that. She needs to pick a cheaper career. I can't pay for vet school." Lauren raked a hand through her bangs. We were seated comfortably on a bench nearby, keeping an eye on the munchkin. Silence fell between us until she spoke again.

"Alright, so what's this really about? I can tell you have something on your mind."

I fidgeted in my seat, avoiding her intense eye contact. It was against the rules to tell anyone the truth about ghosts, angels, and demons. It would only be allowed if they accidentally witnessed something they weren't supposed to. Lauren hadn't. Therefore, I would have to tread lightly.

"I know you and He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named got the divorce finalized this year, but I wanted to ask you..."

"Yes?"

"...knowing what you do now about your ex, if you could do it all over again, would you?"

She paused, turning her head to stare out at the park, now illuminated by the fading gold and orange of sunset. "Damn, Jor. I was expecting you to say you were pregnant or something."

I let out a small laugh. "No, that would mean I had a life."

She smirked at the comment, and then sighed. "Well...truthfully...the best thing to come out of my screwed up marriage is Lily. She's beautiful. She's my life. Her father was just an unpleasant accessory, I suppose. Things got painful and I know I'll never recover after being married to him, but I guess I would do it all over again if only because I love her so much."

Lauren then shifted in her seat, her brown eyes narrowing. "Now tell me why you asked me that. What's going on with you?"

I licked my lips, choosing my words carefully. "I have...a decision to make. A big one. A very big one. I just want a point of reference. I want to make sure I'm not going to regret it for the rest of my life."

She opened her mouth and I held up a hand. "And I can't tell you what it is. Not yet, anyway."

Lauren scowled. "Fine. But I don't see why you won't trust your own judgment. Your first instinct is usually the right one. You may be a cranky, asocial hermit crab, but you're a smart girl. And if this decision involves who I think it involves, you had damn well better say yes or I'll disown you."

I tossed her a sarcastic look and she grinned at me. Just then, Lily scampered over to me with a huge smile on her round face.

"Auntie Jordan!"

"Yes, honey?"

She handed me a dandelion, bouncing up and down. "Make a wish!"

I chuckled, accepting the flower. "This is all so sudden! I don't know what to wish for! Can you help me?"

"Yes! I know what you should wish for!" Lily exclaimed.

"And what's that?"

"The thing you want most! Mom says that if you are a good girl and you love really hard, you get to wish for the thing you want the most."

That made me wince a bit. "I don't know if I've been that good a girl, munchkin."

She shook her head, making her pigtails wag back and forth. "Auntie Jordan is good. I can tell. I can always tell 'bout good people. Make a wish!"

Finally, I smiled at the girl and blew the tiny seeds away, watching them float along the warm afternoon air. Lily cheered and kissed my cheek, racing back into the field to find more flowers.

Lauren shook her head, a fond smile on her lips. "What'd you wish for?"

"Lily's wisdom."

An hour slipped by. Lauren took Lily home and wished me luck, leaving me on the park bench to watch the leaves from maple trees gently waft to the ground, illuminated by the lampposts on either side of the bench. I had one hour to go before Michael's return, exactly twenty-four hours after he had, in a fashion, asked me to marry him. To spend the rest of my life and the life after it with him. Christ.

Footsteps approached from my right, crunching through the dirt and gravel, coming to a stop next to me. The polished Armani dress shoes were a dead giveaway.

"Hiya, Gabe."

The archangel sat next to me. "Good evening, Jordan."

He paused, watching me curiously. "You seem...well. Not quite what I expected."

I glanced at him, lifting an eyebrow in question. "What were you expecting?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Nervousness. Fidgeting. Any of the normal human reactions when faced with an important decision."

"Well, I'm not completely human, after all."

He smiled wider. "You're human enough."

I rolled my eyes. "Is this you offering advice? Because you kind of suck at it."

Gabriel chuckled, leaning his arms over on his long legs. The evening air was cool so he was wearing a dark brown sweater and black slacks. I never could get him to stay in casual clothing. He had told me it just didn't feel right to him.

"What would you like to ask me?"

I brushed a lock of hair behind my ear, fixing my gaze on the ground. "Has any other angel ever entered the Marriage of the Souls?"

He took a deep breath and sighed. "Yes."

"Tell me."

He interlocked his fingers, his voice losing all the charm and humor it had once held. "Centuries ago, there was an angel who fell in love with a Seer. It was in the early ages of man, back when certain events of the Bible were still happening. At this time, there had only been young angels mating with humans and creating nephilim. There hadn't been any cases where angels fell in love with Seers as there were so few, but this particular angel did. He came before the Father and asked him if there was anything that could be done to allow them to be together. Father considered his proposal with great wisdom and consideration. The angels are God's servants. He knew that man would need woman to be his companion, but He never considered that we would ever require the same kind of nurturing. He realized that it would make things easier for those angels working on Earth to have someone to love, and so He granted the angel's wish."

Once more, Gabriel paused and I didn't know why. I frowned, looking at him.

"What happened after that?"

He licked his lips, seeming to choose his words. "The Seer that he fell in love with...betrayed him."

"What?"

"It turns out that she had actually been corrupted by the archdemon Belial. He instructed her to seduce an angel, so that he would have a sort of 'double agent' on the inside. He would be able to know of our plans before we deployed them, giving the demons an edge. However, the Seer didn't know that having her soul married to the angel would allow him to track her no matter where she was and one night he found her meeting with the demon in secret."

I shook my head. "I can't imagine how he must have felt."

"Me neither," Gabriel admitted.

"What did they do?"

"It was very complicated. You see, her soul had been promised to enter the gates of Heaven after her death, but her sin was one so great that it made her too impure to enter. In her state, if she died, she could not go to Hell because she shared a bond with an angel, but she could not enter Heaven because of her pact with the demon. They ended up having to banish her to Purgatory."

"What happened to the angel?"

"He played no part in her wrongdoing, but he was too heartbroken to continue his work on Earth among mankind. God granted him the responsibility of guiding souls from Earth to Heaven."

My jaw dropped. "You mean that angel was—"

"Uriel." Gabriel nodded. "Afterwards, God forbade the union of angels and Seers. He did not want any other angels to suffer the same fate as Uriel. He will never be whole because his beloved resides in Purgatory until Judgment Day."

He looked at me then. "Until now."

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to grasp what he'd told me. "But why? What about me is so important that He would reinstate the Marriage of the Souls?"

"Jordan, you have to understand that there is a hierarchy among the angels. We are all equal in spirit, but the truth is that Michael is one of the most important archangels in existence. Like all of us, he is brave, diligent, and obedient, but he is also the most vulnerable of the angels because of the little time he spent on Earth. Michael needs love and guidance, more than what my brother and I or even our Father can supply. He needs someone like you to help him reach his potential."

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words. "Well...if it's not too personal to ask...why haven't you or Raphael ever considered the Marriage of Souls?"

He paused, seeming as if he hadn't expected the question. "I suppose it's because of how he and I view humans. To me, you are more like children—not that you are immature or incapable, but I tend to feel more fatherly love than romantic love for mankind. Raphael sees you like brothers and sisters, and so he too does not love you in the romantic sense. I think that because Michael believed he was human for such a long amount of time that he was able to care for you as a lover. There are literally millions of angels serving alongside the human race, but none of them have his heart and, if you don't mind me saying so, none of them have ever met you."

He smiled a bit when I blushed. I cleared my throat, trying to dispel the sudden bout of shyness. "So...do you think I can handle this kind of responsibility?"

"That, I am afraid, I cannot answer. Only you can."

I took a deep, slow breath. After a moment, he reached over and held my hand, making me meet his kind eyes one more time.

"Jordan, I have known you for years. You are kind and strong and impressively resilient. You don't need to doubt yourself. Whatever you feel you should do in this situation, do it. No matter what happens, I have faith in you."

He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, in the same spot as always, and squeezed my hand before standing and saying goodbye. I watched him go as the wind caressed my face, my hair, my shoulders, and I felt just a little bit taller.

I had been in the kitchen for around ten minutes, about to make myself a chicken salad sandwich in order to keep busy, when the doorbell finally rang. My stomach plummeted into my feet. I set the food aside, walking over to the door. My heart drummed a frantic rhythm inside me as I went.

Michael stood on my welcome mat with his hands in his pockets. His hesitance bubbled around him as he cleared his throat. "May I come in?"

"Sure," I said, standing aside. He walked in and I shut the door, going back to the kitchen. He trailed behind me, a silent but tense presence. I couldn't imagine what sorts of things were going through his head right now.

"I...understand if you need more time to think about this," the archangel began, sounding regretful. It was so unlike him. "It isn't an easy decision."

I shook my head. "No, it's fine. I talked to Gabriel. He told me what happened to Uriel."

His green eyes went wide, but I couldn't tell if it was fear or surprise.

"Oh. Well, at least you're making an informed decision," Michael replied, a weak smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

I nodded. "I am."

He inhaled slowly. "And...what decision is that?"

This was it—the moment that decided everything. There were so many feelings flowing through my body all at once, nearly making me dizzy. Then, I took a deep breath and spoke from the heart.

"Michael...you're smug, self-righteous, overprotective, and hardheaded. You make me feel as if everything I've learned over the course of my life is fleeting. You snore. You drink out of the carton when you think I'm not looking. You're way too fond of those band groupies and you're constantly telling me what to do."

I took another slow breath and smiled at him. "And if that's all I can come up with for reasons not to be with you, then I think we'll be alright."

He went completely still. "Jordan, what are you saying?"

"What do you think I'm saying, idiot? I'm in love with you." I grabbed a handful of his shirt and jerked him down to my height, stealing a kiss that made warmth crawl down my spine and envelope my entire body. It wasn't his lust or mine—it was the culmination of our very spirits, our energy, his and mine, somehow separate, somehow together, somehow whole.

He wrapped those strong arms around my back and held me steady as the kiss deepened, until we were both breathless and shaking. I broke from his lips, opening my eyes to look up into that gorgeous face.

"That reminds me. Should you be kissing me before our souls get hitched?"

"Point taken. Well, there are two important things you should know about the marriage."

I arched an eyebrow. "And those are?"

"One, with your soul bound to mine, no demon will ever be able to touch your skin without being burned. It's a side effect of becoming part of me."

A flood of relief went through me. "And two?"

"Two," he said, dropping his voice to a sultry tone. "The marriage is only effective after we've...consummated it."

A great thrill traveled up my spine, but I hid it with a nonchalant shrug. "How ever will I survive?"

His smile was decidedly wicked. "That's a legitimate question."

Before I could say anything else, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me to the bedroom, kicking the door shut. Just after he laid me down on the mattress, I remembered something.

"Wait, I forgot to put the chicken salad away."

He leaned over me with a smirk that gave me heart palpitations.

"It'll be there next week."

Hours later, I awoke to fingers gliding over my bare shoulder: slow, lazy, much like how I felt at the moment. Michael's chest was a wall of solid heat behind me, melded against my back, a comforting weight. He leaned over and kissed the nape of my neck, his voice quiet.

"Oh, good. You're not dead."

I choked on a laugh, rolling my head backwards to look at him. "Well, that was a romantic thing to wake up to."

He chuckled. "Sorry. It's just that you were pretty out of it for a while there. I was starting to think I accidentally killed you."

"That would have been one hell of a way to go," I admitted, stretching my back. A few things popped in response, further relaxing me.

Michael nuzzled his nose against the right side of my neck, sighing. "I think I owe you and the entire human race an apology."

I glanced at him again. "For what?"

"Well..." he said slowly, his face solemn. "Having experienced love-making for the first time, I am amazed that you don't simply do it all the time, seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day."

I couldn't help it. I erupted into laughter, so hard that my entire upper body shook beneath the sheets. Michael had enough sense to look sheepish after his statement, waiting patiently for me to regain composure.

I wiped my eyes, kissing him on the nose. "Congratulations. You are officially a human being. A human male, I might add."

I watched with wonderment as his face turned a fantastic shade of pink, my grin stretching. "Are you blushing?"

He scowled, looking away. "No."

"You are too cute for words."

He groaned, burying his face in the pillow behind me. "Don't say that. I hate it."

I shook my head, lying down as well. "Sorry, but you really are sometimes."

The archangel grunted in annoyance before scooting a bit closer so that our bodies were aligned, his right hand stroking the line of my side from my ribcage to my hipbone. He seemed oddly fixated on that part of my body rather than the more salacious bits, but I didn't mind since it was soothing. We lay there in silence for a long while, enjoying the simple comfort of being able to touch one another, until eventually his fingertips wandered to my back and began tracing the scars.

"I could heal them, you know," Michael murmured, his thumb caressing one scar that peeked around the small of my back and spilled onto the side of my thigh.

"I know. Raphael offered the same thing, but I turned him down."

"Why?"

"They're reminders of my past, of things I can't forget. Things that made me the way I am. Making them disappear won't change anything. I'll carry them like I carry everything else."

Michael pushed up on one hand above me and kissed my lips once, softly. "May I never become something you have to carry."

I smiled, brushing the dark hair out of his eyes. "You won't."

EPILOGUE

"I made him just and right

Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.

Such I created all th' Ethreal Powers

And spirits, both them who stood and them who fail'd

Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell.

Not free, what proof could they have given sincere

Of true alliance, Faith or Love

Where onely what they needs must do, appeard,

Not what they would?"

The pastor's voice rose and fell with a distinctive cadence, accenting John Milton's powerful words about mankind's free will. Funny. Often, his poetry inspired me and filled me with a sense of purpose, but now it only served to squeeze a few more hot tears from the corners of my eyes.

I stood behind the seats of Terrell's immediate family, not good enough for a chair in their eyes, but I didn't expect them to treat me any differently now that he was gone. His mother dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief that probably cost more than my dress, and his father had one arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arm. They met no one's gaze, only staring forlornly at their son's coffin, which overflowed with white roses and lilies.

Michael stood to my left, holding my hand, his thumb tracing a slow, comforting pattern across the back of it. I had tried and failed to convince him not to come with me. He knew this would be hard for me and he also felt the need to pay his respects since he had delivered the final blow.

The sun had begun to set. Orange light spilled in from the trees surrounding the cemetery as the pastor closed out the reading. Each family member was given the chance to select a flower before they interred the coffin into the grave. He would be resting next to his father's parents, who had died a couple years ago. He loved them dearly and so it was only right he remained with them in death.

One by one, his immediate family plucked roses from the decorations. The pastor glanced towards me. It was common knowledge that I was the only long-term relationship Terrell had ever been in. It led some people to believe I was sort of family. I shook my head, not feeling worthy of such an honor, but Terrell's younger sister Grace nudged my arm to encourage me. Her mother opened her mouth to object. Grace sent her a glare that would melt a glacier and she pressed her lips together in silent consent.

I let go of Michael's hand and selected a lily, my fingertips brushing the polished surface of the coffin. No one was close enough to hear me whisper, "Thank you for everything."

I went back to my spot and the pastor finished the ceremony with a powerful prayer. Shortly afterward, the crowd dispersed to get ready for the reception, which I wouldn't be attending because I didn't feel very welcome. It had only been at Grace's urging that I was allowed to come at all.

I gave her a firm hug, holding her hands before I pulled away. "I'm so sorry, Gracie. I really am."

She shook her head, attempting to smile. "It's alright. I'm glad you came. He'd want things to be right between our families."

I returned the tentative smile. "Good luck with that."

She giggled, but the sound didn't drown out her mother's cold voice as she walked over, her frown lines deepening with anger.

"I can't believe you, Grace. Inviting that trollop here like she's one of us, and with a white man, no less. Huh. Probably wants to know if she got something in the will." The old woman sneered, glaring between Michael and me.

I didn't know what came over me at that moment. Maybe I felt vulnerable or maybe that sneer reminded me of my Aunt Carmen, but either way words spilled out of my lips before I could stop them.

"Don't," I snapped. "Don't you stand here on your son's grave and soil his memory with your selfishness. I don't care if you don't like me. I don't care if you think you're better than me. Terrell was a great man and I will not let you stand here and act like you don't have any home training. I am here to pay my respects and I have paid them so you don't have to worry about me darkening your doorstep again. All he ever wanted was for the people he loved to be happy and you will never honor his wishes as long as you keep stepping on the people you think are beneath you."

She said nothing, only glancing away with a mixture of shame and anger. I exhaled and turned back to Grace. "If you ever need anything, you've got my number. Take care of yourself, okay?"

She nodded. "You too."

With that, Michael and I started towards the car. He reached for my hand again and I took it, glad as his warm fingers wrapped around mine. His voice was quiet when he spoke.

"Are you going to be alright?"

I sighed. "Maybe. Someday I'll wake up and this won't hurt as much. But that day isn't today."

He opened the car door for me, meeting my eyes as I climbed in. "Until then, I'll be around to remind you that you have saved more lives than you have taken."

For the first time that day, a genuine smile touched my lips. "That's sweet of you."

Michael leaned down and kissed me, whispering, "It's also completely true. I have faith in that day as I have faith in you."

"I couldn't ask for anything else."

Then he shut the door and drove me home.

The End

To continue the series with She Who Fights Monsters now, click here to visit the author's website: shewhowritesmonsters.com.

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##    
The Thought Readers  
Mind Dimensions  
Book One  
By Dima Zales

##

##

Chapter One

Sometimes I think I'm crazy. I'm sitting at a casino table in Atlantic City, and everyone around me is motionless. I call this the Quiet, as though giving it a name makes it seem more real—as though giving it a name changes the fact that all the players around me are frozen like statues, and I'm walking among them, looking at the cards they've been dealt.

The problem with the theory of my being crazy is that when I 'unfreeze' the world, as I just have, the cards the players turn over are the same ones I just saw in the Quiet. If I were crazy, wouldn't these cards be different? Unless I'm so far gone that I'm imagining the cards on the table, too.

But then I also win. If that's a delusion—if the pile of chips on my side of the table is a delusion—then I might as well question everything. Maybe my name isn't even Darren.

No. I can't think that way. If I'm really that confused, I don't want to snap out of it—because if I do, I'll probably wake up in a mental hospital.

Besides, I love my life, crazy and all.

My shrink thinks the Quiet is an inventive way I describe the 'inner workings of my genius.' Now that sounds crazy to me. She also might want me, but that's beside the point. Suffice it to say, she's as far as it gets from my datable age range, which is currently right around twenty-four. Still young, still hot, but done with school and pretty much beyond the clubbing phase. I hate clubbing, almost as much as I hated studying. In any case, my shrink's explanation doesn't work, as it doesn't account for the way I know things even a genius wouldn't know—like the exact value and suit of the other players' cards.

I watch as the dealer begins a new round. Besides me, there are three players at the table: Grandma, the Cowboy, and the Professional, as I call them. I feel that now-almost-imperceptible fear that accompanies the phasing. That's what I call the process: phasing into the Quiet. Worrying about my sanity has always facilitated phasing; fear seems helpful in this process.

I phase in, and everything gets quiet. Hence the name for this state.

It's eerie to me, even now. Outside the Quiet, this casino is very loud: drunk people talking, slot machines, ringing of wins, music—the only place louder is a club or a concert. And yet, right at this moment, I could probably hear a pin drop. It's like I've gone deaf to the chaos that surrounds me.

Having so many frozen people around adds to the strangeness of it all. Here is a waitress stopped mid-step, carrying a tray with drinks. There is a woman about to pull a slot machine lever. At my own table, the dealer's hand is raised, the last card he dealt hanging unnaturally in midair. I walk up to him from the side of the table and reach for it. It's a king, meant for the Professional. Once I let the card go, it falls on the table rather than continuing to float as before—but I know full well that it will be back in the air, in the exact position it was when I grabbed it, when I phase out.

The Professional looks like someone who makes money playing poker, or at least the way I always imagined someone like that might look. Scruffy, shades on, a little sketchy-looking. He's been doing an excellent job with the poker face—basically not twitching a single muscle throughout the game. His face is so expressionless that I wonder if he might've gotten Botox to help maintain such a stony countenance. His hand is on the table, protectively covering the cards dealt to him.

I move his limp hand away. It feels normal. Well, in a manner of speaking. The hand is sweaty and hairy, so moving it aside is unpleasant and is admittedly an abnormal thing to do. The normal part is that the hand is warm, rather than cold. When I was a kid, I expected people to feel cold in the Quiet, like stone statues.

With the Professional's hand moved away, I pick up his cards. Combined with the king that was hanging in the air, he has a nice high pair. Good to know.

I walk over to Grandma. She's already holding her cards, and she has fanned them nicely for me. I'm able to avoid touching her wrinkled, spotted hands. This is a relief, as I've recently become conflicted about touching people—or, more specifically, women—in the Quiet. If I had to, I would rationalize touching Grandma's hand as harmless, or at least not creepy, but it's better to avoid it if possible.

In any case, she has a low pair. I feel bad for her. She's been losing a lot tonight. Her chips are dwindling. Her losses are due, at least partially, to the fact that she has a terrible poker face. Even before looking at her cards, I knew they wouldn't be good because I could tell she was disappointed as soon as her hand was dealt. I also caught a gleeful gleam in her eyes a few rounds ago when she had a winning three of a kind.

This whole game of poker is, to a large degree, an exercise in reading people—something I really want to get better at. At my job, I've been told I'm great at reading people. I'm not, though; I'm just good at using the Quiet to make it seem like I am. I do want to learn how to read people for real, though. It would be nice to know what everyone is thinking.

What I don't care that much about in this poker game is money. I do well enough financially to not have to depend on hitting it big gambling. I don't care if I win or lose, though quintupling my money back at the blackjack table was fun. This whole trip has been more about going gambling because I finally can, being twenty-one and all. I was never into fake IDs, so this is an actual milestone for me.

Leaving Grandma alone, I move on to the next player—the Cowboy. I can't resist taking off his straw hat and trying it on. I wonder if it's possible for me to get lice this way. Since I've never been able to bring back any inanimate objects from the Quiet, nor otherwise affect the real world in any lasting way, I figure I won't be able to get any living critters to come back with me either.

Dropping the hat, I look at his cards. He has a pair of aces—a better hand than the Professional. Maybe the Cowboy is a professional, too. He has a good poker face, as far as I can tell. It'll be interesting to watch those two in this round.

Next, I walk up to the deck and look at the top cards, memorizing them. I'm not leaving anything to chance.

When my task in the Quiet is complete, I walk back to myself. Oh, yes, did I mention that I see myself sitting there, frozen like the rest of them? That's the weirdest part. It's like having an out-of-body experience.

Approaching my frozen self, I look at him. I usually avoid doing this, as it's too unsettling. No amount of looking in the mirror—or seeing videos of yourself on YouTube—can prepare you for viewing your own three-dimensional body up close. It's not something anyone is meant to experience. Well, aside from identical twins, I guess.

It's hard to believe that this person is me. He looks more like some random guy. Well, maybe a bit better than that. I do find this guy interesting. He looks cool. He looks smart. I think women would probably consider him good-looking, though I know that's not a modest thing to think.

It's not like I'm an expert at gauging how attractive a guy is, but some things are common sense. I can tell when a dude is ugly, and this frozen me is not. I also know that generally, being good-looking requires a symmetrical face, and the statue of me has that. A strong jaw doesn't hurt either. Check. Having broad shoulders is a positive, and being tall really helps. All covered. I have blue eyes—that seems to be a plus. Girls have told me they like my eyes, though right now, on the frozen me, the eyes look creepy. Glassy. They look like the eyes of a lifeless wax figure.

Realizing that I'm dwelling on this subject way too long, I shake my head. I can just picture my shrink analyzing this moment. Who would imagine admiring themselves like this as part of their mental illness? I can just picture her scribbling down Narcissist and underlining it for emphasis.

Enough. I need to leave the Quiet. Raising my hand, I touch my frozen self on the forehead, and I hear noise again as I phase out.

Everything is back to normal.

The card that I looked at a moment ago—the king that I left on the table—is in the air again, and from there it follows the trajectory it was always meant to, landing near the Professional's hands. Grandma is still eyeing her fanned cards in disappointment, and the Cowboy has his hat on again, though I took it off him in the Quiet. Everything is exactly as it was.

On some level, my brain never ceases to be surprised at the discontinuity of the experience in the Quiet and outside it. As humans, we're hardwired to question reality when such things happen. When I was trying to outwit my shrink early on in my therapy, I once read an entire psychology textbook during our session. She, of course, didn't notice it, as I did it in the Quiet. The book talked about how babies as young as two months old are surprised if they see something out of the ordinary, like gravity appearing to work backwards. It's no wonder my brain has trouble adapting. Until I was ten, the world behaved normally, but everything has been weird since then, to put it mildly.

Glancing down, I realize I'm holding three of a kind. Next time, I'll look at my cards before phasing. If I have something this strong, I might take my chances and play fair.

The game unfolds predictably because I know everybody's cards. At the end, Grandma gets up. She's clearly lost enough money.

And that's when I see the girl for the first time.

She's hot. My friend Bert at work claims that I have a 'type,' but I reject that idea. I don't like to think of myself as shallow or predictable. But I might actually be a bit of both, because this girl fits Bert's description of my type to a T. And my reaction is extreme interest, to say the least.

Large blue eyes. Well-defined cheekbones on a slender face, with a hint of something exotic. Long, shapely legs, like those of a dancer. Dark wavy hair in a ponytail—a hairstyle that I like. And without bangs—even better. I hate bangs—not sure why girls do that to themselves. Though lack of bangs is not, strictly speaking, in Bert's description of my type, it probably should be.

I continue staring at her as she joins my table. With her high heels and tight skirt, she's overdressed for this place. Or maybe I'm underdressed in my jeans and t-shirt. Either way, I don't care. I have to try to talk to her.

I debate phasing into the Quiet and approaching her, so I can do something creepy like stare at her up close, or maybe even snoop in her pockets. Anything to help me when I talk to her.

I decide against it, which is probably the first time that's ever happened.

I know that my reasoning for breaking my usual habit is strange. If you can even call it reasoning. I picture the following chain of events: she agrees to date me, we go out for a while, we get serious, and because of the deep connection we have, I come clean about the Quiet. She learns I did something creepy and has a fit, then dumps me. It's ridiculous to think this, of course, considering that we haven't even spoken yet. Talk about jumping the gun. She might have an IQ below seventy, or the personality of a piece of wood. There can be twenty different reasons why I wouldn't want to date her. And besides, it's not all up to me. She might tell me to go fuck myself as soon as I try to talk to her.

Still, working at a hedge fund has taught me to hedge. As crazy as that reasoning is, I stick with my decision not to phase because I know it's the gentlemanly thing to do. In keeping with this unusually chivalrous me, I also decide not to cheat at this round of poker.

As the cards are dealt again, I reflect on how good it feels to have done the honorable thing—even without anyone knowing. Maybe I should try to respect people's privacy more often. Yeah, right. I have to be realistic. I wouldn't be where I am today if I'd followed that advice. In fact, if I made a habit of respecting people's privacy, I would lose my job within days—and with it, a lot of the comforts I've become accustomed to.

Copying the Professional's move, I cover my cards with my hand as soon as I receive them. I'm about to sneak a peek at what I was dealt when something unusual happens.

The world goes quiet, just like it does when I phase in . . . but I did nothing this time.

And at that moment, I see her—the girl sitting across the table from me, the girl I was just thinking about. She's standing next to me, pulling her hand away from mine. Or, strictly speaking, from my frozen self's hand—as I'm standing a little to the side looking at her.

She's also still sitting in front of me at the table, a frozen statue like all the others.

My mind goes into overdrive as my heartbeat jumps. I don't even consider the possibility of that second girl being a twin sister or something like that. I know it's her. She's doing what I did just a few minutes ago. She's walking in the Quiet. The world around us is frozen, but we are not.

A horrified look crosses her face as she realizes the same thing. Before I can react, she lunges across the table and touches her own forehead.

The world becomes normal again.

She stares at me from across the table, shocked, her eyes huge and her face pale. She rises to her feet. Without so much as a word, she turns and begins walking away, then breaks into a run a couple of seconds later.

Getting over my own shock, I get up and run after her. It's not exactly smooth. If she notices a guy she doesn't know running after her, dating will be the last thing on her mind. But I'm beyond that now. She's the only person I've met who can do what I do. She's proof that I'm not insane. She might have what I want most in the world.

She might have answers.

Chapter Two

Running after someone in a casino is harder than I imagined, making me wish I'd downed fewer drinks. I dodge elbows and try not to trip over people's feet. I even debate phasing into the Quiet to get my bearings, but decide against it because the casino will still be just as crowded when I phase back out.

Just as I begin to close in on the girl, she turns the corner into a hall leading to the main lobby. I have to get there as quickly as I can, or she'll get away. My heart hammers in my chest as I fleetingly wonder what I'll say to her when I catch up. Before I get far with that thought, two guys in suits step directly into my path.

"Sir," one of the guys says, almost giving me a heart attack. Though I'd spotted them in my periphery, I was so focused on the girl that I hadn't truly registered their presence. The guy who just spoke to me is huge, a mountain in a suit. This can't be good.

"Whatever you guys are selling, I'm not interested," I say, hoping to bluff my way out of this. When they don't look convinced, I add pointedly, "I'm in a rush," and try to look beyond them to emphasize my haste. I hope I look confident, even though my palms are sweating like crazy and I'm panting from my run.

"I'm sorry, but I must insist that you come with us," says the second guy, moving in closer. Unlike his rotund monster of a partner, this guy is lean and extremely buff. They both look like bouncers. I guess they get suspicious when some idiot starts running through the casino. They're probably trained to assume theft or something else shady. Which, to be fair, does make sense.

"Gentlemen," I try again, keeping my voice even and polite, "with all due respect, I really am in a rush. Any way you can frisk me quickly or something? I'm trying to catch up with someone." I add that last part both to deflect suspicion of nefarious activity and because it's the truth.

"You really ought to come with us," the fatter one says, his jaw set stubbornly. They each keep one of their hands near their inner jacket pockets. Oh, great. Just my luck, they're armed.

Struggling to find a way to deal with this unexpected event, I channel the natural fear from my situation into phasing. Once I enter the Quiet, I find myself standing to the side of our not-so-friendly duo, with the world mute again. I immediately resume running, no longer caring about bumping into the immobile people blocking my way. It's not rude to shove them aside here, since they won't know any of this, nor feel anything when the world returns to normal.

When I get to the hall, the girl is already gone, so I move on to the lobby and methodically search for her. Seeing a girl with a ponytail near the elevator, I run over and grab her. As I turn her to get a look at her face, I wonder if my touch will also bring her into the Quiet. I'm pretty sure that's what happened before—she touched me and brought me in.

But nothing happens this time, and the face that looks at me is completely unfamiliar.

Damn it. I've got the wrong person.

My frustration turns to anger as I realize that I lost her because those idiots delayed me at the most critical moment. Fuming, I punch a nearby person with all my strength, needing to vent. As is always the case in the Quiet, the object of my aggression doesn't react in any way. Unfortunately, I don't really feel better either.

Before I decide on my next course of action, I think about what happened at the table. The girl somehow got me to phase into the Quiet, and she was already there. When she saw me, she freaked out and ran. Maybe, like me, this was the first time she's seen anyone 'alive' in there. Everyone reacts differently to strange events, and meeting another person after years of being solo in the Quiet definitely qualifies as strange.

Standing here thinking about it isn't going to get me any answers, so I decide to be thorough and take one more look at the lobby again.

No luck. The girl is nowhere to be found.

Next, I go outside and walk around the casino driveway, trying to see if I can spot her there. I even look inside a few idling cabs, but she's not there either.

Looking up at the flashy building towering over me, I consider searching every room in the hotel. There are at least a couple thousand of them. It would take me a long time, but it might be worth it. I have to find her and get some answers.

Although thoroughly searching a building that huge seems like a daunting task, it wouldn't be impossible—at least not for me. I don't get hungry, thirsty, or even tired in the Quiet. Never need to use the bathroom either. It's very handy for situations like these, when you need to give yourself extra time. I can theoretically search every room—provided I can figure out how to get in. Those electronic doors won't work in the Quiet, not even if I have the original key from the room's occupants. Technology doesn't usually function here; it's frozen along with everything else. Unless it's something mechanical and simple, like my wind-up watch, it won't work—and even my watch I have to wind every time I'm in the Quiet.

Weighing my options, I try to imagine having to use physical force to break into thousands of hotel doors. Since my iPhone is sadly another technology casualty of the Quiet, I wouldn't even be able to listen to some tunes to kill the time. Even for a cause this important, I'm not sure I want to go to those extremes.

Besides, if I do decide to search the building, now probably isn't the best time to do it. Even if I find her, I won't be able to go after her in the real world thanks to those idiot guards in my way. I need to get rid of them before determining what to do next.

Sighing, I slowly walk back to the hotel. When I enter the lobby, I scan it again, hoping that I somehow missed her the first time. I feel that same compulsion I get when I lose something around the house. When that happens, I always search the place from top to bottom and then start doing it again—looking in the same places I already checked, irrationally hoping that the third time will be the charm. Or maybe the fourth. I really need to stop doing that. As Einstein said, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

Finally admitting defeat, I approach the bouncers. I can spend forever in the Quiet, but when I get out, they'll still be here. There's no avoiding that.

Moving in close, I look in the pocket of the fatter guy to find out what I'm up against. According to his ID, his name is Nick Shifer, and he's with security. So I was right—he's a bouncer. His driver's license is also there, as well as a small family photo. I study both, in case I need the information later.

Next, I turn my attention to the pocket near which Nick's hand is hovering. Looks like I was right again: he has a gun. If I took this gun and shot Nick at close range, he would get a bloody wound and likely fall from the impact. He wouldn't scream, though, and he wouldn't clutch his chest. And when I phase out, he would be whole again, with no signs of damage. It would be like nothing happened.

Don't ask me how I know what happens when you shoot someone in the Quiet. Or stab him. Or hit him with a baseball bat. Or whack him with a golf club. Or kick him in the balls. Or drop bricks on his head—or a TV. The only thing I can say is that I can unequivocally confirm that in a wide variety of cruel and unusual experiments, the subjects turn out to be unharmed once I phase out of the Quiet.

Okay, that's enough reminiscing. Right now, I have a problem to solve, and I need to be careful, with the guns being involved and all.

I smack my frozen self on the back of the head to phase out of the Quiet.

The world unfreezes, and I'm back with the bouncers in real time. I try to look calm, as though I haven't been running around like a crazy man looking for whoever this girl is—because for them, none of that has happened.

"Okay, Nick, I'll be happy to accompany you and resolve this misunderstanding," I say in my most compliant tone.

Nick's eyes widen at hearing his name. "How do you know me?"

"You read the file, Nick," his lean partner says, obviously unimpressed. "The kid is very clever."

The file? What the hell is he talking about? I've never been to this casino before. Oh, and I would love to know how being clever would help someone know the name of a complete stranger on a moment's notice. People always say stuff like that about me, even though it makes no sense. I debate phasing into the Quiet to learn the second guy's name as well, just to mess with them more, but I decide against it. It would be overkill. Instead I decide to mentally refer to the lean guy as Buff.

"Just come with me quietly, please," Buff says. He stands aside, so that he's able to walk behind me. Nick leads the way, muttering something about the impossibility of my knowing his name, no matter how smart I am. He's clearly brighter than Buff. I wonder what he would say if I told him where he lives and that he has two kids. Would he start a cult, or shoot me?

As we make the trek through the casino, I reflect on how knowing things I shouldn't has served me well over the years. It's kind of my thing, and it's gotten me far in life. Of course, it's possible that knowing things I shouldn't is also the reason they have a file on me. Maybe casinos keep records on people who seem to have a history of beating the odds, so to speak.

When we get to the office—a modest-sized room filled with cameras overlooking different parts of the casino—Buff's first question confirms that theory. "Do you know how much money you won today?" he asks, glaring at me.

I decide to play dumb. "I'm not sure."

"You're quite the statistical anomaly," Nick says. He's clearly proud of knowing such big words. "I want to show you something." He takes a remote from the desk, which has a bunch of folders scattered on its surface. With Nick's press of a button, one of the monitors begins showing footage of me playing at the blackjack table. Watching it, I realize that I did win too much.

In fact, I won just about every time.

Shit. Could I have been any more obvious? I didn't think I'd be watched this closely, but that was stupid of me. I should've taken a couple of hits even when I knew I would bust, just to hide my tracks.

"You're obviously counting cards," Nick states, giving me a hard stare. "There's no other explanation."

Actually, there is, but I'm not about to give it to him. "With eight decks?" I say instead, making my voice as incredulous as possible.

Nick picks up a file on the desk and leafs through it.

"Darren Wang Goldberg, graduated from Harvard with an MBA and a law degree at eighteen. Near-perfect SAT, LSAT, GMAT, and GRE scores. CFA, CPA, plus a bunch more acronyms." Nick chuckles as if amused at that last tidbit, but then his expression hardens as he continues. "The list goes on and on. If anyone could do it, it would be you."

I take a deep breath, trying to contain my annoyance. "Since you're so impressed with my bona fides, you should trust me when I tell you that no one can count cards with eight decks." I have no clue if that's actually true, but I do know casinos have been trying to stack the odds in the house's favor for ages now, and eight decks is too many cards to count even for a mathematical prodigy.

As if reading my mind, Buff says, "Yeah, well, even if you can't do it by yourself, you might be able to pull it off with partners."

Partners? Where did they get the idea that I have partners?

In response to my blank look, Nick hits the remote again, and I see a new recording. This time it's of the girl—of her winning at the blackjack table, then working a number of poker tables. Winning an impressive amount of cash, I might add.

"Another statistical anomaly," Nick says, looking at me intently. "A friend of yours?" He must've worked as a detective before this gig, seeing as how he's pretty good at this interrogation thing. I guess my chasing her through the casino set off some red flags. My reaction was definitely not for the reasons he thinks, though.

"No," I say truthfully. "I've never seen her before in my life."

Nick's face tightens with anger. "You just played at the same poker table," he says, his voice growing in volume with every word. "Then you both started running away just as we were coming toward you. I suppose that's just a coincidence, huh? Do the two of you have someone on the inside? Who else is in on it?" He's full-on yelling at this point, spittle flying in every direction.

This fierce grilling is too much for me, and I phase into the Quiet to give myself a few moments to think.

Contrary to Nick's belief, the girl and I are definitely not partners. Yet it's obvious she was here doing the same thing I was, as the recordings clearly show her winning over and over. That means I didn't have a hallucination, and she really was in the Quiet somehow. She can do what I can. My heart beats faster with excitement as I realize again that I'm not the only one. This girl is like me—which means I really need to find her.

On a hunch, I approach the table and pick up the thickest folder I see.

And that's when I hit the biggest jackpot of the night.

Staring back at me from the file is her picture. Her real name, according to the file, is Mira Tsiolkovsky. She lives in Brooklyn, New York.

Her age shocks me. She's only eighteen. I thought she'd be in her mid-twenties—which would conveniently fit right within my datable age range. As I further investigate the information they've compiled on her, I find the reason I was fooled by her age: she intentionally tries to make herself look older to get into casinos. The folder lists a bunch of her aliases, all of which are banned from casinos. All are aged between twenty-one and twenty-five.

According to the folder, she does this cheating thing professionally. One section details her involvement in cheating both in casinos and underground gambling joints. Scary places by the sound of it, with links to organized crime.

She sounds reckless. I, on the other hand, am most decidedly not reckless. I use my strange ability to make money in the financial industry, which is much safer than what Mira does. Not to mention, the kind of money I bring in through legitimate channels makes the risks of cheating in casinos far outweigh the benefits—especially given what I'm learning today. Apparently casinos don't sit idly by while you take their money. They start files on you if they think you're likely to cheat them, and they blacklist you if you get too lucky. Seems unfair, but I guess it makes business sense.

Returning my attention to the file, I find little personal information beyond her name and address—just other casinos, games, and the amounts she's won under different aliases, plus pictures. She's good at changing her appearance; all the pictures feature women who look very different from one another. Impressive.

Having memorized as much of Mira's file as I can, I walk over to Nick and take my own file from his hands.

I'm relieved to find that there's not much to this folder. They have my name and address, which they must've gotten from the credit card I used to pay for drinks. They know that I work at a hedge fund and that I've never had problems with the law—all stuff easily found on the web. Same goes for Harvard and my other achievements. They probably just did a Google search on me once they knew my name.

Reading the file makes me feel better. They're not on to me or anything like that. They probably just saw me winning too much and decided to nip the situation in the bud. The best thing to do at this point is to placate them, so I can go home and digest all this. No need to search the hotel anymore. I have more than enough information about Mira now, and my friend Bert can help me fill in the rest of the puzzle.

Thus resolved, I walk back to myself. My frozen self's face looks scared, but I don't feel scared anymore because I now have a plan.

Taking a deep breath, I touch my frozen forehead again and phase out.

Nick is still yelling at me, so I tell him politely, "Sir, I'm sorry, but I don't know what or whom you're talking about. I was lucky, yes, but I didn't cheat." My voice quavers on that last bit. I might be overacting now, but I want to be convincing as a scared young man. "I'll be happy to leave the money and never come back to this casino again."

"You are going to leave the money, and you won't ever come back to this city again," corrects Buff.

"Fine, I won't. I was just here to have fun," I say in a steadier but still deferential voice, like I'm totally in awe of their authority. "I just turned twenty-one and it's Labor Day weekend, so I went gambling for the first time," I add. This should add an air of sincerity, because it's the truth. "I work at a hedge fund. I don't need to cheat for money."

Nick snorts. "Please. Guys like you cheat because you like the rush of being so much smarter than everyone else."

Despite his obvious contempt for me, I don't reply. Every remark I form in my head sounds snide. Instead I just continue groveling, saying that I know nothing, gradually becoming more and more polite. They keep asking me about Mira and about how I cheat, and I keep denying it. The conversation goes in circles for a while. I can tell they're getting as tired of it as I am—maybe more so.

Seeing an opening, I go in for the kill. "I need to know how much longer I'll be detained, sir," I tell Nick, "so that I can notify my family."

The implication is that people will wonder where I am if I don't show up soon. Also, my subtle use of the word 'detained' reminds them of the legality of their position—or more likely, the lack thereof.

Frowning, but apparently unwilling to give in, Nick says stubbornly, "You can leave as soon as you tell us something useful." There isn't much conviction in his voice, though, and I can tell that my question hit the mark. He's just saving face at this point.

Doggedly continuing the interrogation, he asks me the same questions again, to which I respond with the same answers. After a couple of minutes, Buff touches his shoulder. They exchange a look.

"Wait here," Buff says. They leave, presumably to have a quick discussion out of my earshot.

I wish I could listen in, but sadly it's not possible with the Quiet. Well, that's not entirely true. If I learned to read lips and phased in and out very quickly, I could probably piece together some of the conversation by looking at their frozen faces, over and over again. But that would be a long, tedious process. Plus, I don't need to do that. I can use logic to figure out the gist of what they're saying. I'm guessing it goes something like this: "The kid's too smart for us; we should let him go, get doughnuts, and swing by a strip club."

They return after a few minutes, and Buff tells me, "We're going to let you go, but we don't want to see you—or your girlfriend—here ever again." I can tell Nick isn't happy about having to abandon his questioning without getting the answers he wanted, but he doesn't voice any objections.

I suppress a relieved sigh. I half-thought they'd rough me up or something. It would've sucked, but it wouldn't have been unexpected—or perhaps even undeserved, given that I did cheat. But then again, they have no proof that I cheated. And they probably think I'm clever enough to cause legal problems—particularly given my law degree.

Of course, it's also possible that they know more about me than what's in the file. Maybe they've come across some info about my moms. Oh yeah, did I mention that I have two moms? Well, I do. Trust me, I know how strange that sounds. And before there's any temptation, I never want to hear another joke on the subject. I got enough of that in school. Even in college, people used to say shit sometimes. I usually made sure they regretted it, of course.

In any case, Lucy, who is my adoptive mom—but is nonetheless the most awesome mom ever—is a tough-as-nails detective. If these bozos laid a finger on me, she'd probably track them down and personally kick their asses with a baseball bat. She also has a team that reports to her, and they would likely chime in, too. And Sara, my biological mom—who is usually quite peace-loving—wouldn't stop her. Not in this case.

Nick and Buff are silent as they lead me out of their office and through the casino to the cab waiting area outside.

"If you come here again," Nick says as I get into an empty cab, "I'll break something of yours. Personally."

I nod and quickly close the door. All he had to do was ask me nicely like that. In retrospect, Atlantic City wasn't even that much fun.

I'm convinced I won't ever want to come back.

Chapter Three

I start my post-Labor Day Tuesday morning feeling like a zombie. I couldn't fall asleep after the events at the casino, but I can't skip work today. I have an appointment with Bill.

Bill is my boss, and no one ever calls him that—except me, in my thoughts. His name is William Pierce. As in Pierce Capital Management. Even his wife calls him William—I've heard her do it. Most people call him Mr. Pierce, because they're uncomfortable calling him by his first name. So, yeah, Bill is among the few people I take seriously. Even if, in this case, I'd rather nap than meet with him.

I wish it were possible to sleep in the Quiet. Then I'd be all set. I'd phase in and snooze right under my desk without anyone noticing.

I achieve some semblance of clear thought after my first cup of coffee. I'm in my cubicle at this point. It's eight a.m. If you think that's early, you're wrong. I was actually the last to get into the office in my part of the floor. I don't care what those early risers think of my lateness, though. I can barely function as is.

Despite my achievements at the fund, I don't have an office. Bill has the only office in the company. It would be nice to have some privacy for slacking off, but otherwise, I'm content with my cube. As long as I can work in the field or from home most of the time—and as long as I get paid on par with people who typically have offices—the lack of my own office doesn't bother me.

My computer is on, and I'm looking at the list of coworkers on the company instant messenger. Aha—I see Bert's name come online. This is really early for him. As our best hacker, he gets to stroll in whenever he wants, and he knows it. Like me, he doesn't care what anyone else thinks about it. In fact, he probably cares even less than I do—and thus comes in even later. I initially thought we would talk after my meeting with Bill, but there's no time like the present, since Bert is in already.

"Stop by," I message him. "Need your unique skills."

"BRT," Bert replies. Be right there.

I've known Bert for years. Unlike me, he's a real prodigy. We were the only fourteen-year-olds in a Harvard Introduction to Computer Science course that year. He aced the course without having to phase into the Quiet and look up the answers in the textbook, the way I did in the middle of the exams. Nor did he pay a guy from Belarus to write his programing projects for him.

Bert is the computer guy at Pierce. He's probably the most capable coder in New York City. He always drops hints that he used to work for some intelligence agency as a contractor before I got him to join me here and make some real money.

"Darren," says Bert's slightly nasal voice, and I swivel my chair in response.

Picturing this guy as part of the CIA or FBI always puts a smile on my face. He's around five-four, and probably weighs less than a hundred pounds. Before we became friends, my nickname for Bert was Mini-Me.

"So, Albert, we should discuss that idea you gave me last week," I begin, jerking my chin toward one of our public meeting rooms.

"Yes, I would love to hear your report," Bert responds as we close the door. He always overacts this part.

As soon as we're alone, he drops the formal colleague act. "Dude, you fucking did it? You went to Vegas?"

"Well, not quite. I didn't feel like taking a five-hour flight—"

"So you opted for a two-hour cab ride to Atlantic City instead," Bert interrupts, grinning.

"Yes, exactly." I grin back, taking a sip of my coffee.

"Classic Darren. And then?"

"They banned me," I say triumphantly, like it's some huge accomplishment.

"Already?"

"Yeah. But not before I met this chick." I pause for dramatic effect. I know this is the part he's really waiting for. His own experience with girls thus far has been horrendous.

Sure enough, he's hooked. He wants to know every detail. I tell him a variation of what happened. Nothing about the Quiet, of course. I don't share that with anyone, except my shrink. I just tell Bert I won a lot. He loves that part, as he was the one who suggested I try going to a casino. This was after he and a bunch of our coworkers got slaughtered by me at a friendly card game.

He, like most at the fund, knows that I know things I shouldn't. He just doesn't know how I know them. He accepts it as a given, though. In a way, Bert is a little bit like me. He knows things he shouldn't, too. Only in his case, everyone knows the 'how.' The method behind Bert's omniscience is his ability to get into any computer system he wants.

That is precisely what I need from him now, so as soon I finish describing the mystery girl, I tell him, "I need your help."

His eyebrows rise, and I explain, "I need to learn more about her. Whatever you can find out would be helpful."

"What?" His excitement noticeably wanes. "No, Darren, I can't."

"You owe me," I remind him.

"Yeah, but this is cyber-crime." He looks stubborn, and I mentally sigh. If I had a dollar for every time Bert used that line . . . We both know he commits cyber-crime on a daily basis.

I decide to offer him a bribe. "I'll watch a card trick," I say, making a Herculean effort to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. Bert's attempts at card tricks are abysmal, but that doesn't deter him one bit.

"Oh," Bert responds casually. His poker face is shit, though. I know he's about to try to get more out of me, but it's not going to happen, and I tell him so.

"Fine, fine, text me those aliases you mentioned, the ones that 'fell into your lap,' and the address you 'got by chance,'" he says, giving in. "I'll see what I can do."

"Great, thanks." I grin at him again. "Now I have to go—I've got a meeting with Bill."

I can see him cringing when I call William that. I guess that's why I do it—to get a rise out of Bert.

"Hold on," he says, frowning.

I know what's coming, and I try not to look too impatient.

Bert is into magic. Only he isn't very good. He carries a deck of cards with him wherever he goes, and at any opportunity—real or imaginary—he whips the cards out and tries to do a card trick.

In my case, it's even worse. Because I showed off to him once, he thinks I'm into magic too, and that I only pretend I'm not. My tendency to win when playing cards only solidifies his conviction that I'm a closet magician.

As I promised him, I watch as he does his trick. I won't describe it. Suffice it to say, there are piles of cards on the conference room table, and I have to make choices and count and spell something while turning cards over.

"Great, good one, Bert," I lie as soon as my card is found. "Now I really have to go."

"Oh, come on," he cajoles. "Let me see your trick one more time."

I know it'll be faster for me to go along with him than to argue my way out of it. "Okay," I say, "you know the drill."

As Bert cuts the deck, I look away and phase into the Quiet.

As soon as the world freezes, I realize how much ambient noise the meeting room actually has. The lack of sound is refreshing. I feel it more keenly after being sleep-deprived. Partly because most of the 'feeling like crap' sensation dissipates when I'm in the Quiet, and partly because outside the Quiet, the sounds must've been exacerbating a minor headache that I only now realize is there.

Walking over to motionless Bert, I take the pile of cards in his hand and look at the card he cut to. Then I phase back out of the Quiet.

"Seven of hearts," I say without turning around. The sounds are back, and with them, the headache.

"Fuck," Bert says predictably. "We should go together. Get ourselves banned from Vegas next time."

"For that, I'll need a bigger favor." I wink at him and go back to my cubicle.

When I get to my desk, I see that it's time for my meeting. I quickly text Bert the information he needs to search for Mira and then head off to see Bill.

* * *

Bill's office looks as awesome as usual. It's the size of my Tribeca apartment. I've heard it said that he only has this huge office because that's what our clients expect to see when they visit. That he allegedly is egalitarian and would gladly sit in a cube with low walls, like the rest of us.

I'm not sure I buy that. The decorations are a little too meticulous to support that theory. Plus, he strikes me as a guy who likes his privacy.

One day I'll have an office too, unless I decide to retire first.

Bill looks like a natural-born leader. I can't put my finger on what attributes give this impression. Maybe it's his strong jaw, the wise warmth in his gaze, or the way he carries himself. Or maybe it's something else entirely. All I know is he looks like someone people would follow—and they do.

Bill earned major respect from me when he played a part in legalizing gay marriage in New York. My moms have dreamed of getting married for as long as I can remember, and anyone who helps make my moms happier is a good person in my book.

"Darren, please sit," he says, pulling his gaze from his monitor as I walk in.

"Hi William, how was your weekend?" I say. He's probably the only person in the office I bother doing the small-talk thing with. Even here, I ask mainly because I know Bill's answer will be blissfully brief. I don't care what my coworkers do in general, let alone on their weekends.

"Eventful," he says. "How about you?"

I try to beat his laconic response. "Interesting."

"Great." Like me, Bill doesn't seem interested in probing beyond that. "I have something for you. We're thinking about building a position in FBTI."

That's the ticker for Future Biotechnology and Innovation Corp; I've heard of them before. "Sure. We need a position in biotech," I say without blinking. In truth, I haven't bothered to look at our portfolio in a while. I just can't recall having biotech-related assignments recently—so I figure there can't be that many biotech stocks in there.

"Right," he says. "But this isn't just to diversify."

I nod, while trying to look my most serious and thoughtful. That's easier to do with Bill than with most other people. Sometimes I genuinely find what he says interesting.

"FBTI is going to unveil something three weeks from now," he explains. "The stock is up just based on speculation on the Street. It could be a nice short if FBTI disappoints—" he pauses for emphasis, "—but I personally have a hunch that things will go in the other direction."

"Well, to my knowledge, your hunches have never been wrong," I say. I know it sounds like I'm ass-kissing, but it's the truth.

"You know I never act on hunch alone," he says, doing this weird quirking thing he often does with his eyebrow. "In this case, maybe a hunch is understating things. I had some of FBTI's patents analyzed. Plenty of them are for very promising developments."

I'm convinced that I know where this is leading.

"Why don't you poke around?" he suggests, proving my conviction right. "Speak with them and see if the news is indeed bigger than what people are expecting. If that's the case, we need to start building the position."

"I'll do what I can," I say.

This generates a smile from Bill. "Was that humility? That would be a first," he says, seemingly amused. "I need you to do your usual magic. You're up for the challenge, right?"

"Of course. Whatever the news is, you'll know by the end of the week. I guarantee it." I don't add 'or your money back.' That would be too much. What if I get nothing? Bill is the type of person who would hold me to the claim.

"The sooner the better, but we definitely need it before the official news in three weeks," Bill says. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Knowing that I'm dismissed, I leave him with his computer and go to my cube to make a few phone calls.

As soon as they hear the name Pierce, FBTI is happy to talk to me. I make an appointment with their CTO and am mentally planning the subway trip to their Manhattan office in SoHo when Bert pings me on Instant Messenger.

"Got it," the message says.

"Walk out with me?" I IM back.

He agrees, and we meet by the elevator.

"This chick is crazy," Bert says as I press the button for the lobby. "She leads a very strange life."

Outside his card tricks, Bert knows how to build suspense. I have to give him that. I don't rush him, or else this will take longer. So I just say, "Oh?"

"For starters, you're lucky you have me," he says, his voice brimming with excitement. "She's long gone from that address you found 'by chance.' From what I can puzzle out, that name—Mira—is her real one. Only that name disappeared from the face of the planet a little over a year ago. No electronic trail at all. Same thing with some of those aliases."

"Hmm," I say, giving him the encouragement I know he needs to keep going.

"Well, to get around that, I hacked into some Vegas casino databases, going on the assumption that she would play there as well as in Atlantic City, and sure enough, they had files on some of the other aliases that you mentioned. They also had additional names for her."

"Wow," is all I can say.

"Yeah," Bert agrees. "At first, only one led to any recently occupied address. She's clearly hiding. Anyway, that one alias, Alina something, had a membership at a gym on Kings Highway and Nostrand Avenue, in Brooklyn. Hacking into their system, I found out that the membership is still used sometimes. Once I had that, I set a radius around that gym. People don't usually go far to get workouts."

"Impressive," I say, and mean it. At times like this, I wonder if the business about him being a contractor for some intelligence agency is true after all.

"Anyway, at first there was nothing," he continues. "None of the aliases rent or own any apartments or condos nearby. But then I tried combining first names of some of these aliases with the last names of others." He pauses and looks at me—to get a pat on the back, I think.

"That's diabolical," I say, wishing he would get to the point already.

"Yes," he says, looking pleased. "I am, indeed . . . She, on the other hand, isn't very imaginative. One of the combinations worked. She's partial to the first name of Ilona. Combining Ilona with a last name of Derkovitch, from the Yulia Derkovitch alias, yielded the result I was looking for."

I nod, urging him on.

"Here's that address," he says, grinning as he hands me a piece of paper. Then he asks more seriously, "Are you really going there?"

That's an excellent question. If I do, she'll think I'm a crazy stalker. Well, I guess if you think about it, I am kind of stalking her, but my motives are noble. Sort of.

"I don't know," I tell Bert. "I might swing by that gym and see if I can 'bump into her.'"

"I don't think that will work," he says. "According to their database, her visits are pretty sporadic."

"Great." I sigh. "In that case, yes, I guess I'll show up at her door."

"Okay. Now the usual fine print," Bert says, giving me an intense stare. "You didn't get this from me. Also, the name I found could be a complete coincidence, so it's within the realm of possibility that you might find someone else there."

"I take full responsibility for whatever may occur," I tell Bert solemnly. "We're even now."

"Okay. Good. There's just one other thing . . ."

"What?"

"Well, you might think this is crazy or paranoid, but—" he looks embarrassed, "—I think she might be a spy."

"What?" This catches me completely off-guard.

"Well, something else I should've said is that she's an immigrant. A Russian immigrant, in case you didn't get it from the unusual-sounding names. Came here with her family about a decade ago. When combined with these aliases . . . You see how I would think along these lines, don't you?"

"Right, of course," I say, trying to keep a straight face. A spy? Bert sure loves his conspiracy theories. "Leave it with me," I say reassuringly. "If she's a spy, I'll deal with it. Now let me buy you a second breakfast and a cup of tea. After that, I'm off to SoHo to meet with FBTI."

Chapter Four

I make the trip to SoHo. The security guard at the FBTI building lets me in once he knows I have an appointment with Richard Stone, the CTO.

"Hi Richard, I'm Darren. We spoke on the phone." I introduce myself to a tall bald man when I'm seated comfortably in a guest chair in his office. The office is big, with a massive desk with lots of drawers, and a small bookshelf. There's even a plasma TV mounted on the wall. I take it all in, feeling a hint of office envy again.

"Please call me Dick," he says. I have to use every ounce of my willpower not to laugh. If I had a bald head, I'd definitely prefer Richard. In fact, I think I'd prefer to be called Richard over Dick regardless of how I looked.

"Okay, Dick. I'm interested in learning about what you guys are working on these days," I say, hoping I don't sound like I relish saying his nickname too much.

"I'm happy to discuss anything outside of our upcoming announcement," he says, his tone dickish enough to earn that moniker.

I show interest in the standard stuff he's prepared to say, and he goes on, telling me all the boring details he's allowed to share. He continues to talk, but I don't listen. Tuning people out was one of the first things I mastered in the corporate world. Without that, I wouldn't have survived a single meeting. Even now, I have to go into the Quiet from time to time to take a break, or I'd die from boredom. I'm not a patient guy.

Anyway, as Dick goes on, I surreptitiously look around. It's ironic that I'm doing exactly the opposite of what everyone thinks I do. People assume I ask pointed questions of these executives, and figure things out based on their reactions, body language, and who knows what else.

Being able to pick up on body cues and other nonverbal signals is something I want to learn at some point. I even gave it a try in Atlantic City. But in this case, as usual, I rely on something that depends far less on interpretive skills.

When I've endured enough bullshit from Dick, I try to invoke a frightened state of being so I can phase into the Quiet.

Simply thinking myself crazy is not that effective anymore. Picturing myself showing up like a dumbass at that Brooklyn address Bert gave me for Mira, on the other hand—that works like a charm.

I phase in, and Dick is finally, blissfully, quiet. He's frozen mid-sentence, and I realize, not for the first time, that I would have a huge edge if I were indeed able to read body cues. I recognize now that he's looking down, which I believe is a sign that someone's lying.

But no, instead of body language, I read literal language.

I begin with the papers on his desk. There's nothing special there.

Next, I roll his chair, with his frozen body in it, away from the desk. I love it when people in the Quiet are sitting in chairs with wheels. Makes this part of my job easier. In college, I realized I could get the contents of the final exams early by reaching into the professor's desk or bag in the Quiet. Moving the professors aside, though, had been a pain. Their chairs didn't have wheels like corporate office chairs do.

Thinking of those days in school makes me smile, because the things I learned in college are genuinely helpful to me now. This snooping in the Quiet—which is how I finished school so fast and with such good grades—is how I make a living now, and quite a good living at that. So, in some ways, my education really did prepare me for the workforce. Few people can say that.

With Dick and his chair out of the way, I turn my attention to his desk. In the bottom drawer, I hit the mother lode.

FBTI's big announcement will be about a device that will do something called 'transcranial magnetic stimulation.' I vaguely remember hearing about it. Before I delve deeper into the folder I found, I look at the bookshelf. Sure enough, on the shelf is something called The Handbook of Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation. It's funny. Now that I know what I'm looking for, I realize that aside from reading body language and cues like that, someone doing this 'for real' likely would've noticed this book on the shelf as a clue to what the announcement would be. In fact, the shelf contains a couple more books on this subject. Now that I think about it, I notice they have less dust on them than the other books on the shelf. Sherlock Holmes would've been proud of my investigative method—only my method works backwards. He used the skill of deductive reasoning, putting the clues he observed together to develop a conclusion. I, however, find evidence to support my conclusion once I know what the answer is.

Returning to my quest for information about the upcoming announcement, I read the first textbook I noticed on the subject. Yes, when I have to—or want to—I can learn the more traditional way. Just because I cheated when it came to tests doesn't mean I didn't legitimately educate myself from time to time. In fact, I did so quite often. However, my education was about whatever I was interested in at the moment, not some cookie-cutter program. I cheated simply because I was being pragmatic. The main reason I was at Harvard was to get a piece of paper that would impress my would-be employers. I used the Quiet to attain the mundane requirements of my degree while genuinely learning about things important to me.

When I do decide to read, the Quiet gives me a huge edge. I never get drowsy, even if the material is a little dry. I don't need bathroom breaks, food, or sleep. To me, it feels like it took maybe an hour to finish the part of the book about the magnetic version of stimulation—and it was actually interesting in certain parts. I even skimmed a few other stimulation types, which seem invasive compared to TMS, as the book calls it. I didn't absorb it all, of course—that would require re-reading—but I feel sufficiently ready to tackle the rest of the folder I found in Dick's desk.

I catch myself writing the report to Bill in my head. In layman's terms, TMS is a way to directly stimulate the brain without drilling into the skull—which the other methods require. It uses a powerful magnetic field to do so—hence the 'Magnetic' in the name. It's been around for a while, but was only recently approved by the FDA for treating depression. In terms of harm—and this is not from the book but my own conjecture—it doesn't seem worse than getting an MRI.

It takes me only a brief run through the papers in the folder to realize that the FBTI announcement will exceed everyone's expectations. They have a way of constructing a TMS machine that is more precise than any before, while being affordable and easily customizable. Just for the treatment of depression alone, this device will make a significant impact. To top it off, the work can also lead to better MRI machines, which may open up a new market for FBTI.

Realizing I have enough information, I phase out.

Dick's voice is back. I listen to his closing spiel; then I thank him and go home.

I log in to work remotely, and write up my report in an email. I list all the reasons I think we should go long FBTI and my miscellaneous thoughts on why it would be a good investment.

I set the delivery of my email for late Friday evening. It's a trick I use sometimes to make it appear to my boss and coworkers that I work tirelessly, even on a Friday night, when most people go out or spend time with their families. I copy as many people as is reasonable and address it to Bill. Then I click send and verify that the email is waiting in my outbox. It'll sit there ready and waiting until it goes out Friday night.

Given how much money I'm about to make for Pierce Capital Management, I decide to take the rest of this week off.

Chapter Five

Showing up uninvited is not the only thing that makes me nervous about my plan to visit Mira. Another thing that worries me is the fact that the address in question happens to be in Brooklyn.

Why do people do that? Why live in the NYC boroughs? My moms are guilty of this as well—their choice, Staten Island, is even crazier. At least the subway goes to Brooklyn. Nothing goes to Staten Island, except the ferry and some express buses. It's even worse than New Jersey.

Still, I don't have a choice. Brooklyn is the location of the address, so off to Brooklyn I go. With deep reservations, I catch the Q train at City Hall and prepare for the epic journey.

As I sit on the subway, I read a book on my phone and occasionally look out the window. Whenever I do, I see graffiti on the walls of buildings facing the tracks. Why couldn't this girl live someplace more civilized, like the Upper East Side?

To my surprise, I get to my stop, Kings Highway, in less than an hour. From here, it's a short walk to my destination, according to my phone's GPS.

The neighborhood is . . . well, unlike the city. No tall buildings, and the signs on businesses are worn and tacky. Streets are a little dirtier than Manhattan, too.

The building is on East 14th Street, between Avenues R and S. This is the only aspect of Brooklyn I appreciate. Navigating streets named using sequential numbers and letters in alphabetical order is easy.

It's late in the afternoon, so the sun is out, but I still feel unsafe—as though I'm walking at night under an ominous-looking, ill-lit bridge in Central Park. My destination is across a narrow street from a park. I try to convince myself that if people let their children play in that park, it can't be that dangerous.

The building is old and gloomy, but at least it's not covered in graffiti. In fact, I realize I haven't seen any since I got off the train. Maybe my judgment of the neighborhood was too hasty.

Nah, probably not. It is Brooklyn.

The building has an intercom system. I gather my courage and ring the apartment door from downstairs.

Nothing.

I start pressing buttons randomly, trying to find someone who might let me in. After a minute, the intercom comes alive with a loud hiss and a barely recognizable, "Who's there?"

"UPS," I mumble. I'm not sure if it's the plausibility of my lie or someone just working on autopilot, but I get buzzed in.

Spotting an elevator, I press the up arrow, but nothing happens. No light comes on. No hint that anything is working.

I wait for a couple of minutes.

No luck.

I grudgingly decide to schlep to the fifth floor on foot. Looks like my assessment of the neighborhood was spot on after all.

The staircase has an unpleasant odor to it. I hope it's not urine, but my nose suggests it is. The noxious aroma on the second floor is diluted by the smells of boiled cabbage and fried garlic. There isn't a lot of light, and the marble steps seem slippery. Watching my step, I eventually make it to the fifth floor.

It's not until I'm actually staring at the door of 5E that I realize I don't have a good plan. Or any plan at all, really. I came this far, though, so I'm not about to turn around and go home now. I go ahead and ring the doorbell. Then I wait. And wait. And wait.

After a while, I hear some movement inside the apartment. Focusing, I watch the eyehole, the way I've seen people do in the movies.

Maybe it's my imagination, but I think a shadow comes across it. Someone might be looking at me.

Still no response.

I try knocking.

"Who is this?" says a male voice.

Shit. Who the hell is that? A husband? A boyfriend? Her father? Her pimp? Every scenario carries its own implications, and few promise anything good. None I can think of, actually.

"My name is Darren," I say, figuring that honesty is the best policy.

No answer.

"I'm a friend of Mira's," I add. And it's only when the words leave my mouth that I recall that she lives here under a different name. Ilona or something.

Before I can kick myself for the slip, the door swings open. A guy who appears to be a few years older than me stands there looking at me with tired, glassy eyes.

It takes a moment for me to notice one problem. No, make that one huge problem.

The guy is holding a gun.

A gun that looks bigger than his head.

The fear that slams my system is debilitating. I've never been threatened with a gun before. At least, not directly like this. Sure, the bouncers in Atlantic City had guns, but they weren't aiming them in my direction at point-blank range. I never imagined it would be this frightening.

I phase into the Quiet, almost involuntarily.

Now that I'm looking at my frozen self with a gun to his/my face, the panic is diluted. I'm still worried, though, since I am facing the gun in the real world.

I take a deep breath. I need to figure out my plan of action.

I look at the shooter.

He's tall, skinny. He's wearing glasses and a white coat with a red stain on it.

The white coat looks odd—and is that red spot blood, or something else? Questions race through my mind. Who is he? What is he doing in there that requires a gun? Is he cooking meth? It is Brooklyn after all.

At the same time, I can't shake the feeling that the guy does not look like an average street criminal. There is keen intelligence in his eyes. His uncombed hair and the pens and ruler in the pocket of his white coat paint a strange picture. He almost looks like a scientist—albeit on the mad side.

Of course, that does not rule out the drug angle. He could be like the character on that show about a teacher who cooks meth. Although, come to think of it, that same show made it clear that you don't do that in an apartment building. The smell is too strong to keep the operation hidden, or something like that.

Now that I've had some time to calm down in the Quiet, I get bolder. I begin to wonder if the gun is real. Or maybe I'm just hoping it's fake. Gathering my courage, I reach out to take it from the guy's hand.

When my fingers touch his, something strange happens. Or stranger, rather.

There are now two of him.

I look at the picture, and my jaw proverbially drops.

There is a second guy in the white coat, right there, and this one is moving. I'm so unaccustomed to the idea of people moving while I'm in the Quiet that I lose my ability to think, so I just stand there and gape at him.

The guy looks at me with an expression that's hard to read, a mixture of excitement and fear. As if I were a bear standing in the middle of a Brooklyn apartment building hall.

"Who are you?" he breathes, staring at me.

"I'm Darren," I repeat my earlier introduction, trying to conceal my shock.

"Are you a Reader, Darren?" the guy asks, recovering some of his composure. "Because if you're a Pusher, I will unload that gun in your face as soon as we Universe Split, or Astral Project, or Dimension Shift, or whatever it is you people call it. As soon as we're back to our bodies, you're dead, Pusher."

He has an unusual accent—Russian, I think. That reminds me of Bert's theory that Mira is a spy. Maybe he was right. Maybe she travels with a whole gang of Russian spies.

I only understand one thing about what the Russian guy is saying: he knows that I'm at his mercy when we get back. That means that he, like me, understands how the Quiet works.

The terms he's using sort of make sense to me. All except 'Reader' and 'Pusher.' I know that even if I were this 'Pusher,' I wouldn't want to admit it and get shot. He probably realizes that as well.

"I am sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," I admit. "I don't know what a Reader or a Pusher is."

"Right," the guy sneers. "And you're not aware of our bodies standing over there?"

"Well, yeah, of that I'm painfully aware—"

"Then you can't expect me to believe that you can Split, but not be one of us—or one of them." He says that last word with disgust.

Okay, so one thing is crystal clear: Reader is good, Pusher is bad. Now if only I could find out why.

"If I were a Pusher, would I just show up here like this?" I ask, hoping I can reason with him.

"You fuckers are clever and extremely manipulative," he says, looking me up and down. "You might be trying to use some kind of reverse psychology on me."

"To what end?"

"You want me dead, that's why, and you want my sister dead too," he says, his agitation growing with every word.

I make a mental note at the mention of 'sister,' but I don't have time to dwell on it. "Would showing up like this be the best way to kill you?" I try to reason again.

"Well, no. In fact, I've never heard of Pushers doing their dirty work themselves," he says, beginning to look uncertain. "They like to use regular people for that, like puppets."

I have no idea what he's referring to, so I continue my attempts at rational discourse."So isn't it possible that I'm simply a guy searching for answers?" I suggest. "Someone who doesn't know what you're talking about?"

"No," he says after considering it for a moment. "I've never heard of untrained, unaffiliated people with the ability to Split. So why don't you tell me what you're doing here, outside my door."

"I can explain that part," I say hurriedly. "You see, I met a girl in Atlantic City. A girl who made me realize that I'm not crazy."

At the mention of Atlantic City, I have his full attention. "Describe her," he says, frowning.

I describe Mira, toning down her sex appeal.

"And she told you her name and where she lives?" he asks, clearly suspicious.

"Well, no," I admit. "I was detained by the casino when they thought we were working together to cheat the house. I learned a few of her aliases from them. After that, I got help from a friend who's a very good hacker."

There I go again, using honesty. I'm on a roll. I don't think I've ever said this many truthful statements in such a short time.

"A good hacker?" he asks, looking unexpectedly interested.

"Yes, the best," I reply, surprised. That's the completely wrong thing to focus on in this story, but as long as he's not angry and trigger-happy, I'll stick with the subject.

He looks me straight in the eyes for the first time. He seems uncomfortable with this. I can tell he doesn't do it often.

I hold his gaze.

"Here's the deal, Darren," he says, his eyes shifting away again after a second. "We're going to get back. I won't shoot you. Instead I will snap your picture. Then I'll text it to my sister."

"Okay," I say. I'll take a picture over a bullet any day.

"If you do anything to me before she gets here, she'll have proof that you were here," he elaborates.

"That makes sense," I lie. So far, there's very little of this that makes any sense at all. "Do whatever you think will help us resolve this misunderstanding."

"The only way to resolve it is to get proof that you're not a Pusher."

"Then let's get that proof," I say, hoping I'll get bonus points for my willingness to cooperate.

"Okay," he says, and I can tell that his mood is improving. "You must agree to submit to a test, then. Or a couple of tests, actually."

"Of course," I agree readily. Then, remembering the red stain on his coat, I ask warily, "Are they painful, these tests?"

"The tests are harmless. However, if it turns out that you're a Pusher, you better pray my sister isn't here at that point."

I swallow nervously as he continues, "I would just shoot you, you see. But Mira, she might make your death slow and very painful."

I rethink some of my fantasies about Mira. She's sounding less and less appealing. "Let's just do this," I say with resignation.

"Okay. Walk slowly to your body and touch it in such a way that I can clearly see it. Don't Split, or I will shoot you."

If 'Split' is what I think it is—as in phasing into the Quiet—then how would he be able to tell if I did do it? Though it seems unlikely, I decide not to push my luck. Not until I know the results of his tests.

"I'm ready," I say, and demonstratively touch my frozen self on the forehead.

Chapter Six

The sounds are back. There are now only two of us.

He's less intent on shooting me—so I know I didn't just hallucinate our conversation.

As I watch, he reaches into a pocket under his white coat and takes out a phone. Then he snaps a picture of me and writes a text.

"You go first," he says.

I walk into the apartment, the gun pressed to my back, and gape at my surroundings, struck by what I'm seeing.

The place is a mess.

I'm not the kind of guy who thinks it's a girl's job to keep a place neat. But after a certain point, I am the kind of guy who thinks, 'what kind of slob is she?' I'm not sexist, though. I think the guy with the gun to my back is just as responsible for this mess as she is. An episode of that show about hoarders could be filmed here.

Pulling me from my thoughts, the guy makes me go into a room on the left.

It appears to be some kind of makeshift lab—if the lab had a small explosion of wires, empty frozen meal boxes, and scattered papers, that is.

"Sit," he says.

I comply.

He grabs a few cables off the floor, some kind of gizmo, and a laptop, all the while trying to keep the gun pointed at me. Whatever he's setting up is ready in a few minutes.

I realize that the cable things are electrodes. Still holding the gun, he applies them to my temples and a bunch of other places all over my head. I must look like a medusa.

"Okay," he tells me when it's ready. "Split, and then come back."

I'm still so much on edge that phasing into the Quiet is easy. Within an instant, I'm standing next to my frozen body, watching myself. I look ridiculous with all the electrodes.

I momentarily debate snooping through the apartment, but decide against it. Instead I phase back out, anxious to see what's coming next.

The first thing I hear is his laptop beeping.

"Okay," he says after a pause. "Right before you Split, you were at the very least showing an EEG consistent with a Reader."

"I know this is a good thing, but you don't sound too confident," I say. As soon as I say it, I regret it. Reader is good. Why would I say anything that might instill doubt? But I can't help it, because I also want to know more about myself. Getting answers was the whole crazy reason I came here in the first place—well, that, and to confirm I'm not alone.

He looks around the room, then finds a nook to put the gun in. I think this officially means he's warmed up to me.

"I've only tested myself extensively, and have run preliminary tests on my sister," he says, glancing at me again. "I have my father's notes, but I'm not confident this is conclusive. Aside from that, I have no idea if Pushers would have the same EEG results." He furrows his brows. "In fact, it's quite likely they might."

His trust is like a yo-yo. "Isn't there a better test you can do?" I say before he reaches for the gun again.

"There is," he says. "You can actually try to Read."

I keep any witty responses related to reading books to myself. "Will you at least tell me what Readers and Pushers are?" I ask instead.

"I can't believe you don't know." He squints at me suspiciously. "Haven't your parents told you anything?"

"No," I admit, frustrated. "I have no idea what you mean or what parents have to do with anything." I hate not knowing things, did I mention that?

He stares at me for a few moments, then sighs and walks up to me. "My name is Eugene," he says, extending his hand to me.

"Nice to meet you, Eugene." I shake his hand, relieved by this rather-civilized turn of events.

"Listen to me, Darren." His face softens a bit, his expression becoming almost kind. "If what you say is true, then I'll help you." He raises his hand to stop me from thanking him, which I was about to do. "But only if you turn out to be a Reader."

I have never wished to be part of a clique so badly in my life.

"How?" I ask.

"I'll teach you," he says. "But if it fails, if you can't Read, you have to promise to leave and never come back."

Wow, so now the rules have changed in my favor. I won't be killed, even if I'm this Pusher thing. Nice.

"We need to hurry," he adds. "My sister's on the way. If you're a Pusher, she won't care about your situation."

"Why?" I ask. In the list of pros and cons as to whether or not I should date Mira, the cons are definitely in the lead.

"Because Pushers had our parents killed," he says. The kind expression vanishes. "In front of her."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I say, horrified. I had no idea Mira had gone through something so awful. Whoever these Pushers are, I can't blame her for hating them—not if they killed her family.

Eugene's face tightens at my platitude. "If you're a Pusher and she catches you here, you'll be sorry."

"Right, okay." I get that point now. "Let's find out quickly then."

"Put this on your fingers," Eugene says, and grabs another cable from the shelf.

I put the device on. It reminds me of a heart-rate monitor, the kind a nurse would use on you at a hospital.

Eugene starts something on his laptop and turns the computer toward me.

There's a program on the screen that seems to be tracking my heart rate, so my theory was probably right.

"That's a photoplethysmograph," he says. When he sees my blank stare, he adds, "How much do you know about biofeedback?"

"Not much," I admit. "But I do know it's when scientists use electrodes, similar to the ones you used on me before, to measure your brain patterns." I recall reading about it in the context of a new way to control video games in the future, with your mind—as nature clearly intended. Also to beat lie detectors, but that's a long story.

"Good. That's neurofeedback, which is a type of biofeedback," he explains. His voice takes on a professorial quality as he speaks. I can easily picture him teaching at some community college. Glasses, white coat, and all. "This is a simpler feedback." He points at my fingers. "It measures your heart-rate variability."

Another blank stare from me prompts him to explain further.

"Your heart rate can be a window into your internal emotional state. There is a specific state I need you to master. This device should expedite the training." He looks uncertain when he says 'should'—I'm guessing he hasn't done much of this expedited training before.

I don't care, though. From what I know of biofeedback, it's harmless. If it keeps Mira from shooting me, sign me up.

"Anyway, you can read up on the details later. For now, I need you to learn to keep this program in the green." He points to a part of the screen.

It's like a game, then. There's a big red-alert-looking button activated in the right-hand lower corner of the screen. Next to it are blue and green buttons.

"Sync your breath to this," he says, pointing at a little bar that goes up and down. "This is five-in and five-out breathing."

I breathe in sync to the bar for a few minutes. Whatever leftover fear I had evaporates; the technique is rather soothing.

"That's good," he says, pointing at the important lower corner. The red button is gone, and I'm now in the blue. I keep breathing. The green light eludes me.

I see the graph the software keeps of my heart-rate variability. It begins to look more and more even, almost like sine curves. I find it cool—even if I have no idea what that change means in terms of being able to Read.

The feeling this experience evokes is familiar, mainly because of the synchronous breathing. Lucy, my mom, taught me to do this as a meditation technique when I was a kid. She said it would help me focus. I think she secretly hoped it would reduce my hyperactivity. I loved the technique and still do it from time to time. It's something she told me she learned from one of her old friends on the force—a friend who passed away. You're supposed to think happy thoughts while doing the breathing, according to her teachings. Since I'm thinking of Lucy already, I remember fondly how she told me that she didn't know how to meditate just because she was Asian, which was what I used to think. It was the first lecture I received on cultural stereotypes, but definitely not the last. It's a pet peeve of both of my moms. They have a lot of pet peeves like that, actually.

Thus thinking happy thoughts, I try to ignore the bar, closing my eyes to do the meditation Lucy taught me. Every few seconds, I peek at the screen to see how I'm doing.

"That's it," Eugene says suddenly, startling me. When I open my eyes this time, I see the curves are even straighter, and the button is green.

"You did that much too easily," he says, giving me a suspicious look. "But no matter. Do it again, without looking at the screen at all."

He takes the laptop away, and I do my 'Lucy meditation.' In less than a minute, he looks at me with a more awed expression.

"That is amazing. I haven't heard of anyone reaching Coherence so quickly before on the first try," he says. "You're ready for the real test."

He gets up, puts his gun in his lab coat pocket, and, much to my surprise, leads me out of the apartment.

I'm especially puzzled when he walks across the hall and rings the doorbell of the neighboring apartment.

The door opens, and a greasy-haired, redheaded young guy looks us over. His eyes are bloodshot and glassy.

Without warning, everything silences.

Eugene is pulling his hand away from my frozen self. He must've done that trick his sister pulled on me at the casino. He must've phased in and touched me, bringing me into the Quiet. It's creepy to think about—someone touching my frozen self the way I've touched so many others—but I guess I need to get used to the idea, since I'm no longer the only one who can do this.

Eugene approaches the guy and touches him on the forehead. I half-expect the guy to appear in the Quiet, too.

But no. There are only five of us: a frozen Eugene and me, the moving versions of us, and this guy, who's still a motionless statue.

I watch, confused, as Eugene just stands there, holding the guy's forehead. He looks so still that he begins to remind me of his frozen self.

Then he starts moving again. His hand is not on the guy's head anymore.

"Okay," he says, pointing at the guy. "Now you do the same thing. Place your hand on his skin."

I walk up to the guy and comply. His forehead is clammy, which is kind of disgusting.

"Okay, now close your eyes and get into that same Coherence state," Eugene instructs.

I close my eyes and start doing the meditation. And then it happens.

* * *

I'm so fucking stoned. That was some good shit Peter sold me. I've gotta get some more.

I feel great, but at the same time a part of myself wonders—why the hell did I smoke pot? My hedge fund does random urine tests on occasion. What if I get tested?

And then it hits me: I am not stoned. We are stoned. I, Darren, am not. But I, Nick, am.

We are Nick right now.

We are listening to "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd, which is also how we feel.

I, Darren, tried pot before. I didn't like it nearly as much as I, Nick, like it right now.

We get a craving, but we're too lazy to get anything to eat.

The doorbell rings.

Wow.

Can that be a delivery? We don't recall ordering, but ordering something—pizza or Chinese—sounds like a great idea right about now. We reach for the phone when the doorbell rings again.

Oh yeah, the door.

Who's at the door? we wonder again, with a pang of paranoia this time.

I, Darren, finally get it: it's Eugene and me ringing the doorbell.

We get up, walk to the door, and open it after fumbling with the locks.

We're looking at Eugene, Mira's older brother, and some other dude, who I, Darren, recognize as myself. We wonder what the deal is.

* * *

Suddenly, I'm standing in the corridor, my hand no longer on Nick's forehead. I stare at Eugene, my mouth gaping and heart racing at the realization of what I just did.

"Eugene, did you want me to get inside this pothead's mind?" I manage to ask. "Is Reading 'Mind Reading'?"

Eugene smiles at me, then walks to his frozen self and touches his own temple, bringing us out of the Quiet. Then he makes some bullshit excuse to confused Nick for ringing the doorbell, and we walk back to Eugene's apartment.

"Tell me everything you just experienced," he says as soon as the door closes behind us.

I tell him. As I go on, his smile widens. He must've seen the same thing when he touched the guy. From his reaction, I guess this means I can Read, and since this apparently removes any suspicions he had about me, I also assume that Pushers can't Read. I think I'm starting to figure out at least a few pieces of the mystery.

This was the test—and incredibly, I passed.

Chapter Seven

What I did was not exactly how I imagined mind reading—not that mind reading is something I imagined much. The experience was like some kind of virtual reality, only more intense. It was like I was the pothead guy. I felt what he felt. Saw what he saw. I even had his memories, and they came and went as though they were mine.

But at the same time, I was also myself. An observer of sorts. I experienced two conflicted world views. On the one hand, I was Nick, feeling high, feeling numb, feeling dumb, but at the same time, I was myself, able to not lose my own consciousness. It was a strange merger.

I want to do it again—as soon as possible.

"Do you want tea?" Eugene asks, dragging me out of my thoughts, and I realize we somehow ended up at the kitchen table.

I look around the room. There are a bunch of beakers all over the place. Is he running some kind of chemistry experiment in here? A red stain on the counter, near an ampule with remains of that same red substance, matches the stain on Eugene's white coat. At least it's not blood, as I had originally thought.

"I will take your silence as a yes to tea." Eugene chuckles. "I'm sorry," he adds, joining me after setting the kettle on the stove. "The first time we Read is usually not as confusing as that. Nick's intoxicated state must've been an odd addition to an already strange experience."

"That's an understatement," I say, getting my bearings. "So how does this work?"

"Let's begin at the beginning," Eugene says. "Do you now know what a Reader is?"

"I guess. Someone who can do that?"

"Exactly." Eugene smiles.

"And what is a Pusher?"

His smile vanishes. "What Pushers do is horrible. An abomination. A crime against human nature. They commit the ultimate rape." His voice deepens, filling with disgust. "They mind-rape. They take away a person's will."

"You mean they can hypnotize someone?" I ask, trying to make sense of it.

"No, Darren." He shakes his head. "Hypnosis is voluntary—if the whole thing exists at all. You can't make someone do something they don't want to do under hypnosis." He stops at the sound of the kettle. "Pushers can make a person do anything they want," he clarifies as he gets up.

I don't know how to respond, so I just sit there, watching him pour us tea.

"I know it's a lot to process," Eugene says, placing the cup in front of me.

"You do have a gift for stating the obvious."

"You said you came here to get answers. I promised I would provide them. What do you want to know?" he says, and my heart begins to pound with excitement as I realize I'm about to finally learn more about myself.

"How does it work?" I ask before he changes his mind and decides to test me some more. "Why can we phase into the Quiet?"

"Phase into the Quiet? Is that what you call Splitting?" He chuckles when I nod. "Well, prepare to be disappointed. No one knows for sure why we can do it. I have some theories about it, though. I'll tell you my favorite one. How much do you know about quantum mechanics?"

"I'm no physicist, but I guess I know what a well-read layman should know."

"That might be enough. I'm no physicist myself. Physics was my dad's field, and really this is his theory. Have you ever heard of Hugh Everett III?"

"No." I've never heard of the first two either, but I don't say that to Eugene.

"It's not important, as long as you've heard of the multiple universes interpretation of quantum mechanics." He offers me sugar for my tea.

"I think I've heard of it," I say, shaking my head to decline the sugar. Eugene sits across from me at the table, his gaze intent on mine. "It's the alternative to the famous Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics, right?"

"Yes. We're on the right track. Now, do you actually understand the Copenhagen interpretation?"

"Not really. It deals with particles deciding where to be upon observation with only a probability of being in a specific place—introducing randomness into the whole thing. Or something along those lines. Isn't it famous for no one understanding it?"

"Indeed. I doubt anyone really does. Even my dad didn't, which is why he said it was all BS. He would point out how the whole Schrödinger's cat paradox is the best example of the confusion." As he talks, Eugene gets more and more into the conversation. He doesn't touch his tea, completely immersed in the subject. "Schrödinger meant for the cat theory to illustrate the wrongness, or at least the weirdness of that interpretation, which is funny, given how famous the cat example became. Anyway, what's important is that Everett said there is no randomness. Every place a particle can be, it is, but in different universes. His theory is that there is nothing special about observing particles, or cats—that the reality is Schrödinger's cat is both alive and dead, a live cat in one universe and a dead one in another. No magic observation skills required. Do you follow?"

"Yes, I follow," I say. Amazingly enough, I actually do. "I had to read up on this when we wanted to invest in a firm that was announcing advances in quantum computing."

"Oh, good." Eugene looks relieved. "That might expedite my explanation considerably. I was afraid I would have to explain the double-slit experiment and all that to you. You've also heard of the idea that brains might use quantum computing in some way?"

"I have," I say, "but I've also read that it's unlikely."

"Because the temperatures are too high? And the effects are too short-lived?"

"Yeah. I think it was something along those lines."

"Well, my dad believed in it regardless, and so do I. No one really knows for sure, wouldn't you admit?" Eugene says.

I never really thought about it. It's not something that was ever important to me. "I guess so," I say slowly. "I read that there are definitely some quantum effects in the brain."

"Exactly." He takes a quick sip of tea and sets it aside again. I do the same. The tea is bitter and too hot, and I'm dying for Eugene to continue. "The unlikelihood that you mention is about whether consciousness is related to quantum effects. No one doubts that some kinds of quantum processes are going on in the brain. Since everything is made of subatomic particles, quantum effects happen everywhere. This theory just postulates that brains are leveraging these effects to their benefit. Kind of like plants do. Have you heard of that?"

"Yes, I have." He's talking about the quantum effects found in the process of photosynthesis. Mom—Sara—emailed me a bunch of articles about that. She's very helpful that way—sending me articles on anything she thinks I might be interested in. Or anything she's interested in, for that matter.

"Photosynthesis evolved over time because some creature achieved an advantage when using a quantum effect. In an analogous way, wouldn't a creature able to do any kind of cool quantum calculations get a huge survival advantage?" he asks.

"It would," I admit, fascinated.

"Good. So the theory is that what we can do is directly related to all this—that we find ourselves in another universe when we Split, and that a quantum event in our brains somehow makes us Split." He looks more and more like a mad scientist when he's excited, as he clearly is now.

"That's a big leap," I say doubtfully.

"Okay, then, let me go at it from another angle. Could brains have evolved an ability to do quick quantum computations? Say in cases of dire emergencies?"

"Yeah, I think that's possible." Evolution is something I know well, since Sara's PhD thesis dealt with it. I've known how the whole process works since second grade.

"Well, then let's assume, for the sake of this theory, that the brain has learned to leverage quantum effects for some specific purpose. And that as soon as the brain does that anywhere in nature, evolution will favor it. Even if the effect is tiny. As long as there's some advantage, the evolutionary change will spread."

"But that would mean many creatures, and all people, have the same ability we do," I say. I wonder if I have someone else who doesn't understand evolution on my hands.

"Right, exactly. You must've heard that some people in deeply stressful life-or-death situations experience time as though it's slowing down. That some even report leaving their bodies in near-death experiences."

"Yes, of course."

"Well, what if that's what it feels like for regular people to do this quantum computation, which is meant to save their lives or at least give their brains a chance to save them? You see, the theory asserts that this does happen and that all people have this 'near-death' quantum computation boost. All the anecdotal reports that mention strange things happening to people in dire circumstances confirm it. So far, the theory can be tied back to natural evolution."

"Okay," I say. "I think I follow thus far."

"Good." Eugene looks even more excited. "Now let's suppose that a long time ago, someone noticed this peculiarity—noticed how soldiers talk about seeing their lives pass before their eyes, or how Valkyries decide on the battlefield who lives and who dies . . . That person could've decided to do something really crazy, like start a cult—a cult that led to a strange eugenics program, breeding people who had longer and stronger experiences of a similar nature." He stands, tea forgotten, and begins to pace around the room as he talks. "Maybe they put them under stress to hear their stories. Then they might've had the ones with the most powerful experiences reproduce. Over a number of generations, that selective breeding could've produced people for whom this quantum computing under stress was much more pronounced—people who began to experience new things when that overly stressed state happened. Think about it, Darren." He stops and looks at me. "What if we're simply a branch of that line of humanity?"

This theory is unlike anything I expected to hear. It seems farfetched, but I have to admit it makes a weird sort of sense. There are parts that really fit my own experiences. Things that Eugene doesn't even know—like the fact that the first time I phased into the Quiet was when I fell off my bike while somersaulting in the air. It was exactly like the out-of-body experience he described. An experience I quickly discovered I could repeat whenever I was stressed.

"Does this theory explain Reading?" I ask.

"Sort of," he says. "The theory is that everyone's minds Split into different universes under some conditions. As Readers, we can just stay in those universes for a longer period of time, and we're able to take our whole consciousness with us." He draws in a deep breath. "The next part is somewhat fuzzy, I have to admit. If you touch a normal person who's unable to control the Split like we can, they're unaware of anything happening. However, if you touch a Reader or a Pusher—another person like us—while in that other universe, they get pulled in with you. Their whole being joins you, just like I joined you when you touched my hand earlier today. When you touch someone 'normal,' they just get pulled in a little bit—on more of a subconscious level. Just enough for us to do the Reading. Afterwards, they have no recollection of it other than a vague sense of déjà vu or a feeling that they missed something, but even those cases are extremely rare."

"Okay, now the theory sounds more wishy-washy," I tell him.

"It's the best I've got. My dad tried to study this question scientifically and paid the ultimate price."

I stare at Eugene blankly, and he clarifies, "Pushers killed him for his research."

"What? He was killed for trying to find these answers?" I can't hide my shock.

"Pushers don't like this process being studied," Eugene says bitterly. "Being the cowards that they are, they're afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of 'normal' people learning to do what we do," Eugene says, and it's clear that he's not scared of that possibility.

Chapter Eight

I sip my tea quietly for a while. Eugene comes back to the table and sits down again, sipping from his own mug. My brain is on information overload. There are so many directions this conversation could go. I have so many questions. I've never met anyone who even knew the Quiet existed, let alone knew this much about it—other than Mira, of course, but chasing someone through a crowded casino doesn't technically qualify as 'meeting.'

"Are there other theories?" I ask after a few moments.

"Many," he says. "Another one I like is the computer simulation one. If you've seen The Matrix, it's relatively easy to explain. Only it doesn't answer as many things as the Quantum Universes explanation does. Like the fact that our abilities are hereditary."

I was initially curious about the computer simulation theory, but the heredity angle stops me dead in my tracks.

"Wait, does every Reader have to have Reader parents?" I ask. In hindsight, it's obvious from what he's said thus far, but I want it spelled out.

"Yes." He puts his now-empty teacup down. "Which reminds me. Who are your parents? How could you not have known that you're a Reader?"

"Hold on." I raise my hand. "Both parents must be Readers?"

"No." He looks upset for some reason. "Not both. Just one." It's obvious that this is a sensitive subject for Eugene.

Before I can question him about that, he continues, "I don't understand why your parents didn't tell you about this. I always thought this was an oral tradition, a story that every family who has the ability passes from generation to generation. Why didn't yours?"

"I'm not sure," I say slowly. Sara never told me anything. In fact, it was just the opposite. When I told my moms about falling off that bike and seeing the world from outside my body, they told me I must've hit my head. When I repeated the feat by jumping off a roof and told them of another out-of-body excursion, they got me my first therapist. That therapist eventually ended up referring me to my current shrink—who's the only person I've spoke to about this since then. Well, until I met Eugene, that is.

Eugene gives me a dubious look in response. "Really? Neither your mother nor your father ever mentioned it?"

"Well, I didn't know my father, so he's the more likely candidate, given that my mom never said anything," I say, thinking out loud. Based on the confusion on his face, Eugene isn't getting it. Why would he, though? My history isn't exactly common for your typical American family. "I was conceived through artificial insemination," I explain to him. "My father was a guy who contributed to a sperm bank in Israel. Could he have been one of us—a Reader?"

My genius father. What a joke. I rarely tell people this story. Having two moms can be awkward enough. The fact that Sara went shopping for good sperm to have a smart kid—that's just icing on the cake. But that's exactly what she did. She and Lucy went to Israel, found a high-IQ donor bank, and got one of them knocked up. I think they went overseas to make sure I would never, ever meet the father. Now you can see why I consider my shrink's job too easy. Whatever happens, blame the mother.

"What? No, that can't be," Eugene says, interrupting my ruminations. "It has to be your mother. Giving sperm like that is not something our people would do. It's forbidden."

"What do you mean?"

"We have rules," he says, and it's clear something about this upsets him again. "In the old days, all Readers were subject to arranged marriages—hence the whole selective breeding theory, you see. Today things are more liberal, but there are still a number of restrictions. For example, a Reader's choice of spouse, regardless of how powerful he or she is, is considered personal business now, but the expectation is that he or she be a Reader."

I file away the mention of 'powerful.' I'm curious how one can be more or less powerful when it comes to Reading, but I have other questions first. "Because of the selective breeding thing?" I ask, and Eugene nods.

"Right. It's about the blood. Having children with non-Readers gets you banned from the Reader community." He pauses before saying quietly, "That's what happened to my father."

Now I understand why this is a sensitive topic. "I see. So your mother wasn't a Reader? And that's forbidden?"

"Well, technically, marrying non-Readers and having children like me and Mira is no longer forbidden. You don't get executed for it, like in the old days. It is highly frowned upon, though, and the punishment for it is banishment. But that's not an issue in your case. What you're talking about—a Reader giving sperm—is forbidden to this day, as it can lead to mixing of the blood and is untraceable."

"Mixing? Untraceable?" I'm completely confused now.

"A Pusher mother might somehow get impregnated by Reader sperm," Eugene explains. "Readers consider that an abomination, and, according to what my dad told me, so do Pushers. They wouldn't give sperm either. The risk is admittedly infinitesimally small, since Pushers themselves wouldn't dare risk getting pregnant that way. Also, mixing aside, Readers like to keep tabs on everyone, even half-bloods like me, and sperm bank pregnancy would prevent them from keeping an account of the whole Reader family tree. Or at least it would require oversight of the whole process, which would be complicated."

That makes sense. But this leads to only one logical conclusion. Sara, my biological mother, must be a Reader. How could she keep this from me—her son? How could she pretend I was crazy?

"I'm sorry, Darren," Eugene says when I remain silent. "You must have even more questions than before."

"Yes. Your gift for understatement doesn't fail you," I tell him. "I have hundreds of questions. But you know what? You know what I really want to do?"

"You want to Read again?" he surmises.

He's spot on. "Can we?"

"Sure." He smiles. "Let's ring some doorbells."

Chapter Nine

I have to admit, I like Eugene. I'm glad I met him. It's refreshing to have another smart person to talk to, besides Bert.

It takes us a few minutes to choose our next 'volunteer,' a tall guy in his mid-twenties who lives a few doors down from Eugene and Mira.

"Hi Brad," Eugene says. "I ran out of salt as I was cooking. Mind if I borrow some?"

The guy looks confused. "Salt? Um, okay, sure. Let me see if I can get some." As he turns away, Eugene winks at me. As we agreed, I phase in and touch Eugene's forehead to bring him into the Quiet.

It works, as expected. We are in the Quiet, which I guess, given Eugene's favorite theory, might be another universe of some kind. I don't dwell on the many questions about this alternate reality, if that's what it is. I have something much more interesting to do. I walk up to Brad, touch his temple with my index finger, and close my eyes.

Then I do the breathing meditation.

* * *

What the fuck? Who runs out of salt? The thoughts running through our mind are less than flattering toward Eugene. And who's this other guy? His boyfriend? Wouldn't surprise us. We always suspected that Mira's geeky brother was gay.

I, Darren, realize that Brad knows both Eugene and Mira. And I know I only have seconds before I play his memory to the current moment, which Eugene told me would force me out of the guy's head. So I try to do something different. As Eugene instructed me earlier, I try to 'fall' deeper into Brad's mind.

I picture myself lighter than air. I visualize myself as a feather, slowly floating down into a calm lake on a windless day. I become a sense of lightness.

And then it happens.

We are in a movie theater. We are on a date. We look at the girl sitting next to us, and I, Darren, can't believe my eyes. We're sitting next to Mira. When we start making out with her, I, Darren, think that maybe I really have gone crazy. But no, there is a simpler explanation. I get it when I try falling deeper again.

We're standing in front of Mira's apartment door holding flowers. "These are for you," we say when she opens the door.

We feel pretty slick. The flowers are a means to an end. We want to get our hot neighbor into bed.

"Oh, how sweet," she says drily when she sees us. "Am I supposed to swoon now?" She then proceeds to tell us exactly what she thinks we're planning. I, Darren, realize that she must've done what I'm doing. She must've Read Brad's mind—or maybe she just used common sense. Why else does a guy give a girl flowers?

We're surprised at our neighbor's bluntness. Impressed, even. We admit that, yes, we want to sleep with her, but that she should still take the flowers. She does. Then she sets the ground rules. Nothing serious. She has no time for relationships, she says. A movie, dinner, and, if she thinks we're worth it afterwards, maybe she'll go to our place. That's it. Just a one-time thing, unless the whole thing goes exceptionally well. In that unexpected eventuality, she might, maybe, initiate another encounter.

We agree. What sane guy wouldn't?

I, Darren, experience the dinner and the movie. It's awesome. All of it.

We get back to our—Brad's—apartment.

We're in the bedroom. We're kissing Mira. I, Darren, am jealous that an asshole like Brad gets to do this with Mira. That feeling doesn't last, though. We're immersed in the experience. Mira's perfect naked body. Her lips on ours. It's everything we ever hoped it would be.

Unfortunately, it's too much of everything we ever hoped it would be. I, Darren, can feel us—Brad—losing control. No amount of baseball stats will pull this guy back from the edge. Just like that, we have a problem. Apparently Mira is a little too good-looking, because before I, Darren, even realize what's going on, things happen somewhat . . . prematurely.

Mira's reaction to the situation is admirable. She's not mad, she insists. She says not to worry about it. Says she had a good time. She isn't fooling us, though. She leaves quickly and never speaks to us about this night, or anything else for that matter, again.

* * *

I'm back in my body in the Quiet, and the first thing I do is punch Brad in the face.

"What are you doing?" Eugene exclaims, looking at me like I'm crazy.

"Trust me," I say, resisting the urge to also kick the guy. What a loser. Not only did he sleep with Mira, he didn't even have the decency to be good at it. "He doesn't feel it. Right?"

"Well, yeah," Eugene admits. "At least I highly doubt he feels it. But it looks disrespectful."

It's almost too bad that Brad can't feel the punch. I debate punching him once we phase out, but decide against it. I mean, what possessed me? Mira isn't my girlfriend to be overprotective about. She might not even like me when we meet. One thing is clear, though. Without having said a word to her in real life, I like her.

It's shallow, I know. I'd like to say it's based on the fact that I liked talking to her as Brad at that dinner—which I did. But truthfully, I just want to see her body again. I have to kiss her again. It's weird. I wish I had been in someone else's mind for this, my second Reading. I wish it hadn't been Brad. I really need to find a boring person whose mind I can do this Reading thing with.

"Let's phase out," I tell Eugene, and without waiting for his answer, I touch my forehead.

The world comes back to life, and Brad brings us the stupid salt. Eugene thanks him, and we walk back toward Eugene's apartment.

"How was that?" Eugene asks on the way.

He has no idea this thing happened between his sister and his neighbor. I decide to respect whatever shred of privacy these two have, and at least not mention anything to Eugene.

"That was a good start," I say. "I think we should go outside and do some more."

"Eugene," a pleasant female voice says. A voice I just heard in Brad's memory. "Who the fuck is this?"

I look up and find myself staring down the barrel of a gun. Again.

Chapter Ten

Okay, I am officially sick of guns being pointed at me. Even guns pointed by a beautiful girl I just saw naked in someone's mind.

"Mira, put the gun down," Eugene says. "This is Darren. I just texted you his picture. You didn't get it?"

She frowns, still holding the gun trained on me. "No, I haven't checked my phone. Does your text explain how this creep stalked me all the way here from Atlantic City?"

"No, not exactly," Eugene admits. "But you have to cut the guy some slack. He tracked you down, but he has a good reason to be persistent. You're the first other Reader he's ever met."

I can tell that this knowledge surprises her. "How can I be the first Reader he's met?" she asks skeptically. "What about his parents? What about the other Readers from wherever his home is?"

"Manhattan," I supply helpfully. "And in regards to parents, I'll be having a very serious conversation with my mom about this very subject. For some reason, she didn't tell me anything about this. And I've never met my father, but Eugene convinced me that he couldn't have been a Reader because my mother got his sperm from a bank."

As I'm talking, Mira looks at me with more and more curiosity. "A sperm bank?" she repeats.

"Yes. My mom, she wanted a child, but couldn't bring herself to be with a guy, I guess." Thinking of my mom in this context is weird, at best.

"Why? Does she hate men?"

Did Mira just say that approvingly?

"She likes women," I say. "I have two mothers." I'm not sure why I added this last part. Usually you have to ask probing questions for a lot longer before I reveal such personal information.

To her credit, Mira hardly blinks at that. Instead she says with a frown, "If she got sperm from a bank, that would mean she voluntarily mated with a non-Reader. Why would she have done that? Surely she knew she'd get exiled, like our dad."

"That's a good point," Eugene says. "I can't believe I didn't see that when Darren first mentioned it to me."

"You say that like you're surprised I could make a good point," Mira says to her brother, but her tone is more teasing than sharp. "Don't forget, you wouldn't survive a day without me—the dumb, uneducated one."

Eugene ignores her statement. "Can we get out of this hallway?" he says. "I want to get something to eat."

Mira finally lowers the gun and puts it back in her purse. "Fine, I'll be right back." She goes into the apartment. I look at Eugene questioningly, but he just shrugs.

She's back momentarily. She changed from her heels and dress into jeans and sneakers. I wonder where she's been, so dressed up. She looks great in the simpler outfit, though, and I can't help thinking back to my experience in Brad's head.

As I'm sifting through the hot pictures in my mind, she walks over to the elevator and presses the button.

"I don't think that works," I say, remembering having to go up all those stairs.

"Trust me," she says. "It's just the first floor that doesn't work."

And she's right. The elevator comes, and we're able to exit on the second floor. From there, it's only a single flight of stairs to get out of the building.

"What exactly does it mean to be exiled?" I ask as we walk in the direction of the bigger street, Kings Highway, in search of a place to eat.

"It's complicated," Eugene says, looking at me. "Our dad was exiled from the community of Readers in St. Petersburg, Russia, and that was pretty bad. He couldn't visit his childhood friends and family. Readers in Russia, in general, are much more traditional, but it was especially bad almost thirty years ago, when I was born. It was terrible for him, he told us."

"But he did it for Mom," Mira adds.

"And for us. He left it all so he could have children with her." Eugene sounds proud of his father. "Thankfully, it's different here. In present-day America, especially the New York City area, the Readers' community is more open-minded. They recognize us as Readers—unofficially, at least."

"Yeah, just so they can make sure we don't openly use our skills," Mira says with a touch of bitterness.

"I think they have other ways to enforce that," Eugene says, glancing at his sister. "Besides, we all know how stupid it would be to reveal our existence to the rest of the world, half-bloods or not. No, they're genuinely less traditional here. At least now they are. But when you were born, Darren, things could've been worse." He gives me a sympathetic look.

"None of this explains why my mom didn't tell me about Readers, though," I say, still bothered by the thought of Sara hiding such important information from me.

"Maybe she was ashamed of being shunned," Mira suggests, shooting me a look that suggests she's not entirely over my stalking her. "Or she didn't want you to learn how to Split and Read. Maybe as you were growing up, she decided you wouldn't be able to keep the Readers' secret. No offense, but you don't look like the kind of guy who can keep your mouth shut."

"But she must've realized I'd discovered it. I as much as told her that as a kid," I say, refusing to rise to the bait. I have more important things to worry about than Mira's sharp tongue. I'm tempted to go to Staten Island right now, but I know it makes more sense to learn more from these two first, so I can ask my mom the right questions. Maybe then I'll be able to get answers and understand what happened.

"I'm sorry," Eugene says with a hint of pity.

"Oh, poor Darren, Mommy didn't tell him," Mira counters, her voice dripping with venom. "At least she's alive. Maybe that's why she is alive—because she knows how to keep a secret. She doesn't run around asking troublesome questions like our idiot father." As she says this, her hands ball into fists, and I see her blinking rapidly, as though to hide tears. She doesn't cry, though. Instead, she glares at her brother and says caustically, "The father whose steps you seem determined to follow, I might add."

"I thought you supported my research," Eugene says, clearly hurt.

She sighs and falls silent as we pass through a small crowd gathered in front of some yogurt place. "I'm sorry," she says in a more conciliatory tone when we're through. "I do support what you're doing. I support it to spite the fuckers who killed Dad—and because it could give us a way to make them pay for what they did. I just can't help thinking that all of this could've been avoided if he'd just researched something else. Alzheimer's, for example."

"I understand," Eugene says.

We walk in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. I feel like an intruder.

"No offense, Darren," Mira says as we stop at a traffic light. "It's a difficult subject."

"No problem," I say. "I can't even imagine how you feel."

We walk in a more companionable silence for another block or so.

"Are you leading us to that diner again?" Mira eventually asks, wrinkling her nose.

"Yes," Eugene says, a faint smile appearing on his lips.

Mira rolls her eyes. "That place is a real dump. How many cases of food poisoning does it take for you to realize it? Let's go to the sushi place on Coney Island. It's closer."

"Right, raw fish is the solution to health concerns," Eugene says, unsuccessfully trying to mimic Mira's very distinctive brand of sarcasm.

They fight about the place for the rest of the way. I'm not surprised at all when Mira gets her way. She seems like the kind of person who always does. I don't mind in this case, though. If choosing the place had been up for a vote, Mira would've had mine as soon as she mentioned food poisoning.

Listening to their bickering, I wonder how interesting it must be to have a sibling. Or frustrating. I mean, what would it be like to have a younger sister? Especially one who's as reckless as Mira? I shudder at the thought.

"Table for three," Eugene tells the waiter when we enter the place.

"Ilona?" A deep voice says, and Mira winces. "Ya tebya ne uznal." Or at least that's what it sounds like. It's coming from a tall, well-built guy with a tattoo in the shape of an anchor on his muscular forearm.

Mira walks over to him, hugs him, and kisses him on the cheek. They start talking out of earshot from us. Eugene crosses his arms and eyes the guy suspiciously.

"Can we get a table as far away as possible from that man?" he asks the waiter.

"I can put you in the privacy of one of our tatami rooms," the waiter offers.

"Thank you," I say, and slip a twenty into his hand. "Please make it the furthest one."

Mira heads back to us. She puts a finger to her lips when her back is to the guy.

We are quiet until we get to the tatami room.

"I will not discuss it," Mira says when we sit down.

Eugene glares at her. She doesn't even blink, opening her menu and pointedly ignoring her brother.

"I thought I told you not to do that anymore," Eugene says in a hushed tone. "I thought I told you not to deal with thugs. You won't find him—but you will get yourself killed. Or worse."

"Ot-yebis' Eugene," Mira says, her face getting flushed. Whatever she just said, Eugene takes a breath and stops talking.

The waiter comes, asking what we want to drink. Mira orders hot sake, showing the waiter what must be a fake ID. I stick with green tea, as does Eugene.

I'm dying of curiosity. Did I mention it's one of my few weaknesses?

It feels risky, but I can't help myself. I phase into the Quiet and watch the frozen faces of Mira and Eugene carefully.

They don't seem to be in the Quiet with me. If what Eugene said is true, pulling them in requires explicitly touching them. That's good. I don't plan to do that.

I walk out of the little alcove room the waiter gave us and go through the restaurant, searching for the guy Mira spoke to when we first arrived. His table is empty, with only dirty plates and a check lying there. Apparently he was on his way out when we entered.

I walk through the frozen patrons to the door. Outside, I spot my target. He hasn't gone far.

First, I look in his pockets. Anton Gorshkov, his New York driver's license tells me. Along with his age, height, and address on Brighton Beach. That doesn't tell me much. But I now have a new trick I've been itching to try again—the whole Reading thing.

I touch his forehead. I do the meditation. I realize as it starts that the process is a little quicker now.

* * *

We watch Ilona—whom I, Darren, know as Mira—walking toward us. We don't know the men she's with. We barely recognize her without the tight dress and heels she's usually wearing.

"Anton, kakimi sud'bami?" she says to us. It should've sounded like gibberish to me, Darren, but I gleefully realize that I understand exactly what she said. The approximate meaning is: "I'm surprised to see you here, Anton." And I'm aware of the full, subtle meaning of her words, which doesn't translate to English. In general, I understand every thought that goes through Anton's head. Apparently language doesn't seem to matter when it comes to Reading, which makes a weird kind of sense.

"Decided to grab a bite to eat," Ilona/Mira responds in Russian.

"Who are the wimps with you?" we say. Again, the translation is approximate. The word for 'wimps' has a more insulting connotation in the original Russian.

"Math geeks," she answers. "I consult with them on how to improve my game."

We have a flashback to playing cards with Ilona. She's good. One of the best. We try to look at her companions, but she blocks our way.

"They work exclusively with me," she says. Then, seeing our stubborn look, she adds, "Viktor introduced us."

We now lose any inclination to look at the math geeks. Not when Viktor is involved. People who cross that guy lose their heads. Literally. There was a rumor that Viktor tapped Ilona, and perhaps it's true. We really don't want anything to do with him.

"It was good seeing you. Maybe I'll see you at this weekend's big game?" she says.

"I doubt it," we say. "I first need to collect some money."

I, Darren, try to go deeper.

Suddenly, it's late evening, and we're beating a guy in an alley. He's refused to get protection. Who does he think he is? Every Russian-owned business in this neighborhood pays protection money to Anton. Our fist aches, but we keep on pounding. No pain, no gain, we joke to ourselves. I, Darren, am horrified, but go deeper still.

Now we're sitting at a card game. We have a gambling 'hard on,' as we call it. I, Darren, can't believe my eyes.

In this dark room, filled with cigarette smoke and sketchy-looking characters whom we—Anton and me—find scary, there is Ilona. Or Mira, as I, Darren, remind myself.

She's wearing a tight dress, showing off her impressive cleavage.

We look at our cards. We have two pairs. We are golden. We bet to the limit.

She drops out. Can she read our 'tells'? we wonder, impressed.

The game moves forward.

Ilona wins the next round, calling one guy's bluff. We had no clue the fucker was bluffing. She deserves her reputation as a card prodigy.

As far as we know, she's never been accused of cheating. But we wonder how such a young, pretty thing can be this good without something up her sleeve. Then we chuckle at the realization that, in fact, she has no sleeves. With that strappy little dress, there's no fucking way she can be hiding cards.

Maybe someone at the table is cheating, and she's the partner? If that's the case, we'll keep our mouth shut. These men are not the kind of people you can accuse of cheating and live.

After seeing the game through, I, Darren, have had enough.

* * *

I am out of Anton's head. The experience of being someone else, even a lowlife like him, is beyond words. I'm going to do this over and over, until I get sick of it—which is probably never going to happen. It's so cool.

Right now, though, instead of enjoying the novelty of this experience, I'm wondering about Mira's sanity. I recall reading something about underground gambling and links to organized crime in her file in Atlantic City, but seeing it through this degenerate's eyes really put things in perspective for me.

Mira is nuts to be doing this. Why is she doing it? A Reader like her has to have a safer way to make money. Does she need something else in the criminal society? Eugene dropped a few hints about her looking for something or someone, but I still don't get it. A green monster in me wonders if she finds these men appealing. Anton did think of some scary guy who maybe had her protected or something like that.

Whatever the answers, I will not find them anytime soon. I have no intention of letting Mira know I learned any of this.

If she knew I snooped like this, it would kill whatever little trust she has in me—if she has any, that is.

Chapter Eleven

I re-enter the restaurant and find my way back to our little room. Then I touch myself on the forehead.

I'm back in my body. The sounds return.

"I must admit I love these places," I say, making small talk to cover any weirdness in my demeanor. "It's like a little piece of Japan in the middle of Brooklyn. This one isn't as hardcore as some I've seen. At least we're allowed to keep our shoes on."

Mira and Eugene comment on how some places in Brooklyn are more like that. Some do make you take your shoes off, and their servers wear kimonos.

I breathe easier. I officially got away with the little bit of snooping.

We all examine the menus.

"So, Darren, how long can you stay in the Mind Dimension?" Mira says nonchalantly, resuming the conversation.

"Mira," Eugene says, reddening as he looks up at his sister. "That's not very polite."

"Why is that not polite?" I ask, surprised. "Isn't Mind Dimension what she calls the place you guys 'Split' into? The place I call the Quiet?"

"The Quiet? How cute," Mira says, making me wonder if sarcasm is just the way she normally talks.

"Yes, Darren, that's what she's talking about," Eugene says, still looking embarrassed. "But what you don't know—and what Mira wants to take advantage of—is that this question is very personal in Reader society."

"Well, we're not in Reader society," Mira counters. "We're outcasts, so anything goes."

"Why is it such a big deal?" I ask, looking from brother to sister.

"In the Reader society proper, it's like asking someone how much money he's worth, or the size of his penis," Eugene explains as Mira chuckles derisively. "The time she asked you about is the measure of our power. It determines Reading Depth, for example, which is how far you can see into your target's memories. It also determines how long you can keep someone else in there. I'm surprised you even ask this, Darren. It seems self-evident how important this time is, since even without knowing about Reading Depth, there's the simple matter of longer subjective life experience."

"Of what?" I almost choke on my green tea. "What do you mean 'longer subjective life experience'?"

"You have got to be kidding me," Mira says, downing a shot of her hot sake. "Don't you know anything? I feel educated all of a sudden, and this is coming from a high school dropout."

I don't even question the dropout comment. I'm still on the life experience thing.

"You don't age while in the Mind Dimension," Eugene says. "So the longer you can stay there, the more you can experience."

"You don't age?" I can't believe I didn't think of it myself. If you don't eat or sleep, why am I surprised that you don't age?

"No, there's no aging that anyone's ever noticed," Eugene says. "And some of the Enlightened, the most powerful among us, can and do spend a long time in there."

I just sit there trying to readjust my whole world, which is becoming a common occurrence today.

When the waiter comes back, I order my usual Japanese favorite on autopilot. Eugene and Mira order as well.

"It's not that strange, if you think about it," Mira says when the waiter is out of earshot. "Time stands still there, or seems to."

"We don't know that," Eugene says. "It could also be that we're not there in a real, physical sense. Only our minds, or more specifically, our consciousness."

Mira rolls her eyes at him, but my mind is blown. "I was always bored when I spent too much time in there. I only used it when I was under some time crunch," I tell them, realizing all the opportunities I missed so far. "If I had only known . . . Are you saying that with every book I read in the physical world, I was literally wasting my life away—since I could've done it in the Quiet and not aged by those hours?"

"Yes," Mira says unkindly. "You were wasting your life away, as you are wasting ours right now."

She uses sarcasm so much that I've already become accustomed to it. It barely registers now. I'm more caught up in thinking about all the times I wasted hours of my life and the many millions of things I could've done in the Quiet. If only I had known that it would add more time to my life—or rather, not take time away from it. All this time, I thought I was just taking shortcuts.

"Well, I'm so glad I met you guys," I say finally. "Just knowing this one thing alone will literally change my life."

"Oh, and Reading wouldn't have?" Eugene winks.

I grin at him. "For that too, I'm forever in your debt and all that."

"Why don't you repay that debt a little by answering my question," Mira says, looking at me.

"Will you tell me yours if I tell you mine?" I joke.

"See how quickly his gratitude dissipates and turns into the usual tit for tat?" Mira says snarkily to Eugene.

I'm so flabbergasted by all the revelations that it barely registers that Mira just made a joke about tits.

"It's a deal," Eugene says, answering for his sister.

We pause our conversation when our food arrives. Eugene is served a three-roll special, Mira has a sushi bento box, and I have my sashimi deluxe. I'm a big fan of sushi—to me, it's like an edible work of art.

Returning to our discussion of how long I can stay in the Quiet, I say, "I can't give you an exact amount of time." Grabbing a piece of fatty salmon with my chopsticks, I explain, "As I said, I eventually get bored and phase out."

"But what's the longest you've ever been inside?" Eugene asks, adding a huge wad of wasabi into his tiny soy sauce bowl.

"A couple of days," I say. "I never really kept track of time."

Mira and Eugene exchange strange looks.

"You don't fall out of the Mind Dimension for a couple of days?" Mira says.

"What do you mean 'fall out'? I get bored and touch my skin to phase out. Is that what you mean?"

They exchange those looks again.

"No, Darren, she means fall out," Eugene says, looking at me like I'm some exotic animal. "When we reach our limit to being in that mode, what you call the Quiet, we involuntarily re-enter our bodies. For me, that happens after about fifteen minutes, which is considered pretty standard."

"I'm slightly above average for Readers, and practically a prodigy for a half-blood," Mira says, echoing his stare. "And my max time is a half hour. So you must see how this sounds to us. You're saying you can stay there for two entire days—or even longer, since you've never been pushed out."

"Right," I say, looking at them. "I never realized that was anything abnormal—well, more abnormal than going into the Quiet in the first place."

Eugene looks fascinated. "That would mean your mother had to have been extremely powerful. Almost at the Enlightened level, if you've never been forced out thus far."

"But if you get forced out, can't you just go right back in?" I say, confused.

"Are you messing with us?" Mira's eyes narrow.

"I think he really doesn't know," Eugene says. "Darren, once we get pushed out, we can't go right back in. The recuperation time is proportional to how long we can stay there, though it's not directly related. There's a strong inverse correlation between short recovery times and longer times in the Mind Dimension. So the elites get the best of both worlds: a short recovery time and a long time inside. How it all works in the brain is actually my area of research."

"Eugene, please, not the neuroscience again," Mira says with exasperation before turning her attention to me. "Darren, if you truly don't know about recuperation time, then your power must be off the charts. Only I didn't think a half-blood could have that much power." The look she gives me now is unsettling. I think I prefer disdain. This look is calculating, as though she's sizing me up.

"You have to let me study you," Eugene tells me. "So we can figure out some answers."

"Sure, I guess. It's the least I can do," I say uncertainly.

"Great. How about tomorrow?" Eugene looks excited.

"Hmm. Maybe the day after?"

He smiles. "Let me guess, you're going to spend a whole day going around Reading people's minds, aren't you?"

"Good guess," I say, smiling back.

"Okay. Thursday then," he says. He looks ecstatic at the prospect of putting more electrodes to my head.

"So, I can't Read another Reader's mind?" I ask as I eat a piece of pickled ginger. This is a question that's been bothering me for a bit.

"No. But I bet you wish you could," Mira answers, downing the last of her sushi.

"It's only possible to do that to someone before they learn to Split for the first time, when they're children," Eugene explains. "Once people have experienced the Split, they simply get pulled into your Mind Dimension with you if you try to Read them."

"And if you and I manage to Split at the same time?" I ask. "Would we see each other in there?"

"Now you're getting into very specific and rare stuff," Eugene says. "It's almost impossible to time it that perfectly. Dad and I managed it only once. Even if you did, you'll find that, no, you see the world still, as usual, but you don't encounter each other. The only way to have a joint experience is to pull someone in. If either of you touches the other, the other will get pulled in. Once that happens, you'll be using up the time of the person whose Mind Dimension you're in."

"Using up the time?" I ask, finishing the last bit of my sashimi. This was amazing fish, I realize belatedly.

"As you bring people with you, your time is shared with them. If I pull you in, together we would stay in my Mind Dimension for about seven or eight minutes—about half of my fifteen-minute total. Similarly, how deep you go into someone's memories is half your total time."

The Reading Depth thing gives me an idea. If what Eugene says is right, then I think I have a better gauge of my 'power' based on my Reading of Eugene and Mira's neighbor, Brad. That sci-fi flick that he and Mira watched at the theater left the big screen at least six months ago—which means that I can spend at least a year in the Quiet.

As blown away as I am by this realization, something prevents me from sharing this information with my new friends. They looked awestruck at the mention of two days. What would they say to a year? And how do I reconcile this and being a half-blood? How powerful is Sara, to give birth to someone like me?

"What's the maximum power a Reader can have?" I ask instead.

"That's something even people who are part of the regular Reader society probably don't know," Mira says. "And even if they did, they wouldn't share that information with us."

"There are legends, though," Eugene says. "Legends of the Enlightened, who were wise well beyond their years. It was as though they'd led whole extra lifetimes. Of course, some of these stories seem more like mythology than history."

Myth or not, the stories sound fascinating. Before I get a chance to think about them, however, I'm interrupted by the waiter who brings our check. I insist on paying despite a few feeble complaints from Eugene. It's part of my thank you to them, I say.

When we exit the restaurant, I tell them, "I wish we could talk for hours on end, but there's something I have to do now."

"You could pull us into the Mind Dimension and chat away; this way you wouldn't be late for your appointment," Mira says, giving me a sly look.

"Mira." Eugene sounds chiding again.

She must be breaking another Reader social rule I'm not aware of. Using someone for time, perhaps? It doesn't matter. I wouldn't mind doing what she's asking if I wasn't dying of curiosity. "It's not about being late," I explain apologetically. "It's about asking my mom some serious questions."

"Oh, in that case, good luck," Mira says, her voice sympathetic for the first time.

"Thanks. Do you guys know where I can rent a car around here?"

Going to Staten Island from Brooklyn, or from anywhere for that matter, is best to do by car. There's a ferry from downtown, but no thanks. That requires taking a bus afterwards. And the ferry is unpleasant enough by itself.

Though Eugene and Mira don't know about rentals, my trusty phone does. According to it, there's a rental place a couple of blocks away. Since it's on the way to their apartment, I get an armed escort to the place—Mira with her gun. I'm grateful for that, as I'm still not a fan of their neighborhood. On our short walk, we talk some more about Readers. Despite Mira's complaints, Eugene starts telling me about his research.

It sounds like he's trying to find neural correlates that accompany what Readers do. That discovery might lead to knowing how the process works. He thinks he knows approximately what goes on, all the way up to the Split. After that moment, things get complicated because technology is finicky in the Quiet, and the instruments remaining in the real world don't register anything—proving that no time passes in the real world after we phase in.

I only half-listen. It all sounds fascinating, but in my mind, I'm already having a conversation with Sara.

When we reach the rental place, I enter both Eugene's and Mira's phone numbers into my phone, and they get mine. We say our goodbyes. Eugene shakes my hand enthusiastically. "It was great to meet you, Darren."

"Likewise," I say. "It was great meeting you both."

Mira walks up to me, and gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I stand there wondering if that means she likes me, or if it's just a Russian thing. Whatever the reason for her actions, it was nice. I can still smell a hint of her perfume.

When they begin to head back, I turn to enter the car rental place. Before I do, I'm pulled into the Quiet again.

It's Mira.

"Darren," she says, "I want to thank you. I haven't seen Eugene this happy, this animated, for a long time."

"Don't mention it. I like your brother," I say, smiling. "I'm glad I had that effect on him."

"I also wanted to say that, as he is my brother, I, above all, don't want to see him hurt."

"That makes sense." I nod agreeably.

"Then we have an understanding," she says evenly. "If this whole thing is a lie, I'll be extremely upset." Her eyes gleam darkly. "To put it in other words, if you hurt my brother in any way, I will kill you."

She turns around and walks to her frozen body, which is standing a few feet away.

I don't get a hug this time around.

Chapter Twelve

I'm driving the piece-of-shit car I picked up at the rental place. They didn't have anything nice, but at least this thing has Bluetooth, so I'm listening to Enigma's "T.N.T. for the Brain" from my phone on the car speakers. I raise the volume to the max.

In a confused stupor, trying to digest everything I've learned today, I follow my phone's GPS directions. I know I need the Belt Parkway and the Verrazano Bridge after that, but once I get on Staten Island, I typically get lost—usually only a few blocks from where my moms live.

I called ahead to make sure they were home, but mentioned nothing of what I want to discuss. I plan to ambush them with my questions. They deserve it. I love them dearly, but I've never been angrier with them than I am now—not even during my rebellious mid-teen years. I'm especially mad at Sara.

Alternative lifestyle aside, Sara and Lucy are living, breathing stereotypes of two similar, yet different, kinds of moms.

Take Sara, for instance. She's a Jewish mom to the core. Never mind that she's the most secular person you'll ever meet. Never mind that she married a non-Jew, which isn't kosher. She still regularly hints—and sometimes outright says—that since I've finished my degree from a good school (of course), I should meet a nice girl (meaning a Jewish girl) and settle down. At twenty-one. Right. And she has all the usual guilt-trip skills down to a T. For example, if I don't call for a couple of days, I get the whole 'you don't need to trouble yourself to call your own mother; it's not like I'm in any way important,' et cetera, et cetera. And then there's the weird stuff, like if I'm out late and make the mistake of mentioning it to her, she'll want me to text her when I get home. Yeah. Never mind that on other nights—when I don't talk to her—I might not come home at all, and she's fine with my lack of texting.

Lucy is no better. Well, in truth, Lucy is better now. She only expects a call from me once a week, not daily. But when I was growing up, she was worse than Sara. She must've read that book about being a Tiger Mom and tried to apply it literally, with probably the worst possible subject—me. In hindsight, I think I had ADD when I was a kid. When it came to the violin lessons she tried to force me to take, I 'accidentally' broke a dozen of the stupid instruments to test her resolve. When I broke the last one (over another student's head), I was expelled, and that did it for musical initiatives. Then there were the ballet lessons. I was kicked out for beating up a girl, which was not true. I knew from a very early age that you don't hit girls. Another girl pushed the victim, but I, because of my reputation in the class, took the rap. Lucy also wanted me to learn her native Mandarin. I don't care if I mastered a little bit from her when I was a baby, or that I can string together a few sentences even to this day; that was just not going to happen. If I'd studied Mandarin for her, I would've had to take Yiddish lessons for Sarah, too. Oy vey.

So, finishing school early and going to Harvard was partially an attempt to make my mothers happy, but even more so a means to get away from their overzealous parenting techniques and experience some freedom in Boston. Not to mention that finishing college allowed me to get a job and my own place as soon as possible. Ever since I gained some distance, my love for my family has deepened greatly.

As I pull into their driveway, I see three cars outside. I recognize the extra car as Uncle Kyle's old Crown Victoria.

Great, he's here. That's the last thing I need.

"Hi Mom," I say when Sara opens the door. I've never really seen much of myself in her, which makes me wonder that much more now about who my father might have been. We both have blue eyes, and I could've inherited her height, I guess. At five foot seven, she's tall for a woman. She seems particularly tall when, like now, she's standing next to my other mom. Lucy is barely above five feet tall, but don't let her size deceive you. She's tough. Plus, she has a gun—and knows how to use it.

"Hi sweetie," Sara says, beaming at me.

"Hi Mom," I say again, this time looking at Lucy.

"Hi Kitten," Lucy says.

Hmm. Are they trying to embarrass me in front of Uncle Kyle?

"Hey Kyle," I say with a lot less enthusiasm as I walk in.

He smiles at me, a rarity from him, and we shake hands.

I have mixed feelings when it comes to Kyle. Even though I mentally call him uncle, he's not my blood relative. Sara was an only child. He's a detective who works with Lucy. As former partners, I guess he and Lucy are close—a camaraderie I don't pretend to understand, having never put my life in danger the way they have.

I imagine my moms decided to ask Kyle to come around when I was growing up so I'd have a male role model in my life. However, their choice for the task couldn't have been worse. As far back as I can remember, I've butted heads with Kyle. Pick an issue, and we're likely to be on opposite sides of it. Doctor-assisted suicide, the death penalty, cloning humans, you name it, and you can be sure we've had a shouting match over it. I like to think of myself as a free thinker, while Kyle clings to what was digested and fed to him by some form of authority, never stopping to question anything.

The biggest mystery to me is actually why someone so traditional even accepts my moms' relationship. My theory is that he has a mental disconnect. I imagine he tells himself that despite their marriage, they're just best friends who live together.

I also think he has a rather tragic crush on Lucy. He would call it brotherly love, but I've always been skeptical. Especially given his very professional, cold attitude toward Sara, a woman he's known for over twenty years. An attitude that was chilly all along, but grew downright frigid after the huge fight they had when he decided to discipline me with a belt when I was nine. I was clever enough to scream and cry like a banshee, and predictably, Sara had a major fit. She actually threw a vase in his face. I think he had to get stitches. After that, he only used words to discipline me, and his interactions with Sara became even more aloof.

Having said all that, after I stopped needing to deal with Kyle regularly, I began to feel more fondness for the bastard. I know he usually means well. He's the closest thing to a father figure I have, and he did come around a lot, generally with good intentions. He told me cool stories about back in the day when he and Lucy kicked ass and took names—stories Lucy never chose to share, for some reason. And I wouldn't be half as good a debater now if not for all that arguing with him. For better or for worse, he played a role in the person I've become, and that's an honor usually reserved for people you consider close.

"How's work?" Kyle asks. "Are we due for another financial meltdown anytime soon?"

Kyle isn't a fan of anyone in the financial industry. I can forgive that; few people are fans of them. Or should I say of us? Also, only a tiny portion of the population understands the difference between bankers and hedge fund analysts, or can tell any financial professional from another.

"Work is great," I respond. "I'm researching a biotech company that's going to use magnetic waves to manipulate human brains for therapy."

Lucy narrows her eyes at me. She knows I'm trying to start an argument again. But I have to hand it to Kyle: this time, he doesn't take the bait. Usually he would go into some Luddite bullshit about how frightening and unnatural what I just said sounds, how dangerous it is to mess with people's brains like that. But no, he doesn't say anything of the sort.

"I'm glad you're making a name for yourself at that company," he says instead. Is that an olive branch? "I was just on my way out, but I'll see you at Lucy's birthday party in a few weeks."

"Sure, Kyle," I say. "See you then."

He walks out, and Lucy walks out with him. He probably came to get her advice on a case. He does that to this day, despite not having been her partner for decades.

"When will you grow up?" Sara chides, smiling. "Why must you always push people's buttons?"

"Oh, that's rich, you defending Kyle." I roll my eyes.

"He's a good man," she says, shrugging.

"Whatever," I say, dismissing the subject with a single word. The last thing I'm interested in right now is an argument about Kyle. "We need to talk. You should actually sit down for this."

Alarm is written all over Sara's face. I'm not sure what she imagines I'm going to say, but she has a tendency to expect the worst.

"Should we wait for your mother?" she says. They both say that in reference to the other, and it's always funny to me. Your mother.

"Probably. It's nothing bad. I just have some important questions," I say. Despite everything, I feel guilty that I've worried her.

I notice that she pales at the mention of important questions.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, looking me up and down with concern. Please, not the too-thin talk again. If it weren't for Lucy intervening, my own lack of appetite, and my stubbornness, I would be the chubbiest son Sara could possibly raise. And the fatter I'd get, the happier Sara would be as a mom. She would be able to show me around and say 'see how fat he is, that's how much I love him.' I know she got that 'feeding is caring' attitude from Grandma, who wouldn't rest until you were as big as a house.

The fact that Sara doesn't pursue the food topic now shows me how concerned she is. Is it some kind of guilt thing? Does she suspect what I'm about to ask?

"No, thanks, Mom. I just had some sushi," I say. "But I would love some coffee."

"Did you go out partying all night?" She appears even more worried now. "You look exhausted."

"I didn't sleep well last night, but I'm okay, Mom."

She shakes her head and goes into the kitchen. I follow. Their house is still unfamiliar. I preferred the cramped Manhattan apartment where I grew up, but my moms decided a few years back that it was time for the suburbs and home ownership. At least they have some of the same familiar furniture I remember from childhood, like the chair I'm now sitting in. And the heavy round kitchen table. And the cup, red with polka dots, that she hands to me. My cup.

"I smell coffee," Lucy says, coming back.

"I made you a cup, too," Sara says.

"You read my mind," Lucy responds, smiling.

I decide I'm not going to get a better segue than that. Is it literally true? Can Sara Read Lucy's mind?

"Mom," I say to Sara. "Is there something important you want to tell me about my heritage?"

I look at them both. They look shell-shocked.

"How did you figure it out?" Lucy asks, staring at me.

"I'm so sorry," Sara says guiltily.

The vehemence of their reaction confuses me, considering my relatively innocuous question. I haven't even gotten to the heavy stuff yet. But it seems like I'm onto something, so I just say nothing and try to look as blank as I can, since I'm not sure what we're talking about. I sense we're not exactly on the same page.

"We always meant to tell you," Sara continues, tears forming in her eyes. "But it never seemed like a good time."

"For the longest time, until you were in your mid-teens, we couldn't discuss it at all. Even among ourselves," Lucy adds. She isn't tearing up, but I can tell she's distraught. "We even tried reading books about it. But the books recommend saying it as early as possible, which we didn't do . . ."

"Saying what?" I ask, my voice rising. I'm reasonably certain I'm about to find out something other than what I came here to verify, since I'm not aware of any books about Reading.

Sara blinks at me through her tears. "I thought you knew . . . Isn't that what you want to talk about? I thought you used some modern DNA test to figure it out."

A wave of panic washes over me. I try not to phase. I want to hear this.

"I want to know what you're talking about," I say. "Right now."

I look at them in turn. Daring them to try to wiggle out of it. They know they have to spill the beans now.

"You were adopted, Darren," Lucy says quietly, looking at me.

"Yes," Sara whispers. "I'm not your biological mother." She starts to cry, something I've hated since I was a little kid. There's something wrong, weirdly scary, about seeing your mom cry. Except—and the full enormity of it dawns on me—she's not my birth mom.

She never has been.

Chapter Thirteen

How would anyone react in my shoes?

I don't know if it's seeing my moms so upset or the news itself, but I can't take the flood of emotion for long. I phase into the Quiet. Once the world around me is still, I pick up the coffee cup and throw it across the room. It shatters against the TV, coffee spilling everywhere. I get up, grab the empty chair next to the one where my frozen self is sitting, and hurl it across the room after the cup, yelling as loudly as I can. I stop myself from breaking more stuff, though; even though I know it will go back to normal after I phase out, it still feels like vandalism.

Then I take a couple of deep breaths, trying to pull myself together.

This explains things—things that Eugene and Mira told me about. Sara didn't lie to me. She never had my ability. She reacted to my descriptions of the Quiet as a normal person would. I should probably feel relieved. I feel anything but.

Why would they not tell me? After all, it's not like we haven't had conversations about being adopted. We had them all the time. Sort of. We talked about how Lucy didn't give birth to me, but loves me just as much as Sara who, allegedly, did. This would've been just more of the same.

I take more deep breaths. I sit on the floor and perform the meditation I have used four times already today.

I begin to feel better—well enough to continue talking, at least. I look at the shocked expression on my frozen face. I reach out and touch myself on the elbow. The gesture is intended to comfort the frozen me, which, once I do it, seems silly. The touch brings me out of the Quiet.

I take a deep breath more demonstratively in the real world. "If you're not my biological mother," I manage to say, "then who is?"

"Your parents' names were Mark and Margret," Lucy says. To my shock, she's crying too—something I've almost never seen her do. A knot ties itself in the pit of my stomach as she continues, "Your uncle might've told you stories about Mark."

I'm almost ready to phase into the Quiet again. She said 'were.' I know what that means. And I have heard of Mark. He was the daredevil partner who worked with Lucy and Kyle.

"Tell me everything," I say through clenched teeth. I'm trying my best not to say something I'll regret later.

"Before you were born, we really did go to Israel, as we always told you," Sara begins, her voice shaking. "It's just that what happened there was different from what you know. Our friends Mark and Margret approached us with a crazy story, and an even crazier request."

She stops, looking at Lucy pleadingly.

"They said someone was out to kill them," says Lucy in a more even voice. "They said Margret was pregnant, and they wanted us to raise the child. To pretend it was our own." She gets calmer as she tells this, her tears stopping. "We always wanted a child. It seemed like a dream come true. They were the ones who came up with the whole sperm bank story. They said the danger they were in could spill into your life if anyone ever found out about the arrangement. I know it sounds like I'm making excuses for not telling you, but when they got killed, just as they moved back to New York to be near you . . ."

"Lucy and Mark were close," Sara jumps in, wiping away the moisture on her face. "Back then, they worked in the organized crime division together. Lucy and I just assumed the unit where they all worked had something to do with why Mark was killed, which is why I begged your mother to switch to another division." She looks at Lucy again, silently urging her to continue with the story.

"I investigated their deaths," Lucy says. "But I still, to this day, have no idea who killed them and why. The killer left no clues. The crime scene was the most thoroughly investigated one in my career—and nothing. All I know is that Margret was shot in the back in her own kitchen, and it looked like Mark was killed a few seconds later when he tried to attack the person who shot her. There were no signs of a break-in."

My mind's gone numb. How am I supposed to feel about something like this happening to the biological parents I never knew existed? Or about them giving me to their friends to raise, even though they knew they'd be putting Sara and Lucy in danger?

I can't take it anymore, so I phase into the Quiet again.

Once everything is still, I walk up to Sara, whose face is frozen in concern. I still love her, just as much as I did on my way here. This changes nothing. I've always loved Lucy the same as Sara, despite knowing we're not related by blood. As far as I can tell, this is no different.

I put my hand on Sara's forearm and try to get into the state of Coherence, as Eugene called it. I'm so worked up that it's much more difficult this time. I don't know how long it takes before I'm in Sara's memories.

* * *

We're excited Darren is going to visit.

I, Darren, feel ashamed somehow at the intensity of Sara's enthusiasm. If it makes her so happy, I should probably visit more often.

We're devastated at having the dreaded adoption conversation with Darren, after all these years. Our own little family secret. Before I, Darren, am naturally pushed out by getting to the present moment in Sara's memories, I decide to go deeper. Picturing being lighter, trying to focus, I fall further in.

We're watching Darren pack for Harvard. We're beyond anxious. I, Darren, realize that I am not far enough and focus on going deeper.

We're on a date with Lucy. She's the coolest girl we have ever met. I, Darren, realize how creepy this thing I am doing can get, but I also know that I can't stop. I overshot my target memory mark and need to go back out of this depth, or in other words, fast-forward the memories. I, Darren, do what I tried before when I wanted to get deeper into someone's mind, only in reverse: I picture myself heavier. It works.

We've been obsessing about Israel for months. Our heritage must call us, as our mom Rose said. I, Darren, realize that Rose is Grandma and that I am close—and I jump a bit further this time by picturing myself heavier again.

We're in Israel. It's awesome. Even Lucy's initial grumpy 'there are almost no other Asians here' attitude gets turned around after spending a day at the beach.

We look around the beach. The view is breathtaking. I, Darren, make a note to visit this place someday.

"Hi guys," says a familiar male voice.

We're shocked to see the M&Ms, Mark and Margret, approach our chairs. So is Lucy, we bet. What could they possibly be doing here, in Israel? The last thing anyone expects when going overseas is to meet friends from New York.

I, Darren, see them, and Sara's surprise pales next to mine. It's not like they look exactly like me, Darren. But it's almost like some Photoshop genius took their facial features, mixed them up, added a few random ones, and got the familiar face that, I, Darren, see every day in the mirror.

"What are you doing here?" Lucy asks, looking concerned.

"We need to talk," Mark says. "But not here."

I, Darren, picture feeling heavy again, so I can jump forward a little more.

We're listening to the M&Ms' crazy tale.

"Who's after you? If you don't tell me, how am I supposed to help?" Lucy says in frustration after they're done. We feel the same way. We can't believe our friends are springing this on us and telling us next to nothing.

"Don't ask me that, Lucy. If I told you, I'd put you and, by extension, the unborn child in danger," Mark says. I, Darren, realize that his voice is deep, a lot like the voice I hear on my voicemail. My voice.

"But what about you?" we say, looking at Margret. "How will you be able to go through with this?"

Margret, who has been very quiet through this conversation, begins crying, and we feel like a jerk.

"Margie and I are both willing to do whatever it takes to make sure our child lives," Mark says for her. "Regardless of how much it hurts us to distance ourselves this way."

"So you won't come back to New York?" Lucy asks. That's our girl, always the detective, trying to put every piece together.

He shakes his head. "My resignation is already prepared. We'll stay in Israel until the baby is born, then come back to New York for the first year of the baby's life to help you guys, and then we'll move to California. We hope you can come visit us in California once the baby is older. Tell her—or him—that we're old friends." Mark's voice breaks.

"But this makes no sense," Lucy says, echoing our thoughts. "If you're going to quit and move anyway, the child should be safe enough—"

"No," Mark says. "Moving barely mitigates the risk. The people who want us dead can reach us anywhere. Please don't interrogate me, Lucy. Just think how wonderful it would be to have a child. Weren't you guys always planning to adopt?"

"We couldn't think of better people to trust with this," Margret says. "Please, help us."

We think she's trying to convince herself of her decision. We can't even imagine how she must be feeling.

"We'll pay for everything," Mark says, changing the subject.

We're in complete agreement with Lucy's objections to the money, but in the end, the M&Ms convince us to accept their extremely generous offer—money we didn't even know they had. We know what Mark's approximate salary range is, since he works with Lucy, and he can't be making that much more than she is. To someone with that salary, this kind of money is unheard of. Nor is it likely that Margret makes that much. We wonder if having so much money has something to do with the paranoid story of people coming after them.

I, Darren, however, don't think it's the money. Could it be the Pushers? After all, Pushers killed Mira and Eugene's family. Could they be behind killing mine? Learning more about Pushers becomes much more personal for me all of a sudden.

I, Darren, can't take any more of this unfolding tragedy. I might come back here someday, but I can't handle it right now. Still, like a masochist, I progress into the memories.

We're driving back from Margret and Mark's funeral. We haven't spoken most of the way. We have never seen Lucy this upset.

"Please talk to me, hon," we say, trying to break the heavy silence.

"I was the one who found the bodies," Lucy says, her voice unrecognizable. "And I did the most thorough sweep of the crime scene. And with all that, I have nothing. It's like a perfect, unsolvable crime from one of your detective stories. I can't take it. I owe it to Mark to find the fucker who did this . . ."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," we say. "You'll figure it out. If you can't, no one could."

"We should have moved," Lucy says.

She hits a weak spot—our own guilt. We wish we had told Mark and Margret not to come to New York for that first year, not if they were in that much danger. But we didn't tell them that. We could've offered to come to California for a year. Something. The biggest source of our guilt, though, is that we thought the M&Ms were crazy. We didn't delve deeper into their story because it led to the most miraculous result—Darren. But now that Mark and Margret are dead, they are vindicated. We don't think they were crazy anymore. We just feel horrible for doubting them and not preventing this disaster somehow.

I, Darren, officially can't take any more. I jump out of Sara's head.

* * *

I'm back in the Quiet, looking at Sara. Much of my anger has dissipated. How can I be angry after I just experienced how this woman feels about me? I feel a pang of guilt for having invaded my mother's privacy to get the truth, but it's over and done with now.

I walk toward myself and touch my elbow.

Though I'm out of the Quiet, Sara is still pretty much motionless, waiting for my reaction.

"I don't know what to say," I say truthfully.

"It's okay. It's a lot to process," Lucy says.

"You think?" I say unkindly, and immediately regret it when she winces.

"I'm sorry it took us so long to tell you," Sara says, looking guilty.

"Even today, you told me under duress," I say, unable to resist. I guess I still feel bitter about that—about being kept in the dark for so long.

"I guess that's true," Sara admits. "Like Lucy said, we had a hard time talking about this for years. Once you don't talk about something, it becomes this strange taboo. But if you didn't already know, what were you asking about before?" She gives me a puzzled look.

"Never mind that now," I say. No way am I ready to spout some crazy talk about being part of a secret group of people who can freeze time and get into the minds of others. I was only going to bring that up when I thought Sara was a Reader herself. "The most important thing is that what you told me doesn't change anything for me."

I know from just Reading her mind that this is what she most wants to hear. I mean it, too. Yes, I'm mad and confused now, but I know with time what I just said will be one hundred percent true. It will be as though this adoption conversation never happened.

For those words, I'm rewarded by the expressions of relief on their faces.

"If you don't mind, I want to go home right now. I need to digest all this," I tell them. This is riskier. I know they would rather I stay and hang out. But I really am beyond exhaustion at this point.

"Sure," Sara says, but I can tell she's disappointed.

"We're here to answer any questions you might have," Lucy says. Her expression is harder to read.

Lucy is right. I might have questions later. But for now, I kiss and hug them before getting out of there as quickly as I can.

The drive to Tribeca happens as if in a dream. I only become cognizant of the actual mechanics of it when I start wondering where to park. Parking in the city is a huge pain, and is the reason I don't own a car. I opt for one of the paid parking lots, despite having to pay something outrageous for it tomorrow. Right now, I don't care. Anything to get home.

Once I get to my apartment, all I have the energy to do is eat and shower. After that, I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

Chapter Fourteen

It's amazing what a good night's sleep can do for the psyche. As I'm eating my morning oatmeal, I see the events and revelations of the prior day in a brand-new light. Even the adoption thing seems like something I can deal with.

I try to put myself in my moms' shoes. Let's say my friend Bert told me a strange secret. Let's further suppose he asked me not to tell it to anyone, and then died. Surely that would count as sort of like someone's dying wish. And as such, it would undoubtedly be hard to reveal the secret in those circumstances. Could that be part of the reason for my moms' lack of communication?

Now that I'm more rested, I also realize another aspect of my new situation: I might have some family I've never met. Grandmothers and grandfathers I didn't know existed. Maybe uncles and cousins. All of these new family members are probably out there in the mysterious Reader community. It's too bad Eugene and Mira are not part of said community. If they were, I would have a way of getting introduced to other Readers. Maybe I'd even meet my extended family and learn more about my heritage.

Also, now that I'm not so stressed, knowledge of my newfound skills begins to excite me. I mean, think of the possibilities. It reminds me of middle school, when I first mastered the Quiet. I'd had a ton of fun sneaking into the girl's locker room unnoticed, reading my first girlfriend's diary, spying on hot older women . . . Now that I think about it, there was definitely a pattern to my early use of the Quiet. 
All those things, however, pale in comparison to what Reading will let me do. It's almost best that I only learned about it now, when I'm more mature and better able to use this power responsibly.

The choice for my first destination is easy.

Finishing breakfast, I get dressed. I grab a Blu-ray disk that I should've returned ages ago and go to the third floor of my building.

I only went out with Jenny a few times. She's not in any way special among my ex-girlfriends, except for one thing—proximity. She lives in my building, which naturally makes her my first stop. Now what was I saying about being mature enough to handle this responsibly?

Stopping in front of her apartment door, I ring the doorbell.

Jenny opens the door. "Darren?" she says, looking at me. I'm tempted to deny it, to say that I'm not Darren, but figure she's not in the mood for jokes.

"I found this movie I borrowed from you," I say instead. "I wanted to give it back."

"Oh. Okay, I guess. I'm just surprised to see you." She doesn't look just surprised, though—she looks angry. Or at least a little unnerved. Figuring there's no time like the present, I phase into the Quiet.

There had been a slight buzzing in the hallways of my apartment building, something I only realize now because it's gone. It's interesting how we ignore constant noises like that. I started becoming more cognizant of just how much we don't register about our surroundings when I first began phasing into the Quiet. So much happens around us that our conscious mind misses.

I touch Jenny's forehead. Though I had been conflicted about touching women in the Quiet, I decide that this is different. Or that Reading is worth it. It's easy to convince myself to let go of certain principles when they get in the way of something I really want.

I try to get into Coherence. It's even easier this time. As soon as I'm in, I do the lightness bit in order to jump deeper into her thoughts—otherwise all I'll see is her opening the door for me, which is boring.

* * *

We're at a club, making out with a girlfriend in order to get attention from the guys. Though this is not where I, Darren, intended to end up, I'm content to stay for a little while. I try to absorb every moment. We dance and grind with Judy, but it's all just for fun, a way to get attention. Eventually I, Darren, lose interest and try to go deeper.

We're getting ready to meet with Darren again. We're a little sad about our relationship with him. He used to be so hot—until he paid attention to us. At that point, his appeal dropped drastically. Why does that always happen to us?

No, we have to stop being our own worst critic. It could be Darren who's the problem, not us. When we saw him at that party in the penthouse, he seemed so confident and cocky, exactly what turns us on. But then he didn't ask us to go to his place that night, coming up with some lame coffee date instead. That's on him. Unless of course we start worrying about being a slut. We wish one day the inner critic would just shut the fuck up.

We pick the outfit for this evening very carefully. The new bra and panties should go a long way. I, Darren, think I recognize what day this is, so I jump further, to the part of her life I actually came here to witness.

Darren is standing without his shirt in our bedroom. He's in great shape. We hope we turn him on. As things progress, we worry a lot less about anything, instead focusing on what we're feeling as we give in to the purely physical part of ourselves.

When the experience is over, I, Darren, jump out.

* * *

I'm back in the Quiet. Okay, yeah. I wanted to experience what sex is like for a girl. And what better way to do so than to find out what it would be like to have sex with me? Not to mention, I'm not entirely sure how I'd feel about experiencing sex as a girl with a guy who's not me. There's no way I'm sharing this with my therapist. She'd have a field day with it.

Both Coherence and moving about in people's memories are getting easier for me already. This reminds me of when I first discovered being able to go into the Quiet.

Skills improve with experience. With the first few trips into the Quiet, it took being near death to activate the strange experience. A fall from a bike was only the first. There was also a fall off a roof into a sandbox, and a bunch of other stunts culminating in the time I fell into that manhole. Crazy, right? Who falls into a manhole? According to my moms, their childhood nickname for me was Taz, after the Tasmanian Devil from the cartoons. That's how much trouble I used to get into. But at least it gave me practice when it came to near-death experiences.

Then it started happening under less dire circumstances, like the time I got into a fight with our school bully, John. I still hate that guy. I momentarily contemplate finding him, Reading his mind, and messing with him. I decide against it for now. I would need to locate the prick, and that's too much of a bother at the moment.

Eventually, getting into the Quiet would happen when I did something as insignificant as watch a good horror movie. Progressively I got to where I am today, where any slight worry or nervousness can be harnessed for phasing in. I wonder what the path was like for Eugene and Mira. I'll have to remember to ask them.

Thinking of those two makes me wonder if I should stop messing around and go see them. No, I decide. Not yet. Not until I have some more Reading fun.

I look at Jenny. She's clutching the door, like she wants to close it as soon as possible. I feel a pang of guilt, and I phase out.

"Sorry if I intruded," I say. "I guess I should've left this by the door. I just figured, since we agreed to stay friends, it would be a good idea to bring this to you."

"Yeah, sure," she says. It doesn't take Reading to know she didn't actually want us to be friends when she said that. "It was nice of you to bring this back, and I'm glad you didn't just leave it by the door like some stranger."

"Okay, thanks. Sorry I bugged you. I'll see you around," I say. It's awkward, but I don't regret this. Jenny looks like she knows she's missing something, but since I'm sure there's no way she'll ever guess what just happened, I don't worry about it.

The door closes, and I'm ready for a drive around the city.

On a whim, I decide to go to the gym. There are plenty of people I can Read there. Plus, it would be nice to get a workout. I exercise mostly out of vanity, but at the same time, I do like to hear how good exercise is for your mind as well as your body. More bang for the buck.

Instead of my usual Tribeca location, I go to the Wall Street branch—I have a car, after all, so I figure I may as well use it. The Wall Street gym is classier.

By the time I get there, which isn't far, I curse the car idea. I would have gotten here much faster on foot, considering the traffic and the time it takes to find a parking spot. That's Manhattan for you. It's got some minuses.

I walk through the big revolving glass doors. This gym in general, and this location specifically, is very high end. Its membership price is ridiculous, but hey, I can afford it. It's nice and clean, which is a huge bonus for me. I might be a little OCD when it comes to cleanliness.

I wonder if it would make sense to exercise in the Quiet anymore. I used to do it on occasion when I was in a rush, but that was before I knew you don't age in there. Now that I know about the aging thing, it seems logical that muscles wouldn't grow bigger from any exercise performed in the Quiet. And growing muscles is really the only reason I do this.

Still, I'm not one hundred percent sure that it would be useless to exercise in the Quiet in general. Certainly some skills stay with you. Just the other week, when I was convinced to play my first game of golf, I practiced in the Quiet so my game would be more impressive to my coworkers. The practice definitely helped, meaning some kind of muscle memory was retained. Another question for Eugene, I guess.

For now, I opt for a real-world workout.

I'm doing chest presses when I see a familiar face. We have a lot of celebrities at this gym, so I try to recall who this is. Then it hits me. Can that really be who I think it is? It's possible—his bank's headquarters are near here. If he did go to a gym open to the public, this would be the one he'd go to.

To make sure I'm right, I approach him.

"Excuse me, can you please spot me?" I ask, pointing at the bench I'm using.

"Sure," he says. "Do you need a lift?"

"I got it," I say, and I do. That's him. Jason Spades, the CEO. The man is a hero to us at the fund. His is the only bank that weathered the shit storm that befell most others—and he got a lot of the credit for it. From what I heard, his fame is well deserved.

"Thanks," I tell him when I'm done with my set.

He walks away, and on a whim, I phase into the Quiet. It's particularly easy in the gym—the heart is already racing, which to the brain must not be far from being frightened or otherwise excited.

It's very odd to see people holding heavy weights suspended in midair, though. It seems like their hands should fail any second.

I walk up to Jason Spades and touch his temple. It's time to flex my Reading muscles some more. I have to work on the meditation to get into the Coherence state for a moment. Next, I picture myself light as a feather. I'm hoping to enter his mind further than what seems to happen by default.

* * *

"Go to the gym today, take a day off, and do some gardening. You can't beat yourself up like this," our wife tells us at the breakfast table. "This kind of stress will give you a heart attack."

"You don't understand, babe. It's going to be the worst quarter results in the company history. Back in the day, CEOs jumped out of windows over this sort of thing," we say. We are grateful for her support, but we can't help feeling that she just doesn't get it. The enormity of it. Everything we've worked for is going to be ruined. No weekends, no vacations, endless sleepless nights—all for nothing.

We also think about the other thing, the thing we haven't even mentioned to her. How a trader was taking unauthorized risks and lost a big chunk of the bank's money. We're going to be held responsible by the investors for that, too. Combined with the quarter results, we'll look like an idiot—just like the rest of the bank CEOs. This is not the legacy we'd been hoping for.

I, Darren, decide I've had enough and jump out.

* * *

I'm speechless, torn between empathy and glee.

I do feel bad for Jason. It's painful to see legendary people like that fall. His disappointment is intense. His wife is getting him through it, though, and that's encouraging. Maybe there is something to the whole marriage thing after all. And he's probably wrong about his wife—I bet she understands what's about to come down. She probably just knows the right things to say to her husband. On a slightly more positive side, I'm glad he wasn't contemplating something insane, like blowing his brains out. I don't know what I'd do in that case. Would I try to stop him? Probably I would, though how to start that conversation without seeming like a lunatic is beyond me.

Anyway, I can't dwell on these depressing thoughts. Not when Jason's tragedy can be my get-rich-ridiculously-quick scheme.

On an impulse, I take out my phone. Did I mention I love smartphones? Anyway, I bring up my trading app. The bank's stock is the highest it's been in the past four years. Clearly nobody has any idea what's about to happen.

I have to act. I check on the price of put options. Those are basically contracts with someone assuring you they'll buy from you at an agreed-upon price within a given time period. It turns out that an option to sell at a lower price than where the stock is right now is dirt-cheap. That's because put options are like insurance, and in this case, people are betting the price will be steady or higher. I have thirty-two thousand dollars in cash in my trading account, and I use it all to buy the put options.

With some very conservative assumptions, if the stock drops even ten percent, I'll still be able to make a lot, either by selling the options or exercising them. If the stock completely tanks, like that of the 'too big to fail' banks during the crisis, I might end up making a cool million from the money I just invested. And, of course, I'll invest more of my money when I'm near a computer. There's only so much you can do on the phone. I think I might even put all of my savings into this, though I have to be careful. The SEC might wonder about me if I go overboard. Also, what if I Read someone else and get an even better tip? My money would be locked up for a few weeks. Though, I have to admit, it's hard to picture a better scenario.

And regarding the SEC, I wish I knew at what point someone shows up on their radar. Not that they'd have anything on me, even if they noticed my activity. They work on proof, unlike the casinos—proof like phone conversations or email records. Things they would not have in my case. Still, I don't want the bother of an investigation.

I can't believe Mira makes her money playing cards with criminals. This way is so much easier. I really hope she doesn't do it for money. If I find out that's the case, and offer Eugene and her some money, I wonder if they would accept. Somehow I think she might be too proud, but I ought to try. I'm feeling very generous right now. I've never had any trouble with money, even without the job at the fund, but now, with Reading, I see that I will quickly reach a new level of financial independence.

I'm so wired now, I have to go harder on myself during the rest of the workout. Lifting heavy weights seems to clear my mind. I'm not sure if that's a common experience or just me being weird. There's only one way to find out, so I Read a few minds to investigate. According to my informal gym-based study, other people also feel good after lifting weights. Good to know.

When I'm done with the gym and get in my car, I text Amy. She's an acquaintance from Harvard. That's another reason to go there, by the way—to make important connections that help you get jobs.

Networking is not why I want to meet with Amy today, however. I do it because she's crazy, in exactly the way I need.

She wants to do sushi, and after some back-and-forth, I give in. I guess I'll have sushi for the second day in a row. It's a good thing I like the stuff so much.

We meet at her favorite midtown place and catch up. She works at another fund, so it's easy to convince her this is just an impromptu networking session. Except I'm here for a different reason.

Amy is into extreme experiences of all sorts. In some ways, she's the opposite of me. For example, she's just bitten into Fugu sashimi. Fugu is that poisonous blowfish that the Japanese never allowed their emperor to eat. The fish contains tetrodotoxin, a neurotoxin fatal to humans and other creatures. If the chef messed up Amy's order, it could be deadly. Each fish has enough poison to kill around thirty people. And Amy's eating it like it's nothing. That's the sort of person she is. It's perfect for me, so I phase into the Quiet.

Amy is still, chopsticks carrying their potentially deadly load into her mouth. She isn't cringing or anything. I have to respect her for that.

I approach her and get into her mind, not bothering to rewind events.

* * *

We're chewing the Fugu. I, Amy, can't get enough of the stuff, while I, Darren, am severely disappointed. The flavor is much too subtle for me. It doesn't really taste like much of anything. Given the health risks, I would've expected this to taste like lobster multiplied by a hundred.

I go deeper.

We're flying in a plane. This is our first non-tandem jump, and we feel the adrenaline rush just getting on the plane. When it takes us to fifteen thousand feet, we get our first 'feargasm,' as we like to call it.

When we eventually make the jump, the feeling of free fall overwhelms us with its intensity. It's everything we thought it would be, and more. Through it all, we don't forget the most important thing—and after sixty seconds of bliss that seem like a millisecond, we pull the cord to open the parachute.

We're already wondering what to do next. Maybe jump naked? Maybe under the influence of some substance?

The flight after the parachute opens gets boring, so I, Darren, seek something else.

We're snowboarding this time . . .

* * *

I get out of Amy's head eventually. Thanks to her, I'm able to cross off ninety percent of my bucket list. Through her eyes, I have surfed, bungee jumped, rock climbed, snowboarded, and even done BASE jumping with a wing suit.

I would never have done any of these things for real, particularly since yesterday I found out something that I'm still trying to wrap my head around: I can extend my subjective lifespan by just chilling in the Quiet. That means I have a lot more to lose than regular people.

I insist on paying for Amy's lunch. It's the least I can do to pay her back for the experiences I just gleaned through her eyes. I definitely got closer to understanding what drives her and other people like her to do these seemingly crazy things. Most of it was awesome—especially jumping out of that plane.

Of course, it wasn't awesome enough for me to risk my life. But now, thanks to Reading, I won't have to. I can just hang out with Amy again. I think I might be getting lunch with her more often now.

After I'm in the car again by myself, I, unbelievably, feel like I might've had enough Reading for today. I want to get together with my new Brooklyn friends a day early.

I text Eugene, and he excitedly invites me over.

Now the stupid car will finally come in handy.

Chapter Fifteen

I park in front of Eugene and Mira's building after an uneventful drive over. The spot is near a fire hydrant, but far enough away from it not to get a ticket. The nice thing about hydrant spots like this is that there's no one in front of the car. This makes parallel parking, a skill I haven't fully mastered, easier. No parking meters either, just a regular spot that's only a problem during Monday morning street cleanings. Impressive. I guess one nice perk of Brooklyn is being able to park like this on the street.

I make my way over to the building entrance. A friendly old lady holds the door for me. Apparently I don't look like a burglar to her, the way she just lets me walk right in. I'm glad, because this way I don't have to play with the intercom again.

Before the door closes behind me, I get that feeling again.

Someone's pulled me into the Quiet.

The door is frozen halfway between open and shut, the world is silent, and I'm standing next to frozen me and unfrozen Mira. I briefly wonder what part of my body she touched to get me to join her before I notice the wild look in her eyes and forget everything else.

"Mira, what's going on?"

"There isn't time," she says, running to the stairs. "Follow me."

I run after her, trying to make sense of it.

"They found me," she says over her shoulder. "They found us."

"Who found you?" I ask, finally catching up.

She doesn't answer; instead she stops dead in her tracks. There are men standing like statues on the staircase heading up to the first floor.

Finally coming out of whatever shock she's in, she goes through the pockets of a tall burly man wearing a leather jacket. Not finding whatever information she was looking for in his wallet, she touches his temple and appears to be concentrating in order to Read.

When she's done, she takes a gun from the man's inner pocket and shoots him. The sound of the shot, even with a silencer on the gun, nearly deafens me, and I put my hands up to my ears. She just keeps shooting, over and over. Then, when the gun begins to make clicking sounds, she uses the empty gun to beat the man's face into a bloody pulp. I've never seen anyone as angry, as out of control, as she is. Tears of frustration well up in her eyes, but none fall.

"Mira," I say gently. "You're not going to kill him that way. He'll still be alive when we phase out of the Quiet."

She goes on with her grisly attack until the gun slips from her fingers. She turns to me, the tears falling now. She brushes them away impatiently, clearly embarrassed that I've seen her lose control like this. "I know that—trust me, I know. It doesn't make a fucking bit of difference, anything I do to them. But I needed that." She takes a breath, pulling herself together. "And now we have to run."

"Wait," I say. "Can you please explain to me what's going on?"

"These fuckers' friends just kidnapped me," she says, pushing her way through the rest of the 'dead' man's three companions.

"What? How?"

"They're after Eugene," she says, running even faster up the stairs. "They're taking me hostage in case they don't find him at home. They want to use me to smoke him out. Only, he is home."

"What do they want with him?" I ask, confused. Eugene is one of the nicest people I've ever met. I just assumed this whole kidnaping business with Mira had something to do with her gambling adventures. The four men sure look like the same kind of guys as the one we ran into at the sushi restaurant yesterday. Why would they be after Eugene?

"I don't have time to explain, Darren," she says, and stops on the second floor. She turns to me and sizes me up, as though looking at me for the first time.

"Listen," she says, "I won't make it to the next floor, let alone the apartment. I'm about to fall out of the Mind Dimension—I can already feel myself slipping. Me running here was a desperate attempt. Even if I didn't pull you in, I wouldn't have made it. So, I need your help."

"Of course—what do you need?" I'm scared. I haven't seen Mira like this before. Sarcastic—yes; angry—a couple of times, sure. Even amused. But not vulnerable like this.

"You have to promise to save my brother."

"I will," I say, and it comes out very solemn. "But can you tell me what's going on?"

"Okay, pay attention. I might not have the time to repeat it. I need you to go into the Mind Dimension, the Quiet as you call it, as soon as my time's up. Once you're there, once you've stopped time for everyone around you, you have to come back up these stairs and go all the way to the apartment. Take one of their guns on the way—" she points at the men downstairs, "—and shoot the door lock to get into the apartment. Pull Eugene in to join you in your Mind Dimension. Tell him these guys are on their way up." She says it all in one breath, wiping her eyes and nose with her sleeve. It might be disgusting from anyone else, but somehow Mira makes even this display endearing. "If you pull this off, if you get him out of this fucking mess, I'll be forever in your debt."

"I'll do it, Mira," I say, beginning to think coherently. "I promise, I'll get him out of the building. I'm parked right outside. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Thank you," she says. The next moment, she's next to me. She hugs me, and I clumsily hug her back. I don't know how to act around a woman in such distress. I pat her back gently, hoping it makes her feel better.

Then she stands on her tiptoes and kisses me. The kiss is deep and desperate, her lips soft against mine. It's completely unexpected, but I return the kiss without a second thought, my mind in complete turmoil. So much for coherent thinking.

"Tell Eugene I'm sorry," she says, pulling away after a few moments. "Tell him this is my fault. I led them here. They picked me up at the gym, and I had some mail on me."

"The gym?" I say, a sick feeling in my stomach.

"Yes. I'm so fucking stupid. I took the mail out of the mailbox in the morning. They found it on me. Our address was on it," she says bitterly.

"Your gym is how my friend found you," I admit. "You used one of your older aliases there. I'm so sorry. I should've told you that."

"No, you didn't know the danger we're in. This is definitely on me. I should've asked you how you found me. And I should've changed gyms. We should've fucking moved a long time ago—"

"Where are you now, and more importantly, who are these people? You have to tell me before your time is up," I interrupt urgently.

"The men in this building are working with the ones who picked me up. I don't know for sure, but I think they're all involved with the people who killed our parents. The same Russian crew. The same Pusher is probably pulling their strings. Eugene can tell you more. I'm in the car where the friends of the assholes downstairs put me. At first they knocked me out somehow, maybe with chloroform or a shot. I don't remember. I don't have any bruises, so I doubt they hit me on the head. When I came to, about twenty or so minutes after, I Split and Read the driver. They gave our address to someone, which led to the group that came here. They work quickly; I didn't expect them to already be here. The ones holding me are going to this address in Sunset Park." She hands me a little piece of paper. I commit the address on the paper to memory. "After that, I Split again and ran here on foot. But it was too far. If I hadn't run into you—"

I phase out before she's able to finish her last sentence. Suddenly I'm standing downstairs again, next to the still-closing door.

Mira is gone.

As she instructed me, I instantly phase into the Quiet.

I run, even though rationally I know I have plenty of time. Unlike Mira, I can spend an insanely long time in the Quiet.

As I'm running, I digest the fact that after she pulled me in and her time ran out, I got pushed out. This is something I wondered about—what happens if you pull someone in, but then get out of the Quiet yourself. Looks like your guest in the Quiet is tied to you. If you get out, they get out.

My contemplation of the rules of this bizarre new world is interrupted by the people on the stairs. The guy in the leather jacket is back, standing there like nothing happened—which makes sense, since nothing actually has happened, at least not outside Mira's Quiet session. I take his gun as she suggested. I'm very tempted to Read them, but I decide to do the important part first.

I run up to the fifth floor. As I turn into their hallway, I see Eugene. He's wearing a ratty hoodie with dorky pajama pants underneath. I fleetingly wonder what happened to the white coat.

He's throwing out the garbage. I don't need to shoot the lock off their door after all.

I touch him, and in a moment he's staring at me, confused.

"Eugene, Mira is in trouble," I tell him instead of hello.

"What? What do you mean?" He looks alarmed.

"Please let me explain. She was just here, in the Quiet. She said she was kidnapped. She said they're after you."

"Who's after me?" He looks panicked now. "What are you talking about?"

"Come with me," I say, figuring a picture is worth a thousand words. "I'll tell you what she told me on the way down. You need to see them."

"See whom?" he asks, but follows me anyway. "Can you just explain?"

"There are some kind of mobsters who came here for you. I'm taking you to them," I say and pick up speed. "Mira said they're the same people who killed your parents. That some Pusher controls them. She said you would be able to explain this to me."

"And now they have her?" he asks from behind me, his voice low.

"Yes. She's in a car, being taken to a place in Sunset Park. I have the address," I say as we make our way to the four men on the stairs. "This is the problem," I say, pointing at them.

Eugene approaches the men. There is an unrecognizable, almost frightening expression on his face.

Without asking any more questions, he approaches the man wearing a blue tracksuit and touches the guy's temple. I decide to also indulge in Reading, since I'm waiting for Eugene anyway. I walk up to the guy in the leather jacket whose gun I didn't need.

* * *

We're driving to the address we were texted. We're happy we called shotgun, as Boris, Alex, and Dmitri are still bitching about having to share the backseat. Alex, who sits in the middle, apparently spreads his knees too wide for the others' comfort.

Haste was of the essence when we got the call, so we had to leave the restaurant, bill unpaid and food unfinished, and get into Sergey's car. Top priority and all that.

"Wait here," we tell Sergey—the driver—in Russian. I, Darren, understand this again, though the words sound foreign in my mind.

Next, we hand Sergey our phone with a picture of the target. If the target happens to waltz into the building behind us, Sergey is supposed to text us immediately.

I, Darren, am able to feel a more pronounced mental distance between myself and my host, whose name is Big Boris. I'm less lost in the experience, and I'm glad about that. I guess I'm getting better at this Reading business. His mind seems less of a mystery to me with this little bit of extra distance.

Encouraged, I try to focus on how he—or I, or we—got the idea to come to this building. Specifically, I'm looking for more details on this phone call he/I/we were recalling. All of a sudden, I'm there.

We're at the restaurant eating lamb shish kebab when we get a phone call. We look at the phone and see the number we memorized long ago, and the name 'Arkady' on the screen. A piece of meat gets stuck in our throat. It's the boss, and he always makes us nervous.

"Go to the location I'm going to text you immediately," he says, and we promptly agree.

We're not done with the meal, but we don't voice our annoyance to the boss. Not into the phone, and not even to the crew as we tell them what's what. We wouldn't dream of crossing Arkady; he's the craziest, toughest, most ruthless son of a bitch we've ever met.

I, Darren, repeat Arkady's phone number to myself over and over, so I can remember it in case it comes in handy later. Luckily, I'm very good when it comes to remembering numbers. Still, I need to write this down, along with the address where Mira is being kept, as soon as I can.

I realize that I managed to jump around Big Boris's mind without the usual feeling of lightness. Though with hindsight, I think I did feel light; it was simply on a subconscious level, like I was on a strange mental autopilot. I'll need to play around with this some more, this jumping about in people's minds, but now is not the time. I need to jump out of this mind and get Eugene out of this mess.

* * *

When I'm out of Big Boris's head, Eugene is staring at me.

"I couldn't find any confirmation that these men are the same people who killed Mom and Dad," he says.

"That's not the thing to focus on right now," I respond. "We have to get you out of this first. Then we have to rescue Mira."

"Sorry, you're right." He shakes his head like he's disgusted with himself. "There's no time to think about revenge—not that I'm in a position to do anything to them right now anyway. I'm not good at thinking under pressure."

"It's fine. But we have to be careful," I tell him, remembering what I just saw. "Their driver knows what you look like."

"I got that much out of Boris," he says, pointing at the short stocky guy in the tracksuit whose mind Eugene just Read. I internally chuckle, realizing the reason Big Boris needs the 'Big' distinction. He's the second Boris in the group.

"Walk with me," I say. "I want to show you where I'm parked."

As I lead Eugene to my car, I ask, "Is there a back exit from your building somewhere?"

"Not that I know of," he says, scratching his head as we stop in front of my parked car.

"How about a way to the roof?"

"That's through the sixth floor," he says, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "I think I can get there if I need to."

"Okay. Hopefully you won't have to. First, we need to try for the main door. They're walking up the stairs. It will take them time to get to your floor. I have an idea—follow me," I tell Eugene and head back to the building.

I run up the stairs, pushing the mobsters out of my way. Eugene follows. I pull the elevator door on the second floor. It's locked. I run to the third floor and do the same thing, getting the same result. The door on the fourth floor opens. So far, so good. I keep running, checking near the elevator doors on every floor until we get to the top, on the sixth.

"Okay, Eugene. Here's my plan: they think your elevator is broken. That gives you a good chance. As soon as I phase out and you're in the real world, press the elevator button. Since the elevator's on the fourth floor, it should get to you in plenty of time. No one is by the elevator on any of the other floors, so there's little risk of any slowdowns."

"Got it, Darren." He smiles for the first time since I've seen him today. "You know, I could've come up with this plan on my own. You're basically telling me to take the elevator down and walk out."

"Yeah, I guess I am. Also, pull up your hoodie and try to hunch as you walk out. Go straight to the car. That's where I'll be waiting, keeping it running," I say. This sounds doable, but I wouldn't want to be in Eugene's shoes right now. "If something goes wrong, run for the roof and text me. I'll phase into the Quiet and come talk to you. Can you phase in every few seconds and walk down to check on the bad guys' progress?"

"Yes," he says. "Since I'll only be spending a small fraction of my available time in each instance, I should be able to re-enter the Mind Dimension without waiting a long time in-between. Thank you."

"Thank me when this is over," I say and begin to walk down the stairs again. He continues to follow me.

"Darren," he says when we reach my frozen body in the lobby. "If something happens to me, promise you'll help Mira."

"I promise," I say. I have no idea how I'll do that, but it occurs to me that the last thing Mira made me promise was that I would save him if she didn't make it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad having a sibling after all, the way these two look out for each other.

"Don't look guilty as you get out of the building," he says, looking in the direction where Sergey, the driver, is waiting for his comrades.

"Same to you," I say. "See you in a few minutes."

We shake hands.

I take a breath and touch my frozen self on the forehead. The sounds of the world come back.

Chapter Sixteen

I do my best to avoid looking suspicious, in case Sergey is watching me from the car. I pat my pockets, take out the car keys, and confidently walk back. The image I'm trying to project is: silly me, I forgot something in the car. I might not win an Oscar for my acting, but hopefully the performance will be enough to keep us off the Russians' radar.

As soon as I'm in the car, the first thing I do is fish out the pen I used to sign the receipt for this car rental and the receipt itself. On the back, I write the address and phone number I kept in my head.

Then I start the car.

I've never been this antsy. I stare at the car's digital clock, but it seems to have stopped. It feels like half an hour has passed when a single digit on the clock advances one minute.

The plan initially seemed simple enough—just wait for Eugene. I didn't expect the suspense to be this torturous. I take a deep breath and mentally count to thirty. It doesn't work.

There is something I can do, though, so I phase into the Quiet.

I'm in the backseat of the car. My frozen self is in the front. I've always wondered how the body I get in the Quiet decides where to show up. Of course, there is Eugene's mention of this possibly not being a real body. That still doesn't answer it completely. Whatever I inhabit now, who decided it should appear in the backseat? How did it get there? Why not show up, say, outside the car?

I open the door and get out. Now that he can't see me staring, I can get a better look at Sergey. He seems to be bored, so I assume I didn't raise his suspicions. Good. I also note the car he's driving is actually pretty nice—a Mercedes, no less. Apparently crime does pay.

I walk into the building. The goons are now approaching the second floor. It's scary how close they're getting to Eugene.

I run all the way up to the fifth floor.

Thankfully, I see Eugene opening the elevator door. This is it. The plan is working.

I go back to the car and phase out.

The noises are back, and the digital clock in the car is supposed to work normally; only it's still crawling. I wonder if using the Quiet messes with your time perception. I mean, how long can a few minutes last?

After what seems like another half hour of worry, but really is only three minutes according to the clock, I phase into the Quiet again. Eugene is still not out of the stupid elevator on the second floor.

I go back, phase out, wait ten seconds, and go back in. I repeat this a couple of times until I see the elevator door open. Yes! Finally.

Since I'm here anyway, I walk up to check on the mobsters. They're between the fourth and fifth floors. Satisfied, I go back to the car to phase out again.

Another few seconds, and I can't take it anymore. I phase into the Quiet yet again. Eugene is walking to the door in the lobby. His hoodie is pulled up all the way. His hunching is terribly fake, but as long as he doesn't look like himself, we should be out of this mess in a few seconds. I go back to the car and get out of the Quiet again, only to return a few seconds later.

Eugene is walking toward me. Sergey, the driver, is looking at him with too much concentration. Oh, no. I walk up to the car and touch Sergey's temple.

* * *

We're looking at a strange guy who just left the building in a very suspicious manner. He's trying to hide his face, so we can't see it, but we think he could be the target. Since we know we're here on Arkady's orders, we have to cover our ass. We take out our phone and text Big Boris about seeing something suspicious. Now it can't be said that we fucked up.

* * *

Done Reading the driver, I run back to the car and phase out. I swivel the steering wheel. My foot is on the gas. I shift the gear in the drive position. Then I phase into the Quiet again.

Eugene is a few steps away from the car. I walk up to him and touch his wrist. A moment later, another Eugene stands next to me, this one fully animated.

"I made it," he says on a big exhale, like he's been holding his breath this whole time.

"No. We're far from out of this. Sergey, the driver, just recognized you."

"Fuck. What do we do?"

"You'll jump into the car, and as soon as you close the door, I'll step on the gas. Buckle up as soon as you can—it might be a bumpy ride."

"Thank you again, Darren," he starts saying, and I wave dismissively.

"As I said before, thank me once we're out of this." Hurrying back to the car, I take a deep breath and phase out of the Quiet.

The next few actions happen in a blur. Eugene runs to the door and jumps into the car. As he closes the door, I stomp on the gas pedal, and we're at the first intersection in seconds.

As we pass the next intersection, I realize that I have no idea where I'm going, but it doesn't matter as long as it's away from that building. On a whim, I decide to keep going straight, and pump the gas again.

I'm going fifty miles per hour when I see the next light turning red a few feet away.

I'm forced to phase into the Quiet. This time, it's particularly eerie. I've never done this in a moving car before. The sounds of the engine, which was working overtime to get us moving faster, are gone. That's strange enough, but what's weirder is that the car itself is standing still. Everything in my brain tells me it should at least move a few extra feet according to the law of inertia, but it doesn't. It's as still as a rock.

I realize I should've done this phasing business at the last intersection. Or even the one before that. It's too late now, though, so I might as well get on with it.

This gives me a chance to check for any pursuers. I walk out of the car and look inside. Through the front window, I see expressions of sheer horror on both my own and Eugene's faces. I walk to Eugene's side and reach into the window. Touching his neck makes Eugene's Quiet incarnation show up in the back seat.

"Darren, what the fuck are you doing? You can't Split like this, in the middle of a car chase."

"Why not?"

"Well, for starters, when you get back, you increase the chance that you'll lose control of the car."

"We'll have to chance it—I'll be careful," I promise. "I had to do it because there was a red light at that intersection."

"Shit," Eugene says, following my gaze. Though here in the Quiet the light is actually dead, he doesn't doubt my powers of observation. And I'm sure he finally understands: the red light means we'll need to stop, and stopping is not a good idea when you've got a car full of very bad Russian dudes on your tail.

"Let's split up," I say. "I'll check out this intersection, and you go back and check on our new Russian friends."

"Okay," he says, turning around and running back toward his building.

I walk more leisurely to the intersection. Eugene has more distance to cover, and I want to give him a head start.

When I'm standing under the traffic light, I turn left and observe the road.

The closest car is about half a block away. I walk toward it. It's a small car, but that doesn't fill me with confidence. Small or not, if it T-bones us, it will hurt.

I open the car door. The speedometer is unreadable—another example of defunct electronics in the Quiet.

I Read the driver. Through his eyes, I learn that he's going thirty miles per hour. I also learn that he's late and is about to speed up. It's unclear what the final speed will be, but I believe he's about to give a noticeable push on the gas.

I make some quick estimates and decide that this guy will prevent me from turning right or going forward. I'll have to at least slow down at the intersection and make sure his car passes.

On the plus side, the car behind this one is a block away. Since I still have a little time while Eugene does his recon, I run to that car and learn its speed as well. It's also going thirty, but its driver isn't in a rush. He's the type of safe driver who slows down a little before getting to an intersection—which is rare, but admirable.

I walk back to my rental and spot Eugene running back. I have to say, I'm impressed with his speed.

"It's not good, Darren," he says when I'm within hearing distance. "They're in the lobby already, and Sergey's ready to pursue us."

"Damn it," I say, resisting the temptation to kick the car in frustration. "I have bad news, too. We have to actually stop on that light. At least to let this one reckless asshole through."

"Okay, but after that, if the path is clear, we need to go," he says urgently. "I Read them some more. They indeed have orders to kill me—and for running and causing them a headache, Big Boris has decided to make it slow if he gets the chance."

"Then it sounds like we don't really have a choice," I say, trying not to wonder what Big Boris would do with me. I'm not on the hit list, but I bet to him it would be guilt by association with equally dire consequences. "There's another car after the one that's the problem, but I think I can make it. Just tell me, should I turn right here or go straight? Do you have any idea where we're going?"

As I ask the last question, I realize that I should've brought it up much sooner.

"There's one place we can go," Eugene says. "Mira and I aren't welcome there. It's the community where Readers in Brooklyn live. It's a long shot, but I can't think of anyone else who could help. They're located on Sheepshead."

"And Sheepshead is where, exactly?" I'm forced to ask. My Brooklyn geography isn't very strong. All I know is the Brooklyn Bridge and, as of recently, Mira and Eugene's apartment.

"Go straight for a bit, then turn left on Avenue Y. It will be a wider street that we'll approach after a few more blocks. Once on it, we go straight, then right on Ocean Avenue. Straight from there until you hit the canal, after that you have to turn left . . ."

"All I got is that I'm going straight for now. Give me a heads up a block before we get where I need to turn."

"Okay," he says. "We should Split again shortly and see where they are at that point."

"Good plan," I say and approach the car.

"Careful," he reminds me.

I take a few breaths and prepare for getting back into driving. I even get into the car in the back, hoping it reduces the disorientation I might get somehow. I touch the back of my head, and the next moment I'm in the driver's seat of the car, my foot instinctively moving from the gas to the brake.

The braking is sudden, and my sushi lunch threatens to come back up. As soon as the car with the guy in a rush passes, I slam the gas again and go on red. The car behind the one that we let through is approaching, but we clear the intersection safely.

We get lucky on the next couple of streets—the lights are green. It's a miracle that we haven't killed a pedestrian. In Manhattan, we would've definitely killed someone by now. People there jaywalk left and right.

"Avenue Y is next," Eugene reminds me, though I actually saw this one coming—courtesy of alphabetically ordered street names. We just flew by W, and this one is X.

"It's yellow," I say, looking ahead. "It'll be red by the time we get there."

"Let's repeat what we did last time," he suggests, and I immediately agree.

I phase into the Quiet and pull Eugene in with me. We split up the same way we did the last time.

As I reach Avenue Y, I see that we're about to have a big problem.

There are too many cars here to safely repeat our earlier maneuver.

I Read the minds of the drivers who'll be closest to the intersection by the time we arrive. It seems like no one is in a rush, or plans to speed. But it doesn't matter—we still won't make it.

"They're already approaching Avenue T," Eugene says when he gets back.

That means they're five blocks away.

"How fast are they going?"

"They're insane—pushing a hundred miles an hour. You saw the Mercedes they're driving."

Our luck is just getting worse. My piece-of-shit rental would be pushing its limits if I tried going that fast, even if I was willing to risk it—which I'm not.

"Can we afford to wait for the light to change?" I ask.

"Not according to my calculations. We have to run the red light, and we have to turn right on the next street. We need to get off this main street so they can't easily catch up with us. It's my mistake. I should've had you turn and zigzag the streets earlier."

"I guess we'll need to phase out regularly and time the turn just right," I say doubtfully. It sounds like we don't have a choice.

The next minute is probably the most nerve-wracking of my life.

I phase in every second, check the intersection, and come back to the car. Over and over. It's hard to drive when you come back, and it's impossible to calculate this whole thing exactly. Still, I think—and Eugene verifies—that I can make the turn if I slow down just a tiny bit to let the Honda closest to us pass by.

The phasing out makes this process play out slowly, like a frame-by-frame sequence in a one-second-long movie stunt.

The Honda gently kisses our back bumper. Brakes screech all around us. I phase into the Quiet to learn what the other drivers will do in reaction to the chaos about to take place. Meanwhile, I also learn what they think of my maneuver, me, and all my ancestors. Out of the Quiet, they express their frustration with a deafening orchestra of honking. That cacophony of car horns and swearing is followed by a loud bang.

The Beemer we just cut off ended up getting rear-ended by an old station wagon. I feel a mixture of guilt and glee. Though no one is visibly hurt, the accident is my fault. On the flip side, however, this might actually slow down our pursuers.

I push the gas and turn the wheel to the right, getting off Avenue Y as Eugene recommended.

"I can't believe we made it," he says. "Now we need to go a roundabout way, and Split to check on our tail."

On Avenue Z, I turn again, and we reach Ocean Avenue uneventfully. The only issue is that we're unable to find our pursuers in the Quiet. At least, not by looking a few blocks behind. We take it as a good sign. We must have lost them.

"Now drive to Emmons Avenue and turn left," Eugene says. "You can't miss it."

He's right. I'm soon faced with the choice of either driving into some kind of canal or turning.

"It's not that far now," he says as we drive a few blocks down Emmons, following the water. I'm glad we're not being pursued at this point; this area is full of traffic.

"Make a left at that light," Eugene tells me. "We're almost there."

Before I get a chance to actually turn, however, the passenger-side mirror explodes.

Chapter Seventeen

I phase in, and the noise of the busy street stops. I pull Eugene in with me. As we exit the car, we start looking around.

"Darren, look at this," Eugene says. He sounds more scared than I've heard him since we started this whole mess.

He stands a few feet to the right of the car and points at something in the air. When I take a closer look, my heartbeat spikes. It's a bullet. A bullet frozen in its path. A bullet that just missed the car. The sibling of the one that must have shattered that mirror.

"Someone's shooting at us," I say stupidly.

Eugene mumbles something incomprehensible in response.

Coming out of our shock, we frantically search the cars behind us. It doesn't take long to find the source of the bullets. Not surprisingly, it's our new friends.

How did they manage to get this close? How could I be so stupid—why hadn't I phased into the Quiet to check on them for so long? Why was I so convinced we'd lost them?

"Eugene, we need to get to wherever it is we're going. And we need to do it fast," I say.

"It's very close. If we turn now, we'll almost be there. Just a few more blocks."

"It might as well be miles if they shoot us."

I've never been shot at before, and I hate the feeling. I'm not ready to get shot. I haven't seen enough, done enough. I have my whole life ahead of me—plus all that extra time in the Quiet.

"Darren, snap out of it." I hear Eugene's voice. "Let's see if we can make this left turn."

Assessing the situation, we quickly realize that our chances of making this turn unscathed are very small. A Jaguar is coming toward us on the opposite side, driving at thirty-five miles per hour—and we'll likely crash into it if we take a sharp left turn. Still, we don't overthink it. A car crash with a seatbelt and an airbag beats getting shot. I think.

I walk to the car, take a calming breath, and phase out. As I'm pulling the wheel all the way to the left, I try my best not to phase into the Quiet out of fear.

With a loud screeching noise, my side of the car touches the Jaguar's bumper. The impact knocks the wind out of me, but the seatbelt holds me, and the airbag doesn't activate. Happy to have made it this far, I slam the gas pedal harder. The car makes all sorts of unhappy sounds, but at least we made it through that deadly looking turn relatively unscathed.

When we're midway through the block, I phase in and get Eugene to join me.

We look at our handiwork back at the beginning of the street. As a result of our crazy turn, the Jaguar hit the Camry in front of it. Its bumper is gone, and the once-beautiful car is pretty much totaled. I think the guy inside will have to be hospitalized—which I feel terrible about. Furthermore, the entire intersection is jammed with cars. Unless they plan to go through them, our trigger-happy friends can't pass.

Still, Eugene walks over to Read Sergey's mind, just in case.

"Darren, I'm such a fucking idiot," he says, slapping his hand to his forehead.

"What is it?"

"They know where we're going. Their boss texted them the address. That's how they caught up with us. I should've realized that if they're working with a Pusher, he or she would know the location of the Readers' community. That they would know we're likely to head that way."

"It's too late to blame yourself now," I tell him. "Let's just get there."

"I'm not sure we'll make it. Sergey plans to ram this car." He points at the tiny Smart Car that happens to be the smallest of those involved in the jam, and I realize that we have a problem. Our pursuers can go through the blocked intersection after all.

"We already have a little bit of a head start," I say, trying to summon optimism I don't feel. "We'll just have to make it."

"Okay," Eugene says. "From here, we can actually walk to our destination on foot before we get back into the real world. This way, you'll know the exact way there."

We take the walk. I realize we'll make it when we see the wall of the gated community that is our destination. Whether Sergey rams that car successfully or not, we can do this.

We're a mere three blocks from where we need to be.

When we get back to the car, I phase back out.

I push the little rental to its limits. I'm going eighty, the tires screeching as I make the next turn. I hear the loud bang behind us and know that Sergey followed through with his plan; the Smart Car is probably toast by now.

It's too late for our pursuers, though. We've reached the gate that separates us from our destination. I stop the car in the middle of the street and am about to phase into the Quiet when I'm pulled in instead by someone else.

"Eugene, you beat me to it," I say when everything goes still. Only when I look to my right, I don't see Eugene.

I see someone else—someone I've never met before.

Chapter Eight

The guy is holding a huge military knife. Threateningly. I don't know what to make of it, since we're in the Quiet. I'm not sure what will happen to me if he uses the knife on me. Not that I care to find out. He doesn't look like someone who makes idle threats. I make a mental note to find out the risk of death in the Quiet. I know injuries don't stick. And yes, I cut myself to find out. Wouldn't anyone? My shrink thought it was 'interesting' that I cut myself in my delusional world—I recall her talking some nonsense about the physical pain helping me deal with some fictitious emotional one.

"I've seen that one before," the guy says, pointing the knife at frozen Eugene. "But who the fuck are you?"

I gape at him. I don't know what to make of his muscular build, short haircut, and military clothing. Is he some kind of Reader security guard?

"I'm only going to ask one more time," he says, and I realize I didn't respond to his question.

"My name is Darren," I say quickly. "I guess I'm a Reader."

"You guess?"

"Well, it's new information to me, so I'm not used to announcing it. Eugene and Mira are the first Readers I've ever met."

The guy's eyebrows lift, and he unexpectedly chuckles. "I've got news for you. If what you say is true, then today—right now—is the first time you've met a real Reader. Few of the people inside consider the Tsiolkovsky orphans that."

"You sound like you consider them Readers, though," I say on a hunch.

"No one gives a rat's ass what I think; I'm just a soldier. But I say if you can spend more than a second in the Mind Dimension and can Read a single thought, you're a Reader. I'm a simple person with simple definitions, I guess. Who cares how you got to be that way?"

"That makes sense," I say. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"You didn't catch it because I didn't give it," the guy says, all traces of amusement gone. "It's Caleb. And knowing my name isn't going to help you, unless you have an explanation for what you and Eugene are doing here. This is private property."

"His sister Mira was just kidnapped. Eugene barely escaped getting killed. There are men coming after us as we speak," I try to explain. "Or at least they'll be here once we leave the Mind Dimension."

"How many?" he asks, coming to attention. The bit about Mira seems to have made an impression.

"There are five of them. They're driving a Mercedes; they could be here any second."

"What else should I know about them?" Caleb asks, his hand tightening on the knife.

"They're some kind of a Russian gang or something. Sergey, two Borises—"

"I don't give a shit what their names are," Caleb interrupts me. "If they're armed and heading this way, we won't be bonding on that level."

"Okay," I say. I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Stay here and don't move. Sam and I have sniper rifles pointed at your heads. If you so much as sneeze, we'll blow your brains out."

I don't have a clue who Sam is, but it doesn't look like Caleb's interested in answering questions right now. As I'm trying to come to grips with his threat, he leaves the car, and in a minute I'm forcefully phased out of the Quiet.

"Eugene, don't move," I say hurriedly. There's a red laser dot on his chest, as though someone has a gun pointed at him—which is apparently the case.

"Why?" he asks, confused.

I phase back into the Quiet instead of answering. I'm afraid of even talking while someone is pointing a sniper rifle at me. What if Caleb thinks my lips moving qualifies as movement and shoots? When I find myself in the backseat again with the world silent, I pull Eugene in.

"I just spoke to some scary-looking dude who's guarding this place. He pulled me in," I explain.

"Did whoever it was say they'll help?"

"Not exactly. He said not to move and that they have guns pointed at us." I swallow. "I saw a laser pointer on you."

"I see," Eugene says, surprisingly calmly. "We'll probably be okay. They'll most likely go Read our pursuers to verify you told them the truth."

"And on the off chance they don't?" I ask, though I can guess the answer.

"In that case, they'll let us resolve our differences with the people following us."

"Great. And we're supposed to just sit and wait?"

"I know I will. The Readers don't usually issue empty threats. If you were told not to move, don't move."

Annoyed with Eugene's ironclad logic, I phase out.

I sit without moving for about five seconds, until I realize that waiting next to Eugene's building earlier was child's play compared to this. I count twenty Mississippis before I phase in. The Mercedes is halfway between the corner where Sergey rammed that car and our current location. The fancy car is barely dented, but Reading Sergey's mind, it seems he doesn't agree with my assessment. He's furious about the damage to his car and determined to make us regret this chase, if he gets the chance. Reading the mind of his friend Big Boris, I get the feeling they'll have to get in line when it comes to doing evil things to us.

I walk back and phase out. I'm now back in the car, waiting for whatever it is that's about to happen.

After what seems like a couple of hours, I think I hear a car motor. As soon as I do, I also hear a gunshot.

I automatically phase in this time. My brain must've thought that shot was directed at me, and this is a near-death experience.

I get out of the car and look at my frozen self. No gunshot wounds. That's good. The only abnormalities about my frozen self are the humongous size of my pupils and the overly white shade of my face. The whole thing makes my frozen self look ghoulish. Eugene is even paler and is holding his head defensively. Like his hands can somehow protect him from a bullet.

I look around. The front end of the Mercedes is visible at the head of the street. I walk closer and realize its tires are in the process of blowing out. They must have been shot.

In a daze, I walk back and phase out.

The sound from the tires exploding reaches my ears now, followed by the screech of steel on pavement as the car continues to careen forward on the exposed rims. Another burst of shots are fired, and I phase into the Quiet again.

This time, just like the last, I didn't intend to phase in. It just happened under stress.

I get out of the car. My frozen self doesn't seem to have any blue in his eyes anymore, his irises swallowed up by the black of his pupils.

I walk to the Mercedes. When I look inside, I wish I hadn't.

I've never seen anything like this before. I mean, I've seen dead bodies in the Quiet, but not of people who were actually dead—or about to be dead—outside the Quiet. This is very different. Very real. These five people have bloody wounds in their chests, and their brains are blown out all over the car.

I feel my gag reflex kick in like I'm about to throw up, but nothing comes out. I'm not sure if it's even possible to puke in the Quiet; it's never happened to me before.

I feel bad about these men getting killed, which is a paradox, given that they were just shooting at me a few minutes ago. I think it has something to do with having Read their minds, like it bound us in some way. There's nothing I can do about it, though; they're gone now.

"Rest in peace," I mutter, walking back to my car. I morbidly wonder what I would experience if I Read one of them right now. Or more specifically, I wonder what I would feel if I catch someone at the right—or wrong—moment, and end up experiencing death firsthand?

I shake my head. I'm not doing that. Besides, I might experience that for myself when I get out of the Quiet; Eugene and I might be the next two targets Caleb shoots.

On the plus side, the Mercedes has no more tires at all. The added resistance should counteract inertia to prevent them from ramming into us—in theory. I'm no expert on blown-out tires.

I walk back to the car and phase out.

A few more shots fire in a blur, and the Mercedes moves a few more feet before it screeches to a stop on its rims. It didn't reach us by at least a hundred feet, but I still feel the need to swallow my heart back into my chest.

Things get suspiciously quiet for a few nerve-wracking seconds, and then the gate shutting us out of the community starts to open.

The guy I met before, Caleb, steps out, with a couple of other dudes who look pretty badass. One of them is toting a sniper rifle. I'm guessing that means he's Sam. He and this Caleb guy look like twins, with their stony, square-jawed faces and hard eyes. Sam is a bit taller, which makes him just short of enormous.

"Darren, Eugene, come with me," Caleb says curtly, and I see Sam shoot Eugene an unfriendly look.

"What about that?" Eugene says, gesturing at the car riddled with bullet holes. He's pointedly avoiding looking at Sam, which I find interesting.

"Both it and your ride will be taken care of. No one will ever find them, or those bodies, again," Caleb assures us.

I manage to feel grateful for having the foresight to say yes to the optional rental car insurance, which seems a bit shallow under the circumstances, even for me.

"Wait," I say, remembering the rental receipt. "I need to get the address where Mira's being kept. It's in the glove compartment."

Caleb walks to the rental and gets the paper I need.

"Here," he says, handing it over to me. "Now, no more delays. We need to have a chat."

And with that, under gunpoint, we enter the private Reader community of Sheepshead Bay.

Chapter Nineteen

We're taken to some kind of ritzy clubhouse. It's in the middle of an impressive-looking housing community. A house here must cost millions. I didn't even know a place like this existed in Brooklyn—it's more like something you'd expect to see in Miami. Such a lavish compound sort of makes sense, though; Readers should be able to find a bunch of creative ways to make money given their abilities. Or, more accurately, our abilities. I need to get used to the idea that I'm a Reader, I remind myself, remembering the snafu with Caleb earlier.

Inside the clubhouse are an indoor pool, a large fancy restaurant, and a bar. Caleb takes us further in, into what looks like some kind of meeting room.

A dozen people of different ages are here, looking at us intently.

"That really is Eugene," says a hot blond woman who looks to be a few years older than Mira. "I can vouch for that."

"I knew that much," Caleb says, but finally lowers his weapon. "And this guy?"

"Never seen him before," she says, looking at me. I do my best to keep my eyes trained on her face, rather than her prominent cleavage. Being polite can be a chore sometimes.

"He learned about being a Reader yesterday," Eugene explains. Then he gives the blond woman a warm smile. "Hi Julia."

The woman smiles back at him, but her expression changes back to one of concern quickly. "Are you sure he's a Reader?" she says, sizing me up.

"Positive," Eugene says. "You know my family history with Pushers. It was the first thing I checked."

"You have to forgive me, but I must verify for myself," Julia says. "You can be too trusting, Eugene."

So these two somehow know each other. This must be what Eugene was talking about when he said things are less strict in modern New York than they were in Russia during his father's time. Despite being 'exiled,' Eugene and Mira are not completely cut off from other Readers.

"Bring in our bartender," Julia says to a short young guy to her left. He leaves and comes back with a young, extremely pretty woman a few moments later.

"Stacy, I just wanted to tell you about my new guest," Julia says, gesturing toward Eugene. "Put his drinks on my tab."

"Sure thing, Jules," the woman says. She probably expected something more meaningful, being summoned as she was. Stacy begins to walk away when I'm suddenly in the Quiet again, and the woman who knows Eugene—Julia—is standing next to me.

"Now, Darren, I want you to Read Stacy," she says. "Tell me something about her that no one else can know, and I'll know you're not a Pusher."

This reaffirms what I surmised earlier: Pushers can't Read at all. Otherwise, this test—and the test Eugene did when we first met—wouldn't make sense.

Without much ado, I walk up to Stacy and touch her temple.

* * *

We're walking into the room with Julia. Oh shit, he's here, we realize, looking at Caleb. Of all the times we've made a fool out of ourselves, the time we got drunk with Caleb is hardest to forget for some reason. Probably because he's a real man, unlike the rest of the guys here. It's mostly a bunch of rich mama's boys in this community. Well, except for Sam and the other guards.

I, Darren, try distancing myself from Stacy, the way I did in the now-dead Sergey's mind earlier. I latch on to her memory of something involving Caleb, and try to remember what happened. I also notice that the feeling of lightness coming over me is overwhelming this time. If I feel any lighter, I might actually start floating.

"Caleb, you can't drink that as shots. It's sacrilege," we say, watching our favorite customer down a shot of uber-expensive Louis the XIII Cognac like it's cheap vodka.

"How am I supposed to drink it?" he says, giving us a cocky smile. "Show me."

"Are you buying?" we say. "I can't afford a three-hundred-dollar shot."

"Sure," he says. "How much for the whole bottle?"

We grin at him. "You don't want to know. My suggestion would be to switch to good vodka."

"What's good?"

"Try this," we say, pouring a couple of shot glasses of Belvedere, the better of the two pricey vodkas they stock in this place.

We take a shot glass ourselves and cross arms with Caleb, planning to have our shot poured into his mouth, and hoping he does the reverse. "How about a toast?"

When we see the expression on his face, our heart sinks.

"I'm sorry, Stacy. I wasn't trying to hit on you," he says, gently pulling away.

Goddamn it. Not this again. What's wrong with the men in this fucking community? We know most others are probably just rich snobs, but Caleb is their security. What is his deal? And Sam's? It's like a girl can never get laid around here.

I, Darren, distance myself again. I feel a little gross. After all, I'm in the head of a girl who's clearly lusting after this guy. What's worse, from Reading her, I completely understood what it's like to want to take a guy home. I need to get out of Stacy's head, fast.

* * *

"Okay," I tell Julia when I'm out. "I think I have something to convince you. She wanted to sleep with him." I point at Caleb. I stress the word 'she' too much, and Julia smiles at my discomfort.

"You men and your homophobia," she says, walking over to Caleb.

In a moment, Caleb's double appears, the animated version of him looking at Julia curiously.

"He says that Stacy was interested in you," Julia tells him.

"That's his proof?" Caleb says, grinning from ear to ear. "That sounds more like an educated guess to me."

"Right, because every woman wants you?" Julia says sarcastically.

"You tell me."

"Not if you were the last man on the planet," Julia retorts sharply.

"Louis the XIII Cognac," I say, tired of their back-and-forth. "Three hundred dollars for a shot; vodka shots; turning the girl down. Any of that ring a bell?"

Caleb's face turns serious. "I do remember that now," he says, frowning at me. "But it doesn't make sense. It was months ago."

He stares at me intently, like he's seeing me for the first time. Julia is also staring. Then they exchange meaningful looks.

"Okay, Darren," Julia says, looking back at me. "You have to be one of us."

She walks toward herself and touches the frozen Julia's cheek.

The world comes to life again.

Julia looks from me to Eugene, then back to me, waiting for Stacy to leave the room. When the bartender is finally outside, the short guy who went to get her closes the door.

"Darren's one of us," Julia says. "I can vouch for that. He's not Pusher scum."

Everyone seems to relax. There had been tension up to this point, but that tension is gone now. They really dislike Pushers over here. Given what Pushers did to Eugene's family, and what I suspect they did to my own parents, I can't really blame them.

"That still doesn't explain what that half-blood degenerate is doing here," Sam—Caleb's annoying doppelganger—says. A few people nod their heads and murmur their agreement.

"Watch it, Sam. Eugene is my personal friend," Julia says, staring the guy down. Sam sneers, but keeps quiet. When Julia turns away, however, the look he gives Eugene is even more hostile than before.

"My sister has been taken," Eugene explains, ignoring Sam. "And I think Pushers are behind it."

This last statement gets everyone's attention, even the asshole Sam's.

"Why would Pushers be after Mira?" Caleb says, his eyes narrowing. It sounds like he knows her.

"They're not after her—they're after me," Eugene explains.

"Is this a continuation of that story you told me about your parents?" Julia asks.

Sam scoffs. "You mean that crazy conspiracy theory—"

"Shut it, Sam," Caleb cuts him off. "Let's get the facts without needless commentary."

I can tell Sam is dying to talk back, but decides not to. I guess that means Caleb outranks him or something.

"Please start from the beginning," Julia says to Eugene. "Tell everyone what you told me."

Looks like I was right earlier. There's definitely some kind of history between her and Eugene.

"I believe," Eugene says, giving Sam a hard look, "that my parents were killed because Pushers were trying to kill my father and me."

"Why would they want to do that?" Caleb asks.

"Because of my father's research. He was working on some things they would've found unnatural," Eugene says, and there's anger in his voice. "He was trying to figure out how Reading and Splitting into the Mind Dimension work in the brain."

The room grows tense again.

"That kind of research is forbidden," Sam says harshly, frowning.

"It's not forbidden," Julia corrects him. Like Caleb, she seems to have some authority around here. "As long as the research is never published and is only discussed with peers who are Readers themselves."

"My father was very discreet. Very few people knew what he was working on," Eugene confirms. "I believe something about his research made Pushers think that Readers would gain a big advantage if he succeeded."

"And would we?" an older woman asks. She's been quiet up until now, but from the way everyone looks at her, I can tell she's important.

"I'm not really sure," Eugene says. "I don't know the practical applications of what he was doing—but I imagine so. Any good science has real-world benefits."

"Eugene is more interested in theory, Mom," Julia tells the older woman. "He's above politics."

"So they're trying to kill you because you inherited the same research your dad was doing?" I decide to butt in.

Everyone looks at me with surprise. They probably assume I already know what's going on since I came with Eugene.

"Exactly," Eugene says. "When I used that first test on you to see if you were a Reader, I did it using the method Dad developed back in Russia. The fact that they tried to kill me today is extra evidence he was killed over his work. They missed killing me that day. I was shopping for groceries." He stops and takes a deep breath. "For those of you who don't know, my parents were murdered when their car exploded right in front of our house. My sister was coming back from school—she saw the whole thing."

Julia walks over to him and puts her hand on his shoulder. Her mother frowns, and Sam looks furious. I wonder if he has the hots for Julia, or just hates Eugene because he's a 'half-blood.'

"Was there any proof of his words in the minds of those men you killed outside?" Julia's mother asks.

"Kind of," says Caleb. "Sam and I checked them thoroughly. There were signs of Pusher activity in the mind of the driver. He drove their boss someplace, and the Pusher made him forget what he heard when the boss spoke to the Pusher on the phone. We couldn't get a visual on the Pusher, of course."

"The fact that there's a Pusher involved is good enough reason to help them as far as I'm concerned," Julia says.

"Right. The fact that his sister slutted around the Russian mob has nothing to do with her capture," Sam says, sneering again. I really don't like this guy. If he wasn't so big and scary-looking, I'd strongly consider punching him in the face.

"Mira was trying to find the people who killed our mother and father," Eugene says defensively. "I told her not to, but she wouldn't listen to me."

"Mira isn't someone who'd be easy to control," Caleb says, chuckling. Is that admiration I see on his face?

"Well, if you ask me, the simpler explanation for the kidnapping would be his sister's gambling debt," Sam says. "As to the original explosion, it's more likely that his father's 'friends' from Mother Russia had something to do with it. Isn't that more plausible than some crazy theory about Pushers?"

"I think the Pusher used the Russian mob for that very reason—so that the police would think the explosion had something to do with what my dad did in Russia," Eugene says, his face turning red with anger. "Only that's bullshit; Dad was the most honest and peaceful man I've ever met."

"Okay," Julia says. "We can debate this until the cows come home, and it won't solve anything. The only way to figure out what's really going on is to rescue Mira—which is what I think we should do."

"Julia, you need to consult your father on this," Julia's mom says, and Julia frowns at her.

"She's right," Sam says. "Jacob would never want to get involved in these exiles' business."

"Well, let's find out, why don't we?" Julia suggests, and walks over to a desk to get a laptop.

Chapter Twenty

"What are you going to do?" Julia's mother asks.

"Skype with Dad, if that's what it takes," Julia responds, turning on the laptop.

As her video call is connecting, Julia motions for Eugene and me to come closer. We gather around the computer, and I see a middle-aged man with tired, beady eyes appear on the screen.

An expression of distaste crosses his stern face as he sees Eugene.

"Hello, Jacob, sir," Eugene says respectfully.

"Hi Dad," Julia says.

"Hello," I say politely.

"Who are you?" Jacob asks, staring at me.

"This is Darren, Dad," Julia says, "a new Reader we discovered."

"A new Reader?" he says, watching me intently. "You look familiar to me, kid. Who are your parents?"

"He doesn't know who they are," Eugene jumps in, and Jacob's face reddens at the sound of his voice. I'm glad Eugene volunteered this information because, as embarrassing as it is, I don't know the last names of my parents. Just their first names: Mark and Margret. I need to find out their last names when we're out of this mess. For all I know, I could have extended family in this very room.

"Everyone knows who their parents are," Jacob retorts, but he's not looking at Eugene. He's still boring into me with his beady eyes. "But we'll continue this conversation another time. For now, I'd like to know what this call is about," he says, turning his attention to Julia, "as well as what he—" he gestures at Eugene, "—is doing in our compound."

"Eugene needs our help, Dad," Julia explains. She then proceeds to tell her father a much smoother, more plausible version of the theory about Eugene's parents. She's good. She downplays the research Eugene and his dad worked on, which appears to be controversial in this community. She highlights the Pusher involvement every chance she gets. "So I want to help them and learn more about this matter," she says in conclusion.

"Hell, no," her father says, catching me completely by surprise. "I thought I forbade you from ever consorting with that half-blood."

"This has nothing to do with my personal life; it's about standing up to the Pushers," Julia says, glaring at her father. Her face takes on a rebellious look, making me remember my own interactions with Uncle Kyle.

"My decision is final," Jacob says. "I want him out of the community. He should be grateful our security saved his life. If I had been at the compound, that would not—"

Before Jacob gets a chance to finish his last sentence, Julia closes the laptop with an angry bang.

This seems like as good a time as any for me to phase into the Quiet, and I do.

When everything is still again, I look around. Julia is clearly pissed. Her mother's expression is neutral. Though Sam is standing a bit to the side, he clearly heard the conversation because he looks grimly satisfied.

It's interesting to contemplate the fact that in this room, everyone could be doing what I'm doing right now, at any time. Are people watching me frozen as they do so? It's hard to imagine myself standing there, not moving, not thinking, as someone else goes about his or her business while I'm none the wiser.

Shelving these thoughts for later, I touch Eugene's forearm.

"What do we do now?" I ask him when he joins me in the Quiet. "That was a huge flop."

"I don't know what to say," Eugene says. "I didn't really have a clear plan."

"This Julia, how do you know her? She seems to be sympathetic."

"We had a class together in college. Then, for some reason, she agreed to date me." He smiles ruefully. "But when her father found out my status, he freaked out. He's very traditional."

"And this is supposed to be more open-minded than Russia?"

"That I'm alive is testament to that," Eugene says. "I thought we might have a chance at getting help here because Jacob hates Pushers more than anyone. Under normal circumstances, anyone even remotely in trouble with Pushers automatically becomes an 'enemy of his enemy' kind of friend."

"Except you," I say, looking at him.

"Right. I think my history with Julia hurt our chances. The problem is, this is Mira's life on the line, not mine."

"If you don't mind, I want to talk to Julia some more," I say, unwilling to give up.

"Go ahead," he says. He looks over at her, his face drawn. There's something in his eyes, in the way he watches her, that tells me he's far from over her. Then he shakes his head, looking away. "I'm not sure if it's going to help, though."

Instead of arguing, I walk over to her and pull her in.

"Darren." She smiles at me. "I was about to Split to talk to the two of you. It looks like you beat me to it."

"It's funny how that works," Eugene says. "I have this time-slicing algorithm I developed that simulates—"

"Eugene, I'm so sorry about my dad," Julia interrupts him gently. My guess is that she wanted to stop a science diatribe. I suspect it's not the first time she's done this. "Let's talk about what we can do for Mira, if you don't mind."

"After the conversation with your dad, I thought you wouldn't be able to do anything to help," Eugene responds, science forgotten as worry shadows his face again.

"I'm going with you," she says. "Together, we'll get her out of whatever trouble she's in."

"No," Eugene protests. "That would be too dangerous—"

"I'm doing this." She gives him a steely look. "I've had enough of people telling me what to do."

"No, Julia, I don't mean to tell you what to do." Eugene immediately backtracks. "I just worry about you, that's all . . ."

Her icy glare warms considerably, and she takes a step toward him.

"With all due respect," I interject, "how can you help us, Julia? This sounds like a job for someone like that." I point at motionless Caleb.

"I'm good at getting into places I shouldn't—picking locks, that kind of thing," Julia says, turning to look at me. "It's a skill that could come in handy in exactly the type of mission I imagine this will become. But you're right, we need Caleb or one of his people. We have to convince him to help without my dad's orders."

"How do we do that?" Eugene asks.

"Can we pay him?" I suggest. With the stock options I got in the gym, money will soon be easy to come by. Even easier than it usually has been for me.

"If you're talking about money, it won't work," Julia says. "But there are other forms of payment."

"What are you suggesting?" Eugene looks puzzled.

"Nothing sinister." Julia grins. "You see, your friend Darren seems to have impressed Caleb. Actually, he impressed both of us with his Reading Depth."

"Oh?" Eugene says, and I recall that this is a sensitive subject for these people. Something like asking about the size of someone's paycheck or his package were the analogies used, I think.

"What does my Reading Depth have to do with Caleb?" I ask.

"Caleb is obsessed with improving his fighting skills," Julia says. "He's already rumored to be the best fighter among the Readers. Still, he's always looking to get better."

"I'm not going to fight him, if that's what you're about to offer," I say, shuddering. I'm not a fan of violence, plus I'm not suicidal. The guy will probably kill me before I get a single punch in.

Julia laughs. If she weren't laughing at my expense, I would say her laugh was nice. In general, she's a very pretty girl. I can see why Eugene likes her, and I can tell that he truly does. I'm less clear why the reverse is true, but it must be, as I catch her giving him decidedly warm glances. It's weird—I always thought geeky types like Eugene didn't do well with women. Of course, this is based solely on my friend Bert, which isn't exactly a valid statistical sample.

"No, Darren, thank you for offering, but I'm not asking you to fight Caleb," she says, still having a hard time keeping a straight face. I'm insulted. How does she know I'm not secretly some Kung Fu master?

"You have an amazing Reading Depth," she continues. "You can offer to take him into the mind of some famous fighters. I suspect he would find the idea intriguing."

Eugene looks from me to her uncomfortably. "But—"

"Eugene, please, I'm trying to help save your sister," Julia interrupts, and Eugene falls silent, his expression smoothing out.

"Can someone actually do that? Bring another person into someone else's mind?" I ask, wondering what Eugene had been about to say. He'd seemed worried about something for a moment.

"Yes," she says, "absolutely. It depletes your power even faster than pulling someone in, but from what I saw, you won't have a problem with that."

"Why can't Caleb do this himself?" I ask. "Why can't he Read some fighter's mind on his own?"

"For all his fighting prowess, Caleb isn't very powerful when it comes to matters of the Mind Dimension," Julia explains. "He can't go back very far at all with his Reading, and he can't do it very often, which is exactly why such an opportunity might appeal to him."

I consider questioning her further to figure out what made Eugene uncomfortable, but then I decide against it. "Fine, I'll do it," I say instead. I can't see any other way to help Mira at the moment, and I find the idea of doing this fighter Reading thing rather intriguing. If Caleb is doing it to get better at fighting, does it mean that by joining him, I could get better, too? Or, more accurately, will I actually learn how to fight as a result of this?

"Great, Eugene, let's go so they can have some privacy," Julia says, grabbing his arm and pulling him back toward their frozen bodies.

"I don't know how to thank you for this, Darren," Eugene says on his way to his frozen body, and I shrug in response, still unsure what the big deal is.

As soon as they phase out, I walk up to Caleb and pull him in.

"Darren," he says with a smirk. "To what do I owe the honor of being pulled into your own personal Mind Dimension?"

"Julia said you might be able to help us, for a price," I begin, and Caleb laughs.

"Did she now? And what did Julia think would be my price?" His grin reminds me of a hungry shark.

"She said you like fighting, in all its forms," I say, hoping I don't sound crazy. "She said I can take you into the mind of a couple of fighters as payment."

"Interesting," he says, crossing his arms. "And did she say anything else?"

"No, just that."

"You really did just learn how to Read yesterday, didn't you, Darren?" he says, still grinning. "What Julia 'forgot' to mention to you is that very few Readers would agree to offer me this kind of deal."

"Why?" I ask, wondering if I'm about to learn the reason for Eugene's concern.

"Because it's considered a private, almost intimate experience to pull someone else into a Reading," Caleb says, his grin fading. "You get glimpses of the other Reader's mind, and vice versa."

"Oh." I try to keep my jaw from dropping. "What does that feel like?"

"I only did it once," he says, completely serious now. "But that time, it was incredible."

I stare at him for a moment, then shrug. "I don't care," I say. "To save Mira, I'll do it. I'll let you get inside the heads of a couple of people of your choice."

Caleb looks like a happy shark again. "We have a deal then," he says, smiling widely. "I'll let you know whose minds I choose."

Why do I feel like I did something reckless just now?

"Oh, don't make the long face," he says, apparently sensing my sudden unease. "I promise not to deplete your Depth. We both know you can go back very far, so getting to see a few fights shouldn't be a problem at all. We won't see how these men began their careers, only something fairly recent."

"Okay, sure." I decide to worry about it later.

"Good. Now pull Eugene and Julia back in."

I do as he says.

"Here's the plan, people," Caleb barks, taking control of the situation. "Eugene and Darren will leave, looking exceedingly disappointed. Julia, I'll meet you in the parking lot after I get the supplies I'm going to need. We'll pick you gentlemen up on Emmons Avenue."

"Who else is coming with us?" Julia asks. "Not Sam, I presume?"

"You presume correctly," Caleb says. "It will be just me."

"Just you?" Julia frowns.

"Oh, ye of little faith." Caleb smirks at her. "One of me is probably overkill for this mission."

"Yeah, yeah," she says. "I don't doubt your machismo, Caleb; I just want the girl to survive the rescue."

"She will," Caleb assures her. "You have my word on that."

"Okay, then let's get back to our real lives," Julia says.

"Hold up. Darren, there's something you should know," Caleb says, turning toward me. "I've known Mira for a while. She's a good kid. I was going to offer to help Eugene anyway—especially since I knew Julia would do something reckless, and Jacob would hold me liable for her actions regardless of my involvement. Not to mention, I like a good skirmish."

"So I didn't need to agree to this deal?" I say dryly, and he shakes his head.

"Nope. You didn't. But a deal is a deal." He winks at me. "I'm really looking forward to all this."

* * *

Leaving the community with apparent dejection, Eugene and I make our way to Emmons Avenue, to the exact place where we caused the last car crash. There are still bits of plastic and glass on the asphalt, but the broken cars have apparently been towed.

I'm deep in thought, trying to understand how I got involved in all this craziness.

"Darren, about taking Caleb into someone's mind," Eugene breaks the silence.

"He already told me; you see into each other's minds," I tell him.

"Oh, good. I'm surprised Caleb was so honest," Eugene says with relief. "Julia should've warned you. She can be kind of ruthless when it comes to getting what she wants."

Before I can reply, we're interrupted by a loud car honk. It's a Hummer—occupied by Caleb and Julia.

Of course Caleb drives a Hummer, I think as I get in.

"Give me that address, Darren. We have a damsel in distress," Caleb says.

I give him the address, and he sets his GPS to the location. With a roar, the Hummer is off, moving through the streets of Brooklyn like a tank.

Chapter Twenty-One

We park in a Costco lot in Sunset Park.

According to Google Maps, the place where they're keeping Mira is an industrial warehouse. What these guys are doing so far from Brighton Beach, none of us have a clue. Brighton Beach is where the Russian Mafia is supposed to be headquartered, according to Eugene. I hope that this actually plays to our advantage. If they do call for reinforcements, it's a twenty-minute drive without traffic, according to Julia's phone. Of course, that assumes the reinforcements are on Brighton Beach, and—this is a big one—that they're going to need reinforcements against the four of us.

Caleb jumps out of his seat and starts rummaging through the trunk of the Hummer.

"Are we shopping for supplies?" I ask, looking in the direction of the huge store. I'm only half-joking.

"I have everything I need," Julia says, hanging a messenger bag over her shoulder.

"They don't sell the type of stuff I need in Costco," Caleb responds, putting what has to be a rifle in a special carry case over his shoulder. "At least not in New York."

He puts on a vest with special pockets and straps the huge knife I saw previously to it, along with a couple of handguns.

"This is for you," Caleb says, handing me a gun.

The seriousness of the situation hits me again. We're going against armed criminals. Just the four of us. A scientist, a girl whose toughness I haven't fully determined yet, and, let's face it, a financial analyst. Caleb is the only person even remotely qualified for this rescue. Despite his unshakable confidence, the odds don't seem right to me.

Not to mention, the people holding Mira have an ace up their sleeve: a hostage.

All we have is our unusual skill set.

Caleb clearly has a plan, though. He leads us to an abandoned warehouse located a short distance from where we parked.

We walk up to the top floor, and Caleb methodically unzips his gun case and starts setting up. The gun is huge and looks very professional—complete with scope and silencer. I wonder if this is what he used to gun down our pursuers earlier. Eugene and Julia, who have been silent for some time, exchange impressed looks. Eugene seems grimly determined, while Julia looks thoughtful.

I gaze around the room we've found ourselves in. It's dusty and dark, despite large, floor-to-ceiling windows—probably because said windows are yellow and covered with grime. Caleb opens one of those windows, lies down on the floor, and aims the huge gun at the industrial warehouse across the street. Then he says curtly, "All right, Darren, pull us in."

I leverage my natural anxiety over what's about to happen and quickly phase into the Quiet. Then I touch everyone in turn, pulling them in.

Once we're all in, we walk down the stairs and cross the road. This part of Brooklyn is so abandoned that being in the Quiet doesn't seem like much of a change. At least not until we cross the road, and Caleb breaks the door with a series of kicks. Even in a scarcely populated area like this, such bold breaking and entering might've gotten us noticed and reported, if it took place in the real world.

"You know, I could've picked that lock," Julia says, looking at what's left of the door on the ground.

"You'll get your chance," Caleb tells her as he walks into the building.

We walk through the door and find ourselves in a large open space. There are a bunch of guys frozen in the process of walking around. They all have guns. Caleb walks between the guys and the windows, looking intently at the building we came from.

His plan is beginning to dawn on me.

He's figuring out how to shoot them from our location across the street. He's triangulating his shots; as soon as we phase back out, he'll shoot.

I'll have to remember to never piss off Caleb.

"Where's Mira?" Eugene asks after examining the hangar.

"Try Reading them," Caleb says without turning. "We need to figure that out, because once we get back to the real world, the information will be lost."

Right. Because you can't Read dead men. A chill skitters across my spine. Caleb is too calm about it. Too poised. His coldness makes me uneasy. I wonder if I, personally, am capable of killing. Even if it's an enemy. Even in self-defense. I don't know, and I hope I don't find out today.

For my Reading target, I choose a big guy near one of the columns. He must be on steroids or growth hormones—or both. Though he's my height, he must be at least two hundred pounds heavier than I am. Being that he's Russian, I wonder if he's trying to look like a bear. He's closer to a gorilla. I catch myself hoping that Caleb doesn't miss this specific dude with his rifle. We wouldn't want to face him in anything but a gunfight.

Putting my hand on his gigantic forehead, I jump in a few hours ago.

* * *

We see Mira playing cards with Vasiliy. There is one other guy in the room with her.

"Na huy ti s ney igrayesh?" we say. As usual I, Darren, marvel at understanding this. He, Lenya, was asking a question about why his idiot bro is playing cards with the hostage. Playing cards with a girl who is a renowned card cheat.

He, Lenya, is picturing what he would do with the hostage. We see images of Mira tied up and abused. I, Darren, distance myself almost instantly and nearly puke—though this is not easy to do in my current position. Can you vomit mentally? This almost makes me want to jump out of this asshole's head, it's so sick. I also feel an instinctive need to protect Mira from ever coming near this guy. I feel dirty. The best way to describe the experience is it's as if I'm dreaming of being this scumbag. I am rethinking my earlier squeamishness toward killing.

I shouldn't jump out, however, as he's about to give me key information. I try to focus on what the guy's body is experiencing—an ache from yesterday's workout, soreness in the knuckles from punching someone, anything except those sick rape fantasies. This approach is flawed, though, because focusing on his body makes me realize he's getting turned on from these disgusting thoughts. Thankfully, before I'm forced out of his head from sheer horror, he refocuses on what he should be doing. And that is locking the door in front of him from the outside.

We lock the door, mentally praising Tolik, who is also in the room. At least he has his gun next to him, and isn't letting the bitch distract him. He also forbade untying her legs from the chair. Tolik will keep Vasiliy in check.

We walk out into the corridor and through a maze of concrete hallways until we reach the stairs. Then we go down to the main hall, where the rest of the guards are.

I, Darren, now know where Mira is being held.

I almost jump out, but I decide to try to go even deeper. I want to know who told this guy to lock the door from the outside. That's very specific. Whoever came up with that could've been trying to limit Mira's range of motion in the Quiet—and thus might be the Pusher fuck behind all this.

I jump further.

We're sitting in a banya. I, Darren, learn that a banya is a Russian spa—a bit like a sauna, but much hotter. Given how we, I mean he, feels when in there, it sounds like something I should check out.

I go further still, jumping around scenes from this goon's life.

Aha.

"Keep those doors closed," Piotr says. We look at Piotr and wonder who the fuck he is to be giving orders around here.

I, Darren, realize with disappointment that Piotr is another Russian I saw in the very room we're in now.

I jump out of Lenya's head.

* * *

"Darren, let's go," Caleb says as soon as I'm conscious of being myself again.

"Give me a minute," I respond. "I need to check that guy." I point at Piotr, sitting at a desk.

"Hurry," Caleb says.

I walk up to the guy. He looks a tiny bit more intelligent than the one whose mind I was in a moment ago. I place my hand on his forehead.

* * *

I'm in, but I don't know where to start. Intuitively I jump around scenes from this guy's life until I find it.

We're watching boxing on TV when another mind enters. Time stops; now there are more of us in his head.

I understand that the guy himself wouldn't have felt the Pusher enter his mind. Apparently people don't consciously notice either us or them when we do our thing. But I am very much aware of it. It's like a ghostly presence. And as I keep Reading, the Pusher begins to give instructions.

'Instructions' is a poor word for it, but I can't think of a better one. In reality, they're almost like experiences the Pusher inserts into the guy's mind. Like the reverse of Reading. The Pusher inserts experiences and reactions to them. How this will ensure the guy does what he's supposed to, I don't know, but it must work. To me, it feels a little bit like a very detailed story of what Piotr should experience when the time is right.

The experience in this case is pretty simple. 'Pick up the phone' is the first step. The Pusher seems to almost play out a fake memory for his target. Every detail of how it would be to pick up the phone is considered: which hand, the weight of the phone in his hand, and so on.

Next comes the instruction: 'Text all the trusted people with a request to meet at Tatyana Restaurant in an hour.'

Finally, Piotr is instructed to get up and go there himself.

After that, the Pusher's presence disappears. Based purely on the person's presence in this mind, I can't tell whether it was male or female. To my disappointment, whoever it was never came into physical contact with Piotr.

I Read Piotr's mind a little longer. I'm curious what he'll recall of the Pusher influence. As I expected, he remembers nothing. He arrives at the restaurant, slightly amused. Isn't it strange how sometimes you drive someplace, but don't even remember the driving process? he thinks.

It seems like the Pusher's influence has caused a mild memory lapse in the target's mind, but overall Piotr acts as though of his own volition. It's interesting to watch how he rationalizes his actions as happening of his own choosing and his memory lapse as one of those times when the conscious mind goes on autopilot and the subconscious takes over. The illusion of free will at its finest. It comes to me all over again how dangerous these Pushers are. Whatever they need done, all they need to do is plant the seed in someone's mind.

Mind-rape, Eugene called it. Now I understand why.

Knowing I won't get any more than this, I decide to jump out of Piotr's mind. People are waiting for me.

* * *

When I'm conscious again, Caleb is standing next to me looking like he's about to say something snide. I just head for the exit, explaining where Mira is as I move. The group follows.

"That's perfect," Caleb says when I finish my explanation. "If they're that far inside the building, they definitely won't hear my shots."

"Did any one of you Read a guy whose name was Arkady in there?" I ask. No one responds, so I assume they haven't.

We return to the room across the street, on the top floor near the window. Our frozen bodies are hunched near Caleb, who's lying on the floor with his eye to the scope of his rifle. I touch my forehead.

As soon as the phase-out process is complete, Caleb fires the first shot.

Then another.

Then another.

I lose count of the shots, as I'm more focused on plugging my ears. In the movies, silencers work much better than in real life. Despite the elongated device on the end of the barrel of Caleb's rifle, the noise is deafening in this room. I hope the area is abandoned enough that no one hears the shots—or if they do and call the cops, we're out of here before they arrive.

His shooting done, Caleb pushes off the floor to a standing position.

"Now things should go more smoothly in there," he says, picking up his gun. Wiping down his prints, he leaves the rifle behind and heads for the stairs.

We follow him all the way down to the ground level of the building we've just fired the shots from.

"Darren, take us into the Mind Dimension again," Caleb orders before we exit to the street. "We need to assess the situation."

"Okay, Sergeant," Julia says sarcastically. "Before we go running around again, can you please tell us the plan?"

"The plan will become clearer after we reconnoiter," Caleb says curtly. "The only thing I can tell you now is that with two armed guards in the room with Mira, stealth is of utmost importance. If I were them, I'd shoot the hostage as soon as I caught wind that some shit was going down."

Eugene looks pale, and a shudder runs through me. Without further ado, I phase into the Quiet once again and get everyone to join me.

We cross the street. I'm getting a sense of déjà vu. The door is locked again, which of course makes sense, but is no less annoying.

"Now you can practice picking the lock," Caleb says to Julia. "We want to be in as quickly as we can."

She goes inside her messenger bag and takes out what I assume are the instruments of a professional burglar. I wonder where she learned to do this. Her people seem too ritzy for thieving.

She struggles with the door for only a minute before we're in.

"Will you be able to do this faster when we actually get here?" Caleb asks.

"Yes. I can get it down to twenty seconds," she says.

We enter the hangar we inspected before. Though I'm not surprised by what I see, my gag reflex kicks in, and I barely hold back vomit.

They're all dead. Shot in the head, every single one of them. There's blood, lots of blood everywhere. Though it's my second time seeing a scene like this today, it's not in any way less disturbing.

Julia looks green too, making me feel a bit better about my own sorry state.

Caleb steps over the bodies in his way and just waltzes to the stairs. We gingerly follow, trying to keep our eyes off the dead people.

After a few flights of stairs, we reach a floor that appears to be the one we're searching for. We follow Caleb into the maze of corridors, which, according to Lenya's—the disgusting gorilla's—memories, leads to the room where Mira is held.

There's a guy standing with his back to us at a bend in the corridor, looking toward the door. Another is standing by the door, looking at the hallway. This means there's no way for Mira to come out of the room, nor for us to turn the corner without one of these men raising an alarm. Not good.

"Okay," Caleb says. "We'll need to take these two guards out. Darren, Eugene, this one is yours," he says, pointing at the guy with his back toward us.

"Ours?" Eugene appears confused.

"You need to overpower him," Caleb explains with a sharp smile. "Silently, so the two guards with Mira don't hear us coming."

Caleb is enjoying this, I realize. Eugene must've acted arrogantly toward him in the past, or maybe Caleb is just a sadistic prick. Whatever the case, Caleb is clearly trying to shock the guy. Or is it my buttons he's trying to push?

"I can turn the corner and quickly grab the guy. When he can't move, you stab him," I propose, looking at Eugene.

"Good plan," Caleb says, glancing at me with approval. "I have some extra knives for you gentlemen."

Eugene doesn't seem as hesitant as I would expect at the prospect of stabbing someone. Have I misjudged him? After all, just because someone is a little geeky doesn't mean he can't be tough. Or score a hottie like Julia, I remind myself.

"What are you going to do?" Julia challenges Caleb.

"I'll take care of that one," Caleb responds, nodding toward the guy facing us.

"Wait—won't he shoot you as soon as you turn this corner?" Eugene asks. I know he's walking into some sort of smart-ass remark from Caleb.

Instead of answering, Caleb walks back into the hall leading to this turn. Then he pointedly turns the corner. In a blur of motion, the knife is in his hand; the next moment, after a lightning-fast throw, it's in the second guy's chest.

Show-off.

"Any more questions?" Caleb asks. No one responds. "In that case, Julia, see how fast and how quietly you can pick that lock."

Julia takes out her tools and does her thing. It takes her about a minute.

"That won't work," Caleb says when she's done. "But we'll get back to that in a moment."

Without waiting for an invitation, we all barge into the room.

The room still looks like I remember it. Or more accurately, how the now-dead Lenya—the gorilla—remembered it.

It was originally meant to be some kind of storage room. There are no windows, and the walls are painted a dull white color. In some places, the paint is chipping away.

Just like in the memory I obtained, there's a guy with a gun near him, though now he seems to be playing with his phone. It's a little odd, since his phone has a pink case. Just like before, there is Mira, tied to the chair, playing cards with another guard. Only unlike before, they're all frozen in the midst of their activities.

I walk up to Mira and touch her forehead.

As soon as she phases in, her eyes look like they're about to jump out of their sockets. She has an expression on her face I don't recognize. Then I get it—I've never seen her this genuinely happy to see me before. Her eyes scan the room, and she sees Eugene. Her face lights up.

"You did it," she says, turning toward me, and I hear the joy and disbelief in her voice. "You saved him. I don't know how I can thank you."

"I said I would," I say, trying not to think of all the ways I'd want Mira to express her gratitude. For the first time in my life, I understand the motivations of those hero types. For a fleeting moment, I feel like I really did something important. Something impressive. It's a great feeling.

"But what are you doing here?" she says, her expression changing as she fully registers the situation.

"What does it look like?" Caleb says. "We're rescuing you."

"In that case, why did you bring Eugene?" She looks at me like I'm an idiot, and all my heroic feelings deflate. Like I could've stopped a brother from trying to save his little sister?

"It's too dangerous," she says, turning toward Eugene. "You shouldn't have come." She looks from Caleb to Julia to me. Then at the corridor through the open door. "This is all of you?" she asks, her shoulders slumping.

"It's going to be enough," Caleb says.

She shakes her head. "This is going to be impossible." She doesn't wait for anyone to respond before she walks out of the room. She must not realize that we—well, Caleb—already took out the lion's share of her captors.

"As friendly as ever," Caleb says, giving me a wink. "Julia, go out and then lock and unlock this door again. Try to do it quicker and quieter this time."

We stay in the room to judge Julia's work. After the initial click of the lock, the rest of the stuff she does is pretty subtle, but still audible if you know what to listen for. She seems to finish faster this time.

Caleb waves at us to follow him and walks out of the room—to follow Mira, I presume.

"Do it ten more times," he says to Julia on the way out.

The three of us try to find Mira. We walk a couple of floors up. Everything seems abandoned. We find Mira on the seventh floor, punching the wall in frustration.

"What is it?" Eugene asks her.

"That fuck isn't here," she says, punching the wall again.

"Who?" Eugene says.

"The Pusher. The one behind all this. That chicken shit's not here. That was my main hope, the only silver lining to this. I thought he'd be overseeing the whole thing."

"I Read a mind earlier," I say. "The Pusher who influenced that mind was very careful to avoid revealing himself to his target."

"Then this is pointless. You guys should go back and wait. Maybe he'll show up eventually," she says.

"That's not happening," Caleb says, standing between her and the wall she's been punching. "Here is what is happening. You'll try to be as loud as possible as soon as you hear any funny sounds coming from outside your door. Talk loudly, ask questions—or even better, fall from your chair. That would distract them and get you out of harm's way."

"Yeah, yeah, don't try to teach a fish how to swim," she mutters. Then she takes a deep breath and glances at Eugene before turning her attention back to Caleb. "Look, even with those dead bodies I just saw downstairs, busting in here is going to be dangerous," she says in a more even tone. "Promise me that Eugene won't take part in this. They took me to smoke him out in the first place, so if you bring him, you'll be playing right into their hands."

"Yes, so he told us. We have a deal," Caleb says before Eugene starts protesting. "I won't force Eugene to come with us."

Mira gives him a disbelieving look, but seems a bit calmer as we make our way back to the room. I get the feeling that there's definite history between Mira and Caleb. I don't like it, not one bit. Though it can't be romantic, can it? He's a little too old for her, and he called her 'kid.' Maybe it's a bond between two kindred, sarcastic, pain-in-the-ass spirits?

When we rejoin her, Julia is still diligently practicing unlocking that lock.

Upon Caleb's request, she does a final run, which is extremely quick. She's way faster and much quieter than she was before. For the first time, I'm beginning to think we can pull this off.

"So what's the exact plan?" I ask.

"While Julia works on the door, Mira falls on the floor with her chair. Then I shoot these two," Caleb says, pointing his index finger in a gun motion at the two frozen guards.

"I'm not sure I can fall like that," Mira says, looking at her frozen self. Her hands are free, but her legs are duct-taped to her chair.

"We'll just have to practice that part as well," Caleb says, his eyes crinkling in the corners. I get the feeling he's going to enjoy this part, too.

"You want to tie me to a chair so I practice falling?" Mira says. She doesn't look happy.

"Exactly." Caleb grins. "See, Eugene, you're not the smartest one in the family."

Eugene and I free the frozen Mira from the chair and place her limp body gently in the corner of the room. I accidentally touch her exposed skin, but nothing happens. I guess once we pulled one Mira into the Quiet, touching her frozen self doesn't produce more Miras. It would have been kind of cool if it did.

Mira sits down in the chair and, muttering something in Russian under her breath, grudgingly allows us to tape up her legs with the duct tape her guards left lying around. She's now set up exactly as her frozen self was a few minutes ago.

She leans her body to the right, but the chair doesn't fall. She shakes it back and forth, and slowly, almost grudgingly, the chair falls over.

"Are you okay, sis?" Eugene asks her.

"Yes. Pick me up," she says, trying to push herself off the floor. Her position looks extremely uncomfortable.

"That was too slow," Caleb says. "Try again."

I get up and walk over to a dingy couch standing in the furthest corner of the room. I take the cushions from it, and lay them on either side of Mira. No point for this to hurt more than it already must.

"Thanks, Darren," she says before she begins shaking the chair again.

The cushions help, but it's clearly an unpleasant practice. She does it again and again over the course of about twenty minutes. We try to give tips—which are usually met with disdain.

Eventually Caleb decides she won't be able to improve further.

About five seconds to fall over is the best she can do.

"We need a different strategy to distract them," I say. "Besides falling, I think you should also start yelling. Scream 'mouse' or 'spider' at the critical moment and start waving your arms, acting like you're freaking out right before you fall."

Julia chuckles. Mira gives me a deadly glare. Caleb is about to say something, but Eugene shakes his head at him behind Mira's back. He must actually think it's a good idea.

"Just do it, sis," Eugene tells Mira. "It won't be the first time. Remember when you jumped on the table—"

"Don't say another fucking word," Mira interrupts him. "I'll do it."

And before her brother has a chance to say anything more, she quickly walks up to her own frozen body—which is now lying on the floor—and touches that version of herself on the cheek. That makes her phase out, and she's no longer in our company.

Only the Mira on the floor remains.

"But I was about to ask her to practice the new strategy," Caleb says with visible disappointment.

I can't help myself. I burst out laughing.

"This is a pretty serious situation, guys," Eugene says, but I can tell he's trying his best to suppress a smile. Despite the danger we're in—or maybe because of it—everyone finds the idea of Mira freaking out like that hilarious. Then again, Eugene implied that she's acted like this before. Maybe when she was little? It's hard to picture it now. I wish I could Read Eugene's or Mira's mind.

We exit the room. Caleb holds the door for everyone, making me wonder why he's being such a gentlemen all of a sudden. As soon as we're all out of the room, I find out.

He's decided to do a little practice on his own.

All I hear is a quiet rustling of clothing, and the next moment Caleb is holding two guns, one in each hand. Two shots fire at the same time. Two men in the room each have a bullet in their head.

I begin to feel even more confident about the success of this mission.

We walk back to our bodies and phase out.

"Any last words?" Caleb says to us all.

"I'm coming with you," Eugene says, his voice filled with determination.

"Of course," Caleb says. "I said I wouldn't force you. But if you volunteer, well, that's a different matter." He hands Eugene a knife. "You're in charge of stabbing the guy in the corridor, remember?"

I get a knife as well. Great. As though the gun I was given earlier wasn't bad enough.

We cross the street, for real now. The area is pretty dead, yet it seems infinitely more alive now than when we crossed this road in the Quiet—mainly because all the ambient noises of Brooklyn are back. With the increase in noise, my adrenaline levels go up as well.

Julia picks the lock on the front door in twenty seconds—just as she said she would. So far, so good. We walk through the hangar. My heart rate becomes a tiny bit calmer. This part isn't all that different from the version in the Quiet. The heavy walls block most of the sounds of the city. The dead men are just as frozen in death here as they were in the Quiet.

"Situation check," Caleb whispers when we're near the stairs.

I phase in, and pull everyone else in with me. We walk up the stairs until we get to the corridor and turn the corner again. In the few minutes it took us to walk across the street and through the hangar, the men have not moved; they stand in pretty much the same positions.

"Good," Caleb says. "We'll do another check, right before turning the corner. This will be my signal." He gives us a thumbs-up sign. Not the most imaginative signal, but it gets the point across.

We walk back and phase out. Now we finally get to make the trip up the stairs in the real world.

We all try to make our walk stealthy, but only Caleb succeeds. We get to the corner, and he does his thumbs-up sign. I phase in and pull them all in again. The men are still standing as they were.

"Are you ready?" Caleb says, looking from me to Eugene.

"Ready," I say.

"Let's get this over with," Eugene says.

I notice Caleb never asked to rehearse this part. I bet I know why: he realizes that if given enough information, Eugene might lose his nerve. Or maybe he thinks I'll lose mine.

We phase out. Everyone looks at me expectantly. I take a deep breath and turn the corner.

My heart is racing a hundred miles per hour, but I ignore it and grab the now-very-familiar Russian as soon as I turn the corner, placing my hand over his mouth to muffle his scream. I hold him as tightly as I can, but he struggles and I know there's very little time.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Caleb make his move. I can't afford to pay attention to him, though.

I rotate my body, and Eugene is there with the knife. It's unclear if he jams the guy with it, or if I push the guy onto the knife myself. However, it's quickly clear that it's done—the knife is there, in the man's stomach.

He makes a horrible grunting sound. My own stomach heaves, but I hang tight.

The grunt is echoed by the sounds of another wounded guard—the one Caleb must've thrown the knife at.

The guy I'm holding stops struggling, and I feel him going limp. I don't want to think about what that implies as I let him slide to the floor. Eugene looks pale as he steps back, dropping his knife on the ground.

Caleb is next to the guy by the door already and is holding the man's throat in a tight grip, blocking off air and preventing further sounds.

Julia begins to pick the lock on the door. I walk toward her and Caleb, trying to avoid looking at all the blood.

I hear faint screams inside the room. Mira must have started her performance.

Caleb eases the now-limp body to the floor.

I focus on the good things. The plan is going smoothly.

I try not to think of the gruesome parts.

Not surprisingly, there's a difference between stabbing people in the Quiet and seeing it done in real life. Blood flows. People actually die. The difference is huge. I can also actually throw up in the real world, an urge I fight with all my strength.

Julia is done with the door and looks at Eugene in triumph.

In a split second, her face changes—dread contorting her features. Her fright is contagious. Instantly I turn, so I can see what she sees.

Eugene is still standing next to the man he stabbed, but what he's not seeing, because he's looking away, is that the guy isn't dead, like we thought. He's lying on the floor and holding a gun aimed at us.

Before I can even digest the image in front of me, there is a shot.

It's the loudest thing I've ever heard. It's like my ears explode. Like the most intense thunder you could ever imagine.

Everything seems to slow, and then goes quiet. A very familiar kind of quiet. I realize that I phased in without consciously trying. Near-death experiences are becoming a habit today.

In the safety of the frozen world, I look around. There is a bloody circle on Julia's left shoulder. Her face is frozen in shock. Despite myself, I'm relieved. Though she's clearly been shot, even without being a doctor I know that shoulder wounds are rarely fatal. The real reason for my relief, however, is that my own frozen body is unscathed.

The biggest surprise is Caleb, who I thought was still in the process of laying the dead guard on the ground. In the time it took me to phase into the Quiet, he's already holding a gun. And the gun has smoke around its muzzle. He must've managed to take it out and shoot, almost as soon as the other shot was fired. Or maybe he saw it coming? Maybe he was phasing in every second, assessing the situation around us—something I now realize I should've been doing. Still, Caleb's speed is astounding.

The most incredible part is that I can actually see the bullet. It's a few inches away from the shooter's head.

With dread, I open the door into the room with Mira.

It's bad.

The guy who was playing cards with her is now standing. He's trying to get out of the way of his partner—the more suspicious guard, who's now pointing his gun down at Mira. She, with her chair, is lying on her side on the floor. She completed the difficult maneuver, as we'd planned. Only now it might be for nothing. The noise of the gunshots ruined everything.

I get closer to the suspicious guard and inspect the situation. The muscles in his wrist are taut. He looks like he's about to pull the trigger.

I refuse to accept this.

I touch his forehead.

* * *

We're still contemplating what to say in the text to the hostage's brother, whose number we located in the girl's pink phone, when we hear the shots outside the room.

Someone must be trying to free the hostage. Unbelievable. What idiot would even try something so stupid?

We know we need to follow orders, which were very explicit on this. Arkady made us repeat them. If any shit goes down, first order of business is to shoot the girl. After that, we must deal with whoever might've come after her. If we kill her brother, we get a big bonus.

We take the gun and aim. We're pressing the trigger.

* * *

I get out of his head. I have no doubt about it now. He's shooting. In his head, I felt my—or I should say his—finger squeeze the trigger. His brain already sent the instructions to his arm. In a second after I phase out, a shot will fire. A shot aimed directly at Mira.

If only he was just reaching for his gun. If only his partner would trip and fall to cover her somehow. If only the door was wide open already—I'm right behind it, ready to shoot.

I want to scream. I'm ready to kill. Only it's too late.

I can't just watch Mira die. I have to do something.

Not sure why, I approach the guard who was looming over Mira. The one who was playing cards with her before. Vasiliy, I remind myself.

I touch his forehead.

* * *

We're looking at the girl on the floor. We know what Tolik is about to do. We feel faint regret. We think it's a shame she'll be killed. We think it's a waste of a very nice female specimen.

I, Darren, realize that this one likes Mira in his own crude way. A way that's not altogether different from the way I like her. It makes this experience odd. It also seems to push me further with what I'm trying to do.

Without fully realizing what I'm doing, I focus on his regret. On the fact that he likes her. Even on his lust for her.

I picture it growing. I picture what regretting losing someone very close to me would be like and channel it into Vasiliy. I recall wanting to fuck Mira and channel those memories into him. I recall what losing my grandmother felt like, which has nothing to do with Mira, but seems useful, so I channel that into him, too. It feels like I'm pouring my essence into him. As if for a moment, we merge into the same person.

It feels like I'm achieving something, so I continue further, almost becoming my host.

I think of Tolik. He's my best friend. If I just get in the way of the gun, he'll never shoot. He'll stop, and then I can talk to him, explain why the girl must be spared. I picture us coming up with a scheme. We tell Arkady she's dead. Tolik gets full credit and a huge bonus. She and I disappear from NYC, maybe even from the US. I picture how grateful the girl will be when she realizes she owes her life to me.

I finally picture the simple action that can make it all come together. I need to fall on top of her. From where I'm standing, it will take less than a second to just fall down.

I will feel her body under my own. I'll be her strong protector. A real man. All I need to do now is show a little courage. And then, of course, Tolik will stop. He'll never shoot me. All he needs to see is that that she's important, and it will all be over . . .

* * *

As if in a trance, I feel almost pushed outside his head. I'm not sure what just happened.

I realize that in reality, there is only one thing I can do. I can open that door, and I can shoot Tolik. And hope I make it—hope I shoot him in time.

My brain screams at the impossibility of making the shot in time, so I try to hope that whatever I did inside Vasiliy's head will help.

I open the door. I push my frozen self out of the way and take his exact position. I close the door behind me.

Now, I try it in the Quiet. A test.

I open the door. My hand is steady. I shoot. His temple is red. It all takes no more than two seconds.

I'm ready. I take a breath and phase out.

I open the door for real this time. My hand is even steadier here than it was in the Quiet.

I hear the Russian's shot as I squeeze the trigger.

Chapter Twenty-Two

My own gun fires—but I don't hear it. I phase into the Quiet once more.

Tolik's head is frozen mid-explosion. Bits of his skull and brain are caught mid-flight toward the wall behind him. I killed him, but I don't even register that fact. Instead I focus on something else entirely—and what I see makes me feel like I'm about to burst with joy.

Vasiliy, the guy whose head I was in just a moment ago, is on top of Mira.

He took the bullet that was meant for her.

I roll him off her and see no signs of the bullet having traveled all the way through. It hit him in the right shoulder blade.

Mira is unharmed, other than some minor bruises due to falling with the chair. She hasn't been killed.

I know there is a possibility, however remote, that the bullet is still about to go through Vasiliy. I might've phased in at just the right fraction of a second to make the bullet freeze on its way out.

I run to my body and slam into myself, roughly grabbing whatever exposed skin comes my way.

I am in the real world again, hearing the sharp crack of the shot I just fired.

I rush into the room.

I ignore the sound of Tolik's body falling to the floor where I shot him. My entire focus is on Vasiliy, now crumpled on top of Mira.

He moans in pain.

She's quiet.

My heart sinks.

Tolik's shot must've reached her through Vasiliy's body.

Filled with panic, I roll him off her as fast as I can. His moans become screams at my rough treatment, but I barely notice his pain as I see Mira lying there, alive and unharmed.

Just as she was in the Quiet.

She's strangely silent, however, and I decide that she must be in shock. Feeling a tiny fraction calmer, I start cutting away the duct tape from her legs.

"You're a hero, Darren," Caleb says from the door. For the first time, I hear no sarcasm in his voice. "You should know I don't throw around compliments lightly."

"Help me untie her," I say, not knowing how to respond to that.

"Can't," he says curtly. "I need to bind Julia's shoulder."

I remember Julia's wound and I nod, continuing to work on the tape by myself. Mira still doesn't say a word. Her silence begins to worry me.

Finally, I succeed in cutting through the tape, and Mira slowly gets to her feet, still without speaking. Then, not looking at me, she walks to the gun that fell from Tolik's hand and picks it up.

She's going to finish Vasiliy off, I realize.

But instead of pointing the gun at the injured mobster, she points it at me.

I barely have a chance to register the tears gleaming in her eyes and the shaking of her hand before I instinctively phase into the Quiet.

Battling my shock and disbelief, I approach her and brush my fingers against her frozen cheek, determined to understand her strange behavior.

Instantly a moving Mira joins me in the Quiet. She wipes the tears from her eyes, looking around the room, and as her gaze lands on me, the expression on her face turns to fury. Stepping toward me, she slaps my face, the way wives do to cheating husbands in movies. Then she punches me in the stomach.

I'm stunned. What the hell is she doing?

"You fucking Pusher!" she says through clenched teeth. "Don't you ever come near me again!"

Before I can react, she turns around and touches her frozen self.

Numb, I look at my own self standing in front of her gun. His face looks more confused than it did on the day I first discovered being able to 'stop time.'

I now know what upset her so much.

I now understand what I did to Vasiliy.

Mira must've phased in after the shots went down. She must've Read Vasiliy. She must've seen the telltale signs of what happened in his mind.

Signs similar to what I saw earlier in Piotr's mind.

Signs of what I refused to really think about, until now.

I made Vasiliy protect her with his body.

I made him fall.

I overrode his free will.

I pushed him.

I'm what she hates most in the world.

A Pusher.

I touch my confused self on the forehead.

I am back in the real world, with Mira's gun in my face. It's shaking more than it did before.

Is this really how it's going to end? Is she going to kill me? I'm so numb that I just stand there, waiting for it.

But no. She slowly lowers the gun. Then, hurrying over to Tolik's dead body, she picks up her pink phone from the table next to him and runs out of the room.

Finally shaking off my strange numbness, I run after her.

"What the fuck was that?" Caleb yells after me, but I don't have time to explain.

I keep running after her, gaining speed, but she's fast. After chasing her down a couple of flights of stairs, I slow down and then stop. Even if I catch her, I have no idea what I'll say.

Feeling exhausted all of a sudden, I go back and rejoin Eugene and Caleb, who seem very confused. Julia is bleeding, her face deathly pale, and Eugene is hovering next to her. His face is almost as pale as hers.

"What's going on?" Caleb asks, frowning at me.

"Don't ask," I say. "Please."

"Is Mira okay?" he persists.

"I think she is, yes," I answer wearily. "I mean, she's not hurt—physically, at least."

"Fine. Then help me," Caleb says. He gives Eugene the keys and tells us to get the car. Meanwhile, he picks Julia up like she weighs nothing, and starts down the stairs. Everything seems to happen in a haze.

Eugene and I get the car in silence. He looks back toward Caleb and Julia once, then looks around, probably hoping to spot Mira. She's nowhere to be seen, but we find the car in the Costco parking lot, where we left it. I drive to the curb, pull up, and Caleb carefully puts Julia in the back. Caleb reclaims the driver's seat, while I ride shotgun. Eugene gets in the back with Julia. I hear them talking quietly, but make out only her repeated insistence that she's fine.

In five minutes, we're parked at the Lutheran Medical Center. Caleb gets out as soon as the car's stopped. He leans in Julia's window. "You holding up okay?"

"Fine," she says. "Really. I'm okay." She doesn't look okay—she looks like she's about to pass out. Eugene doesn't look much better.

"I'll be right back," Caleb says. "Give me a minute."

As soon as he's gone, I hear the sound of Eugene's text alert go off. I don't know why, but the sound alone fills me with dread.

"Darren," Eugene says after a few seconds. "Mira just texted me. She's on her way here on foot. She says she wants you gone when she arrives."

I don't know what to say. "Okay. I'll go then."

"What happened?" Eugene asks, his face the very definition of confused.

"Talk to Mira," I say tiredly. "Please don't make me explain."

We share an uncomfortable silence. Through the haze surrounding me, I'm aware of Caleb returning a few minutes later with a wheelchair for Julia. How did he get one so quickly? Did he show his gun to someone in the hospital? Surely not, or security would be right behind him, I reason dazedly.

Caleb says something to Eugene and sends him on his way with Julia. Something about making sure she's okay and about being back once he drops 'the kid' at his house. He also suggests some bullshit cover story to explain the gunshot wound. I listen, but I'm mentally somewhere else.

When Eugene and Julia enter the hospital, Caleb starts the car.

"Are you okay, Darren?" Caleb asks me as he pulls out of the hospital parking lot.

"Yeah, sure," I say on autopilot. I'm far from okay, but he doesn't need to know that.

"All right then, I'll take you home. Give me your number, and I'll get in touch with you soon. I've almost made up my mind about the first person whose fighting we'll experience."

"Great."

"You're in shock," Caleb says. "It happens sometimes after a battle. Even with the best of us."

I just nod. I don't care about his theories or approval. I don't care about anything. I don't want to think.

My phone rings. It's my mom Sara.

"Do you mind?" I ask Caleb. I think it's very rude to talk on a cell in front of someone.

"No worries," he replies, and I answer the call.

"Hello?" I say.

"Darren, I was beginning to worry," Sara says. This makes my stupor fade a little. Beginning to worry is Sara's default state. I don't believe the woman has ever called me when she was chill. Of course, if she thought I was in even a fraction of the trouble I've been in today, she would go to her second-favorite state—panic about me.

"I'm okay, Mom. I was just busy today." Understatement of the century.

"You aren't mad at us?" she asks, and I immediately realize I've been an ass. I should've called to reassure them about the adoption business from the day before.

"No. We're good, Mom," I say, forcing certainty into my voice. Better late than never, I always say.

She seems to believe me, and we move on to the usual 'how are you' chat that we have every day. The whole thing is surreal.

When I get off the phone, Caleb is just a few blocks from my place. We ride in a companionable silence the rest of the way.

"This is you," Caleb says when we get to my building.

"Thanks for the ride," I say, extending my hand to Caleb. "And for helping us out. That was some good shooting you did."

He shakes my hand firmly. "You're welcome. You weren't bad yourself, and I know these things. Get some sleep," he says, and I nod in agreement.

It's the best idea I've heard in a long time.

I get to my apartment, eat something, shower, and get into bed. Once there, I just sit for a moment, looking outside. It's still light out there, the sun only beginning to set. I don't care, though. I'm exhausted, so I lie down.

When I'm this tired, time seems to slow. It's like my head approaches the pillow in slow motion.

I think about everything that's happened to me today. I think about the things that are about to happen. In those couple of seconds it takes for my head to hit the pillow, I think of anything but the fact that Mira will hate me now. Anything but the biggest question of all.

What am I?

And then my head finally touches the pillow, and I'm out, falling asleep faster than I have in my entire life

The End

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From the Authors

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